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When they first met, it had been cosmic, brutal, the kind of meteoric impact that turns the earth on its axis. Call it soulmates, True Mates, the red string of fate - whatever you want. One look at Soap and Ghost had known there would never be another man, another person, that would make him feel such sudden, fierce yearning, such near-painful surges of want.
And Soap, with his gorgeous bright eyes and his smile that rivaled the radiance of his bombs, had felt it back. Made the first move, and obediently stayed his touch and his ash-thistle scent when Ghost tensed around him. Despite his want, despite knowing Johnny was his to the bone, Ghost had a hard time letting Alphas near him. He'd never outright told Soap of his past, the reason for his scars and whatever happened to him that made him nervous and curl up small whenever an Alpha was in his space, whenever one raised his voice, but it hadn't mattered to Soap.
He's a respectful lad, and better than that, he's patient. Utterly content to let Ghost take the lead, to never once try to remove his mask or lift his shirt, to nuzzle under Ghost's chin or rub his nose against Ghost's chest when Ghost's need for closeness overrides his raised hackles and bared teeth.
Eventually, Ghost let Soap see him. Let Soap touch him, put his tongue between Ghost's teeth, his head between Ghost's legs. Ghost let Soap kiss his throat and pet his chest, drew Soap close enough their skin melted together so Soap could rut against him, a fist around his knot while he made a mess of Ghost's belly.
The crux of the matter is that Soap doesn't act like a regular Alpha around Ghost - at least, none that he's had the misfortune of experiencing, when he was young or since. He doesn't bite and snarl and grunt, doesn't pinch and grab for no good reason, doesn't force himself on Ghost the second a hint of slickness hits his nose. He's a sweet lad, supplicating, happy to rest in Ghost's lap and in the cradle of his arms, completely relaxed and purring as Ghost rubs a thumb across his sternum.
It's no secret that Soap was adopted, and never knew the love and care of his Omega mother. He's talked about it before, with no trace of sadness or wistfulness; his family had been close-knit and good to him, never once making him feel like an outsider among his red-haired, green-eyed sisters, his adopted mother, his stern but loving adopted father.
It fills Ghost with the desire to care for him, to give him all that Omega sweetness he's surely missed. Like an animal weaned too young, Soap soaks it up like sunlight, smile wide, eyes shining with emotion when Ghost tucks him close to his chest, grooms his mohawk with his tongue, croons and chitters to him when he trembles with a nightmare.
He loves Soap so much it drives him mad, sometimes. Makes him want to unhinge his jaw and swallow Soap whole, keep him safe and warm in the cradle of his hips, the swell of his belly. Some latent, tender instinct like a broken bone that will never completely heal.
But whenever Soap looks at him, smiles at him, presses himself close to his chest and tucks his nose beneath Ghost's chin, that pain eases somewhat, and for that alone, Ghost lets Soap sink a bite into his mating gland, and gives his Alpha one to match.
It happens, as many fucked-up things in Ghost's life have happened, when he's flat on his back and gasping for breath. Got too close to the charges - his own fault, or at least the fault of the bastard that's currently choking on a knife through his neck, courtesy of Ghost's quick reflexes.
He finishes giving the man a nice red-throat smile and shoves his body off, grunting and winded, hearing shouts and gunfire and heavy booted feet all around him, echoing like too-loud music in the cavern of his skull.
Hands grab him, and he instinctively snarls, only to go quiet as he's met with bright blue eyes, manic and wild with fear, a sweaty brow and a mess of dark brown hair, fingers grabbing the straps of his bulletproof vest and checking him for injury, full lips repeating his name in a rough shout.
His eyes widen; suddenly he's decades younger and shaking and sore, an Alpha - one of many - touching him and forcing a knot inside him, manic-eyed and grunting.
Ghost shoves the vision away, gasping for breath. The Alpha in his vision whines, wounded, and Ghost's vision sharpens, allows him to focus.
Johnny. Not that -. Not him.
Soap skids to a halt over his feet, stares at Ghost as he viscerally bites into the memory, severing its jugular and watching it bleed out. Their surroundings go silent as Gaz leads the team of marines onward, pushing their advance, Gaz content that Soap has Ghost and will tend to any issues he has.
"Lt.?" Soap rasps, reaching for him again. "Simon, darlin', ye alright?"
Ghost grits his teeth, tries to breathe in, forces each pitiful lungful of air out. His gloved fingers curl, his senses going haywire; the scent of Alpha trying to drown him in comforting and soothing pheromones chokes him, makes him scramble away.
"Stop," he whispers, small, near-silent. "Stop, Johnny, stop."
Soap swallows, pulls in his scent like detaching teeth from living gums. Ghost paws at his own head, checking he's not concussed. The aches in his body tell him he's sore but uninjured, back only mildly smarting from the collision and the impact of the now-dead man at his side.
"Simon," Soap croons again, sliding closer. "Simon, please, let me check ye over, aye?"
Ghost shakes his head, forces himself to unsteady feet and snaps his teeth behind his mask. He rolls his shoulders and wraps his fingers into their familiar grip on his gun. "Let's catch up," he growls, barking the order that makes Soap immediately fall in line behind him, prowling and defensive, practically curled over Ghost's back in the instinctive need to soothe his Omega.
They carry on. They win the day, get the data, kill the enemies. They leave the compound as nothing more than rubble.
When they clamber back into the helo, Soap takes his normal place at Ghost's left side, his other framed against the backside of the pilot's seat. Ghost quivers against him, overwhelmed with the desire to be soothed and comforted by his Alpha, resists the urge and keeps his spine ramrod straight, tenses whenever Soap tries to lean against him.
Eventually, Soap gives up, and settles backwards instead. His eyes - those beautiful, blue, all-too-familiar eyes - don't leave Ghost's face the whole ride back.
"Are ye angry wi' me?" Soap rasps, tailing Ghost out of the conference room once debrief is done. Dust still cakes Ghost's clothes, his shoulders so tight they're starting to ache, a telltale throbbing at his hip telling him he's going to bruise nicely due to his fall. "Ah swear, darlin', Ah didnae mean fer ye tae get caught in the blast; didnae see the guy, would'a taken him out if Ah did."
He doesn't talk like his father. His accent is thick in the wake of his heightened emotions, swirling like a maelstrom caused by Ghost's tension and distance. Beneath his scent patches, he's sure his scent is bitter and acrid, fear and anger and disbelief roiling together into one big, snapping ball low in his stomach.
"Johnny," he interrupts, short and curt. His tongue curls with the intention to tell Soap to shut the fuck up and let him be, but even now he can't stand the thought of hurting his Alpha. Soap is high-energy, natters on about whatever is on his mind, and Ghost adores listening to his monologues and thought experiments, has seen first-hand how it affects Soap when someone snaps at him for talking too much.
He can never, will never, let himself be lumped among the rest.
Soap stares up at him, lips pressed together, shining water gathered at his lash line as he fights not to let himself break down. He's such a strong, capable Alpha, never lets others see him shaken, but with Ghost, he's pitiful, emotional, weak. Their bond rattles and trembles with anguish, Soap's emotions pulsing up against the dam of Ghost's mind like water, desperate to breach.
It hurts, cuts him to the core to see his Alpha so sad. Smothers his own emotions like a weighted blanket, hurt turned to love, bitter self-disgust turned to softness. He drags Soap to him and tucks him close, presses his masked cheek to the top of Soap's head as Soap shudders and clings to him, gasping, soft whines stuck in his throat.
"I'm not angry with you, Johnny," he whispers. "Please, trust me on that."
Soap shakes his head, lips smacking dry against Ghost's chest. Instinctively, Ghost cups the back of his head and guides him to his breast, lashes going low when Soap parts his lips around Ghost's nipple and sucks through his shirt, turning the fabric warm and wet and chafing. For a moment, it's perfect, soothing, knowing he's bringing his Alpha comfort with such an easy, gentle thing.
But then he remembers why, and he goes tense all over.
Soap notices, of course he does. He immediately drags his mouth away, cheeks coloring like he should be ashamed, like he overstepped somehow even when Ghost was the one who invited him close. "Sorry," he whispers, his eyes lifting no higher than Ghost's feet. "Ah'll leave ye be, Ah'm sorry, Simon -."
"Johnny." Despite what he now knows, despite the self-hatred like a lead ball in his stomach, he can't bear the thought of leaving his Alpha alone. He reaches out, takes Soap's hand, and lets him into his room - his nest, their nest. Soap swallows, curled in on himself, nervous in a way he's never been in Ghost's room, once he was allowed inside. Cautious, yes - reactive, certainly, wanting to follow Ghost's lead - but never nervous.
Ghost pokes a single hole through his side of the bond, lets his visceral love for his Alpha eke out like blood from a pinprick until Soap's jaw softens, his eyes dart hopefully towards Ghost's. Ghost takes off his mask, takes off his dirty shirt, and lays himself down on his bed, opens his arms to Soap who goes to him eagerly and winds himself around Ghost like a snake, crushing him in among the sheets.
Ghost pets his hair back from his face, and pushes his fingers into Soap's mouth to soothe him. Soap's lashes flutter, his neck going lax as Ghost holds him close and purrs for him. Like an Omega, offering comfort to his Alpha.
Like a mother, crooning to his young.
It shouldn't be possible. That's the thing that Ghost's mind keeps snagging on. It shouldn't work like that - allowing bonds between kin, between blood, especially blood so tight-knit as theirs.
He finds Price in his office, opens the door without knocking and closes it behind him just shy of slamming it. Price looks up from his desk, brows lifting when Ghost stalks forward and crowds over him, hands pressed flat and teeth bared behind his mask.
"Did you know?" he demands.
Price tilts his head, his expression unreadable. "Gonna have to give me a little more than that, Lieutenant."
His voice is barely a growl, sharp with warning. Ghost gets away with a lot as Price's right-hand man, the pack Omega, and the accolades and laurels he's earned from his reputation, but Price is a stern Alpha in his own right, and does not tolerate dissension or disrespect lightly.
Still, Ghost snarls at him. "You sought him out," he hisses. "You were the one who wanted him in the 141. You were the one who'd see his papers, his fucking records, his Goddamn dental exams. So, did you know?"
Price regards him, eyes steely. For the life of him, Ghost doesn't know if that's a denial or not.
"Simon," he says - short, slow, "if this is something I shouldn't know, then you shouldn't tell me."
Ghost's chest rumbles, angry and hot. His relationship with Soap is an open secret, anyone with eyes can see they're arse over elbows for each other. Their mating isn't as widely known outside of the 141, and technically Price has never received official confirmation that the mark on Soap's neck belongs to Ghost's teeth, or that Ghost wears a matching one beneath his clothes. Soap changed his registration to a mated Alpha, gets approved extended leaves for his ruts and to accommodate for his mate's heats, and has a larger room assigned to him in the mated servicemen quarters that he's never used. Ghost doesn't go into heat on his medications, and has never let Soap sate a rut with him, so it's never been an issue of the wrong eyes seeing them in a compromising position.
Ghost knows this, and only his instinct to never harm Soap stays his sharp retort. He can't risk Soap's career, could never do anything that would give him a dishonorable discharge and send him away.
So he sags, collapsing into one of the chairs framing the other side of Price's desk, and puts his head in his hands. "Please," he whispers. "Please, Sir, just - just tell me if you knew."
Price sighs through his nose, reaches for his bottle of bourbon he only ever shares with Ghost and pours them both a glass. Ghost looks up when Price knocks it against his knuckles, lifts his mask to tip it back and holds his hand out for a refill. The golden liquid sloshes around the sides, spilling over onto his gloves.
"You love each other," Price says without inflection, "and you can't get pregnant."
Ghost swallows, lungs burning. "So you do know."
"I don't know a damn thing," Price answers curtly, his eyes narrowing as he sets the bottle down. "Soap had the best record of his class; he applied, and has become a part of this unit - a part of this pack. He's an incredible leader and an invaluable asset to this team." He fixes Ghost with sharp eyes above his glass, takes a sip. "So don't fuck it up for him."
"I -." Ghost shivers, looking down. "I don't know what to do."
"Breaking it off would kill you both," Price says. Ghost nods weakly. It's not just metaphor - severing a mating bond has almost a ninety-percent mortality rate. Even if one or both parties survive, it's no secret that death would have been preferable.
He can't hurt Johnny that way, can't risk him. Wouldn't risk his health or happiness for anything.
"I don't know what's got you so upset, Simon," Price says, still tactful, still giving nothing away. Ghost meets his eyes, wishes he could just sink a knife into Price's grey matter and discover the truth for himself, but he's not sure what would hurt more - that Price knew from the start, and let it happen, or that he was ignorant and would be just as disgusted if he found out. "What I do know is that you're better together, and this pack is stronger with both of you in it. If you fracture it, if you break him or yourself, I'll bury you so deep even the worms can't find you."
It's such a Price thing to say - the toughest love, the sternest hand. Wielded with care and adoration but no less violent when it strikes.
Price's head tilts. "Are you pregnant?"
"No, Sir."
"Are you broken?"
Ghost winces, looks down at his drink. "…I might be, Sir."
Price nods. "Is he?"
"No, Sir. I haven't told him."
"Mm. Will you?"
"I have to, don't I?"
Price shrugs. "Do you?"
"Secrets get people killed," Ghost snarls.
"They also save lives," Price counters, lips twitching in a small smile. "You're a living secret, Simon. What's one more?"
"Not with him," Ghost whispers, shaking his head, instincts roiling at the idea of lying to his Alpha, his mate, his… his boy. Emotion, frantic and unable to be named, rises up like vomit in his throat, threatens to choke him. "No, I… I have to tell him. Fuck." His fingers curl around his glass until it creaks. He sets it down before he can break it outright. "I have to tell him."
Price nods, settles forward and plucks a form from the top of one of his many stacks. "Take Soap and get out of here," he says sharply. "You have three days."
Ghost nods, frantic and beaten, and rises to his feet.
"And Simon," Price calls, waits until Ghost turns to meet his icy, cutting eyes. "Don't be a bloody coward."
Ghost presses his lips together, swallows, and nods. He leaves, making sure to close the door much more gently, and scurries like a rat back to his empty room to pack.
"Are we grounded?" Soap asks, when he answers Ghost's summons and steps into his room. He's frowning, shoulders rolled up, confused and upset by the news. "Why?"
"Not grounded, Johnny - on leave," Ghost tells him, and throws Soap his duffle bag. There's enough of Soap's shit in his room to have packed for Soap easily; he catches it with a soft 'oof', his eyes wide. "Just the two of us."
Soap goes lax, lips spreading in a wide, hopeful smile. "Really?" he asks, practically jumping on his toes in excitement.
"Really." Ghost goes to him, cups his face and leans down to nuzzle tenderly against his forehead. Despite himself, the action settles him - providing care to his Alpha, reassuring him through his touch and scent that Soap is loved, and wanted, even when Ghost shouldn't be the one to love and want him. "Come on."
Soap trails him like an eager puppy, grinning and happy enough to be Ghost's shadow as he always is. Ghost gets them into the leased car and drives off base, shoves down his nerves and allows himself to enjoy his Alpha's pleased scent, thick and clogging his soft palette.
His house isn't far; close enough to be called in for emergencies the rare time Ghost leaves base at all, a squat little house at the end of a long, quiet street, detached and private with high fences and cameras at every corner. A small garden overgrowing with grass and weeds because Ghost hasn't been here recently enough to mow it, vines crawling up the trellises and no doubt fucking up the gutters, a bird's nest on top of the chimney, gravel crunching beneath tires as Ghost pulls up and kills the engine.
He gets out first, Soap scrambling after him, hauling both their bags. He lets them inside; the space is intimate and cramped, too many blind corners for his liking but he hasn't gotten around to knocking down the walls. There's dust on every flat surface and the air is chill and musty. He sets about flicking on the lights and turning up the radiators, opens the windows that are too small for an intruder to crawl through and parts the curtains just enough to peek out and allow some airflow.
"Nice place," Soap murmurs, because he's polite more often than he's honest. It's bare bones and not entirely welcoming, missing furniture, walls barren of any art or photographs. The only room that even looks remotely lived-in is the kitchen, everything else more like a neglected showroom than a true home.
Soap drops the bags by the door, kicks off his shoes. His scent blooms in the cramped spaces, elated and sweet, filling Ghost with the well-loved and comforting scent of his Alpha. Ghost takes off his mask with a sigh, removes his gloves and his own shoes, leaves them in a careless pile on top of their bags.
"Drink?" Ghost asks. Liquor doesn't go bad, so it's the only thing he keeps stocked.
"Aye, cheers," Soap replies, and plasters himself along the two-seater, sneezes when it kicks up dust. Ghost laughs and ruffles his hair as he passes, goes to the kitchen and pulls out two bottles - one whisky, one bourbon. He doesn't bother with glasses, just takes them back to Soap and hands his Alpha his whisky.
Soap eyes him, takes the bottle, watches as Ghost merely unscrews the cap of his own and takes a swig. "That kinda leave, is it?" Soap murmurs, concern forming a line between his brows, his voice turning softer, slower, as he truly appraises Ghost's body language and behavior for the first time since they left.
Ghost shrugs, kicks at Soap's feet until he straightens and gives Ghost room to sit, and takes another swig.
"Simon," Soap whispers, a little more frantic now. He cups Ghost's face and forces their eyes to meet, regards him with a dark and tender gaze. "Darlin', what's wrong?"
Ghost loves him so much he's sick with it. Sick in the head, sick in the stomach, absolutely fucked up down to his marrow - because he still wants Soap, so desperately it makes him nauseous. He shakes himself free of Soap's grip and takes another long pull from the bottle. The liquid courage doesn't make him feel brave at all - just angry, and sad, and so full of hate. All focused inwards like a firing squad and shooting right at his heart.
"Simon," Soap says again, truly worried now. "Simon, please, talk tae me."
Ghost swallows, bares his teeth, and leans forward, his elbows on his knees like he's braced for a blow. "You look just like him, you know," he mutters. "Your father. Just like I look like mine."
Soap pauses. Ghost listens to him settle on the sofa, feels his scent grow bristly and uncertain. He snorts nervously. "Hate tae break it tae ye, darlin', but Ah dinnae look anythin' like 'im. Ma da had black hair and green eyes, pale as a ghost - just like you," he adds, huffing again.
But Ghost shakes his head, hissing through his teeth. "No, Johnny. Your birth father," he snarls. "Didn't get a lick of your mum in you." He tips his head up, gluts himself on his bourbon until his teeth turn numb and tacky. "Probably for the best. Your mum's not much of a looker."
Johnny's always been smart - to a fault, sometimes. His head tilts in Ghost's periphery, barely visible as his vision starts to swim and his brain gets fuzzy. "Ghost," he says slowly, making Ghost wince. "…How could you possibly know that?"
"Bet you tried searchin' for 'em, knowing you," Ghost continues, words rattling from between his teeth like splintered bone, cutting up his mouth as they fall. He wipes the back of his hand across his lips, mildly surprised when there's only spit left behind on his skin. "But you wouldn't have been able to find 'im. Records would say he died, years ago. All trace of him fuckin' gone. Erased. Like a ghost."
Soap stills. Ghost can practically hear him doing the mental math in his head - their differences in ages, far too small for comfort, only fifteen years if they're being generous. Ghost eyes him from the corner of his swimming vision, Soap's expression frozen, only his eyes moving. Taking in the fact that Ghost has stretch marks, pale and old across his flanks and hips. Easily discounted as growing pains, but taking on a whole new meaning when looked at in a certain light. His trauma, his reluctance to let even his mate mount him. The particular type of care Ghost has always shown him, that none of the other mated pairs display - his want to tuck Soap close to his chest, chitter and croon to him, swipe his tongue across Soap's face and through his hair to clean him up, and the way Ghost goes utterly boneless when Soap nurses at his dry, barren chest.
Soap presses his lips together, pops the cap on his bottle, and takes three long pulls. Their bond thrums with nerves and disbelief, shock and impotent anguish, so much love that Ghost grows dizzy with it.
"I'm sorry, Johnny," Ghost whines. "I didn't know, I swear I didn't know."
Soap parts from his bottle with a gasp, wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. He goes silent, mimicking Ghost's position - feet pressed flat to the floor, elbows on his knees, bottle of liquor rolling nervously between his fingers.
Finally, he says, "I don't care."
Ghost sucks in a breath, shakes his head.
Soap snarls at him, snuffing out Ghost's reply like wet cloth over fire. "I don't care," he says again, sharper, his eyes wild and near-glowing when he turns the full force of them on Ghost. "I don't care."
"Johnny -."
"No." Soap surges to his feet, growling, takes another long drink from his bottle. His arm twitches, fists clenching like he wants to throw it, but forces himself not to. "You're mine," he snarls, whirling on Ghost. "You're my mate, you're my fucking future, Simon. Don't you fucking dare tell me otherwise."
"I'm not," Ghost whispers, sliding to his knees. A supplicant in front of his mate, his Alpha, his fucking son. Tears sting at his eyes, clog thick in his throat. The room spins but Soap remains standing, statuesque and wild and the only thing he can focus on. "I love you, Johnny, more than anything, please believe me."
"Yeah?" Soap rasps, fists a hand in Ghost's hair and yanks him into a painful arch, forcing their eyes to meet. "Just told me Ah look like yer fuckin' rapist, darlin'. The fuck am Ah meant tae think?"
"You're not him. I know you're not him."
"Aye, Ah'm not." Soap bites his lower lip hard enough to bruise it, making Ghost whine, hating the thought of his Alpha hurting himself. Soap sinks to his knees slowly, sets the bottle to one side and doesn't look to see if it rolls or topples over. Soap's eyes darken, suddenly, his hand gentling in Ghost's hair, pulling him in for a kiss. Ghost doesn't resist him, never could, melts into Soap's touch on his face and the scent of him like thistle and ash, sweet and heady in Ghost's lungs. His lower lip feels tender against Ghost's tongue, he can't resist the urge to soothe it - long, gentle licks that end up tangling with Soap's, their kiss growing deep and lingering without meaning to.
Soap's hand flattens over Ghost's racing heart, slides down slow as honey, to rest low on his stomach, against his barren womb. "No one else could'a gotten this deep," he whispers, soft and awed, his eyes falling to his hand, fingers curling. "Just me, aye?" He presses harder. "Right here. All those scars and cuts ye have but only Ah've gotten this far inside ye."
"Johnny," Ghost whispers, tense, meek. "You're drunk."
"Aye," Soap agrees, flicking his eyes up to meet Ghost's, his nostrils flaring around a deep, unsteady inhale. "And yer wet, darlin'. Can smell it."
Despite himself, he is. His insides clench, warm and eager, as he's always been when Johnny touches him. He tells himself it's natural - this is his Alpha, after all. He didn't raise Soap, didn't nurse him or hold him, didn't tend to grazed knees and scraped elbows, didn't properly nurse him or give him his first haircut, didn't cheer for him at football matches or shake hands with his teachers or comfort him through his first heartbreak. Didn't have any say in how he was raised or his number of siblings, cook his meals and help with his homework and handle the inevitable defensiveness of an Alpha son snarling at a potential stepfather.
Idly, he wonders if Soap would have let his mother date again, mate someone else. If that red string of fate is, after everything, more like an umbilical cord.
Soap stares at him, takes Ghost's bottle from his hands and sets it beside its cabinet-mate. He draws Ghost close with a hand around his nape, drinks in Ghost's shaky moan as his other hand slides down slow, beneath his jeans, to where his small cock is stiff and leaking; further still to where he's warm, and wet, slick and sweet.
Soap kisses him, grazes his fingers along the raised mating mark adorning Ghost's throat, drinking down his desperate gasp and holding him as he shivers. The alcohol makes him heavy, uncoordinated as he grips Soap's arms, notches his hips harder into Soap's palm. Disbelief and nerves are viscerally crushed by Soap's seeking tongue, his gentle hands.
He's only known Ghost as his Lieutenant, his Omega, his mate, the love of his life. The details redacted and expunged from the record, unimportant data in the mission report.
"Oh, darlin'," Soap purrs when Ghost flinches, hissing in a breath. He pulls Ghost in for another kiss, gently eases him back against the couch and pulls his fingers free, climbing into Ghost's lap and smearing Ghost's slick all down his flushed throat. Ghost's chest burns, hiccuping through frantic half-sobs - soundless, searing. "S'alright, yer alright. Ah love ye, Simon, nothin'll ever change that."
Affection so brutal it shatters him rises up like a pack of dogs, rends him to pieces. Ghost embraces Soap tightly, buries his face in his Alpha's neck, licks over his mating mark, making Soap's chest rumble, pleased. He tilts his head to one side, sighing as Ghost continues to groom him - up over his stubble-rough jaw, the shaved sides of his skull - dips his head so Ghost can nuzzle his hair and correct where it had gotten loose from its gel.
Soap smiles, rumble softening to a pretty, happy purr. He tucks his cheek against Ghost's shoulder, goes lax in Ghost's arms. Their bond coils around Ghost's brain-stem, worms its way down his spine, clutching at his heart like thorns, ripping past Ghost's defenses and opening him up in turn. His love for Soap, his fear over revealing the truth, his sorrow for not being in Soap's life sooner, properly.
He chitters quietly, a pup calling for his mother, and Ghost answers him with a soft purr before he can even think about it. He licks into Soap's mouth, cradling his face to keep him still, sighs when Soap pets his flanks and grips onto his hips, tight and assured.
Ghost's nest is a pitiful thing in his house, barely more than a mattress and dust-ridden sheets. Soap huffs and helps him shake them out, dumps both their clothes around the edge and makes a bowl of it, his motions practiced from having to correct Ghost's nest at base many a time after they've both slept in it. Neither of them are particularly restful sleepers, constantly rolling and kicking and adjusting, and after the first time Ghost had snapped and hissed and put up such a fuss that Soap took it upon himself to make sure his Omega's nest was perfect every morning.
If it happened to spread his scent even deeper, soaking Ghost's nest in the warmth of his Alpha, all's the better.
Ghost watches him do it, his head still swimming just shy of pleasantly, his lips tender and stomach warm enough to burn all through him. When Soap has fashioned the nest to Ghost's liking, he chirps his approval, lets Soap draw him into it and nestle together as they have so many times before; his cheek on Ghost's chest, his weight between Ghost's thighs, his arms wrapped solidly beneath Ghost's back.
Soap shifts against him, restless, even when Ghost runs his fingers through his Alpha's soft hair. "Dinnae like that Ah look like 'im,' he mutters.
Ghost sighs. "You don't, not really," he confesses. "You move different. Your eyes are kinder."
Soap tilts his head, rests his chin on Ghost's sternum.
"Dunno why I thought about it," Ghost continues. "I've repressed most of it. Blast must have knocked something loose - just, you were on top of me, and looked so different in that moment. But I barely remember it, Johnny, I promise."
Soap grimaces, wincing. "Ah'm sorry."
"Don't." Ghost shakes his head, draws Soap up for a kiss. "You wouldn't be here if - if that hadn't happened."
"Ah would've," Soap rasps insistently. "Ah would've found ye. Somehow."
Ghost huffs faintly, smiling despite himself. His nails scrape the sides of Soap's head, up through his hair and then down to cradle the nape of his neck, Soap going predictably lax and heavy on top of him. He should have known, really - Soap is the only Alpha that has never made Ghost panic beneath his weight. The only Alpha Ghost can stand the scent of when it goes thick and overwhelming. The only Alpha Ghost has ever willingly let touch him, bore it without shivering or baring his teeth.
The only Alpha that Ghost has ever had inside him that he wanted.
"I want to bring you home, Johnny," he rasps against Soap's lips.
Soap tilts his head, his mouth twitching in an uneven, sweet smile. "Ah am home," he says, plucking at a crease of blankets by Ghost's elbow.
"No, I mean…" Ghost trails off, puts a hand low on his belly. "Here."
Soap's eyes darken, pupils dilating so fast it's a wonder he doesn't get dizzy. He sucks in a breath, lets it out in a heavy growl, his fingers joining Ghost's and tangling together between their stomachs. "Simon, ye dinnae hafta," he whispers roughly. "Ah've never needed tha', ye ken. Love ye too much tae hurt ye like that."
He's speaking from experience - no matter how wet Ghost has gotten, how often he's let Soap use his mouth on him or fuck between his thighs, he recoils at the idea of being penetrated, has never been able to make himself relax enough even for Soap's fingers. And yet, he mated Ghost regardless. Loves him, regardless.
But Ghost shakes his head, kisses his warm brow. "I want to," he says. "My sweet boy, this is your home. You belong here."
Soap gasps, shivering, his cock growing thick and hard, a visible bulge beneath his clothes. Ghost sits up and tugs his shirt off, pulls Soap's off right after to add to the pile of clothes around them. He tears at his scent patches, wanting nothing separating his Alpha from his scent, watches as Soap breathes in deep and groans softly. He helps Ghost out of his clothes, then his own, and it's not the first time Ghost has seen him naked, but he allows himself to admire Soap now; his Alpha's thick chest matted with dark hair, the powerful muscles in his thighs and arms, the sheer size and weight of him, full-grown and strong.
He's a beautiful Alpha, and Ghost lets out a little trill. "Look at you," he murmurs, cupping Soap's face. "My gorgeous lad. Had to make you myself to get you so perfect, didn't I?"
Soap moans softly, jaw lax when Ghost kisses him. Maybe he inherited Ghost's fucked-up crossed wires, because he doesn't blanch at all at the reminder of just how much Ghost influenced his making. His cock twitches, dripping thick and heavy across Ghost's thighs, his hands spreading broad and hot over Ghost's hips, fingertips catching on his stretch marks.
His eyes darken further, head dipping down to nuzzle at Ghost's chest as he has so many times before. His lips part, tongue gentle and curling around his nipple, sucks at it slow and lazy, eyes glassy and shoulders lax as instinct lets him be soothed. Ghost cradles the back of his neck, similarly affected, feels the slow pulls deeper than skin, his body urging him to nurse and feed his pup, help him grow strong and healthy. He can give no milk, not yet, but wonders absently, if Soap does this enough, if he might start producing again.
The thought fills him with warmth, makes his head grow fuzzy as he sighs, tenderly petting Soap's nape.
Soap pulls off with a gasp, kisses without any real direction down his chest. Catches his teeth at the arc of Ghost's rib, the tip of a silvery-fine stretch mark, lower still until he can kiss over Ghost's empty womb. He nuzzles there again, breathes in deeply, his eyes flashing when he catches the scent of Ghost's slick, which is pooling readily between his thighs, soaking and warm.
He looks up, and when Ghost merely smiles and gives him a slow, loving blink, he continues his course. His thumbs rub at the jut of Ghost's hips as his lips part, licks over Ghost's hard cock and sucks him down. As an Omega, Ghost is much smaller than him, his cock barely a mouthful but achingly sensitive. Ghost sighs, slouching in his nest, lets his legs spread wider to make room for Soap's shoulders between them.
Soap bobs his head, sucking noisily at his cock. Low, breathy growls harmonize with Ghost's moans, Ghost's hips juddering up to fuck along his tongue. Soap's a quick learner, always has been - knows how to suck Ghost off just right, how to tighten his lips around the base of him, flick his tongue along the very tip of his cock, wrap around it and suck. Ghost tips his head back, teeth bared and jaw clenching as pleasure washes through him, liquid warmth flooding the space between his legs.
Soap doesn't pull off until Ghost tugs on his hair, oversensitive, gasping. He smacks his lips together wetly, nuzzles tender and hot into the muscle of Ghost's thigh, his hands dark, fingers curling around the outside of Ghost's hips. His tongue slides inward, intentional but slow, giving Ghost plenty of time to back away and close his legs.
He doesn't. The sense of rightness, the knowledge that Soap belongs here, eases his muscles, calms his hammering heart. He threads his fingers through Soap's hair and lets him close, lashes falling in a breathless sigh as Soap licks into his hole. He clenches, deep and hard, shuddering at the first breach, takes Soap's hand when one flattens on his stomach and tangles their fingers together.
"Love ye," Soap breathes, hoarse, wanton, his tongue punctuating each word with another tender lick. "Love ye so much, Simon. Love of ma life, my perfect mate, fuck I love you."
"Love you too - Johnny, please," Ghost whispers, toes curling when Soap licks deeper into him, his mouth flooded with saliva, just as wet as Ghost's hole.
"Yeah? Ye like that? Feels good, darlin'?"
Something skitters, a spider in the back of his mind, flashes of somewhere dark and cold and scary, words an echoing taunt from somewhere deep down that Ghost doesn't want to venture. Ghost shakes his head frantically, tightens his fingers around Soap's hand and in his hair. "Don't ask me that," he gasps. "I - I promise it does, just don't -. Don't say that."
Soap's hands flatten, smooth comfortingly across his skin. He lifts his head, Ghost's slick shining on his mouth and down his chin, his eyes dark with concern. "Ye wanna be on top, darlin'? Might settle ye some."
"No," Ghost answers immediately, shaking his head. "No, I want you on top of me."
He tugs on Soap's hair, Soap obediently letting himself be drawn up Ghost's body, careful not to crush him even though Ghost wants his Alpha's weight and warmth more than he can stand. He wraps his arm around Soap's back, forces their bodies flush, Soap's cockhead dripping and blunt where it nudges against his hole.
Soap flinches back at the contact, wincing. "Need tae get ye more ready, Simon, don't wanna hurt ye."
Ghost kisses him, rakes his nails down Soap's back and smiles when he growls softly, grips Ghost's nest a little tighter by his head. So careful, he's such a good Alpha. Ghost couldn't have made him better if he tried.
His hand finds Soap's cock, grips it gently, strokes once. "Just go slow," he whispers, nuzzling into the mating mark he left on Soap's throat. "Nice and easy, Johnny. Wanna let my boy take care of me, yeah?"
A short, choked-off sound wrenches itself from Soap's chest, his cock twitching in Ghost's hand. "Fuck," he snarls, dropping his forehead onto Ghost's shoulder. "Ah'm sorry, no idea why that - that gets me so fuckin' hot, Simon, Christ."
"S'alright," Ghost soothes, kissing his flushed cheek. Confesses, quietly; "I like it too. Like knowin' you were meant for me, that you're the only Alpha I've wanted inside me." He presses Soap's tip against his hole, eases him in, his inner walls parting with new readiness when Soap snarls and huffs in his ear. "I loved you so much, Johnny, wanted to keep you safe, wanted to take care of you. I would've." His throat goes tight, his chest so warm. "I would've. Swear I would've."
"Ah ken," Soap breathes, turning his head and cupping Ghost's face, kissing him deeply as he slides just a fraction deeper. It doesn't hurt - pain was never the problem, and Ghost is soaking wet, eager to have his boy back where he belongs. "Best man Ah've ever known. Would'a probably been a right terror, though - fighting off anyone who tried tae take ye away from me."
Ghost's breath catches. Soap pushes in deeper, widens his knees to cradle Ghost's thighs in the brackets of his hips, his hands slow and warm over Ghost's shoulders, his throat, down his heaving flanks. It will always be a what-if, they'll never know for certain, but Ghost can't help wonder, if everything had happened as it should, they still would have wound up here. If Soap would have followed him into service, stayed by his side as his loyal shadow, pursued and loved him like no child should until he'd gotten his teeth in Ghost's neck and claimed him for himself.
"I'd've let you," he breathes, because it still fills him with a sense of rightness, being under Soap's touch, their bond thick and steady as iron between their heads, their hearts. He wets his lips, and says, "No one could ever love you like I do."
Soap's lips twist, baring his teeth in a sharp, knowing smile. "Aye," he agrees roughly, fingers flexing into Ghost's skin. "Yer mine, aren'tcha? All fuckin' mine."
His hips connect with the backs of Ghost's thighs, the swell of his knot barely brushing Ghost's rim, so deep inside him Ghost can practically taste him on the back of his tongue. Soap dips his head, kisses him roughly, cradles Ghost's skull and winds his fingers through Ghost's sweaty hair.
"Yer wrong about one thing, though," he breathes, making Ghost hum. "My mam's a fuckin' stunner."
Ghost growls, his back arching, bares his neck for Soap's teeth and grapples weakly along his Alpha's sweaty spine. He hadn't realized how close he was, but feels the near-painful ripples of arousal now, clenching down hard on Soap's cock as he comes without warning, breathless, digs his nails into Soap's back, his teeth into Soap's shoulder.
"Fuck," Soap grunts, his hips rolling in slow, titanic thrusts, working Ghost through his orgasm as Ghost whines and clenches around him. His hand flattens low on Ghost's stomach, where they can both feel how deep he's getting. "Tha's right. Not let anyone else in ma home while Ah've been away, have ye, darlin'? Kept it nice and empty, just fer me."
Truthfully, no. Ghost suffered through almost three more years paying off his father's debts before he could escape into the military - but the thought makes him blind, makes him dizzy. To think that no other Alpha has touched him since Johnny makes him wish desperately that it were true.
So he nods, agreeing with a breathless sigh, wraps his legs around Soap's hips and urges him on. Soap kisses him until his lips burn, careful not to force his knot in until Ghost is ready for it - primed to pull out if he decides he's not. Knotting does hurt - or at least, it always did, when he was small and dry and scared - but the thought of not letting Soap knot him fills him with visceral fury.
This is his Alpha, his mate, his boy, and he belongs to Ghost. His bones, his blood, his very DNA, it all belongs to Ghost.
He runs his hands up Soap's sweaty back, takes him by the neck and bites beneath his jaw, hard enough to threaten a secondary mating mark, to draw blood, and Soap sighs and lets him, utterly lax and trusting in the arms of his Omega, welcoming every bruise and bite and rake of claws as long as it comes from Ghost.
Still, Ghost swallows when his knot starts swelling. He reaches down, tries to hold himself open, tries to welcome Soap in.
Soap growls softly, slowing his hips. "Ah can stop," he rasps, his eyes dark and wide when they meet Ghost's. "Tell me tae pull out, Simon, Ah will."
"No," Ghost snaps, baring his teeth. "I want it. Don't stop."
Soap swallows, nods, lifts himself up so he can watch as his knot butts up against Ghost's fingertips, his wet and reddened hole, chafed and sore from the friction of their bodies. His lashes flutter, jaw slack as Ghost rolls his hips, trying to take him, needing it.
Finally, some miracle of angles and patience later, Ghost manages to let Soap in. His hole clamps fiercely, immediately, locking Soap's knot in place and preventing him from pulling out. Tight and possessive and gripping onto Soap tightly enough to wrench another low rumble from Soap's chest. He reaches down, brushes his thumb over Ghost's cock in slow, assured strokes, until Ghost shudders and makes a mess of his own belly, and Soap can finally slide past the lock and settle deep inside him.
There's a moment of stillness, Soap teetering on the knife's edge - normally Alphas need to keep moving, get just a little more friction on their knots before they can come, but he's holding himself perfectly still, trying desperately not to hurt his mate even as Ghost's inner muscles burn and clench on him, wanting to milk him dry.
It's uncomfortable, Ghost can tell - sees it in the clench of Soap's jaw and the tension in his shoulders. He pulls Soap down and kisses him, then lets Soap bow his head and nuzzle against his chest, his cock jerking when his lips close around a nipple, instinctively nursing.
Ghost croons to him, pets over his spine, and says, "Come inside me, Johnny. I'm here. Mama's here. Come home."
Soap's breath leaves him in a rough, low whine, his hips bucking once, his entire spine turned liquid as he plasters himself to Ghost's chest, panting against his collarbone, and floods Ghost's insides. He teethes gently at Ghost's shoulder, petting him all over like he can't decide where to settle his hands, so Ghost takes them and brings them to his lips, guides Soap to wrap them beneath his back and hold him as tightly as he needs to.
Soap crushes him fiercely, pressing deeper in an instinctive need to rut, to let his Omega milk his knot and wring him dry. Ghost takes it happily, crooning gently with each aftershock, touches gentle and tender to Soap's shoulders, his hair, his cheeks.
He presses a kiss to the top of Soap's head, not fighting the urge to groom him of sweat, spread his scent all over his boy as he wants to. Soap goes quiet after a while, breathing hard, nuzzling and kissing all over his chest and throat as he comes down from his high.
"Felt like a big one," Ghost teases, once Soap can meet his eyes again and Ghost sees them sharp, bright, sated.
Soap huffs a laugh, leaning down to kiss him. "Aye," he mutters, and shakes his head. "Might've lost a few brain cells."
"Never had many to begin with," Ghost replies, earning him an eyeroll and swift, playful nip to his jaw. Soap sighs, kisses over his mating mark, arms sliding up to more comfortably cradle Ghost to his chest when they roll onto their sides to wait out his knot.
Like this, it's easy to guide Soap beneath his chin, holding him in turn. "I, uh." Soap clears his throat, blushing furiously. "What you said…"
"Mm?"
"Ah ken it's fucked, and we dinnae hafta ever mention it again," Soap rasps, low. "But I…really liked it. Hearing ye call yerself my mam." Even as he says it, his cock twitches where it's buried deep, sending another slow-rolling shiver of pleasure up Ghost's spine.
"I liked it too," he confesses, words pressed to Soap's brow. "Always have, even before I knew how true it was. Nursing you. Grooming you. Lookin' out for you, all that."
"Aye," Soap breathes, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. He smiles, cupping Ghost's cheek. "Makes me feel loved, when ye do that."
"Good; I love you," Ghost says simply, turning his head into Soap's palm. "Probably couldn't stop if I tried."
"Don't, then." Soap's voice is soft, pleading. "Please don't stop. Already hurts that Ah can't be with ye like Ah want 'round the lads, couldnae stand it if we had tae stop altogether."
Ghost huffs. Truthfully they're already far too affectionate with each other in public, Ghost soothing Soap with his soft purrs and holding him close in the rec room, letting his eyes linger in the gym, far too obvious when anyone need only seek one of them out to find the other prowling close by.
But he meant what he said; it would kill him to put any more distance between them.
Because the world has a fucked-up sense of humor, it's at that point that Soap's knot goes down. Come and slick oozes out around his thick shaft; Soap's hand flies down to Ghost's hip when he shifts his weight, his eyes flashing, upper lip twitching in a visceral snarl.
"Don't," he hisses, then stops himself. His eyes dart up to meet Ghost's, he chitters softly in that way pups do, that twists around Ghost's heart like vines, and kisses beneath his chin, sweet and supplicating. "Let me stay inside ye, darlin'? Keep me warm?"
Ghost nods, swallowing thickly, and pulls Soap closer. He slings a leg around Soap's hips, winding their bodies as tightly together as possible. In all honesty he's a little sore, more than a little tender, but this is where Soap belongs, and Ghost will always keep his home open for him.
"Get some sleep, Johnny," he urges, petting Soap's sweat-damp hair and kissing his forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."
When they get back from leave, Ghost slinks back to Price's office like a thief to report in. Price regards him, takes in the tight coil of his shoulders, his lowered eyes, the stink of his Alpha all over him because Ghost didn't have it in him to make himself decent before reporting back to his pack Alpha.
"Still broken?" he says by way of greeting.
Ghost wets his lips, shakes his head. "No, Sir." He swallows. Beneath his mask and clothes, he's bitten-through and tender, a new bond-mark smarting low on his throat, sore as sin around his nipples and between his legs. His boy, turns out, has an incredibly active sex drive, endlessly clingy and needy for affection.
Luckily, his mother is all too happy to provide.
"I'm here to update my registration," Ghost tells him. "To a mated Omega."
Price presses his lips together, and nods. "I imagine you'll need new sleeping quarters?" he says.
Despite himself, Ghost huffs, grinning. "Yes, Sir, but I think there's one available."
"That there is." The rules don't change - Soap wouldn't be allowed to serve under Ghost even as his mate, nor have Ghost lead him. All that red tape and protective orders that have never properly applied to a pack, especially run by someone like John Price. He'd just as soon slaughter Ghost if he thought Ghost was abusing his position, castrate and publicly shame Soap or Gaz if he received rumors of them forcing themselves on someone, pack or not.
"Simon." Price's voice, gentler now, draws him out of his thoughts. He gestures for Ghost to sit, and he does, accepting the drink Price pours for him with a soft rumble. "I'm going to be as clear as I possibly can. I'm with you, and Soap. Always have been."
Ghost nods, throat tight.
"I do think it would be best if you were sterilized," Price continues, his eyes dark.
Ghost tilts his head. "So you do know."
"What I know is that I'm not losing two of my best soldiers to a bloody pup," Price replies, again giving nothing away. "There's no room for that kind of thing here. And…" He blinks, once, slowly. "I think you know I'm right."
He is right. Love can move mountains, as the poets say, but it can't protect against the true fact of nature. Breeding is out of the question. He can't give Soap a pup, even if he wanted to.
"I will," he promises. "Sir."
"Good." Price toasts him, and drains his drink. "Now get out of my sight. You reek."
Ghost huffs, finishes his own glass, sets it down with a soft thunk on Price's desk. He gets to his feet, turns to leave.
Pauses at the door, and says, "If you did know, and still let me deal with this on my own, I'll never forgive you."
Price huffs at his back. "You're not alone, Simon," he says. "Never have been."
Ghost presses his lips together, nods, and leaves Price's office. When he gets to his private quarters - soon to be his previous quarters - Soap is there, and smiles weakly at him, nervous. He knew Ghost was going to see Price, and is tense, braced for the impact of whatever that meeting entailed.
Ghost takes off his mask, smiles at his boy, and climbs into his lap to kiss him. "Relax, love," he purrs, smoothing his hands down Soap's shoulders until they go low.
"Yer alright?" Soap presses, leaning into the touch.
"Everythin's just fine," Ghost promises, and cups his face, kisses his brow. Soap huffs, swallowing, so Ghost lets his voice go soft and lilting, pressing a sweet, tender kiss to his pup's pink cheek. "My poor baby," he murmurs, as Soap shivers and goes lax beneath him, lets Ghost press him down onto his back in their nest. "Let me make you feel better, yeah?"
Soap swallows, his eyes dark, hands drifting to their place on Ghost's hips. His cock twitches, hardening quickly, his mouth slack when Ghost slides two fingers between his lips and lets him suckle.
"There we go," Ghost murmurs, and reaches down to undo Soap's jeans. "Nice and easy, Johnny. Let mama bring you home."
Soap's lashes flutter, his moan muffled around Ghost's fingers, his cock hard and dripping when Ghost draws him out, and lifts his own hips so Soap can claw his clothes down to his thighs, lets Ghost guide Soap's cock deep inside him and settle.
Right where he belongs.