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For once, Soap isn’t in the mood to be social.
Price’s treating him, Ghost, and Gaz to endless rounds at his favorite pub to celebrate their completed mission. They’ve been on duty for months without a break and just returned to London yesterday, and all Soap wants to do is pass out in his hotel bed, and then ship off to Edinburgh for leave.
But because Soap is nothing if not a team player, he bites his tongue. He sips his whisky. He listens to Gaz rehash something that happened last week for the third time and he’s grateful his fellow sergeant is more than capable of filling the social gap that Soap is leaving open at the table.
Ghost is no more social than him, but that’s par for the course. And unlike Soap, he’s clearly in a better mood than normal. He’s quiet, but he squeezes Soap’s thigh under the bar and leans over to murmur smartass comments when Price and Gaz aren’t paying attention, and he keeps shooting Soap heavy-lidded stares that on any normal night would have Soap making a dumb excuse to pull Ghost into the bar toilets with him.
Instead, Soap smiles half-heartedly and leans away from Ghost’s touch and does his best to communicate that no, not tonight.
Ghost is, unfortunately, a bit too lagered-up to take the hint. But he’ll get it soon enough.
After they finish the last round, Price and Gaz say their goodbyes and leave for the night, and Soap blearily follows Ghost outside. It’s cold, but not horribly so. His hotel is in walking distance, and he figures Ghost will want to walk him there, which he’s fine with.
“Alright, Johnny?” Ghost asks, once they’re walking down the tight alley outside the bar alone. “You were quiet tonight.”
“Just knackered, sir,” Soap says. “Eager to get some sleep.”
Ghost grunts in response.
When they come up on an alcove that divots the alley, Ghost grabs Soap’s wrist and pulls him into it. Soap stumbles a bit on the step up, not expecting it, and then Ghost pushes him against the brick wall.
“Been a while since we fucked outside the wire,” Ghost says, and shoves his mask up over his lips. He smells heavily of whisky, and Soap counts back to just how many rounds Price treated them to. How many rounds Soap passed on that Ghost decidedly didn’t. He leans his weight against Soap on the wall, enough to make the uneven brick dig into Soap’s shoulder blades.
“Might be a bit longer,” Soap says. “Really would rather call it a night.”
Though admittedly, his dick perks up in interest at the thought of finally taking Ghost’s cock without simultaneously checking his six, or without wearing kilos upon kilos of tactical gear. Maybe he’ll invite Ghost back to his hotel, and they’ll fuck in the morning before Soap’s flight, when they’re sober and well-rested. A farewell fuck before leave. Seems sound.
Whether Ghost doesn’t hear him or doesn’t understand him through the haze of alcohol, Soap’s unsure…but Ghost doesn’t back off.
He kisses Soap, open-mouthed and booze-soaked, and Soap lets him. He even kisses back a bit, lazy and warmed by the bulk of Ghost’s body in the tiny alcove. Ghost’s huge hands support his neck on either side, thumbs pressed under his ears, then move to grope his shoulders, his waist, his hips. A zip of electricity runs through Soap’s body, and he hums into the kiss, muscles reluctantly waking up in response to being touched.
…Maybe he’d even be interested in a lazy fuck before bed. On his side in the hotel, real easy, no work on his part or even Ghost’s really. Completely naked, so he could pass out right after he comes. Ghost could take what he wanted if it takes him longer. Soap trusts him.
Ghost’s hands wander back to Soap’s neck, and then press down on either side of his shoulders so firmly that Soap stumbles.
“Oi, careful,” Soap says, and grabs onto Ghost’s jacket to steady himself.
Ghost just pushes down on his shoulders again in response, and rolls his hips so that Soap feels the length of his erection trapped along the thigh of his jeans.
The dream of an easy fuck dissipates. Ghost’s clearly too clumsy drunk for that.
“Not gonna blow you in the fuckin’ alley,” Soap says. He wants to pair his lip-curling annoyance with shoving Ghost off him, but—and on a normal day this fact makes Soap too horny to function—Ghost’s too big for him to move. “Git off me, ya numpty. Said I was knackered. Just wanna go to the hotel.”
Ghost doesn’t move right away. His body ripples with new tension at Soap’s negative tone, which is rarely directed at Ghost. He sizes Soap up below him, and Soap’s breath stills in his lungs.
Ghost has the physical advantage here. Mental too really, if he wanted to pull rank. If he wanted to make Soap suck him off in the alley…he could. And Soap probably wouldn’t have the balls to bite his lieutenant’s dick off or anything.
But even though Ghost could…he never has. And Soap believes, drunk and horny aside, he’s not about to start now.
“I’ll walk you to the hotel, then,” Ghost says. He pulls his mask back down over his mouth, and before he frees Soap, he grinds his erection against him again. Maybe to make it crystal clear that Soap’s leaving him high and dry. “As far as my flat, at least.”
“They’re the same way?” Soap asks.
“…Yeah.”
“Convenient, no?” Soap chuckles, despite himself, and steps out of the alcove.
Ghost hums and wraps a heavy arm around Soap’s shoulders, and Soap snaps back into his frustration with his boundary-pushing lieutenant like it never left.
They start walking, and Soap holds his breath until they’re out of the alley. But even once they’re on the main thoroughfare, with ample witnesses, he feels a little suffocated. Ghost holds him close as they walk, rubs his thumb and index finger on the outside of Soap’s bicep, and overall shows little regard for Soap as an autonomous body that has shown no signs of outward interest in being touched tonight.
But, as Soap continually reminds himself, Ghost is drunk. And probably in need of stability. And it’s only a few blocks to Ghost’s flat. So Soap lets himself be handled against his wishes.
When they get to Ghost’s walk-up, Soap casually extricates himself and prepares to walk the remainder of the way to his hotel alone. To his hotel room that definitely exists.
“Come up with me,” Ghost says. Of course.
“Just want to sleep, sir.”
“Then sleep here.” Ghost’s hand lands on the small of Soap’s back, and suddenly Soap is in front and being pushed into the skinny door to the walk-up, up the first handful of steps which makes him stumble once again. Christ, maybe he’s a bit drunk, too. “You have a drawer.”
Soap pauses with Ghost’s hand on his back and his heels teetering on the steps. He wants to go to his hotel room. But the idea of arguing his case with Ghost, drunk and massive and all but trapping him in the staircase, is enough to make him give in.
Ghost’s right. He has a drawer. God knows he’s passed out at Ghost’s flat a dozen times before.
The drawer is symbolic, too. He doesn’t have to be wary of Ghost, even if he’s being a bit of an arsehole tonight. He’s safe under his lieutenant’s care. Someone who would trust him with a designated drawer in his flat wouldn’t genuinely cross his boundaries.
“Fine,” Soap says. He takes the steps two at a time to rid himself of the trapped feeling. Ghost ambles up behind him, and when they’re both at the top of the stairs he unlocks the door.
Soap’s almost exhausted enough to crawl into bed right away, but instead he makes a beeline for the bathroom and gets use out of his drawer. He brushes his teeth, strips off his pub-filthy clothes, and changes into a pair of fresh boxers.
When he enters Ghost’s bedroom, he finds him propped up on the headboard. He’s still wearing all his street clothes. Soap resists the urge to roll his eyes. He supposes he doesn’t give a shit if Ghost wants to sleep like that.
Soap jumps into his side of the bed and rolls up in the covers.
…Ghost immediately rolls over to spoon him.
Unlike previous partners Soap’s had in life, Ghost is never subtle about wanting to fuck. He doesn’t just cuddle in hopes of Soap being the one to push it further. He spoons Soap, presses his raging clothed erection against Soap’s arse, and sticks his hand into the front of Soap’s boxers without warning.
“Fucking Christ—” Soap jerks forward, intending to leap out of bed, put his clothes back on, and walk to his hotel.
Apparently, he can’t trust Ghost when he’s this drunk.
But Ghost is too fast for him. His other arm wriggles under Soap’s side to hold his waist tight, and he loops one strong leg over Soap’s calves to keep him in bed. Like Soap’s in some miserable wrestling hold. Soap swears more and struggles, his face going hot, his pride shattered at how easily Ghost pins him, and he only calms once Ghost gets his fingers on his cock.
Cause, to be fair, Soap’s only human.
And Ghost isn’t doing the thing where he jerks Soap off as fast as possible to get him wet enough to fuck. No, he’s rubbing him off nice and slow, making use of those big, calloused fingers. Soap has to grit his teeth to keep from groaning about it, and he feels himself slick up in his boxers.
“That’s right, sergeant,” Ghost says, whiskey-soaked breath right in Soap’s ear again. “You’ve been on edge all night. This is exactly what you wanted.”
Soap grunts his dissent, because he didn’t want this, Ghost just pushed him until he tolerated it. But he also stops fighting in Ghost’s hold and cants his hips into the friction. Ghost’s really giving it to him, jerking off his cock between his fingers in strong, measured pulses.
Might be nice to get off before bed, if Soap’s being honest. Probably would have jerked off in the hotel room anyway.
There’s the issue of Ghost’s erection still pressed into his back, though. Ghost isn’t the kind of guy to get off just from making someone else feel good. In fact, he’s sometimes disturbingly selfish, so even as he gets Soap close to that first orgasm, Soap’s got a dreadful suspicion that he won’t be getting it for free.
“For fucks sake, stop,” Soap says, and struggles to get away again. He can’t let Ghost make him come and feel entitled to reciprocation. “Said I’m tired, a-ah—"
Ghost squeezes his cock between his fingers and rubs the pad of his thumb into it, and Soap closes his eyes, a tiny groan escaping his throat. A small groan. Infinitesimal.
“Not very good at pretending you don’t want it,” Ghost says. Too casually considering he is, in fact, assaulting Soap.
Soap wants to say as much, wants to tell him to fuck off, at least.
Instead, mortifyingly, he crests into an orgasm.
He chokes through a stifled moan, pleasure burning almost painful from how much he doesn’t want to give Ghost the satisfaction. His cunt clenches around nothing and his hips stutter forward and he gushes wet onto Ghost’s palm.
Ghost hums and pets his cock through it. Condescending fuckin’ prick. As if it’s so bloody difficult to make Soap go off.
“Okay,” Soap says, and tries to shift away from Ghost’s hands and legs and that insistent erection. “Ye got what you wanted, ye bastard. Go jerk off in the bathroom and let me sleep.”
Ghost grunts, displeased, and Soap doesn’t know what Ghost was expecting—for Soap to suddenly want his drunk affection, just because he forcibly made him come with his hand?
Before Soap can dwell on that, Ghost outmaneuvers him. He pulls the covers off the bed, rips Soap’s boxers off his legs, and crawls on top of him before Soap can muster enough post-nut energy to stop him.
Once he’s on his back fully naked with Ghost, fully clothed, looming over him—he does fight. He thrashes under him and curses and tries to keep from saying anything unforgivably cruel that he’ll regret later.
Which he hates to think, since if anyone in this situation should feel preemptive regret, it is not him.
He doesn’t owe Ghost his cunt any more than he owes him his time, his respect, his love.
He’s pretty sure, at least.
But when Ghost pins his shoulders and brackets his thighs with his knees, eyes almost pitying looking down at Soap behind the mask…he’s starting to doubt just how much autonomy he really has in this relationship. Maybe he’s given the impression that Ghost can do what he wants regardless of Soap’s input.
Maybe he’s said yes too many times to be allowed to say no.
“Dunno what I did to make you think this is okay,” Soap says, when it becomes clear he can’t fight his way out of Ghost’s bed. “Know I’m usually up for anything, but…”
“You don’t have to do any work,” Ghost says. Like he’s convincing him. Like he’s trying to get a go-ahead, even while he prematurely fishes his cock out of his jeans.
Soap feels exposed under him, can’t believe he stripped down to barely anything when the warning signs were going off. It is, to an extent, his fault that this is happening. It has to be partially his fault. He has to be somewhat in control of what is happening to him. Of what is about to happen to him.
Ghost jerks himself dry a few times, grunting low in his throat. Soap’s orgasm-slick and they’re centimetres from fucking and it would probably just be easier to let him inside. Would probably feel good. It’s a nasty betrayal to know he can’t say no to his lieutenant, but he’d rather control the narrative here before he has to confront what’s happening.
“Okay,” Soap says. His voice comes out softer than he’s heard himself speak in his entire adult life. He clears his throat and nods.
Ghost’s eyes soften at the sound of his voice for a few beats, and he searches Soap’s face until Soap gives him another, more meaningful nod.
Ghost’s expression hardens again, and he cups under Soap’s chin. Soap flinches a bit, and Ghost growls in his throat. As if he’s upset his actions have changed Soap’s reactions to him, perhaps for good. He hooks his thumb into Soap’s mouth, pries it open, and Soap considers snapping his teeth down to get his own pound of flesh.
But he doesn’t. He lets Ghost play with his newly subdued prey. Lets him dip his thumb into his mouth, down his tongue, push it so far back Soap gags and his mouth floods with compensatory saliva.
Of course just saying okay wasn’t enough for Ghost. He apparently needs Soap to submit fully.
Ghost holds his jaw open with his fingers and spits a long string of saliva into his mouth. He lets go of his jaw and watches intently when Soap swallows, eyes fixed on Ghost until they burn warm with tears.
“Fuck, Johnny,” Ghost says, voice soft. It makes those tears break from Soap’s eyeline and roll down his face. He wants to rub at his eyes, wants to sniff his emotions back in and get this over with, but he’s newly scared of making sudden movements under his lieutenant. “Know you’ll be a good boy for me like always.”
Soap nods again, slow, and more fat tears streak down his face. Ghost rubs them away for him with his knuckles.
Finally, Ghost stops toying with him. He reaches down, skirts his fingers through the embarrassingly wet mess between Soap’s thighs…and then presses two of those fat, blunt fingers to Soap’s virgin arsehole instead.
Soap jerks up and shakes his head. Ghost almost loses his grip on him and has to bear down with his one free arm and pin his legs harder to keep him still.
“What the fuck?” Soap asks, when he realizes he can’t move back far enough. “Not what I agreed to, sir. You know I’ve never—"
“First time for everything,” Ghost says, rubbing the pads of his slicked fingers around Soap’s hole. It makes Soap shiver, half pleasantly and half with bone-deep adult fear.
“Now?” Soap asks. And it almost comes out squeaky, though he doesn’t want to dwell on that shameful fact. Because he’s already letting Ghost have more than he wants to give tonight, and yet Ghost is picking now to take even more from Soap than he’s ever given before.
Soap wanted to lose his anal virginity to Ghost someday, for what it’s worth. But his lieutenant is drunk and disorderly and pushing Soap against his will. He never wanted it like this.
“Not like this,” Soap says, out loud. “Please.” Now it’s real. All his other requests for Ghost to stop had been footnoted and maybe-d and not nearly as dire as this. He doesn’t want this. He can’t let Ghost do this. “Stop.”
A fingertip catches on the rim of Soap’s hole, and Soap startles and tries to jerk his thighs closed. He’s got some leverage here since Ghost can only hold him down so firm with one hand.
Ghost withdraws his fingers, and Soap nearly has time to breathe a sigh of relief before Ghost is holding a knife above him.
Soap freezes.
“Stay still for me, sergeant,” Ghost says, too calm in contrast to how quickly he escalated to whipping out a knife. Soap knows it’s fatally sharp thanks to how much time Ghost spends taking care of it.
“Steamin’ bloody Jesus, Lt,” Soap says. Tears gather in his eyes again, and he grits his teeth to keep them from falling. “You’re fuckin’ mad tonight. Won’t be able to forgive ye for this.”
Distantly, Soap thinks he’s gone too far. With his little narrative. Because if Ghost said something like that to him, even as part of a fantasy, he’d probably have to stop and take a breather.
But instead, Ghost’s eyes remain cold and unaffected behind the mask.
Christ, he really is a mad bastard. It makes Soap’s stomach knot and his cunt clench around nothing.
Soap clears his throat, swallows, and falls back into it just in time for Ghost to replace those fingers between his legs with the edge of his knife.
“Hey, careful,” Soap says. He doesn’t stammer. Not at all. “What the fuck—”
Ghost slices through the upper inside of Soap’s thigh while Soap watches on in disbelief.
The knife is sharp enough that it’s only a dusting of pain, but he still watches his skin physically split apart at the hands of his lieutenant. Before he can protest further, Ghost cuts him three more times underneath the first, making a row of horizontal lines.
Again, it barely hurts physically. It hurts more because it’s Ghost doing it to him.
Ghost is merciless, paying no attention to Soap’s slack jaw and fear-widened eyes for this task. He does the same to Soap’s other thigh.
He either takes longer or it just…feels longer to Soap. Because the pain and the shock make his head go all kinds of fuzzy, draws out the moment until he’s not sure he’ll ever escape it. He feels his lungs deflating and his brain turning off, and only when Soap’s vision starts to darken does Ghost stop cutting him.
Soap blinks back into focus to Ghost petting his chin and speaking words he can’t parse at him. He can only tell that there’s an undercurrent of urgency, but also a calming surety. Like Ghost knows Soap can take this.
“Stay with me, Johnny,” Ghost says, once the words start to make sense in Soap’s ears again. “You gotta stay here with me.”
Ghost’s fucked Soap unconscious before, and Soap kinda wants to say as much, but he understands the sentiment behind Ghost’s words. This is for Soap. He can’t be passed out for it.
“What did ye do that for?” Soap asks, voice rough, getting back into it.
“To keep your legs open.”
Soap looks back down to bear witness, and it looks much worse than it felt thanks to how sharp the knife was. Four slices on each inner thigh, already burning from the sweat and slick, sure to burn more if he presses them together. He curses and thinks about sitting on the plane tomorrow, how deep the burn will go then. How he’ll be able to think of nothing but Ghost brutalizing him like this.
The blood is already coagulating on each thin cut, but it’s streaked between his thighs, dripping, aided by how ruinously wet his traitorous fucking cunt is.
“Fuck,” Soap says, otherwise speechless. He pulls his eyes away from his bloodied thighs to look up at Ghost.
Ghost doesn’t sheath his knife. He holds it in his dominant hand above Soap, and uses his other hand to probe at his arse again. His legs are still holding him down somewhat, but now Soap is self-motivated to stay still. He doesn’t know what his lieutenant will do with that knife next if he doesn’t behave.
“You’re scaring me,” Soap says, filling the silence but for the wet slicking sound of Ghost trying to open up his tight rim. He swallows hard and tries to keep from pressing into the violation.
“Wouldn’t have to if you’d been good,” Ghost says. He holds the knife closer, sharps down to Soap’s bare chest. Two fingers finally ease into Soap’s arse, and he pushes them as far as he can. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re tight. Should’ve broken you in a long time ago.”
Soap doesn’t respond. He just breathes hard and stares at the knife, at Ghost’s thinly disguised glee, at the fingers disappeared inside him. It doesn’t hurt, just the two fingers plenty slick with cum and blood. But it feels about as packed as he can get, and he knows Ghost is a fair fuckin’ bit bigger than two fingers.
Ghost fucks and stretches him on them, but he doesn’t pay attention to where he’s opening Soap up. He stares behind the mask at where Soap feels his pulse jumping in his neck. His eyes track the widening of Soap’s eyes. The way his breath comes quicker and quicker the more he is observed.
Ghost may be drunk, but he’s also calculating in a way that Soap did not expect. He’s not doing this to Soap because he wrongly believes Soap wants it.
He’s doing it because Soap doesn’t want it.
When Ghost bullies a third finger inside, Soap clenches and Ghost groans, low in his throat. He pulls them out, all at once, and Soap chases the loss down with an instinctive huff. He’s not nearly prepared enough.
“Don’t want to loosen you up too much.” Ghost grabs his cock and strokes himself, smearing it with Soap’s blood and slick. “Wrecked your sloppy cunt so many times it’s not tight anymore.”
Soap’s eyebrows draw together, almost indignantly, but he looks at the knife again and keeps himself from arguing. Ghost drags his dick against the coagulating scars along Soap’s inner right thigh and it catches on one of them, reopening it, bloodying him further. Pain ricochets from the wound through the base of Soap’s spine, makes his own cock throb and his pussy leak even more slick for Ghost to rub off on.
When Ghost’s apparently satisfied with his work, he readjusts on his knees, holding the blade to Soap’s jugular, and pushes underneath Soap’s upper thighs.
It takes Soap a moment to follow direction, as helpless as he’s been ever since Ghost whipped the knife out. Ghost pushes harder, until there’s a burn in Soap’s muscles, and then he grits his teeth.
“Heels on my shoulders,” Ghost says, a thread of frustration in his voice. As if Soap should have known what he wanted.
Soap used to know what Ghost wanted. But after tonight, he’ll never be sure.
It goes against Soap’s every self-preservation instinct to follow his order, knowing that he’ll only be more vulnerable in that position. But the knife is persuasive, and Ghost’s voice is eternally the voice of his commanding lieutenant, and Soap still, in the most desperate recess of his brain, would love to have some reason to justify everything Ghost has done to him. The more compliant Soap is at this point, the more control he has.
So Soap raises his legs and hooks them over Ghost’s shoulders, fully exposing his hole, feeling the press of Ghost’s cockhead notching at his arse. His toes curl, his eyes go wider, and his breath hastens. He feels like a fucking blushing virgin because, for this, he is.
Soap expects Ghost to spear him all at once, but instead Ghost steadies Soap’s trembling legs with his free forearm and pushes steadily forward. His cockhead breaches Soap’s entrance, and Soap stops breathing, and then Ghost mumbles something about how he needs to relax. Soap nods and focuses on unwinding his stress-taut muscles until Ghost is able to keep making space for himself. After the better part of a minute, Ghost’s balls connect with Soap’s arse, and Soap feels like Ghost’s cock is pressed up against the base of his rapid-beating heart.
“Fucking hell, Johnny,” Ghost says. His voice is saccharine juxtaposed with that knife at his neck and the fact that thirty minutes ago Soap was begging him to stop touching him, let alone be balls deep in his arse. “Takin’ it so fuckin’ well.”
“S’too deep,” Soap says, squirming, and pushes against Ghost thighs with the half-hearted desperation of someone who doesn’t want that knife to nick an artery. “It hurts, sir. Please don’t do this.”
Ghost’s face goes cold. As if he thought that once he fought his way inside Soap, Soap would suddenly want this. Soap’s blood freezes in his veins.
“Lying slag,” Ghost says. The knife stays put, but Ghost’s other hand abandons Soap’s legs to probe at Soap’s cunt. It’s sopping wet, betraying him at every chance it gets, and Ghost huffs a mean laugh when his fingers come away shiny with fresh slick.
He stuffs Soap’s cunt with three fingers and circles his cock with his thumb, and Soap cries out despite himself. He is just so full. Ghost stays deep in his arse, rocking his hips to grind deeper still, and Soap clenches up around both his dick and his fingers.
Soap realizes, in fact, that he might come like this. Before Ghost’s even started fucking him.
But it’ll kill him to give Ghost the satisfaction, so he mashes his lips shut and shakes his head and closes his eyes, denying Ghost’s allegations.
Ghost just laughs again, the conniving prick, and rubs off Soap’s cock harder with his thumb. Soap’s cunt keeps tightening up in waves, leaking more slick in response to being so full, until the dam breaks and Soap’s hips lift off the bed instinctively and he comes hard.
Comes harder, perhaps, than he’s ever come in his fuckin’ life…from being raped.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Soap says. His hips and legs shake through it, his teeth throb from being held together that tight. He blinks his eyes open, and tears fall again without warning, and Soap’s face burns hot. He can’t believe Ghost is seeing him like this.
“It’s okay,” Ghost says, condescending and saccharine again. “Don’t fight it out of pride, love.” He withdraws his fingers from Soap’s cunt and wraps his forearm around his raised legs to regain his leverage, and then he pulls his cock from his arse and fucks forward, fully spearing him on it all at once.
“Stop—” Soap groans, far more pain than pleasure, but his hips rise to meet it despite himself. More tears streak down his face and his body still quivers with the useless effort he spent to avoid orgasming. “Please—”
“Fuck—” Ghost all but growls it, dragging out the vowel like he’s ravenous for Soap’s dissent. He pulls back and thrusts into Soap again, and again, until Soap’s protesting muscles loosen and take him better. Ghost’s sweat drips from his neck into the wounds on Soap’s thighs as the room heats up, as Ghost exerts himself to fuck him harder, and Soap twists and keens.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Soap manages to ask, through the acute pain of the salt-seeped cuts, through the cloudy pleasure from being fucked hard, through the haze of tears. “What did I do to deserve this?”
This time Ghost growls out of frustration, not out of drunken pleasure, and he presses the knife so firmly to Soap’s skin that he feels it split at his collarbone. Soap squeaks out a noise to beg for mercy, and the knife doesn’t go any further.
“You’re mine, Johnny,” Ghost says, still fucking him in punishing thrusts. “Saved your life enough times that you owe me this.”
He’s speaking too clearly to be considered buzzed, let alone drunk, and his eyes bore into Soap’s with resolved intent.
These are the unshakeable, dangerous beliefs of a man who is certain of what he deserves in life.
“I decide when I get to have you,” Ghost continues. “Not my fault you’ve been such an easy slag up until now that you thought you had a choice.”
Soap opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know how to argue against him. He wonders just how long Ghost has wanted to clarify that Soap is not his equal. That Soap was stupid to ever think what they had went beyond their power dynamic in the taskforce.
Finally, he manages a breathy, “But don’t you—"
“That’s enough,” Ghost says, cutting him off. He abandons the knife to the side and claps that hand over Soap’s mouth instead. So Soap can’t do anything but lie there, on his back, and take it with wide-eyed betrayal. Take it, because apparently he owes Ghost his body, because Ghost owns him.
Because he deserves it for being such an easy slag up until now.
Ghost chases his own orgasm, fucking Soap into the mattress, and Soap does his best not to enjoy it. To prove he doesn’t want it, to prove he doesn’t deserve this.
Then, Ghost bends further over him, pinning him down, stretching his legs into a position he shouldn’t be able to get into. It causes Ghost’s pubic bone to clip Soap’s cock on every thrust, and, because Soap has no control over his body anymore, Soap tightens up and shouts under Ghost’s hand and comes a third time because of it.
It's a long one, his muscles clenching around Ghost for what feels like the better part of a minute, his pussy soaking Ghost’s pubic hair, flooding more slick to help Ghost rape his arse. Ghost doesn’t even gloat out loud, because he surely knows he’s won. He just stays balls deep to grind his pubic bone into Soap’s cock through it until Soap’s near hyperventilating from overstimulation.
Then he removes his hand from Soap’s mouth and bends over him the furthest yet, thighs practically by Soap’s ears, both palms face down on the mattress astride Soap’s head. And even though Soap could tell him to fuck off or that he hates him or that he’s sorry for being a slag who deserves this, he stays good and quiet and lets Ghost pump inside him until he shudders, entirely sheathed, through his own orgasm. Ghost shoots cum deep in his arse, and the warm, claiming feel of it makes Soap sob heavy, once, and rub his face into Ghost’s shoulder.
Ghost pulls up, still inside Soap, and stares at his tear-streaked face. It looks like he’s just appreciating the emotional damage he’s done, until Ghost rips his mask off and Soap finally sees his genuine concern.
“Alright, Johnny?” he asks, in a voice so far-removed from the one he called Soap a slag in, it makes Soap sob again, but in relief.
“Steamin’ bloody Jesus, Lt…” Soap shakes his head, and a disbelieving laugh escapes him.
Ghost’s own face breaks into something like relief, and he kisses Soap’s forehead before withdrawing and rolling onto his back. Soap lowers and works his legs out, and exhales on another laugh.
“Next time we need to think of a more believable scenario than I’m not in the mood,” Soap says. “I’m fuckin’ always in the mood for you.”
“You’re the one who wanted to rush to do this tonight,” Ghost says. He grabs a loose cigarette and his lighter from the bedside table, lights it, and takes a long drag.
“I’m leavin’ tomorrow,” Soap says.
He reaches over and steals the cigarette from Ghost, who regards him so fondly it makes Soap want to eat the late airfare cancellation fee and stay with him over leave.
He did deserve this.
Ghost gave him exactly what he asked for.