Firelight

by spicybunnybooks

Summary:

After an intense brawl at the bar, Soap notices lingering unresolved tension and repressed desire for his superior.

The tension slowly escalates, as Soap struggles to discover if his feelings are being reciprocated, and keep their private moments a dirty little secret behind closed doors.

Notes:

Visuals & Audio: https://www.instagram.com/spicy_banny_books

New chapters each Monday♡

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

The city’s backstreets buzzed more than usual. Didn’t help that it was a weekend night. A low-rent bar tucked away down an alley didn’t look like much from the outside—neon sign half-burned, wooden door sticking on its hinges—but it was the kind of place that didn’t ask questions when military men walked in. That made it good enough.

Inside, the air was thick, smoky and dry sharp perfume. Laughter and chatter bounced off the walls, soft music from a live band allowing casual conversation, mixing with a jukebox that most likely hadn’t been updated since the early 2000s.

In the far secluded corner, Price had claimed a booth. He sat like a king on his throne, cigar unlit but clenched in his teeth, surveying the room with that calm, world-weary smile. Gaz lounged opposite, drink in hand, already in the middle of a story. Soap was beside him, loud with laughter, excited to whatever Gaz was telling him. Ghost sat at the end, mask still on, hood down, eyes flicking over the crowd even as his arms stayed folded across his chest. They looked like a mismatched bunch to everyone else. To themselves, they looked like home.

“—and the bloody rookie trips over his own boot,” Gaz said, smacking the table. “Face-first in the mud! Nearly died laughin’.”

Soap’s laughter was so loud it turned heads. “Did he cry?”

“Close to it. Price had to haul him out by the scruff like a wet dog.”

Price only snorted, shaking his head.

Soap said, “But fair. That lad was a menace.”

Even Ghost gave a low sound that might’ve been a chuckle. His gaze, though, never stopped moving. His eyes swept the bar, missing nothing from the horizon, weighing threats, cataloging faces. Relaxation never came easy for him. But Soap noticed, as he always did. Something draws him in to Ghost, almost on feral instinct, to say..pretty much anything. Try to rile him up, tease, maybe comment on something random around them. Anything. Just to get a reaction from the man.

He noticed Ghost wasn’t drinking. Probably the mask…he thought.

Leaning in, elbow brushing Ghost’s, he muttered just for him: “One drink on me?”

Ghost didn’t look at him, but the corner of his hood dipped—close enough to a nod. Soap smiled, satisfied. It’s more than enough.

He sighed deeply, looking away to hide it from him. He’ll think about this one for a while..

It happened like a knife sliding between ribs. Soap wasn’t looking for trouble. He never is. He was halfway through another drink, loving the way the whiskey burned down his throat, half-drunk on the warmth of his friends. The booth behind them was full of young men, the only booth in this far corner, four or five, all loud bravado and expensive watches. Soap didn’t pay them attention at all until their laughter blew his eardrums, and Soap only half-heard them...

“Military types,” one said, his voice pitched to carry. “Look at ‘em. Sitting there like they own the bloody bar.”

Soap’s smile stiffened.

Another voice cut in, “The bald one’s laughin’ like a donkey.”

He could feel himself tightening that restless wrist, hard. He’s better than this. But he’s also pretty drunk.. But then came the one that made his jaw clench. “And what’s with the mask? What’s he hiding? Bet he’s ugly as sin under there. Or scared.”

Soap froze. The cold whiskey wobbled in his grip. The laughter at his own table blurred out, fading to the white noise.

Price caught it.

Soap leaned closer, voice tight. “Those arseholes behind us. Running their mouths.”

Gaz blinked. “About what?”

“Us. Me. Him.” Soap jerked his chin toward Ghost.

Ghost didn’t turn. His voice was flat. “Ignore it.”

He just couldn’t let it go. Soap snapped his head to him. “Ye heard what they said?”

“I heard,” Ghost said. His tone was steel. “Not worth it.”

To Soap’s surprise, Price nodded, weary. “Ghost’s right. Let it go.”

Grounding his teeth, Soap forced himself back into the chatter. He threw himself into Gaz’s next joke, slapped Price’s shoulder, tried to laugh like nothing was burning in his chest. He even leaned against Ghost again, forcing lightness into his voice. If there is something to effectively distract him from anything, that would be Ghost’s undivided attention.

But his ears stayed tuned. And the poison kept dripping.

An hour passed. Soap thought he had it under control. He even convinced himself, for a while that he had forgotten about it. He leaned close to Gaz, cracked jokes, smacked his drink on the table to cheer a story. Ghost’s arm brushed his once—maybe accident, maybe not—and Soap felt steadier for it. Made him hope for another brief touch and..

Then it happened.

“—mask lad’s a freak, you know,” one of them sneered. “Hideous scars I’d bet my house on it.”

The laughter that followed was sharp and extremely exaggerated.

Without thinking, Soap slammed his drink onto the table hard enough to splash. His teammates startled. He stood in an instant, turned, and barked across the booths. The other group went quiet, turning heads at the man standing. Soap was already stepping forward, confident. If looks could kill, they’d all be horizontal on the floor right there.

“You’ve got somethin’ to say about my mate, you say it to my face.”

The air went razor-sharp. Price muttered a curse under his breath exchanging glances with Gaz who shifted unsteadily, unsure whether to stand.

And then Soap felt a shadow rising behind him, heavy as a storm. He didn’t need to turn around to confirm who it was.

Just as Soap was about to gloat how nicely he zipped their loud obnoxious mouths, the tension was broken by one of the men: “What, can’t your boyfriend defend himself?”

Soap saw red. Literally. He could already envision bruises and swollen lips dripping blood on he corner. Not many things could hold Soap back at a situation like this. And the hand that clamped on his arm—strong, immovable- was not doing much difference as well. Ghost was there, close enough Soap could feel his breath through the mask, heat searing into his ear.

“Johnny.” Ghost’s voice was low, harsh. “Leave it.”

Soap’s chest heaved. “Ye heard what he said.”

“Not worth it.” Ghost tugged once, sharp. “Sit down.”

But Soap shook him off, stepping closer to the group, rage simmering. “Say one more word about him. Go on. I dare ye.” A part of him wanted this confrontation, fists twitching with desire to be used. Even Ghost’s hand on him felt like he never wanted to let go. Ghost has never touched him like this before. It sent him flying.

The lads laughed nervously, but one leaned forward. “Loyal dog, aren’t you? Bet you come when he calls.”

Soap surged—
—and Ghost’s arm locked across his chest, pinning him back hard. A rough low voice growled right against his ear. “Johnny. Stop. Now.”

For one heartbeat, Soap thought he might obey. Something in him desperately wanted to obey this commanding voice. He wished there was another command. Maybe one to fly off the Earth...hells there’s little what he wouldn’t do for him… The realization sit uncomfortably on his chest.. Godz, Ghost you’re going to get me in a lotta trouble.

Ghost’s grip was too strong, too close. It rattled something deep in him, made his pulse trip. For a brief moment he wanted to please Ghost and let it go.

But he wanted to please himself as well… And when one of the men spat, “Pathetic little lapdog.”

Soap snapped.

He tore free of Ghost’s hold and shoved the nearest man. A chair clattered to the floor. The other three shot up, puffing their chests.

And then, it was chaos.

Soap surprised even himself by the way he swung at them, considering the drunk state is not the best state for a fight, especially not against a whole group. Fist cracking against a jaw or whatever he could reach. Someone slammed into his ribs, pain blooming sharp. He lashed out again, half fury, half desperation.

Ghost was there instantly, arm locked around Soap’s torso, yanking him back. “Enough!” Ghost roared. “Johnny, stand down!”

Soap twisted free, snarling, and landed another punch. A table went over. God it felt good to be feral even just for a moment. To forget where you are. One thing Soap didn’t expect at all though, was when one of the lads caught Soap across the face—hard. His head snapped sideways, blood blooming from his lip. It wasn’t the first blow he received but this one made him pause for a brief second before he could snap back in the fight.

It was the blow that mattered to Ghost.

The way Soap was shoved back out of the way was maddening.

The first punch Ghost threw sent a man sprawling unconscious. The second caved another’s nose. The third dropped the loudest with a thud. Ghost moved like he fucking meant it, precise and brutal, no wasted motion or strike. Soap, dazed but still grinning through blood, staggered back as Ghost demolished them. He wondered in how many bar fights has Ghost been in his life. In under a minute, before Price and Gaz could even intervene, the fight was over. The men groaned on the floor, one of them counting his teeth. The bar music moved on like nothing ever happened. Fights and disputes seemed as regular as roaches behind the counter.

Price’s hand on Soap and Ghost sent a clear message, shaking his head. “Time to go.”

A sight. Ghost had to admire his work a little bit. He stood there wondering how did one man end up all the way to the other side of the booth. Did he really threw him that far? He tiled his head, Ghost was pretty sure he wasn’t even trying that hard. He moved on Price’s voice, hand clamped around Soap’s arm, dragging him toward the door with no room for argument.

 

**

 

Cool night air hit Soap’s bleeding lip. He laughed, breathless. “Ye see that? Took ‘em down like dominoes.”

Clearly not as amused as Soap, Ghost shoved him against the wall, grip still firm. “Fuckin’ hell, Johnny. Do you ever listen?”

Melting into the rough handing, Soap just stared at those angry wide eyes, wondering what is the polite way to say ‘I’d do it all over again if it meant these rough hands are closing in even for a brief moment.’ God he drunk as fuck. What’re these bizarre thoughts.

“Pretty...” it sneaked out between his lips like the biggest traitors.

It took a moment for Soap to realize they weren’t alone. He kept staring and searching this masked face in front of him as Ghosts eyes narrowed in confusion. He heard laughter around them. Half-dizzy…. Or fully.

“Worth it L.T”

Ghost leaned close, mask inches from his face. His eyes burned. “How??”

Soap’s grin softened, a tremor running through it. “...Riled you up...not a bad sight.”

Footprints behind them made them step back a little. Ghost’s stare was fierce, unreadable. He didn’t let go of Soap’s arm yet. His grip tightened, almost bruising.

“You don’t fight my battles,” Ghost growled.

“...No?” Soap tilted his head teasingly, reckless smile curling.

Something hung between them, hot and dangerous. Neither spoke and neither stepped back.

And then Price’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “You two done? We need to move.”

Ghost’s hand lingered a beat longer before he released Soap.

They moved as a unit on the street, boots echoing against pavement, city humming around them, street lights and drunken screams from a far. Gaz cracked jokes to ease the tension. Price muttered something about babysitting. Soap had no idea exactly what he said, but he was sure he would agree in a heartbeat if Price asked. Just because the captain said it. He drifted a pace behind with Ghost beside him, their silence thick. Will this man ever start a conversation if Soap is not the first one to initiate it?

“Ye’re brooding.” Soap nudged Ghost with his shoulder.

When Ghost didn’t answer, Soap grew bolder.

“You’re angry ‘cause I got hit bad, aren’t ye?” Soap teased, lip bleeding.

Ghost let out a deep hard cloud of smoke. “One day I won’t be there Johnny. What then?”

Their arms brushed once. Neither pulled away.

“One might think you care LT.”

Ghost said nothing. His silence was loud and clear.

It wasn’t about the fight or what those drunken men said, it was about the way Ghost protected him. Of course, he would never admit that nor talk about this again, but it’s weird how much Soap replayed that moment in his mind.. Ghost actually stepped in. He did. He did so without Soap ever asking or needing.

Ghost saw Soap hurt, and he stepped in.

Something warm crept up in Soap’s chest. Annoyingly stubborn, much like himself. Ghost is his teammate, of course he would assist Soap if needed. Desperately shaking his head left to right, Soap tried to convince himself to let it go. There’s nothing special or unusual to what happened.

 

By the time they reached base, the mood had shifted lighter. Gaz still teased Soap about his bloody lip. Price shook his head, muttering about paperwork.

“Next time,” Price said, “I’m counting your shots!”

Soap raised his hands, sticky with dried blood. “No promises, Captan’.”

A flicker behind the mask, yet Ghost stayed silent, Soap wondered if he’s the only one that caught it. Concern maybe? Annoyance? Something he wouldn’t name? Soap smiled to himself, lip stinging. Because he knew.

Ghost cared. Enough to hold him back. Enough to break bones when he got hurt. Enough to let the silence speak louder than words.

Actions.

And if Soap had to take a few hits to prove it, he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Summary:

Soap gets an unexpected visit in his private courters, at midnight.

Notes:

Visuals & Audio: https://www.instagram.com/spicy_banny_books

Still buzzing from the battle, the booze, and the adrenaline that hadn't completely burnt out of his veins as he fell onto his bed, barely having kicked off his boots. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the bar scene again. The way he released anger and frustration through the fight. Felt weirdly good, like it was needed to be done in order to let the tension roll off his shoulders.

Soap couldn’t shake off the hint that he was feeling this type of way because of something pent up inside. Something was off. Why was this situation pissing him off, when he has heard and tolerated much worse in the past. There was definitely more in the picture here, but he was nowhere near in the state to figure that out now.

The taste of iron lingered at the corner of his mouth while his lip throbbed, swelled and split. Soap was certain it was nothing major. He has had injuries before. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

He was still grinning about it. Every time he thought back to Ghost laying those bastards flat on the ground, a laugh bubbled out of him. So unexpected, so… unusual. And at the same time...so very fucking interesting. To see Ghost snap was not an everyday thing.

He had just started to drift, eyes heavy, when the knock came. Three taps. Not expecting anybody, not at this hour.

Soap blinked, sat up. “Aye?”

The door creaked open, and there he was. Ghost, mask still on, with a med kit in his hand. Soap couldn’t revert his eyes from the figure at his door. He wanted to lock him in here forever.

Then, horrified at his latest thoughts, he shook his head in disbelief.

“Figured you’d ignore the infirmary,” Ghost said flatly, shutting the door behind him.

Soap’s grin widened instantly. He sat up to meet Ghost at shoulder high right next to him. “Aw, look at ye. Nurse Ghost, comin’ t’tuck me in.”

“Shut it.” the weight made the bed dip further down, making Soap struggle to retain his stable position. He turned towards his guest, arms sliding back on the bed to keep upright, eyes half-lidded and enjoying the sight.

Soap wiped his lip with the back of his hand. “It’s nothin’. Just a wee scratch.”

“Split lip. Needs cleaning.” Ghost’s voice left no room for debate.

Eyes bright with mischief, Soap tilted his head, “An’ you volunteered yourself for the job, aye? Outta the goodness of yer heart?” Regret would come in handy tomorrow, when the alcohol wears off. But for now, teasing Ghost in this dark silence seemed as good as a glass of water in the middle of an unbearably hot desert.

Ghost ignored him, but seemed to take notice of Soap’s intentions. He stared for a moment, analyzing, and when Soap swallowed heavily- Ghost stood up instantly and dragged the desk chair over.

To Soap’s disappointment, Ghost decided to snap a pair of gloves on with practiced efficiency, hiding those perfect hands, and set the kit on the bedside table. “Sit still.”

Soap obeyed—mostly. Well he did try his best. His head was dizzy and his body was tingling. It was not this bad before Ghost walked in, surely.. To maintain stability, he leaned back against the wall, legs spread, one arm draped lazily across his knee, grin tugging at his swollen mouth.“Funny, I thought my pancreas was about to fall off.. out of this tiny scratch.”

“Keep talking and I’ll leave.”

That did the trick. The corner’s of his lips still carved upwards, yet Soap obeyed, letting the man do his thing. He wondered what Ghost would do if Soap ever does get badly hurt on the field.

It was so close, close enough their knees brushed. Ghost held Soap’s chin in one hand, steady but not rough. The other hand dabbed at the lip with antiseptic, careful but firm.

Soap hissed. “Christ, that stings.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Easy for you t’say. You’re no’ the one gettin’ poked at.”

Ghost didn’t answer. His grip stayed steady, fingers firm along Soap’s jaw.

Soap’s eyes half-lidded, breathing heavy, god he would gladly get hit a thousand times if it meant Ghost was going to patch him up again. Wait...

That’s when Soap knew for sure that he stepped over the drinking limit that night. Getting badly hurt didn’t sound so bad if it meant Ghost would be all worried over him in this delicious setting. He shook his head again, hoping for a refresh and hopefully shake those nasty thoughts as well.

...But then why did Ghost had to roll up his sleeves? It was bad enough he had to endure the torture of their knees brushing. Those veiny hands tempting him to reach out. Soap could almost taste them inside his mouth.

“Yer hands are steady. Almost like ye’ve done this before.”

“Too many times,” Ghost muttered.

“Mmh.” Soap’s voice dropped, teasing. “...Didn’t picture you gentle.”

Ghost’s eyes flicked to his, dark and sharp. “Picture me?”

Soap smirked. “...Not picture like...picture.. just.. Funny. Don’t see ye patchin’. Just me, eh?”

“Don’t make me regret this, Johnny” Ghost’s voice was clipped, but his hand lingered longer than it needed to, thumb brushing Soap’s stubble as he worked.

Soap leaned into it, deliberately. Why was Ghost so careful.. it’s not like Soap was made of porcelain?? Oh no, word vomit again..

“Mmmh make it sting..”

“Stop.” The word was hard, final. But Ghost’s hand didn’t move. He glared down at him. “You’re drunk.”

“Aye, wanna see ye drunk.” Soap chuckled low, the sound warm. “Wonder what you’d do.. You had that look about ye when I got hit.”

Ghost’s jaw clenched. His hand stilled on Soap’s chin. “Enough.”

Soap leaned closer, voice dropping. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

They locked eyes for a moment. For one breath, the silence roared louder than useless words. Then Ghost shoved the antiseptic pad back to Soap’s lip, just a fraction rougher. “Hold still.”

Soap hissed, laughing through the sting. He could feel his heart remembering each and every move this man made. Everything about him suddenly felt very important to remember, hell Soap wanted to memorize when he blinked! There was no way he was just imagining this. Magnetizing. Mesmerizing. Every time Ghost’s chest moved as he filled his lungs with air- Soap registered. His eyes traced from his arm down to his shoulders, feeling the urge to squeeze.

He exhaled deeply, struggling to bury the embarrassing need. It didn’t go unnoticed. Those large brown eyes locked on his again, making him forget how to breathe.

Soap wondered if his face is even presentable at this moment. He knew he felt dizzy and drunk in emotions, but what if he actually looked even worse than he felt, and Ghost had the privilege to see him up close at Soap’s worst?

But then he finished quickly, quicker than Soap would have wished. He watched him pull back, taping the small bandage with precision. He pulled off the gloves, breaking the immense tension that lingered between them.

“Done,” he said, standing.

Soap tilted his head up at him, not seeing a reason to get up. “We good?” He liked looking up at Ghost at this angle. His mind raced as the man looked down at him. Fuck. “Let’s not bleed next time eh?”

Ghost froze, just for a second. Soap wondered if it’s just a part of his imagination.. this strange sense that Ghost can’t take his eyes off him the same way Soap can’t.. Then he snapped the kit shut with a sharp click, snapping those inappropriate thoughts like a thin wire. “There won’t be a next time, Johnny.”

“Aye. It’s what I meant..”

Ghost turned for the door. “Mhm. Get some rest.”

Confused, Soap was not exactly sure why he felt empty. He wouldn’t have minded a little company. Easier to think then say it unfortunately, so Soap just stared, silently watching Ghost allowing some stupid distance between them. He could still vividly imagine that large hand holding his chin.

Ghost paused in the doorway. His shoulders were tense. For a second, Soap thought he might turn back, say something, do something.

But then he walked out, without a word, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

And there he was. Like nothing happened. Soap threw himself back on his bed, grin curling despite the ache in his lip.

He knew what he saw in Ghost’s eyes. He knew what he felt in that grip on his jaw, in the way Ghost hovered close, in the fury that flared when Soap got hurt. There was nothing in this world that can convince him otherwise. There is something there. There’s no way there isn’t!

What else would this be?

Ghost could deny it all he liked. But Soap knew.

And he was not about to stop pursuing this. Not unless Ghost rejected him loud and clear.

 

***

 

Morning in base was always the same. A bit too loud and bright for Soap’s liking, especially on a barely sober mind. He was not ready to think about anything yet. Soap shuffled in late, hair still damp from the shower, lip swollen but neatly patched with a fresh strip of bandage. His grin was in place, but it felt stretched over the soreness. His stomach was not up for eating yet, but still Soap could use the company of the team.

Price, already at the table with a mug in hand, raised an eyebrow. “You look like shite.”

Soap grinned wider, dropping his tray with a clatter. “Morning to you too, Captain. I’m alive, aren’t I? That’s more than those wankers at the bar can say.”

Gaz choked on his coffee, laughing. “You mean the ones Ghost flattened after one knocked you?”

Soap pointed his fork at him, just realizing that Ghost chose to sit with the team this morning, even if he’s a few seats down. “Oi, I held my own.”

“Until your lip met that lad’s fist.” Gaz said, smirking.

Soap stabbed at his plate with exaggerated aggression. “Not gonna work Gaz.”

Pretty clear what Gaz was trying to do, Soap made it obvious he would stand his ground. A bit disappointing though… Soap kind of expected more teasing remarks about how Ghost stepped in for him.. hmm it seemed the team is not up to teasing Ghost as they are with Soap. Interesting.

Across the table, Ghost’s tired eyes barely moved, as if glued to a single spot on the table, posture unreadable as always. He didn’t so much as glance at Soap, but Soap felt the weight of him more than he felt that darned punch yesterday.

Price leaned back, sipping his coffee. “You’re lucky the whole place didn’t end in handcuffs. Could’ve gone ugly fast.”

“Ugly?” Soap scoffed. “It was beautiful. A work o’ art.”

Gaz grinned. “Aye, the part where you swung at two blokes at once and missed both? That was priceless.”

Soap jabbed a finger at him. “I had ‘em lined up! Perfect plan until Ghost yanked me back.”

Ghost didn’t look up from his plate. “I was trying to save your teeth.”

Oh so his highness was indeed listening to the conversation..

“Appreciated,” Price nodded.

No point in acting tough, Soap let his grin stretch as a perfect mask of the storm brewing inside him. Anything he said, anything he did, he caught himself unapologetically watching Ghost.

Shaking his head, Soap protested again. “You lot just don’t appreciate fine brawling.”

Gaz smirked. “No, we appreciate staying conscious.”

Laughter rippled through the table. Soap rolled his eyes, but the warmth of it sat heavy in his chest. Felt good to have Ghost engage with them, even if Soap was the one taking all the jokes. Usually Ghost wouldn’t spare them much of a thought, so it was very refreshing to see him be at least aware, of their conversation. And sit closer for a change.

It came casually, but Soap knew it was a set-up the second Gaz asked.

“So, uh… when’d you get your lip patched up? Didn’t see you in the infirmary last night.”

Soap paused mid-bite. His eyes flicked to Ghost—just for a second, quick, almost guilty.

Then he shrugged, as casual as he could manage. “Didn’t go to the infirmary.”

Praying they wouldn’t press further, but knowing damn well they’re about to.

Price narrowed his eyes. “So who patched you up?”

Soap’s grin wobbled, then steadied. “Ghost stopped by my room. Brought a kit.”

There we go. The silence lasted half a heartbeat.

Then Gaz leaned back with a wicked grin. “Oh-ho. Midnight house calls, eh?”

Even Price smirked into his coffee, grin satisfied. “Didn’t know Ghost was moonlighting as a nurse.”

“It wasn’t like that! Just… patchin’ up the mess. That’s all.” Soap waved a hand quickly, ears burning.

“Mm.” Gaz’s grin widened. “So.. did it sting?”

“Shut it, Gaz.”

Soap’s face flushed hotter, he rubbed his eyes and ducked his head, shoving food into his mouth to avoid the curious glances. His lip stung with every bite. His heart was reacting as well, and pushing him to look at the corner.
He sneaked a quick glance at Ghost.

Ghost was utterly calm, mask hiding everything, despite being curled up. He cut his food with precise movements, eating in silence, utterly unmoved by the ribbing. If he heard it, he ignored it. The sheer contrast in their reactions made Soap’s blood boil.

Soap’s chest tightened. “Come on guys, not a big deal.”

Unconvinced, Gaz smiled. “If you say so.”

Price raised his mug in mock salute.

Were they all still drunk?? Soap sure felt like it. How else would he explain this weird feeling in his chest. He must not be feeling well.

Ghost finally spoke, voice flat. “You’re all children.”

The teasing rolled on, drifting back to the fight itself, Gaz embellishing, Soap exaggerating his own heroics. Price shook his head through it all, grinning around his mug.

But Soap couldn’t fully focus. He hasn’t been himself for a while. Not with Ghost sitting across from him, unreadable.

Every few minutes, Soap’s eyes darted to him. Looking for something. Anything. A flicker of expression. A tell. A fucking blink. He was interested to know if Ghost’s pinky finger twitched. He was that obsessed. Sometimes he swore he saw it— the faintest tightening of Ghost’s shoulders when Gaz joked too hard, or the way his gaze lingered on Soap’s bandaged lip a second longer than needed. But then it was gone, shuttered behind the mask.

Soap hated how much he cared. Cared enough to look. Cared enough to search for clues. He groaned in frustration, dragging his hands over his face. Make it all stop. What is this..

A solid part of him hoped that the moment he wakes up- it would all be over. Set and done. Quite the opposite happened. It got so much worse. And since these were not drunken thoughts anymore… Soap was starting to get worried.

Ghost finally looked up, eyes locking with Soap’s. “I told you to walk away.”

That voice. It’s not a coincidence his chest tightened every time Ghost would say anything at all. The man could be commenting about last year’s snow and Soap would turn into an ear ready to spend his mare existence into listening to him. Then Ghost looked back down at his plate, ending it.

“Guess he still thinks you’re an idiot.” Price arched an eyebrow at Soap’s suddenly flustered silence.

Soap forced a laugh, heart racing. “No doubt.”

As breakfast wound down. Trays clattered, mugs emptied. Gaz was still chuckling about Soap’s “personal nurse” when he stood to leave.

Price clapped Soap on the shoulder. “Try not to start another fight today, eh?”

“No promises, Captain.” Soap grinned, taking a piss at Price’s serious captain-like expression.

As the others drifted, Ghost passed Soap’s seat. He didn’t look at him, didn’t say a word. But a small packet— two painkillers, a folded fresh bandage— slid onto Soap’s tray in passing.

Soap froze, staring down at it.

By the time he looked up, Ghost was gone.

A slow smile spread across his face. This is exactly why he suspects these odd feelings are reciprocated. Ghost is acting up in front of others, while secretly caring for Soap’s well-being. Maybe he was even angry at Soap for telling on him about the midnight med-kit situation.

There is this thing, on one hand Soap did want to secure what happened as a secret, but on the other hand if he did lie and hid that Ghost came by- would that mean that they’re hiding something? Like an unspoken acknowledgment that there is something more here. It would most definitely imply. Why not be upfront about it if there is nothing to hide. Soap had no idea what Ghost would think if Soap would have hid this from the team. Maybe he would’ve even stepped in and rad his ass out, embarrassing him in front of everyone. Would Ghost even do that?

Soap felt some deranged need inside… a need to be embarrassed by Ghost. To wild out and then be put in his place. Of course, only Ghost had that privilege.

God it was way too early for wild analyzes like this. The day is long..

If only Gaz wouldn’t have seen everything, and was starting at Soap with an all-knowing smile.

Sighing, Soap jumped from his seat as if lit on fire.

Notes:

Visuals & Audio: https://www.instagram.com/spicy_banny_books

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Summary:

Swallowing his pride, Soap returns the favor by knocking on Ghost's door.

Notes:

Visuals & Audio: https://www.instagram.com/spicy_banny_books

New chapters each Monday♡

He found it difficult to explain. To understand.

Soap had little idea what this thing was. He always cared for his team and his team always had his back in return, but there was something lingering in the air. Something different now. The air was new.

Something stinks.. And it wasn’t the rotting fish fingers he keeps forgetting to throw out in the back corner of his room.

He let out a deep hard breath, elbows shifting on his knees, the bed comfortable and cozy under him.

What was it about Ghost that Soap just couldn’t let go?

In theory, all seemed like glorious team work. True, the others didn’t step in back in the bar, but it’s like unspoken knowledge that Soap had this special bond with Ghost. Everyone knew about it already. They clicked and understood each other astonishingly well. Better then themselves sometimes. And that is exactly the type of team attitude one would need in high stakes missions like theirs.

So why couldn’t Soap get his mind to shut it? Just shut it! Stop repeating the events from the fight, the way Ghost protected him, the way he patched his lip.. So weird that he was so stuck on this.

Why on earth is he so so stuck on such simple actions.. Nothing about the deeds alone seemed like a general problem.

Nothing helped to ease off. Soap could train and run all day if he wanted, but as mundane things as opening a door knob- would trace the thought back to this older man.

He figured, maybe he just needed to say thanks and clear this bizarre air. No need for unnecessary tension. Move on.

Later that evening, Soap lingered outside the door longer than any sane person should. His thumb hovered over the wood, back and forth, as if knocking too soon would betray him, would announce his weakness. Every nerve in him screamed to retreat, to run back down the corridor, but his feet carried him forward anyway. He’s in there. Ghost knows I’m here. He always knows. His stomach churned at the thought, heart hammering in his ears as if it wanting to escape before Ghost could even open the door.

Finally, he raised his fist to knock, and froze. Strange. He hasn’t felt this level of adrenaline even back when he was hanging down from a heli, swinging in the air with only a bare ankle intact.

“Door’s open, Soap.”

“Fuckin’ hell” He really did know! Soap pushed the door open anyway, a whisper of a movement, desperate not to make a sound.

Ghost was seated, impeccable as always, mask in place, radiating a sort of deliberate patience that made Soap feel like a child caught in the act of something he shouldn’t be doing. Or feeling.

He didn’t look at Soap immediately, just exhaled slowly, his jaw suggesting amusement. Soap screamed at his own lungs to breathe, as his pulse slammed through his veins. Ghost was older. So much older than Soap. Older and steadier, sharper, impossibly controlled, more experienced.… Soap could name it all day.

And he… he was young, reckless, loud, a mess, and entirely undone by his presence. For some reason.

“Sergeant.” he said. Calm. The sound of his voice alone made Soap’s stomach twist, and he swallowed the heat rising in his chest. Soap felt the need to take a deeep deep breath. And not let Ghost know about it.

Careful not to out himself with just how unruly his thoughts had become. Every step towards Ghost felt like stepping closer to a fire he wasn’t sure he could survive.

“Can I come in? Just… talk” he managed, voice catching mid-word. His hands flexed against his thighs. “Hope I’m not bothering ye”.

Ghost’s head tilted slightly, the slightest motion that could have been casual, maybe. “Sit,” he said, commanding without a hint of aggression. Soap obeyed immediately, as if some invisible force pulled him into place, and he couldn’t wait to let his knees rest and not stumble- one less thing to worry about.

The way Ghost’s casual mask was lit in the firelight. Soap swallowed hard, suddenly realizing it was a mistake he came here. Better to suffer alone and in silence, than be bizarrely tempted by his older superior in this dim lighting. He wished at least this annoyingly sensual saxophone jazz Ghost had it going on- would shut it.

He perched on the edge of a sofa, the far end from where Ghost was sitting, hands resting on his knees now, uncertain.

Soap tried to breathe normally, tried to focus on anything besides the way his chest ached when this mysterious man was near, the way his calm made him feel like he was spinning out of control. Those widely spread thighs looked so inviting.. those long fingers delicious.. that black hoodie begged to be torn and tossed away.. The longer he looked- the longer he fed his growing interest.

His eyes flicked to the table and froze. Cigarettes. A pack neatly placed, lighter beside it. The way Ghost handled them— each motion deliberate, slow, perfect—made Soap’s pulse spike. He wanted to watch him forever. He wanted to learn everything from him. He wanted to touch him.

“Cigarette?” Ghost’s voice sliced through the tension. Soap blinked, as if shaken up from a deep dream.

Ghost held the pack out like it was nothing, effortless. His long fingers brushed Soap’s briefly as he took one, and heat leapt straight to his chest. His palms felt clammy. His knees went weak.

As best as he could, Soap forced himself to grip it, trying to look composed, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from tracing Ghost’s hand, the precise angles, the way each finger seemed designed for control. He's seen this hand wrapped around weapons, he's seen it in action.

He was almost angry about it! Why the fuck did Ghost’s hand had to be like that?? And now Soap is the one who should feel bad for staring when this man is carved from mere gods?

Soap swallowed hard again. That seemed to work well in clearing his head. For now.

Both men lit the slick cigarettes together, a slow ritual. Ghost’s movements were practiced, the flame steady, the tip glowing, inhaling, exhaling, disappearing into the smoke for a brief second. Soap mirrored him, his hand trembling. Smoke curled lazily between them, hanging in the air, tangible and thick, a silent binding between 2 tired men.

To break the tension, he tried to start a conversation. “So… how’s an ancient fella like you spend his evenings?” his voice was smother than he intended, nervous, and an obvious bait.

Ghost’s eyes flicked towards him. “Ancient, huh.” He made it feel like a statement, not a question.

“Aye. Older. Wiser. Knows better.” Soap swallowed, heat creeping over him slowly but surely.

He didn’t get an answer back. Ghost just took another drag, smoke curling around the mask. Soap watched carefully as Ghost inhaled, wrapping those lips around the cigarette, and dragging the substance all in. Mesmerized in the smallest movements. Wondering if Ghost was really moving in slow motion, or was his mind playing tricks on him.

Soap tapped ash into the tray, forcing his voice steady. “About the bar... I was stupid. Got carried away.”

Unreadable gaze shifted to him again. “You think?”

“Aye, I know, should’ve walked away. You told me to, and I didn’t. You were right. Thanks.”

Silence stretched.

Then he exhaled hard, words tumbling. “I just… I won’t let anyone disrespect you. Bloody idiots think they seen a fraction what life is.”

Those eyes narrowed. Soap could tell a mini-lecture was coming about. “You let your temper dictate your actions, Sergeant.”

Looking down, throat tight. “I know. Should know better, like you. But I’d do it again.…. Feels like I didn’t break enough jaws.” his hands curled into hard fists almost instinctively.

The words hung heavy in the smoke-thick room. The soft music making it unintentionally smooth and sexual.

Inhaling too sharply, Soap coughed, and pressed a hand to his face, hoping for a discrete refresh and trying to look casual. Ghost didn’t move, didn’t comment, just tilted his head, smirk tugging at the edge of his mask. He knew.

“You admire my age, Johnny?” he asked, soft, teasing, the smoke curling in beautiful toxic cloud. That low voice made Soap freeze mid-exhale, face heating violently, hands pressed against his cheeks in lame attempt to hide it.

“I… I mean…” Soap stammered. “What’s not to like…” voice trailed into nothing, inadequate. I can’t even form words when he looks at me like that.

His gaze pinned him, deliberate and patient. He’s older. He’s so much older. He knows exactly what he does to me. No mercy. Like a shark that sensed blood in the water. Couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe properly. Chest heaved as I fought to control my pulse.

“You like older people?” His voice was even, calm, but the weight behind it sent shivers down Soap’s spine.

It’s like he knew what Soap didn’t know yet.

“I… sometimes,” he whispered, voice barely there. “Older… men… ones… who know what they’re doing…” Soap could feel the blush spreading across his face, ears burning. There was nothing he could do at this point to make it better. Just desperately hide it. And hope Ghost wouldn’t point it out.

He pathetically pressed his palm harder to his cheeks. God, don’t look at me, don’t notice how much I’m flustered. But he did. Of course he did.

“What, do you like about them?” The words were casual but carefully designed to make Soap squirm.

His chest tightened, lungs catching. Soap pressed his hands directly to his face this time, head bowing slightly. Ghost was playing with Soap’s emotions. He wondered if Ghost meant to be this teasing as much as Soap perceived him.

“I… their calm. Their restraint, maturity. How… they know… what to do.. safe… and… wanting more…” His voice trailed off, almost a moan in the dim room.

Ghost leaned back slightly, slow, methodical. He exhaled.

And that’s when Soap realized he wanted to touch him, feel the weight of his control, to know what it would feel like to have him—just for a second.

His noticed his eyes drifting down to Ghost’s hands again, long, precise, and his heart jumped. Soap imagined tracing the smooth curve of his wrist, feeling the strength and control, being pinned down by them. Chest tightening further, hands trembling. The poor man had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

“What’s so interesting on my hands?”

“I… sorry.. he muttered, voice shaking.

That smirk on Ghost’s face looked so damn nice, slow. Fuck him, he knew what’s so damn interesing. In this rare moment that he allowed anyone close to him during a smoke, Soap could not stop staring curiously at Ghost’s jaw and lips- things he does not see on a regular bases. Even during lunch or breakfast- Ghost would more than often choose a spot in the back of mess hall, avoiding anyone and everyone who might wanna risk a curious eye at him.

“Enjoying your own suffering, Johnny?”

Soap pressed his face harder into his hands, shivering, inhaled shakily. Was enjoying it. Wanted him to see, wanted him to notice, wanted him to make him burn even more.

Look at him, mister oblivious.. leaning in just slightly, brushing his fingers across Soap’s wrist to adjust his cigarette. Frozen, Soap was on the verge of reaching out, wanted to melt into him, to surrender. Wouldn’t let himself.

Afraid his body might act on it’s own, Soap stood suddenly, needing space, needing air, pacing the room to calm the panic rising in his chest. Cigarette in hand, Soap inhaled deeply, trying to slow the racing heartbeat. His restless eyes kept drifting toward this man in black, watching how calm he was, how effortlessly he held himself, how impossibly older, stronger, and untouchable he felt. Longed to close the distance, to reach out, to let those trembling hands brush his chest, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t trust himself to stop, not once he starts.

And then Soap realized, he did not need to label this. It bloody felt like the most right and accurate feeling in the world. It felt GOOD. So why should Soap stop? In fact, pulling away in that moment seemed like a crime. First degree.

“Ghost...” Soap finished his cigarette, hiding his blush behind his hands. Ghost reached slightly over to Soap to light another one. Soap nearly jumped at the tempting proximity. Everything Ghost did- he did it on purpose.

Ears burning, Soap could feel his gaze boring inside him, steady and knowing. He knew every flutter of his pulse, every tremble, every flicker of lust Soap was desperately trying to bury as deep as possible.

For obvious purposes, Soap chose another chair this time, a little distance wouldn’t go a miss. Smoke curled lazily, like a curtain around them. No matter what mundane things Soap asked, to mask his inner chaos about the most random objects he noticed in the spacious room- his soul was screaming at him.

He spoke rapidly, trying to keep it casual, but the words stumbled over his breath, hands obviously shaking.

Ghost listened, silent mostly, letting the questions hang for a moment before giving his input. When he answered, it was slow, deliberate, full of weight and calm. Every word, every drag of smoke, every tilt of his head made Soap shut down for a moment.

Yet he couldn’t look away, tracing the long, precise lines of Ghost’s hands, imagining touching them, feeling their restraint and experience. Eyes wandered lower sometimes, to the curve of his shoulders, the fabric across his chest, and even Ghost caught him multiple times, he didn’t point it out.

“You’re nervous,” he said quietly.

Soap could see this coming.. it was just a matter of time to call him out. He groaned, pressing his hands against his face. “Nah..”

Watching him sit there, all smoke and smirk about him. That’s when Soap concluded that he actually does in fact want to throw himself at this man, to tell Ghost how much he craved him, better yet- show him, how badly his body ached for him. There was little point in denying it anymore. Ghost would need to be blind to not see.

But instead, inhaling the smoke, Soap slowly stood up again and roamed the room, pacing just to calm his body, and keep those earie thoughts from bursting out. It would be pretty bad if Ghost could read minds right about now.

Annoyingly calm. How was Ghost able to take the tension this well? Was he not feeling it at all? Perhaps just toying with Soap for the sake of it? But Ghost didn’t seem like the type of person to just toy around with his teammate who is obviously attracted to him. At least Soap hoped he wouldn’t be.

How was Ghost able to just sit there, relaxed out of his mind, and watch Soap melt in desperation. Was he high?

Soap wondered if Ghost perhaps smoked something else before Soap joined in. Something stronger. Fuck, if Soap could have just invited himself over a little sooner then. He could have taken this better. Those red eyes were a big giveaway, but Ghost was known for staying up for days, hard to tell which one. Little of Both?

Collapsing back into the chair eventually, chest heaving, eyes burning. Soap didn’t dare ask, but inside, was utterly undone. Every glance, every flick of ash, had him quivering, flushed, and entirely consumed. He was starting to come at piece with that revelation of himself.. he liked this and he’s not stopping. It’s wayy stronger than his shyness and Soap will fight for it. He just needed to figure out a way to make Ghost open up, that’s IF Ghost wanted to, and allowed Soap to pry.

The way he just sat there, calm, untouchable, letting Soap suffer quietly, savoring it. Soap could theorise… meant something?? Maybe. Why else would Ghost allow anyone to sit quietly in his private room? He had to at least know. Was there even a way Ghost still hasn’t figured it out what he does to Soap.. not likely.

Hours or minutes, who knew— passed. Soap crushed his last cigarette, heart still hammering, not showing signs of slowing down. If it was up to him, he would have stayed forever. But he couldn’t risk Ghost becoming bored of him.

“Thanks… for letting me in… for… this,” he whispered. Better to squeeze his heart now and leave, rather than risk bothering Ghost longer than he wants to be bothered.

Ghost inclined his head once. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

Smiling, Soap stepped into the hallway, breathless and utterly obsessed. That unspoken longing had him in the grasp. Leaving the room felt like leaving another dimension. All that smoke and energy disappeared in an instant, as he heard random yells from down the base’s long hallway.

Soap glanced back before closing the door behind him. He could still see Ghost from this angle.

His heart jumped when Ghost gave him a quick witty wink, as if the man knew beforehand that Soap was going for one last quick glance before leaving his property.

The door shut with a soft clink, but Soap was glued to the spot, unable to move. He let out a deep hard breath he didn’t know he was holding.

…..He was definitely going to make a habit of it.

Notes:

Visuals & Audio: https://www.instagram.com/spicy_banny_books

New chapters each Monday♡

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Summary:

Not being able to stay away, Soap returns. But this time, he's not leaving without having his thirst satisfied.

Notes:

Visuals & Audio: https://www.instagram.com/spicy_banny_books

New chapters each Monday♡

Soap couldn’t last a day. The very thought of approaching Ghost’s door was thrilling, exhilarating, heart racing. It excited him to find out what will they talk about next, what glances will he steal tonight. Hopefully Ghost lets him in… He has been suspiciously absent from base today, not that Soap would ever admit that he was discretely looking for him. He tried, kinda, to ambiguously ask the team during lunch about Ghost’s whereabouts, but no use.

The corridor was quiet this evening, the dim light from the hall flickering faintly over the floor as Soap slowly walked toward Ghost’s room. So jumpy and on edge, that his own footsteps caused him anxiety. The anticipation was too real.

Could it be possible Ghost went off on a mission alone and didn’t inform Soap beforehand? He wouldn’t just disappear like that on him, would he?

Pulse hammered in his ears, every breath tight in his chest. He made a clear promise to himself that he wouldn’t obsess tonight. He’ll be casual. They’re buddies. They always have a good time, and this will be no different.

Tried to clear his mind, tried to focus on mundane things, but as soon as he saw Ghost open the door for him, all pretense of restraint crumbled into ash. God this man...just stood there, impossibly calm, mask in place, eyes catching Soap’s with that piercing, measured gaze.

“Johnny.” he said, voice low, deliberate.

Well, at least the man is still on base..

Soap stepped inside as Ghost pointed him to, the air immediately warmer, thicker, carrying the sharp, rich scent of something much stronger than cigarettes. So Soap was right about last night.

Smoke curled lazily, twisting through the dimly lit room, the crackling fire casting shadows across the furniture. The TV flickered softly in the corner; football played across the screen. Whiskey and the pipe sat on the small table, glowing faintly in the darkness. Soap felt his chest tighten.

It’s all so perfect.

“Mind if I join?”

“You’re here.” Ghost said casually, his eyes briefly flicking to the TV before resting on Soap. “Tense again, Sergeant?”

“Could use some lay back.”

Soap’s mind spun like crazy. He swallowed hard, heart slamming in his chest. This is beyond perfect. Every single scenario he had imagined himself that had Ghost in it… wasn’t even close to as perfect as this moment was.

There is little hope this night would end as in his fantasies though. He wouldn’t even know how to approach it. Nor had the courage to pursue it that openly.

Even if he got high enough to try, Soap would crumble at the first intense eye contact.

He watched as Ghost leaned back, the soft dim glow highlighting the angles of his face beneath the rolled up mask, the calm precision of his movements, the effortless dominance that radiated from him even in repose. Soap had wanted this night, wanted to prove to himself he could stay calm, keep it friendly and casual, but the moment he saw him, all control evaporated. All gone.

They lit the pipe together, smoke curling between the two men like a living thread. Hands shaking slightly, Soap took it, inhaling, coughing, trying to look composed, but his pulse was racing. He knew Ghost was watching, faint smirk tugging at the edge of his mask. “You’re shaking. Relax.” he said softly, calm, teasing.

“I’m… not,” Soap muttered quickly, pressing a hand to his flushed cheeks. Surely Ghost noticed how red he is. They weren’t sitting that far on the sofa after all. Just a few soft cushions separating them.

Soap’s eyes kept darting to him, immediately catching those large hands, tracing the long lines of his fingers, the subtle strength, imagining all the ways he wanted them in.

He took as much advantage as he could while Ghost’s focus was on the football match on the TV, but eventually, he caught him staring. And even though Soap looked away in an instant, the damage was done. He tried swallowing hard to calm the heat rising in his chest.

This time, Ghost went easy on him, and let it pass.

The game continued on the TV, but Soap barely noticed. He pretended to be interested, to throw a comment or two. And while in a normal situation he well would be, this was anything but normal. It felt romantic, intimate. Soap was almost mad at how infuriating this moment was.

Why did the lighting need to be this good huh? And why did Ghost just had to be so damn hot in that hoodie? He fought against himself, not to gaze at the curve of his shoulders, the way he held the pipe, the controlled exhale of smoke that made his stomach ache. Every subtle motion, made him burn hotter, ache deeper. There was no hope he could battle with..nothing to stop him from imagining climbing over him, devouring him, letting hands roam, feeling this older, stronger body beneath his.

Letting him dominate. Let himself be overpowered, and loving it.

The moment their eyes met again, Soap looked away in shame, cheeks flaming that he caught again.

“Getting shy on me, Johnny?” Ghost’s voice cut softly through the haze.

He flushed violently. “Shy about what?” he whispered, looking away in a way he would if acting nonchalant.

The way Ghost stared at him now, with that calm, measured gaze, like he knew everything, and Soap could do little but squirm in his comfy little spot on the sofa, almost whining internally, breath catching. His chest felt like it might burst. He shifted slightly, trying to hide his reaction, grabbing the nearest cushion, but Ghost noticed every twitch, every pulse, every shiver of desire that Soap tried to mask.

Drowning in sensory overload of alcohol and dangerous substances, Soap was torn between feeling guilty for making his body take all that, and enjoying the lightness it brought. Felt refreshing.

Avoiding those eyes in his peripheral vision, black bookshelves on the side of the TV got his attention. Well organized, clean and sorted, very much what he would expect from his superior.

“Got time to read LT?”

“Anything that challenges the mind. Philosophy, tactics, history. Not much for literature Sergeant?”

Soap got caught unprepared. He stumbled over his words. “Aye… thrillers… comics… anything unpredictable… keeps the heart racing.”

“Yeah? What’d you read that has you racing so much?”

He smirked faintly, not directly addressing Soap’s blush.

Wish that he was stronger than this, Soap looked down. Ghost was teasing him on purpose. That must be a sign he’s not entirely oblivious.

What if Soap actually had the strength to say out loud now, even just half the things he wanted to say, ask...do.. What would Ghost do then? Would he kick him out just like that?

He might as well.

The expectation that some small doze of light drugs would entice him for more direct openness, was futile.

At one point, Soap stood to reach for some snacks on the table, but the room seemed to tilt slightly. Not Soap’s fault, obviously, that he almost stumbled, knees weak. Ghost caught him easily, hands steady on his elbow and waist, and led him gently back to the sofa.

“You’re not relaxing,” he guiding him down to lie back.

This was dangerous now, Ghost was way way too close. Soap felt the pressure on his knees and the tight grasp on his elbow. He could feel his presence next to him, steady, calm, impossible to resist.

The room was hazy. What he needed now was a topic divergence, Soap decided.

“What were you like when you were little?”

Ghost let the silence stretch. Smirk never left his face. He knew, he knew exactly what he was doing. Their eyes didn’t meet, yet Soap was melting away.

He couldn’t look up at him now, it would destroy him.

“Quiet. Focused.” Ghost answered finally. He reached down the table to pour them another drink. “Knew what I wanted.” He let Soap stew.

“Does that answer your question?”

“Aye, wise even then, eh LT?” Soap was embarrassed by the way his voice sounded, weak, whispery.

He accepted the handed glass from Ghost, taking it all it once and ignoring the raised eyebrows from the man. Screw this, screw him, obsessed silently.

A loud yell from the TV commentator grabbed both of their attentions. Looks like there was a goal. Ghost observed the replays closely, leaning into it.

There was no way to tell if he liked this or not, that silent stare could mean anything, his favorite team, winning or losing. Or he could might as well be neutral.

“Got money on the line?” Soap took some bravery with this one.

Ghost let out a heavy cloud of smoke. “I don’t gamble.”

Of course he doesn’t. He’s too composed for that, too self-restricted. But then again, that amount of stoicism could work well in group board games. Poker would suit him perfectly, Soap thought. Ghost had a natural poker face appearance, he wondered if luxury casinos would even allow that mask while playing. Could be considered advantage and maybe even cheating the game. Not that Ghost would really even need it. The man probably forgot how to fur his brows and show any kind of emotion beyond that infuriating smirk that Soap so desperately wanted to bite off.

“...That your team?” Soap tried again. Come on Ghost give me something.

“Not.” he simply replied.

Soap let out a hard breath as Ghost rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie up to the elbow, still watching the game intensely.

Oh no. His mind screamed with things he would never say aloud. Why did he had to do this huh.. If only they were as far away from each other as they were before. Soap prayed he wouldn’t have to be so damn temped to stare at that tattoo, or those veins, those large hands, oh no…

He wished he would have went easier on the drinks, head spinning.

No action had the desired effect, and Ghost kept staring intently at the football match.

Desperate for more contact, with very little thought, Soap attempted to get some of Ghost’s attention back by clutching at his forearm, trying to feel him closer, then retreating in a flash. His head sunk back into the cushions of the sofa, tilted upwards, eyeing Ghost with half-lidded eyes.

“Yes, Johnny?” Ghost’s smirk was faint but knowing. Soap loved his version of a soft voice, teasing, letting him suffer.

Enjoying his own suffering, that’s what Ghost said last night. Seems he was right, as usual.

But his LT still wasn’t fucking looking at him!

Soap bit his lip, pleading without words. With a sudden wave of bravely, his hand drifted inch by inch, closer and closer to Ghost, skin brushing the cashmere sofa, almost reaching those hips as he scraped the bottom of the barrel of his ego reserves.

“Ghost…” he whispered, breathy, barely coherent.

And then he had it. Ghost leaned closer, finally, close enough that Soap could feel his calm radiating onto him, close enough that his body reacted without consent.

“Talk to me, Johnny.” he whispered.

“...I don’t know..” Soap moaned, clutching at his cozy hoodie, trembling, hoping it would be enough for his superior to understand what Soap is wordlessly begging for.

There is no way Ghost did not understand. True, Soap was pretty tipsy and high right, now which is not an everyday combination, but that does not explain the clinginess, and the hardness in his pants.

“Show me?” Ghost went easy on him.

Soap only moaned, fingers grasping at his hoodie, tugging him closer, desperate, aching. His body was on fire, couldn’t form words, couldn’t control himself. He just wanted him. Pure raw need.

The hand Ghost snuck at the back of Soap’s head was comforting, letting Soap struggle in his shame. Soap closed his eyes, moaning again barely audible, he rested his head on Ghost’s shoulder, not giving in — just close enough to feel his presence, his warmth.

They watched the game for a while in silence, occasionally commenting on when something interesting happens. But that felt so irrelevant now. Soap couldn’t stop thinking about..something he shouldn’t.

It was complicated. They were practically cuddling on the sofa, Ghost’s arm fully curled around his shoulders keeping them closer together. Couldn’t even count all the places there was a touch involved.

Mind racing wildly, Soap imagined climbing over, grinding down on him, letting himself be completely consumed. His hands rubbed the hot red face in frustration and lust. Hated that Ghost was obviously aware of his mental struggle and did nothing but relish in it.

And then, slowly, Soap watched as that large hand inched closer to his on the bed.

He froze, heart hammering loudly, unsure if it was meant to be an invitation or not.

Leaving no questions behind, Ghost reached out for his hand, intertwining their fingers gently, deliberately.

The moan was audible now, a relief. Soap squeezed hard, exploring his fingers with his, tracing each line, each angle, lost in the sensation like a dog starved.

“You okay?” a calm, teasing voice brought him back to earth.

Soap pressed his other hand to his face, not trusting himself enough not to breathe embarrassingly loud.

Would be foolish not to use this precious moment, and not let his fingers roam this hand that he had so so many thoughts about. Caressing, stroking, memorizing, as his eyes wandered down his body — hips, thighs, knees, elbows.. and when he got caught, Soap looked away to get a moment to breathe in property, and then moan softly into his palm. He had a strong feeling this was going to destroy him tomorrow when he analyses the situation on a sober mind.

“Ask.” Ghost leaned closer on the bed, whispering softly and chasing his eyes while Soap still refused to meet his gaze.

Okay so he was definitely doing it on purpose. What do you mean ask?? Can’t you bloody tell??

“...What would you say?”

A pause. Soap knew there is no going back from this. Ghost was aware what the question was, and that was a bold line he just crossed. Could Ghost still reject him? Would this man really be that cruel to allow Soap to get this far, cuddle him, embrace him, just to take it all away from him and shut him back down? Ghost surely was over those childlike teenage games…. right?

“Come find out.” two stubborn long fingers softly turned his chin towards Ghost.

Soap obeyed, finally looking at his face this close, and as he feared, he snapped. His hand left his mouth, letting himself be pulled in, fingers tangling in that soft blond hair, trying to close the distance. His body pressed toward Ghost, desperate.

Those questionable eyes begged for permission silently, as Soap rested his forehead on his, letting the tension burn in the air. Come on, come onn...

Ghost let him get closer. Soap wanted to kiss him, wanted to give in, but shyness and restraint held him back. The way his body throbbed, breath coming in gasps, heart hammering like a drum. Every nerve in him ached for this cold man, for the raw control he radiated.

The dim light, the smoke, the smell of whiskey, the football on the TV — it all blurred into the haze of desire that consumed entirely. Soap’s hands remained in his hair, fingers trembling, desperate. He wondered if he disappointed Ghost that he couldn’t get himself to move closer. He just wanted Ghost to give him something, to let him melt entirely beneath him.

And in that moment, Ghost let him. He didn’t move his body at all, didn’t give in physically, but he held the intense gaze, allowed Soap’s hands to explore as much as they wanted.

Soap was entirely his, body mind and soul, and yet Ghost gave nothing, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter until it felt unbearable.

Just the knowledge that he could destroy Soap with a word or a glance made him ache beyond anything he’d ever known.

The man’s presence was unbearable, intoxicating, like the very air around him carried heat and calm authority at once. And Soap loved it. Couldn’t get enough of it. His breath coming in short, ragged embarrassing gasps.

And then, Ghost shifted even closer, and let his large hand wonder lower and lower on Soap’s body.

Soap squeezed his eyes with anticipation, full attention on the hand lingering criminally slow, moving just enough to make Soap shiver.

“Something on your mind, Sergeant?” he whispered then, just barely, Soap could feel the warmth of his breath.

Oh there was something on his mind alright. If only words would be manageable for Soap at the moment.

Panting over Ghost’s harsh lips, still not daring to cross that line. Heat pooling low, fingers clutching the older man’s hand as if he’d never let go. Soap imagined clearly what he wanted, what he thought about day and night, and his body responded in spite of his brain, shivering under the calm gaze.

Then he felt it, the touch over his pants, Ghost’s hand was exploring the area around Soap’s hard cock, not shy at all. Quite the opposite.

Soap whimpered softly, suppressing his moans, his utter obsession with him. “…Ghost,” he tried, voice trembling and broken.

So unfair how infuriatingly calm Ghost was, just letting Soap wrestle with himself. His smirk, told Soap he understood everything- the desperate need - and that Ghost controlled every second of it.

Not surprising, Soap felt his soul threatening to leave his body when he felt Ghost’s hand exactly where he wanted it. Every squeeze Ghost generously provided- sent Soap flying. The subtle, deliberate pressure of those teasing fingers, the weight of his calm presence, meant Soap was about to cream himself from a pity over-the-pants squeeze job. His fingers tightened, shivering, clinging to Ghost as if holding on could keep him tethered to the world.

“Sit back, Johnny. Enjoy it.”

A soft exhale, Soap didn’t even want to know how red his face was, how every nerve in him screamed. He just knew he was feeding his obsession at that moment and it was about to get even worse. His moans were muffled in a cruel bruising lip bite.

It felt impossibly good to release the tension he was holding. He wished he was forward enough and kissed the man. Best Soap could do was- lean in, keep their foreheads pressed together in an intimate hold, and cross his fingers Ghost would do the rest.

Which he did not.

It didn’t take him long. Ghost worked him with slow, merciless precision, squeezing the head of his cock exactly how Soap liked it, hand controlling every sound, every twitch. It’s funny how even this, somehow still distant touch over briefs and pants, that’s all Soap cold ever wish for. The squeezes were insanely good, heavenly. Soap was gone within minutes—shaking, groaning, muffling his cries against Ghost’s shoulder and clung desperately into him like he was drowning.

“Couldn’t last two minutes, Johnny?” he teased, to break him entirely.

Soap led out a pathetic shameful breath. He felt dizzy, light-headed, completely undone. Nice of Ghost to let him collapse against him without a word.

 

Body melting into him, Soap let himself go entirely, passing out from the intensity, still holding his hand loosely.

Ghost simply stayed beside him, letting Soap recover at his own pace.

 

Notes:

Visuals & Audio: https://www.instagram.com/spicy_banny_books

New chapters each Monday♡

Notes:

Visuals & Audio: https://www.instagram.com/spicy_banny_books

New chapters each Monday♡