Archive of Our Own

The pub’s warm, dim light does little to soften the sharp edge of Soap’s rant. He sits at a battered wooden table with Gaz, pint in hand, glowering into the frothy amber liquid as if it’s personally betrayed him.

“‘Why can’t you be more like the Lieutenant?’” Soap repeats, his voice thick with a slur of mockery and frustration. He slams the pint onto the table, the foam cresting over the rim. “What the bloody hell does that even mean, eh? More like the bloody Lt? What, I’m supposed to walk around all broody and mysterious? Maybe throw on a mask, stop talkin’ altogether?”

Gaz, seated opposite him with a half-empty glass, leans back in his chair, arms crossed. His expression is one of careful listening, the kind of look that says, I’ve heard this one before.

“Mate, I’m just saying,” Gaz offers diplomatically, “if every lass you date is comparing you to Ghost, maybe you should pick someone outside the regiment for once. Broaden the horizons, yeah?”

Soap throws him a disbelieving look, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Aye, broaden the horizons. That’s what I did! She’s SAS, for God’s sake. Finally thought I’d found someone who gets it, y’know, the job, the danger. Thought I’d cracked it this time, Gaz.” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “But noooo, even she falls for Ghost. What is it with him? The mask? The bloody voice?”

Gaz smirks into his drink. “It’s definitely the voice. Got that deep ‘don’t-mess-with-me’ thing going on. Women love a bit of mystery.”

Soap groans, dragging a hand down his face. “He’s not mysterious, he’s just… cryptic to the point of pissin’ people off!” He pauses, then glares at Gaz. “And don’t you start defendin’ him. You lot always do this.”

“‘You lot’?” Gaz raises a brow, amused. “You talkin’ about me and the captain, who’ve seen this happen, what, four, five times now?”

Soap points an accusatory finger. “Exactly! You think it’s funny.”

“It is funny,” Gaz says with a chuckle, taking a sip. “But seriously, Soap, what did you expect? Ghost’s got this whole… thing goin’ on. Women love a challenge, and you’re just-”

Soap narrows his eyes. “Go on. Say it.”

Gaz holds up his hands defensively. “Fun! You’re fun, mate. But Ghost? He’s the dark and brooding type. You’re a bloody Labrador, and he’s…” He trails off, searching for the right metaphor.

“A wolf?” Soap suggests bitterly, knocking back the rest of his pint.

Gaz grins, leaning forward. “Aye, a wolf. Quiet, dangerous, and all that bollocks. Meanwhile, you’re wagging your tail and offering to buy the first round.”

Soap slams his empty pint on the table, waving at the bartender for another. “So that’s it, then? I’m doomed to lose every lass to him because I’ve got ‘golden retriever energy,’ and he’s a bloody walking horror film?”

Gaz snorts, unable to hold back his laughter. “Look, mate, maybe it’s not a competition. Maybe the problem isn’t you, or him, for that matter. These women just… I dunno, see something in Ghost they think they want.” He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean they’re right. You’ve got plenty to offer. The looks, personality, charm, questionable jokes…”

“Cheers for the confidence boost,” Soap mutters, but there’s a faint grin tugging at his lips.

The bartender sets another pint in front of him, and Soap takes it with a nod, drinking deeply before slamming it back onto the table. “You’d think he’d at least try not to nick every woman I date, aye? But no, he just sits there, all smug and mysterious, lettin’ them fall over themselves.”

Gaz raises a brow. “Smug, is he? Doesn’t say much, but you reckon he’s doin’ it on purpose?”

Soap hesitates, the thought catching him off guard. “I… I dunno. But it’s bloody suspicious, innit? Every time I bring someone around, next thing I know, they’re starin’ at him like he’s the second coming.”

Gaz takes another sip, smirking behind his glass. “Maybe you should ask him outright. Could be fun, watching you two square off over this.”

Soap huffs, his frustration bubbling up again. “Ask him? What am I supposed to say? ‘Oi, Ghost, are you sabotaging my love life, or are you just naturally a woman-magnet?’”

“Sounds about right,” Gaz says, grinning. “Though if I were you, I’d leave out the ‘woman-magnet’ bit. Don’t want to inflate his ego too much.”

Soap groans, burying his face in his hands. “God help me. Maybe I should just stop datin’ altogether. Can’t lose a lass to Ghost if I don’t have one to begin with.”

Gaz pats him on the shoulder, fighting back laughter. “Now that’s a strategy, mate. But seriously, don’t let it get to you. You’re a good, handsome bloke, and someday you’ll find someone who isn’t daft enough to fall for Ghost’s bollocks.”

Soap lifts his head, narrowing his eyes. “You’re enjoyin’ this too much.”

Gaz grins. “Just a bit, yeah.”

Soap grumbles, muttering under his breath. “Bloody Lt. Bet he’s sittin’ somewhere now, smirkin’ under that mask of his.”

Gaz, who had been nursing his own pint, finally sighs and sets his glass down with a definitive clink. "Y’know, mate, I think I’ve had enough of your brooding for one night. Sort yourself out, yeah?"

Soap grumbles something incoherent but waves him off, raising his half-empty glass in a mock salute. “Cheers, Gaz. Go on, then. Leave me to my misery.”

Gaz chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs his jacket. “Misery loves company, but I’ve got my limits. Try not to do anything stupid.”

As Gaz walks off, Soap slouches further in his seat, staring into the amber liquid in his glass. The thought of Ghost’s smug expression, hidden behind his ever-present mask, gnaws at him. Soap downs the rest of his drink, setting the empty glass on the table with a sharp clink. He contemplates ordering another, but his stomach churns, not from the alcohol, but from the restless energy that’s been clawing at him since the breakup.

It’s not the devastation he expected; after all, they hadn’t been together long enough for Soap to be truly heartbroken. But the frustration? That’s a whole different beast. He’s pissed. Not just because she fell for Ghost, like all the others before her, but because it’s happening again. It’s the same damn pattern. Ghost’s presence, that goddamn charisma of his. Soap hates how easy it is for people to fall for it. And yet, here he is, yet again, the one left on the sidelines.

Why does this keep happening? Why the hell can’t anyone stick around long enough for Soap to figure things out? What’s so damn special about Ghost that all his girlfriends just forget about him the minute they lay eyes on him? He grinds his teeth, his fingers digging into the cool wood of the table as the questions swirl in his mind, unanswered and infuriating.

He's not utterly broken, far from it; it’s just that he’s had enough. He’s tired of being the one who gets left behind, tired of wondering if it’s something about him, something he can’t control. The worst part of all of this is the realization that, deep down, he knows he can’t blame Ghost. Not really. Not when he’s the one who’s been unable to keep anyone by his side. But still... it doesn’t make the sting any easier to bear.

“Enough’s enough,” he mutters, shoving himself up from his seat. His head spins briefly, but he steadies himself with a hand on the table. He’s had just enough to loosen his nerves but not enough to cloud his judgment. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

The walk to Ghost’s quarters feels longer than usual, his boots echoing softly against the quiet hallway. Each step amplifies the pounding in his chest, his determination building. He’s spent too long letting this nonsense stew. Too many nights drinking, too many jokes at his expense. It’s time to have it out with the Lieutenant, man to man.

But as he nears the door, he freezes.

There she is. His ex. Standing outside Ghost’s door, talking to him. Soap ducks back around the corner instinctively, peering out just enough to see them. His heart pounds in his chest, the drink from earlier doing little to dull the sharp sting of confusion and betrayal.

“It’s done,” she says, her voice light, almost playful. She steps closer to Ghost, her fingers brushing his sleeve. “I broke up with Johnny.”

Soap’s breath catches. What the fuck?

The words hit him like a brick, and his hands clench into fists. He’s ready to step out, ready to confront Ghost and, God help him, punch that smug mask off his face. But something holds him back.

“I don’t understand,” the woman continues, her voice softening. She tilts her head, a coy smile on her lips. “Isn’t this what you wanted? I thought… you and I…”

She leans in, her hand reaching for Ghost’s chest as she closes the distance.

Soap tenses, his blood boiling. He takes a step forward, ready to put a stop to this, but then Ghost moves.

It’s subtle, but unmistakable. Ghost shifts back, creating space between them. His head tilts slightly, and even from the distance, Soap can see the sharp edge of disgust in his eyes. Despite the mask covering the rest of his face, Soap knows Ghost well enough to read him. He’s not just rejecting her; he’s repulsed.

“No,” Ghost says coldly, his voice low and razor-sharp. “You’re barking up the wrong bloody tree, love.”

She hesitates, confused. “Wait, what?”

Ghost straightens, his imposing frame towering over her. “I said no. Leave.”

“But I-” She stammers, her confusion giving way to frustration. “I thought this was what you wanted! I broke it off with Johnny for you!”

Ghost’s eyes narrow, his tone dripping with disdain. “Didn’t ask you to. And for the record, you’re not my type.”

Her face twists in disbelief. “Not your type? Then what the hell was all this for?”

Ghost crosses his arms, his voice now cutting like a blade. “To make a point. And now I’m done. So get lost.”

The woman falters, her mouth opening as if to argue, but the look in Ghost’s eyes stops her. With a huff, she spins on her heel and storms down the corridor, her boots clicking angrily against the floor.

Soap remains frozen in place, his fists still clenched, his heart pounding in his chest. He watches Ghost linger for a moment, his shoulders stiff, before the Lieutenant retreats into his quarters and shuts the door behind him. Soap exhales, a shaky breath escaping him. His anger from moments ago has shifted to confusion, mingled with something he can’t quite name. He leans back against the wall, his thoughts racing.

What the bloody hell was that?

Soap stays rooted to the spot, staring at the now-closed door. His mind churns, replaying what he just saw. The ex’s words, Ghost’s cold rejection, that unmistakable look of disgust in his eyes; it’s all a mess of confusion and questions Soap can’t untangle.

He’s not into her? But then… why the hell did she break it off with me for him? What’s his game?

For a moment, he considers walking away, letting it go. But his fists unclench, and his jaw tightens with resolve. No. He’s done guessing. It’s time to get some bloody answers.

Before he can overthink it, Soap strides toward Ghost’s door. He hesitates for half a second, then knocks firmly.

There’s a heavy pause on the other side before the door swings open, revealing Ghost. He fills the doorway, his broad shoulders casting a shadow in the dim corridor light. His posture is tense, his head slightly tilted, and his tone carries an unmistakable edge of irritation.

“What now?” Ghost snaps, clearly expecting the ex to be standing there.

Instead, it’s Soap.

“Hey, Lt,” Soap says, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. He’s already regretting how unprepared he feels for this conversation. “Uhh… you got a sec?”

Ghost blinks, his annoyance cooling just enough to register surprise. He straightens, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Johnny,” he says slowly, the irritation giving way to something unreadable. “Thought you’d be passed out by now. What’s this about?”

Soap shifts on his feet, forcing a grin to mask the nerves creeping in. “Let’s call it a wee chat. Man to man, aye?”

Ghost stares at him, silent for a long beat, then steps aside, gesturing for Soap to come in. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

Soap exhales and steps inside, trying not to second-guess himself as Ghost shuts the door behind him.

Ghost leans back against the wall, arms still crossed, staring Soap down with an air of silent expectation. His gaze, unblinking and unreadable behind the mask, seems to say it all: Get to the bloody point.

Soap clears his throat, shifting awkwardly under the weight of Ghost’s stare. The silence stretches, and for a second, he considers bailing. But no, he’s already in too deep.

“So, uh…” he starts, his voice trailing off as Ghost tilts his head slightly, impatient.

“Spit it out, Johnny,” Ghost says, his tone flat, edged with irritation.

Soap inhales sharply and blurts, “I just eavesdropped on you and my ex like a second ago and heard everything. What the fuck was that?”

Ghost’s head straightens, and he stares at Soap for a long, heavy moment. His eyes narrow, and his shoulders shift slightly, but he doesn’t speak.

Soap takes a step closer, his hands moving animatedly as the words keep pouring out. “She said she dumped me because she thought that's what you wanted! And then she went and tried to snog you, and you told her to piss off like she was somethin’ you scraped off your boot! So what gives? You meddlin’ in my life for fun, or is there somethin’ else I’m missin’ here?”

Ghost sighs, his posture relaxing a fraction, though the annoyance in his gaze lingers. “Bloody hell, MacTavish,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly.

Soap stares at him, his chest heaving from the sudden rush of words. “Well? Don’t just stand there like some cryptic bastard, say somethin’!”

For a moment, Ghost doesn’t respond, his eyes boring into Soap like he’s deciding how much to say. Then, finally, he pushes off the wall and stands upright, his voice low and measured.

“You done ranting, or you want to keep diggin’ this hole?” he asks, his tone carrying a hint of sarcasm beneath the gruffness.

Soap huffs, throwing his hands up. “Aye, I’m done. Now talk.”

Ghost exhales deeply, his fingers dragging through his hair, the faint edge of frustration apparent in his posture. Tonight, instead of his usual full balaclava, he’s wearing his half-skull mask; not his usual choice, but Soap has seen it countless of times before. It feels less intimidating, like Ghost isn’t as hidden as usual. Maybe that’s why he’s not in full Ghost-mode right now, Soap thinks.

The silence between them stretches, and Soap’s patience starts to wear thin. He wants answers, damn it, but Ghost is taking his sweet time.

Finally, Ghost looks at him, his eyes sharp and focused.

“They don’t deserve you,” Ghost says, voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of something Soap can’t quite place. “Not a damn one of them.”

Soap stares at him, his confusion growing. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asks, taking a step closer. “You can’t just say that and not explain. What the hell’s goin’ on?”

Ghost stands still, rubbing his face, like he’s weighing something heavy in his mind. The silence drags on, and Soap’s frustration bubbles over.

“They don’t get it, Johnny,” Ghost says after a long pause, his voice low. “What you’ve done for them, what you gave. They toss you aside like you’re nothing, like you don’t matter.”

Soap’s fists clench at his sides, jaw tightening. “And you think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know they’ve been takin’ me for granted all this time?”

Ghost shrugs, the edges of his mouth curving into the smallest smirk. “I had to step in. Flirt with ‘em a bit. Get their attention. They all fall for it. The mysterious soldier act. They see me, think I’m some knight in shining armor, and then, before you know it, they’re all ready to leave you.”

Soap blinks, stunned. “Wait, what? You... what the hell do you mean by ‘flirt with ‘em’?” He steps forward, anger rising. “You’re messin’ with my exes on purpose?”

Ghost doesn’t flinch, his posture relaxed, like he couldn’t care less. “Not messin’ with ‘em, just showin’ ‘em what they expected. A few compliments, a little attention, and next thing you know, they’re fallin’ for me, ready to leave you behind.”

Soap’s face reddens with fury. “Are you bloody kidding me? You’ve been flirting with my exes, gettin’ them to fall for you just so they leave me?!”

Before Ghost can respond, Soap’s frustration boils over. He swings his fist at Ghost’s face, the punch landing with a sickening crack right across Ghost’s nose. Ghost stumbles back, his hands flying up to his face, and for a split second, Soap thinks maybe he’s finally rattled him.

But when Ghost pulls his hands away from his nose, there’s no panic; just a trickle of blood dripping from his nostrils. The guy actually takes off his mask like it’s no big deal. The sight of Ghost’s bloody nose should be satisfying, but Soap can’t help but feel even more pissed off that Ghost looks so damn unbothered.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Soap mutters, watching Ghost calmly wipe the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. “I punch you in the face, and you just stand there like it’s nothin’?”

Ghost slowly puts the mask back on, his eyes meeting Soap’s. “I’ve been hit harder than that, Johnny. You of all people should know that.”

Soap’s mind is reeling. His heart’s pounding with frustration, and he’s not sure whether he should punch him again or scream at him for making such a mess of things. “You’ve been doin’ this to all of them, haven’t you?” he growls. “Flirtin’ with every damn ex I’ve had just to get ‘em to leave me?”

Ghost rubs his nose, giving him a pointed look. “Yeah. Every single one of them. They didn’t deserve you. I just helped ‘em see that.”

Soap’s mouth goes dry, his chest tight with anger. “You… you’re saying you've been doing all that, just to keep me from gettin’ hurt?”

Ghost doesn’t blink. “Yep. You’re welcome.”

Soap’s frustration is growing, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. His patience is long gone, and the silence between them is too heavy, too tense. He wants answers, but Ghost isn’t giving him a damn thing. Soap’s hands are clenched at his sides, fists trembling slightly as he takes another step forward.

“Who the fuck deserves me then, Lt?” Soap spits out, his voice strained, an edge of raw frustration in it. “If not them, then who?”

Ghost stands still for a moment, watching Soap with that sharp, unreadable look in his eyes. The tension between them crackles in the air, and Soap can feel it in his bones, his pulse quickening. The man is so damn calm, so collected, it only makes Soap more on edge.

Finally, Ghost moves. Not quickly, but deliberately. He steps closer, closing the distance between them until they’re nearly chest to chest, and Soap feels like the ground beneath him has shifted. The space between them feels thick, charged with something Soap can’t quite define. He’s caught off guard, but he stands his ground, not backing away.

“Me,” Ghost says quietly, his voice low, but with a weight that makes Soap’s heart skip a beat.

Soap blinks, confused. “What?” he breathes, unsure if he heard him right. “You? You deserve me?”

Ghost’s lips quirk into the smallest of smirks, but it’s the kind of smirk that makes Soap’s stomach twist. The look in Ghost’s eyes doesn’t help. It’s almost like Ghost knows something Soap doesn’t, and that sends a shiver through Soap.

“God, you’re so dense, Johnny,” Ghost mutters, a sigh escaping him as he shakes his head, clearly exasperated. His voice softens, almost teasing. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Before Soap can respond, Ghost steps even closer, their chests nearly brushing now. Soap’s breath hitches as the air between them thickens with something unspoken. Ghost raises his hand, and Soap’s heart skips again as he feels the touch, Ghost’s fingers gently caress his cheek, cupping his face in an almost tender way. It’s nothing Soap expected, and it freezes him in place, his pulse racing as he watches Ghost with wide eyes.

For a moment, Ghost just holds him there, his thumb brushing along Soap’s cheek with an almost intimate softness that makes Soap’s skin burn, like he’s feeling the weight of Ghost’s touch for the first time. The proximity makes Soap feel dizzy, disoriented, like he’s standing on the edge of something he can’t control.

But then, without warning, Ghost’s fingers trail down Soap’s jaw, his hand slipping around to the back of Soap’s neck before he gently brushes his cold thumb against Soap’s ear. The contact is like ice against his skin, and Soap flinches instinctively, his body tense, like the touch shocks him out of whatever dazed confusion he was in.

“Lt,” Soap gasps, stepping back slightly, but Ghost doesn’t move away. He stays right there, eyes steady and calculating as he watches Soap’s reaction.

Soap’s mind is spinning. He’s caught between wanting to push Ghost away and needing to understand what the hell is happening. His body is still reacting to the touch, his skin is hot where Ghost’s fingers had been, and his heart is hammering against his ribs. The frustration is still there, burning, but it’s mixed with something else. Something he can’t quite name.

“What the hell are you doing, Ghost?” Soap mutters, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. He’s not sure what he’s even asking. He doesn’t know if he wants Ghost to stop or keep going.

Ghost leans in just a fraction closer, his breath warm against Soap’s skin. “I’m showing you what you’ve been missing, Johnny.” His voice is low, almost too soft for Soap to hear clearly, and it sends a jolt of heat through Soap’s body that he can’t ignore. “What you’ve been blind to.”

Soap’s mind is a whirlwind. “I don’t-” He stops himself, his chest tightening. “What the hell are you saying?”

Ghost watches him, not pulling away, but his expression softens just a fraction. His thumb strokes Soap’s cheek one last time, this time lingering for just a moment longer than before, his touch tender but still just as intense. “I’m saying you deserve someone who knows exactly what the hell you need, Johnny. And that someone isn’t them.”

Soap’s heart is pounding, his body still in shock from the unexpected touch. His head feels like it’s spinning, and he can’t tell if he’s supposed to be angry or confused or something else entirely.

“You’ve got to stop doing this,” Soap finally breathes, the words coming out almost too quickly. He doesn’t even know if he wants him to stop. He just knows that this, whatever the hell this is, has thrown him off in a way he can’t explain.

But Ghost doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he just watches him, those unreadable eyes never leaving Soap’s face, and the silence between them hangs like a weight neither of them can lift.

Soap takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I don’t get you, Ghost. I don’t get this.”

“Then maybe you need to,” Ghost murmurs, his voice like a soft promise, “before I meddle again.”

Soap doesn’t know what that means, but his body is telling him that Ghost’s words and his touch are something he’s not ready for, but something he can’t ignore.

The next morning, Soap wakes up in his quarters, the dim light filtering through the small window doing little to soothe the pounding in his head. He groans, rubbing his face as he tries to piece together the events of the previous night. His body feels heavy, like he’s waded through a storm, but his mind is worse; a fragmented mess of memories that refuse to align. He remembers Ghost stepping in close, the weight of his words, and then... Soap winces, running a hand through his hair. How the hell had he even gotten back here? He vaguely recalls stumbling into bed, his mind too overwhelmed to function, but everything else is a blur.

His heart skips a beat as his mind replays the events of the night before: the tension in the air, Ghost touching him, those hands—damn, those hands—suddenly too familiar. The way Ghost had cupped his face so gently, his thumb brushing across Soap’s cheek, his thumb trailing down to his ear. The cold touch against his skin, and his body… reacting. The air had been thick with something Soap hadn’t expected. Something he hadn’t been prepared for. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Ghost had crossed a line… but did Soap even mind?

The frustration that had been burning in him last night still lingers, but now it’s mixed with confusion, a deep, unsettling kind of confusion that he can’t shake.

"What the hell just happened?" Soap mutters to himself, pushing the covers off his legs and swinging his feet onto the floor. He rubs his face, hoping that somehow, this will all make sense once he’s fully awake.

He doesn’t know what’s worse: that Ghost had been so calm, so unbothered by it all, or that Soap hadn’t exactly pushed him away. He hadn’t wanted to.

Soap stands up and drags his feet toward the small bathroom, his mind still reeling. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, looking at himself with a heavy sigh. His face is a mess of exhaustion. He’s still got that same damn look on his face from last night, like he’s caught between anger, curiosity, and a sense of being completely lost. He wipes his face with a towel, trying to shake off the lingering heat of the night’s encounter, but it’s not working. The memory is still fresh, still too real.

He looks at his own reflection again and raises his fingers to his cheek, mimicking the way Ghost had touched him; slow, deliberate, and with an unsettling kind of tenderness that doesn’t make any sense. He traces his own thumb along his jaw, imitating the way Ghost had cupped his face.

His breath hitches as he feels that heat flush his skin again. That same feeling, but this time it’s sharper, more intense. His fingers linger there, ghosting over his skin, but it's like he’s touching something else, someone else—Ghost .

And then it hits him.

Oh fuck.

His stomach lurches, his mind suddenly rushing to catch up with the realization. “Wait… does that mean…?”

His thoughts crash together like a train derailing, and his body freezes, his fingers still on his jaw as his eyes widen in shock.

"Fuck..." He whispers aloud to the empty room, his heart hammering in his chest. He drops his hand from his face and steps back from the mirror, stumbling a little, his pulse racing. “The Lt... likes me? Holy shit... he fucking likes me.”

The epiphany strikes like a lightning bolt, and Soap suddenly feels light-headed, like he’s just stepped off a cliff without realizing it. His brain is still working overtime, trying to process the fact that Ghost, his Lieutenant, had touched him like that. Like that. In a way that wasn't just casual, wasn’t just his usual ‘Ghost’ coldness.

No, this was different. This was… something else. Something personal .

“Goddamn it,” Soap groans, pacing back and forth in the small space. He runs a hand through his hair, his head spinning. Why didn’t I see it?

And then, just like that, the weight of the situation crashes down on him all at once.

What if Ghost had been playing him? What if it was just some twisted game to him? Soap shakes his head. No, he can’t think like that. But the lingering question haunts him anyway.

The thought that maybe Ghost had been doing all of this on purpose makes his stomach flip again. What the hell was Soap supposed to do with that? And what the hell does it mean for him ?

Soap stops pacing, leaning against the wall for support. His breath comes quick and shallow, his heart still beating too fast for comfort.

“No,” he mutters under his breath. “No way. This can’t be happening. Not with him .”

But deep down, a small part of him, something Soap refuses to acknowledge, something too dangerous to name, knows that this is happening. It’s real. And he has no idea what the hell to do about it.

Still reeling from the realization, Soap takes another deep breath, trying to steady himself. He stares at the floor, his mind whirling with possibilities, confusion, and the slowly growing hint of something else.

“Well, this is just brilliant,” he mutters to no one in particular.

An hour later, Soap drags himself into the base's gym, the soft hum of equipment and the sound of weights clanking already filling the air.

The others are already in the middle of their warm-ups, but Soap’s mind is still a million miles away. Instead of jumping into the routine, he finds a spot on the far side of the gym and sits against the wall, watching. His eyes follow Ghost, who’s casually leaning against the rack, talking with Price. His movements are so effortless, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s just… there. Soap can’t stop looking at him. He should be angry, he should be pissed off about last night. But all he feels is this strange pull; a frustration and confusion so deep it’s almost dizzying.

As Ghost picks up a set of dumbbells and begins his sets, Soap’s gaze follows every movement. His focus never wavers, not even when Gaz jogs up next to him, spotting him with that usual curious expression.

"Soap," Gaz says, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth, "you gonna start working out, or you just gonna sit there and stare at Ghost all morning?"

Soap blinks, snapping out of his trance. His eyes quickly flick to Gaz, but his mind’s still on Ghost, still seeing the way he moves so damn effortlessly. Soap’s cheeks heat up slightly, realizing how obvious he must look.

“Huh?” Soap says dumbly, raking a hand through his hair. “What are you on about?”

Gaz raises an eyebrow, looking over at Ghost, who’s completely oblivious, his back turned, lifting weights like it’s no big deal. Gaz gives Soap a knowing look. "You’ve been staring at him for a while now. Pretty sure you’re about to start drooling. What’s the deal? Still mad about the thing with your most recent ex?"

Soap freezes. He’s caught. He didn’t even realize how intense he’d been staring. His first instinct is to argue, to deny it, but the words don’t come.

“Uh… yeah, sure,” Soap mutters, shrugging nonchalantly. He doesn’t even know why he says it. It’s the first thing that comes to mind, and it’s the easiest thing to say. He doesn’t have the energy to explain that this is about more than just some petty jealousy. That it’s not just about his exes, this is bigger than that. It’s Ghost. It’s everything that happened last night. It’s the touch, the look, the way he made Soap feel completely disoriented.

Gaz laughs, but it’s half-hearted. "Thought so," he says, slapping Soap on the back. "You’re lucky the guy's practically a brick wall, or he’d be in for a hell of a day if I were in your shoes."

Soap barely responds, still zoning out as he looks over at Ghost again, his chest tight. Ghost’s back is still turned to them, but Soap swears he can feel his gaze even without looking directly at him.

Gaz notices Soap’s distant look, narrowing his eyes. "You’re really not angry, are you?" he says, smirking now. "I mean, you look like someone just kicked your dog, not like someone who’s pissed about a girl."

Soap forces himself to shake his head, snapping out of his thoughts for a moment. "Nah, mate. Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about." He forces a chuckle, trying to cover up his nerves. "Just… you know. Whatever. No big deal."

Gaz looks at him like he doesn’t quite buy it but decides not to press it further. "Alright then. You’re the one who has to explain it all to yourself." He pats Soap’s shoulder and walks off to join Price, who’s starting his sets at the other end of the gym.

But Soap’s not even really paying attention to Gaz anymore. He’s still watching Ghost, watching the way his muscles flex as he lifts the weights, the way he’s so effortlessly confident in everything he does. Soap’s stomach twists again, but this time it’s a little different; it’s the feeling of wanting something more .

God, what the hell is wrong with me? he thinks, his pulse suddenly racing.

For a long moment, he just watches. And though he tries to tell himself it’s nothing, that it’s just his usual frustration with Ghost, a part of him can’t deny that it’s so much more complicated than that.

Ghost’s head turns slightly, catching Soap’s gaze out of the corner of his eye. For just a second, their eyes meet. Even with the mask, Soap can make out the subtle shift in his expression, the way his lips curl into a smirk, the outline of it evident beneath the fabric. He raises a brow, the gesture clearly mocking, but doesn’t say a word.

Soap looks away quickly, his heart skipping a beat.

Fuck , he thinks. He knows.

Later that day, Soap follows Ghost into the team’s armory. The door clicks shut behind him, and for a moment, he just stands there, unsure how to start. Ghost is at the workbench, focused on cleaning one of the rifles, his movements methodical and precise. The hum of the fluorescent lights is the only sound filling the space.

Soap stands a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He clears his throat. "Lt, we really should talk about last night."

Ghost doesn’t look up from the rifle, but Soap can see the subtle shift in his posture, the slight tightness of his shoulders as if he’s bracing for something. Still, he plays it cool. “What’s there to talk about?”

Soap frowns, frustration mixing with confusion. “I don’t know. What the fuck was that all about?”

Ghost shrugs, still not breaking his focus on the rifle. “What do you think it was?”

Soap freezes. He’s not sure why it feels like he’s walking into a trap. His heart pounds in his chest, his face growing hotter by the second. He hesitates, the words sitting heavy on his tongue. After a long pause, he finally stumbles out, “I think it meant… you like me.”

There’s a beat of silence. Ghost finally looks up at him, expression hidden beneath the mask but the smirk is clear from the way his lips twitch under the fabric. He raises an eyebrow, the amusement in his gaze undeniable.

Without saying anything, Ghost sets the rifle down carefully, his movement slow but calculated. He steps forward, closing the distance between them with an ease that makes Soap’s stomach tighten. Before Soap can react, Ghost is there, his body pressing him against the wall. The sudden proximity leaves Soap breathless, the air thick with tension.

Soap looks up at Ghost, the height difference suddenly feeling even more pronounced. He can feel Ghost’s presence like a weight on his chest, his breath quickening.

"Only took you a night to realize," Ghost says, his voice low and smooth, the words dripping with amusement. "Thought I'd wait longer."

Soap’s heart races. The mix of confusion, anger, and a strange, unexpected rush of desire leaves him speechless, pinned under Ghost’s gaze. He opens his mouth to respond but nothing comes out. He feels like he’s been caught in a storm, swept along without control.

Soap wriggles away, slipping sideways under Ghost’s arm like a cornered cat finding its escape route. His face burns red, and he stumbles back a few paces, putting the workbench between them as a makeshift barrier. He points a shaky finger at Ghost, words spilling out in a frantic rush. “I... I don’t swing that way, Lt! I don’t!”

Ghost tilts his head, arms still folded, watching him with an unreadable gaze. Even through the mask, Soap can make out the outline of a smirk; a sharp, amused thing that only stokes the fire in his chest.

“Don’t you?” Ghost asks, his tone light but probing, like he’s already read the answer in Soap’s body language.

Soap sputters, nearly choking on his own breath. “I don’t! Never have! Never will!” He tries to hold his ground, his voice firm, but the crack in his tone betrays him.

“Sure about that?” Ghost counters, casually leaning back against the wall. “’Cause you didn’t seem so certain last night.”

Soap’s jaw drops. “That’s, no! That’s not how that went, and you bloody know it! I was confused ! You ambushed me, Lt!”

Ghost shrugs, one shoulder rolling as he picks up the rifle he’d been cleaning earlier, running his cloth along the barrel. “Ambushed you, huh? That what we’re callin’ it?”

“Aye!” Soap says, flailing one hand while the other clutches his hip like it’s keeping him grounded. “I was too busy tryin’ to process whatever... that was to even think straight!”

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Ghost replies smoothly, his eyes flicking up to meet Soap’s. “You’re thinkin’ too much. Should try feelin’ for once, see where it gets you.”

Soap glares, though his blush deepens. “I feel plenty, you daft bastard. And right now, all I feel is how bloody insufferable you are.”

Ghost snorts quietly, low and almost fond, as if Soap’s frustration is the highlight of his day. “Insufferable, am I?”

“Aye!” Soap snaps, pacing now like a caged animal. “And smug! And-” He gestures vaguely at Ghost, words failing him. “Whatever this whole act is, just... stop it!”

Ghost’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Johnny, this isn’t an act.”

Soap freezes, the weight of the words hitting him like a sudden gust of wind. He opens his mouth, closes it, then stammers, “You—what does that even mean?”

Ghost sets the rifle down gently. He takes a step forward, closing the gap between them again, though this time his presence feels less suffocating and more… steady. Grounding. He holds Soap’s gaze, his voice calm but carrying that quiet intensity that always unnerves him.

“It means,” Ghost says, “if you wanna see if you can really do men or not, come to my quarters tonight.”

Soap’s eyes widen, and he stares at Ghost like he’s just suggested storming a building unarmed. “What?”

Ghost doesn’t break eye contact. “If not, I’ll take the hint and never meddle again. Simple as that.”

For once, Soap is utterly speechless. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, but no words come out. Ghost turns back to the rifle, picking up the cloth and continuing to clean it like their conversation never happened.

The silence is deafening. Soap’s heart pounds in his chest, his brain doing somersaults as he struggles to process what was just said. Finally, he takes a step back, then another, slipping out of the armory without another word.

As he walks down the hall, his mind replays Ghost’s offer on an endless loop. And the worst part? He still doesn’t know if he’s going to take him up on it.

Soap stands in the dimly lit hallway, staring at Ghost’s door like it’s a locked vault containing a bomb he’s supposed to defuse. He paces back and forth, his boots scuffing against the floor, his hands flying into his hair one moment and then dropping to his sides the next.

“What the hell am I doing?” he mutters under his breath, glancing at the door before turning on his heel to walk away. He makes it three steps before he stops, groaning and scrubbing a hand down his face. “No, this is daft. Absolutely bloody daft.”

But still, he doesn’t leave.

Instead, he pivots back toward the door, his pulse pounding in his ears as he steps closer. His hand hovers over the doorframe, fingers twitching. He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t even touch it. He just stands there like an idiot, his brain playing an endless loop of what the fuck are you doing, Soap?

“Maybe he’s asleep,” Soap whispers to himself, grasping at excuses. “Aye, that’s it. He’s asleep. Wouldn’t even hear me if I knocked.”

He backs up again, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to leave, but the hallway feels like it’s conspiring against him, funneling him back toward that damn door. He stops mid-step, spinning around again, hands on his hips as he glares at the door like it personally offended him.

“What if he’s waitin’?” Soap mutters. “What if he’s sittin’ in there, expectin’ me to show up, all smug and, fuck, I can’t just leave. But if I knock and he opens it, then what?!”

He starts pacing again, the hallway suddenly feeling too warm, too suffocating. “This is stupid. So bloody stupid. I don’t even-” He pauses, looking at the door again. “What am I supposed to say ? ‘Oh, hi, Lt. Just here to see if I can… you know… try men?’ That’ll go over well.”

Soap throws his head back, groaning loudly, before slapping both hands over his face. “Get a grip, Johnny. He’s just a man. Just a… tall, intimidating man who knows exactly what he’s doin’.”

Soap stares at the door again, his hand hovering in mid-air like it’s caught between knocking and retreating. He doesn’t know why he’s here. Why he hasn’t just turned tail and headed back to his quarters to pretend none of this ever happened.

He’s never considered men before. Sure, he’s thought some were attractive, Ghost included. The man’s objectively good-looking, even with half his face always covered. But it’s not like it’s ever been a thing. Just a bloke appreciating another bloke’s looks. Nothing deep. Nothing he’d ever act on.

So what the hell is he doing here now?

Soap drags his fingers through his hair, messing it up even more as his thoughts swirl. When did this even start? When did Ghost start looking at him like that? Yeah, they’ve been through a lot together; years in the field, watching each other’s backs.  Yet he can’t think of a single moment that would’ve tipped him off. Ghost was always just Ghost. Unreadable. Stoic. Quietly watching the world around him, but never giving anything away.

And now… this.

Soap trusts him. That’s not even a question. He trusts Ghost with his life. Always has. But this... this is foreign. And foreign is almost scary.

“Christ,” Soap mutters, running a hand over his face. He slaps his cheeks lightly, trying to snap himself out of the loop. “The man’s weird as hell, but he wouldn’t hurt me. Never has, never would.”

His thoughts shift to his exes, every one of them that left him for Ghost. Yeah, Ghost flirted with them. Soap can admit that now. But at the end of the day, it wasn’t Ghost who wrecked those relationships. Those women made their choices. They looked elsewhere. They left. Ghost just… helped them along, maybe. And now that Soap’s really thinking about it, they weren’t exactly the most loyal bunch to begin with.

He exhales sharply, planting his hands on his hips. “Doesn’t matter,” he tells himself. “Need to know what the hell this is all about. What he wants.”

Soap straightens, his resolve hardening. He has to get to the bottom of this. Ghost isn’t one to act without reason, and Soap has to figure out what that reason is.

With a sharp breath, he lifts his hand and knocks.

After a few moments of silence, the sound of the lock turning clicks through the quiet hallway. Soap stiffens, straightening as the door swings open. And there stands Ghost, shirtless, a towel draped over his head, his mask still firmly in place. His casual pants sit low on his hips, loose but doing little to disguise the power in his frame. It’s obvious he’s just stepped out of the shower; his skin still glistening with beads of water, droplets clinging to the planes of his chest and abdomen.

Soap feels his brain short-circuit for a moment. Sure, he’s seen Ghost naked before, plenty of times, in locker rooms or during missions when privacy wasn’t an option. But not like this. Not this close. Not with this context hanging heavy in the air.

His eyes involuntarily sweep over him, taking in the solid expanse of his bare torso, the sheer size of him. It’s not like Soap’s out of shape; he’s all muscle himself, with the kind of build that’s kept him alive in some dire situations. But Ghost is bigger. Broader. Taller. It’s impossible not to notice, the difference even more stark now, with the dim light of the room highlighting every contour of Ghost’s body.

Soap gulps audibly, his throat suddenly dry as his gaze flickers to the water droplets sliding over Ghost’s torso. He forces himself to look away, his cheeks warming to a tell-tale red.

Ghost raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. The faintest outline of a smirk teases at the corner of the mask.

Without a word, Ghost steps back and opens the door wider, gesturing silently for Soap to enter. He grabs the shirt draped over the couch and seamlessly puts it on before dropping onto the cushions.

Soap hesitates for a fraction of a second, steeling himself before stepping inside. His boots feel too loud against the floor, every movement amplifying the tension that coils tighter with every passing second. Ghost shuts the door behind him with a soft click, and Soap swears the sound echoes in his ears.

He takes a deep breath, glancing at Ghost, who’s already settled on the couch, towel still draped lazily over his head. He picks up a book from the side table and flips it open like this is just a regular night. Like Soap isn’t standing here, feeling like his heart might punch straight out of his chest.

“Alright,” Soap finally mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s talk.”

Ghost looks up, his dark eyes steady and sharp, locking on Soap’s with unnerving ease. “So talk,” he says, voice low, calm, and unbothered as ever.

Soap crosses his arms, eyes darting around the room as he works up the nerve to speak. “Well, first things first,” he begins, his voice tight. “Did you... did you ever sleep with any of them? My exes?”

Ghost pauses, the book still in his hand, then closes it with a soft thunk and places it on the table beside him. He sighs, his eyes unwavering as he regards Soap. “No,” he says evenly, his voice steady. “Never.”

Soap’s brows knit, his lips pressed into a thin line. “So how far did you go then? Flirting, yeah, I know that much. But… did you sabotage things any more than that?”

Ghost shakes his head, his voice calm and assured. “Didn’t need to. Flirting was enough. A compliment here, a look there; it did the trick. Never touched any of ‘em. Not that I wanted to.”

Soap blinks, his jaw tightening for a moment before he lets out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “So you weren’t interested in any of ‘em?”

Ghost’s eyes narrow, a faint smirk playing beneath the edge of his mask. “Not even a little.”

Soap lets out a long exhale, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s not sure if he’s relieved, annoyed, or some confusing mix of both.

“Well… that’s somethin’, I guess,” he mutters, mostly to himself. At least the disloyalty hadn’t gone further than their wandering eyes and hearts.

The room falls into a heavy silence for a moment, broken only by the faint ticking of a clock somewhere. Soap glances at Ghost, his resolve finally firming.

“Alright,” he says, voice louder this time, though he’s still red in the face. “How do we go about this… y’know… experiment ? Finding out if I can… y’know…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely with his hands, his expression a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “You know what I mean.”

Ghost leans back further into the couch, spreading his arms along the top of the backrest with easy confidence. His broad frame takes up nearly all the space. His posture is relaxed, but his presence looms, the air in the room charged with tension.

Even with the mask on, Soap can see the outline of that damned smirk again. Ghost tilts his head slightly, his voice calm and low, with a teasing edge. “Good question, Johnny,” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on Soap. “Hm… let’s see…”

Ghost doesn’t say a word at first, just tilts his head slightly to the side, gesturing with a subtle nod toward the empty space on the couch beside him.

Soap blinks, confused. He points at himself, eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, you want me to sit… there?”

Ghost’s gaze sharpens ever so slightly, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. He doesn’t bother with words, just stares at Soap like he’s the biggest idiot alive, the “obviously” hanging heavy in the silence.

Soap’s cheeks flush, and he sputters, “Right, okay, sure, just makin’ sure, yeah?” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, stepping closer to the couch with an air of someone marching toward their own execution.

Ghost doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. He just waits, his relaxed sprawl on the couch managing to feel both casual and intimidating at the same time. Soap swallows hard, his pulse quickening, and finally sits down, not quite on the edge of the cushion but not leaning back either. His posture screams discomfort, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

The silence stretches, heavy and expectant. Soap glances at Ghost from the corner of his eye. “So… uh…” he starts, his voice trailing off as he struggles to think of what to say. “What now?”

Ghost turns his head toward Soap, teasing. “Relax, Johnny,” he says, his voice low, almost a drawl. “You look like you’re sittin’ on a bloody landmine.”

Soap huffs a nervous laugh, his hands gripping his knees. “Maybe I feel like I am,” he mutters, refusing to meet Ghost’s gaze.

Ghost watches him for a moment before silently raising his right hand, palm up, between them. The gesture is quiet, willful.

Soap blinks, staring at it like it’s a puzzle he can’t quite piece together. “You want me to… what, exactly?”

“Take it, Johnny,” Ghost murmurs, voice low, almost a challenge but without the usual edge. “C’mon.”

Soap hesitates, his hand hovering for a moment before he finally gives in with a sigh. His fingers brush against Ghost’s palm as he places his hand into it, the touch tentative at first. Their hands fit together, one roughened by years of close combat and the other equally calloused, equally worn.

It’s strange, awkward at first, but then it shifts, the awkwardness fading into something quieter, almost natural. Soap glances down, noting the scars on Ghost’s hand, the familiar ridges and calluses that have saved his life more times than he can count. He thinks of missions where this hand had hauled him to safety, grabbed him out of a firefight, or gripped his shoulder in reassurance when words weren’t enough.

It’s steady. Solid. Like everything Ghost is to him.

Soap’s thumb twitches slightly, brushing over the edge of Ghost’s palm. He almost pulls back, but before he can, Ghost moves. Slowly, purposefully, he entwines their fingers, threading them together. Soap freezes, his breath catching as Ghost’s grip tightens, not too much, just enough to feel purposeful.

When Soap looks up, Ghost’s gaze is fixed on him, heated and unflinching. The intensity in his eyes makes Soap’s chest tighten and his cheeks burn, but he doesn’t let go.

And then Ghost moves again. With their fingers still entwined, he raises Soap’s hand to his face, his touch surprisingly gentle. Soap can only watch, wide-eyed, as Ghost presses a soft, chaste kiss to his knuckles through the mask.

The contact is brief, barely there, but Soap feels it all the same. He gulps nervously, his mouth dry, but he still doesn’t pull away.

“This is…” Soap starts, his voice barely above a whisper. He can’t find the words.

He doesn’t need to. Ghost’s thumb brushes against the back of his hand, grounding him, steadying him.

Soap’s mind reels. This is so new, so foreign. Ghost, his lieutenant, his best friend... touching him like this. Looking at him like this. It’s almost too much, yet somehow, it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels… inevitable.

Ghost holds his gaze, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against the back of Soap’s hand. The silence between them hums with tension, the air thick enough to feel tangible. Then Ghost breaks it, his voice low and quiet, but cutting through like a blade.

“What do you think, Johnny?” he asks, the question weighty, loaded. His eyes don’t leave Soap’s, pinning him in place. “Does this… repulse you?”

Soap blinks, his lips parting as he stares at their joined hands. The answer is there, clear as day, but his mouth struggles to catch up with his mind. Finally, he shakes his head, his voice hoarse. “Surprisingly, no.”

Ghost tilts his head slightly, his mask catching the dim light. The faintest outline of his smirk plays beneath the fabric, impossible to miss. “And if I did something more?” he murmurs, his tone dipping lower, his thumb brushing Soap’s knuckles with almost maddening gentleness. “Would it scare you off?”

Soap exhales sharply, his pulse hammering in his ears. He doesn’t look away, though every instinct tells him he should. His throat bobs as he swallows, his voice a mix of challenge and nerves when he finally answers.

“We’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

The corner of Ghost’s mouth quirks higher under the mask, and Soap’s breath hitches. He doesn’t know what’s coming next, but he knows one thing for sure: he’s not running. Not this time.

Ghost’s fingers slip from Soap’s, their absence leaving a warmth that lingers even as his hand moves. His calloused fingers trail up, brushing against Soap’s jaw, tracing the line of beard like he’s mapping out territory he’s been hesitant to claim. The touch is light, exploratory, yet charged enough to make Soap’s breath catch in his throat.

Soap closes his eyes, his breathing uneven, his chest rising and falling with each shallow intake of air. His mind is a mess of nerves, his heart pounding like a war drum, and yet… why doesn’t it feel wrong? If anything, it feels maddeningly right.

Ghost’s thumb shifts, skimming across his jaw and trailing up to the corner of his lips. The sensation is electric, pulling a shaky exhale from Soap as his eyes flutter open. He looks up, meeting Ghost’s gaze, and the intensity there makes him feel like he’s standing too close to a fire.

He knows where this is going. Knows the path they’re treading is one they can’t backpedal from. And fuck it all, might as well.

Soap’s hand moves before he can second-guess it, fingers trembling as they reach for Ghost’s mask. He pauses for just a fraction of a second, searching Ghost’s expression for any hint of resistance, but all he finds is quiet patience, maybe even encouragement.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he hooks his fingers under the fabric and pulls it down, revealing Ghost’s face.

The scars, the faint stubble, the lines etched into his skin from years of battles and burdens, it’s all there, laid bare before him. It’s not like it's the first time Soap has seen Ghost unmasked, but this close… it’s different. The details hit him harder. The sharp cut of his jaw, the weathered strength in his features, the softness in his eyes that he so rarely lets show.

Soap swallows hard, his thumb brushing against the mask still clutched in his hand. His lips part like he wants to say something, but the words never come. Instead, he just stares, his cheeks flushed, his pulse a chaotic mess as he takes Ghost in; this man, the person he trusts with his life the most, being so close and looking at him like this. Like he’s something Ghost has wanted all along.

Ghost's hands lift, palms rough but steady, cradling both sides of Soap's face like he’s holding something delicate. His thumbs graze over Soap's cheekbones, the faintest of touches, and Soap feels his skin heat even more under the contact. Ghost leans in, their noses almost brushing, and Soap’s breath catches as he feels the faint warmth of Ghost’s breath against his lips.

"I'm about to kiss you," Ghost murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, but there’s a faint teasing edge to it.

Soap blinks, momentarily thrown off. "Who the hell announces they’re about to kiss someone?" he mutters, his tone more annoyed than it should be given the situation.

Ghost chuckles, a quiet sound that Soap feels more than hears. "Just makin’ sure I don’t freak you out."

The corner of Soap’s mouth quirks into a smirk despite himself. "Bit late for that, don’t ya think?" he quips, his voice softer now, the tension in his chest loosening just enough for him to let out a shaky breath. Then, with a quiet sigh, he closes his eyes, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

Ghost takes it as the signal it is.

He tilts his head slightly, closing the final inches of space between them, and their lips meet.

The kiss is gentle, tentative at first, like Ghost is testing the waters. Soap’s lips are soft and warm, and for a moment, they simply press together, unmoving, as if grounding themselves in the reality of the moment.

But then, slowly, Ghost deepens the kiss, his grip on Soap’s face firming, his thumbs brushing small, soothing circles against his cheeks. Soap responds instinctively, his body relaxing as he leans into the touch, his own hands finding purchase on Ghost’s forearms, gripping them like an anchor.

The world outside the room fades into nothing, leaving just the two of them and the quiet, unspoken understanding in the kiss. It’s new, uncharted, but it feels steady. Like this is exactly where they’re supposed to be.

Soap unconsciously parts his lips, the movement subtle but enough for Ghost to notice. There’s a pause, just a breath, as if Ghost is giving him one last chance to pull away. But Soap doesn’t.

Ghost takes it as permission. Leisurely, his tongue brushes against Soap’s lower lip, testing, teasing, until Soap exhales sharply and tilts his head slightly, a small, unspoken invitation.

The kiss deepens, the shift slow but undeniable. Ghost’s tongue slips past Soap’s lips, the motion deliberate and unhurried, exploring rather than rushing. It’s warm and consuming, a strange mix of unfamiliar and… natural. Soap’s breath hitches, his fingers tightening around Ghost’s forearms even more. Huge, solid, and all muscle under his grip.

The stubble on Ghost’s face brushes against Soap’s skin, rough but grounding. It shouldn’t feel good. It shouldn’t feel right. Soap’s mind screams at him that it’s all wrong. The closeness, the intensity, the fact that it’s Ghost, of all people. All man. And yet…

Why doesn’t it feel wrong?

Why does the scrape of stubble against his face send shivers down his spine instead of pushing him away? Why do the broad forearms he’s gripping feel so steady, so damn reliable, when they should intimidate him? And why does every movement, every touch, feel like it was meant to happen?

The questions swirl, unanswerable and relentless, but Soap doesn’t pull back. If anything, he leans in more, letting the kiss take over, letting it silence the noise in his head.

When Ghost finally pulls back, it’s slow, almost reluctant, like he’s giving Soap time to find his footing again. Their breaths mingle in the charged air between them, uneven and hot. Ghost’s hands are still on Soap’s face, steady and grounding, and Soap’s lips are still parted, tingling with the memory of the kiss.

“Still with me, Johnny?” Ghost murmurs, his voice low, rough, and impossibly calm, like he didn’t just turn Soap’s entire world on its head.

Soap swallows hard, his cheeks burning, his chest tight. He grips Ghost’s arms tighter, steadying himself, and for a moment, he doesn’t speak. The weight of what just happened presses down on him, but it’s not suffocating; it’s something else.

He shouldn’t like this. Shouldn’t want more. But the question still lingers in his mind, louder than anything else.

Why?

Soap takes a shaky breath, steadying himself, his mind buzzing with too many questions, too many uncertainties. One, in particular, comes to the forefront, and he blurts it out before he can stop himself.

“Alright, Lt. Spill it.” His voice is low but steady, his brows furrowed as he looks Ghost dead in the eye. “What is it, eh? What’d you see in me? Enough to meddle with all my relationships? Enough to… to like me?”

Ghost freezes for a moment, his expression unreadable for a second. His thumb stops idly tracing Soap’s jaw, his fingers still resting lightly against his face. The silence stretches just a second too long, and Soap feels his impatience bubbling over.

“Oh, for the love of-” Soap groans, shaking Ghost lightly by the arms. “Don’t just sit there like a statue! Spill it! ”

And then Ghost laughs.

Not a chuckle. Not one of those snorts he gives when Soap says something daft or gets ribbed by the others. No, this is a full-bodied, hearty laugh that shakes his chest and brightens his whole face.

Soap freezes, blinking at the sight like it’s something out of a fever dream. He’s seen Ghost smirk, heard him mutter sarcastic quips, even caught him grinning under his mask once or twice. But this? This genuine, unguarded laughter? It’s…

Soap blinks again, his lips parting slightly in disbelief. Ghost’s head tilts back slightly, the sound of his laughter filling the room, and for a fleeting moment, Soap can’t help but be in awe. Ghost smiling like this, his sharp features softened by the rare display of joy, is nothing short of stunning.

“Bloody hell,” Soap mutters under his breath, huffing as he shakes his head. He doesn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed. Maybe both.

Ghost’s laughter finally subsides, though a smirk lingers on his lips as he gazes at Soap, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement.

“You’re a piece of work, y’know that?” Soap grumbles, his cheeks still burning as he looks anywhere but directly at Ghost.

Ghost hums, his smirk deepening. “Maybe. But I’m not giving you the satisfaction of knowin’.”

Soap’s gaze snaps back to Ghost, his annoyance flaring again. “What d’you mean, not giving me the satisfaction? You can’t just-”

“Oh, I can,” Ghost interrupts smoothly, the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable. “You’ll just have to lose a few nights of sleep thinkin’ about it. ‘S only fair, after all the trouble you’ve given me.”

Soap gapes at him, caught between wanting to throttle him and laugh at the sheer audacity. “You’re a menace, y’know that?”

“Mm.” Ghost’s smirk doesn’t falter as he leans back slightly, his palms still resting lightly on Soap’s face. “And yet, you're still here.”

Soap lets out an exasperated huff, rolling his eyes. “Aye, you’ve got me there, ya smug bastard.”

Ghost tilts his head, his smirk fading into something softer as he studies Soap’s face. His thumb resumes its slow trace along Soap’s jawline, and his voice drops, quieter, more thoughtful. “You really want to know?”

Soap blinks at the sudden shift in tone, his breath catching. “I—aye, I do.”

Ghost’s gaze doesn’t waver. “It’s because you’re you, Johnny. Always have been. Loud, stubborn, and reckless, yeah, but loyal. You’re the kind of person who gives everything, even when you don’t realize it. And somewhere along the way, I couldn’t stop noticing.”

Soap swallows hard, his heart thudding in his chest. “When?”

Ghost’s lips quirk up into the barest hint of a smile. “First time I saw you laugh. Really laugh. I couldn’t get it out of my head. Didn’t help that you’ve got a knack for makin’ my life a living hell, but... there’s no one else I’d want at my side.”

The words hit Soap like a punch to the gut, knocking the air right out of him. He searches Ghost’s face for any sign of teasing, but all he finds is sincerity.

Soap is speechless yet again. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, his cheeks burning. Finally, he mutters, “Y’could’ve just said that from the start, y’know. Saved us both the headache.”

Ghost chuckles, leaning in just enough for their foreheads to touch. “What can I say? I like keepin’ you on your toes.”

Soap huffs, but the corner of his lips quirks up despite himself. “Guess I can’t fault you for that.”

“Good.” Ghost’s voice is low, warm, and steady. “Now stop overthinkin’. I like you. Simple as that."

The words hit Soap like a tidal wave. His heart flutters, skipping a beat at how Ghost finally just outright says it. No teasing, no cryptic remarks. Just honesty. And it hits differently.

Soap blinks, a slow smile spreading across his face as he processes it. He doesn’t need to analyze it anymore. He doesn’t need to question why. Ghost’s reasoning is enough.

Soap’s breath catches as Ghost leans in again, the same unhurried intensity in his movements. Their lips meet, the kiss deeper this time, more certain. Soap feels Ghost’s hand steadying him at the nape of his neck, the gentle but firm grip grounding him. Ghost’s lips part slightly, and Soap mirrors the movement instinctively, their breaths mingling as the kiss deepens.

Soap feels Ghost’s tongue brush against his, the sensation startling but not unwelcome. It’s slow, purposeful, every movement measured as if Ghost is savoring the moment. Soap can’t help but lose himself in it, his fingers curling into the fabric of Ghost’s shirt.

But then, a cool sensation makes Soap shiver as Ghost’s hand creeps under his shirt, his fingertips brushing over the warm skin of Soap’s chest. The contrast sends a jolt through him, and before he can process it, he instinctively wiggles away.

The shift is sudden, Soap losing his balance and landing on the floor with an unceremonious thud. “Bloody hell,” he mutters, wincing as he rubs his backside. He glances up to find Ghost leaning over the couch, one eyebrow raised, his expression a mixture of confusion and mild amusement.

“You alright there, Johnny?” Ghost’s voice is low, a hint of teasing laced in his words.

Soap brushes the back of his head awkwardly, avoiding Ghost’s gaze. “Aye, just fine. Yer movin’ a bit fast, though.”

At that, Ghost’s expression shifts. The teasing edge softens, and his eyes flicker with something Soap doesn’t quite recognize. He leans back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he mutters, “Sorry.”

The sudden seriousness catches Soap off guard, and he pushes himself off the floor, climbing back onto the sofa. Sitting beside Ghost, he waits, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.

Soap nudges Ghost lightly with his shoulder. “Go on, then. Spill it. What’s got you all… broody now?”

Ghost exhales, his shoulders tense. “I just… can’t control myself anymore.” He glances at Soap briefly before looking away, his voice quieter now. “Not when you’re here. Finally. In this… context.”

Soap’s brows knit together, his chest tightening at the vulnerability in Ghost’s tone. “Ghost…”

Ghost cuts him off, his words tumbling out in a rush, as though he’s been holding them back for too long. “Every mission, Johnny. Every bloody time we’re out there, it’s like a coin toss. Will we make it back? Will you make it back?” He rubs a hand over his face, his fingers brushing his jaw contemplatively. “I’ve thought about it. Too much, probably. What if one of those tosses doesn’t go our way? What if… what if I never get to do this? Never get to tell you?”

Soap swallows hard, the weight of Ghost’s words sinking in. He opens his mouth to respond but hesitates, unsure of what to say.

Ghost shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I’d regret it, Johnny. If I couldn’t touch you. If I couldn’t… have this. Even if it’s just once.”

The raw honesty in Ghost’s voice sends a pang through Soap’s chest. He places a hand on Ghost’s arm, squeezing it gently. “You’re not gonna lose me, Lt. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not like you’d let anything bad happen to me anyway.”

Ghost’s gaze snaps to Soap’s, the intensity in his eyes unmistakable. “Damn right, I wouldn’t. I’d do anything, Johnny. Anything to make sure we both come back home safe. Always.”

Ghost’s eyes flicker toward Soap's hand, still resting on his arm, soothing him. A teasing glint returns to Ghost’s gaze, and Soap immediately regrets letting his guard down.

“So does this mean you like me back?” Ghost drawls, his voice low and laced with amusement.

Soap’s face burns instantly, the heat rushing to his cheeks. He glares at Ghost, trying to muster up a retort, but the words catch in his throat. Instead, he stammers, letting go of his arm hastily, “Shut up, you smug bastard.”

Ghost’s smirk grows, raising a brow as if waiting for Soap to continue.

Soap groans, covering his face with his hands. “Though… I definitely don’t… dislike you.”

The words come out haltingly, but they’re honest, and when Soap peeks through his fingers, he’s met with a rare sight: Ghost smiling. Not just a quirk of the lips or a hidden grin, but a genuine smile that softens his entire face.

Soap’s chest flutters at the sight, his breath hitching as he takes it in. It’s one of those rare moments where Ghost’s raw emotion shines through, unfiltered, and it hits Soap harder than he expects.

He lets out a long sigh, his thoughts drifting back to Ghost’s earlier worries. The missions, the danger, the constant question of whether they’ll make it back alive. He gets it, he really does.

“Fine,” Soap mutters, breaking the silence. He glances at Ghost, his expression resigned but not without warmth. “I’ll let you touch me.”

Ghost’s brow arches again, but before he can get too cocky, Soap points a finger at him. “But don’t expect a miracle, yeah? I’ve never done this before.”

Ghost chuckles, a deep rumble that sends a shiver down Soap’s spine. “I’ll take what I can get, Johnny.”

Soap rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch upward despite himself. He knows this is uncharted territory, messy and uncertain, but as Ghost’s gaze lingers on him, Soap feels the tiniest flicker of confidence.

Ghost leans forward, his lips meeting Soap’s again, but this time the kiss is softer, chaste, almost hesitant. There’s a certain tenderness in the way their mouths move, a quiet exploration of something fragile but steady. Soap feels himself relaxing, letting the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he melts into the moment.

But then Ghost pulls back, his hand sliding down to Soap’s wrist. Without a word, he rises from the couch, tugging Soap with him.

“Where are we-?” Soap starts, but the words die on his tongue as Ghost glances back, his gaze intense and unreadable. He doesn’t answer, just guides Soap toward the bedroom. The soft, warm glow of the nightstand lamp casts flickering shadows across the walls, painting the space with a faint intimacy.

Soap tries to protest again, his nerves kicking in. “Ghost, maybe we should-”

Whatever he’s about to say is swallowed by Ghost’s mouth pressing against his, firm and deliberate this time. Soap’s eyes widen as he feels the slow slide of Ghost’s tongue against his lips, coaxing them apart. He hesitates for a fraction of a second before he surrenders, opening to him.

The kiss deepens, Ghost’s tongue exploring in a way that leaves Soap’s knees weak. It’s a languid, steady rhythm, slow but insistent, like Ghost is taking his time, savoring every moment. Soap feels the warmth of Ghost’s hand sliding up to the back of his neck, anchoring him in place as their mouths move together. It’s not rushed, but it’s still consuming, stealing Soap’s breath and leaving him dizzy.

When they finally break apart, both men are breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together. Ghost’s hand lingers on Soap’s jaw, his thumb brushing gently along his cheekbone. For a moment, they just stare at each other, the silence between them heavy with meaning.

Soap’s gaze searches Ghost’s, trying to read the emotions swirling behind those eyes. It’s like they’re both asking the same question: Are we really doing this?

The hesitation lingers, but then Soap exhales shakily, his resolve breaking. “Ah, fuck it,” he mutters under his breath, and before he can second-guess himself, his hand shoots up to the back of Ghost’s head, pulling him down into another kiss.

This time, it’s anything but soft. Soap crashes their lips together with a hunger that catches even him off guard, his fingers threading through Ghost’s short hair and gripping tightly. The kiss is aggressive, almost desperate, as if he’s trying to pour every unspoken thought and feeling into it.

Ghost meets him with equal fervor, his hands sliding down to Soap’s waist, gripping tightly as they stumble back toward the bed. Their bodies press together, heat building between them, and Soap feels Ghost’s fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt.

They break apart just long enough to pull their shirts off, the fabric discarded carelessly onto the floor. The cool air against his skin makes Soap shiver, but it’s quickly replaced by the heat of Ghost’s touch as their hands find each other’s bare chests, exploring the unfamiliar terrain of scars and muscle.

They stand there for a moment, bare from the waist up, breathing hard and staring at each other. Soap can’t help but think how surreal it all feels, how right it feels, despite every reason it shouldn’t. And yet, he doesn’t pull away. Not now. Not when they’ve come this far.

Ghost’s hands glide up Soap’s sides as he gently pushes him onto the bed. Soap lets out a quiet grunt as his back meets the mattress, the cool fabric beneath him contrasting sharply with the warmth of Ghost hovering above.

For a moment, Soap just stares up at him, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The dim light of the nightstand casts Ghost in a golden glow, his broad shoulders and defined features looking almost unreal. Soap feels his pulse quicken as Ghost’s eyes rake over him, not with their usual calculating sharpness, but with something softer, something more vulnerable.

Then Ghost moves, his fingers trailing over Soap’s torso with a touch so light it’s almost ticklish. The pads of his fingers skim over old scars and taut muscle, exploring as though mapping uncharted territory.

Soap shivers under the attention, his breath hitching as Ghost’s hand brushes over his chest, pausing there. His fingers ghost over the sensitive nipple, and Soap feels something stir in him, something he hadn’t anticipated.

The touch is barely there, but it sends a jolt through him that has his cheeks flushing. He lets out a soft, involuntary sigh, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. “Didn’t… didn’t know I’d be that bloody sensitive,” he mutters, his voice almost embarrassed.

Ghost hums, the sound low and amused but not mocking. His thumb brushes the same spot again, firmer this time, and Soap’s breathing falters.

“Guess you never played around much, eh?” Ghost’s tone is quiet, teasing, but there’s a gentle curiosity behind it.

Soap’s face burns, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times before he groans and shoves at Ghost’s shoulder. “Bloody hell, just shut up,” he grumbles, turning his head to the side in a vain attempt to hide how red his face has become.

But Ghost doesn’t move far, his quiet chuckle vibrating in the space between them. Soap can’t bring himself to look back at him, not yet, but he doesn’t push Ghost’s hand away either.

Ghost’s smirk grows, teasing as he lowers himself to Soap’s chest. His breath ghosts over Soap’s skin, the warmth contrasting with the cool air of the room. There’s no rush in his movements; his lips trail a languid path, soft and exploratory until they settle on their target. Then, without warning, his mouth closes over one nipple, his tongue flicking with a precision that draws a sharp gasp from Soap.

Soap’s head presses back into the pillow, his breathing hitching. His hand moves on instinct, gripping Ghost’s blond hair tightly, as if anchoring himself against the flood of sensations overtaking him. His fingers flex in Ghost’s hair, neither pulling him closer nor pushing him away, just holding on.

While Ghost’s mouth works, his free hand doesn’t remain idle. His calloused fingers find the other peak, brushing over it in a slow, deliberate rhythm that contrasts the heat of his mouth. He presses down just enough to make Soap’s chest rise instinctively, then adds a gentle pinch, rolling the flesh between his fingers. It’s not painful; far from it, but the sharpness of the sensation sends an electric jolt through Soap, and he groans despite himself.

“Bloody hell…” Soap’s voice is unsteady, torn between incredulity and surrender. He’s never felt anything like this, never thought he would. His hand fists the blanket beneath him, desperate for some semblance of control.

Ghost hums, the vibration from his mouth traveling through Soap’s chest like a ripple in water. His fingers and tongue work in perfect synchrony, alternating between teasing and soothing, as if testing Soap’s reactions to find what makes him squirm the most. Every flick, every pinch, every brush is calculated, drawing sounds from Soap that he didn’t even know he was capable of making.

When Ghost finally looks up, his eyes are dark with amusement and something deeper. “Didn’t think you’d be this sensitive either,” he mutters, his voice low and smug, the words muffled against Soap’s skin.

Soap’s cheeks flush crimson, and he glares down at him, half-hearted and breathless. “Aye, well… not exactly somethin’ I spent much time thinkin’ about, alright?”

“Good.” Ghost’s lips curve against him in a wicked grin as his fingers give another teasing pinch. “Wouldn’t want you discoverin’ these things without me.”

Soap groans, his blush deepening. “For Christ’s sake, Lt. Just shut up.”

But he doesn’t let go of Ghost’s hair, and his body arches slightly, betraying the fact that he doesn’t want him to stop, either.

Ghost continues his exploration of Soap's chest, his mouth following the trail his fingers left behind. He sucks and nips at one nipple while his hand works on the other, eliciting more desperate sounds from Soap.

Soap hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected any of this to feel so good, so natural. And yet here he is, his body betraying him in ways he didn’t know it could. There’s an ache low in his abdomen, a heat building steadily, and he’s all too aware of how his jeans are becoming increasingly tight around his throbbing erection. He bites the inside of his cheek, desperate to keep his composure, but every brush of Ghost’s fingers, every flick of his tongue makes it harder to ignore how his body is reacting. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and for a fleeting second, he curses himself for not being able to control it.

This shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t feel like this. Soap clenches his jaw, his thoughts racing as his heart pounds. He never thought he’d be here, with Ghost, no less, feeling… this. And yet, as Ghost pulls back from his chest, his lips red and glistening, Soap can’t deny it anymore.

He dares a glance down and swallows hard, his breath hitching again. Ghost’s eyes meet his for a brief moment, dark and heavy-lidded, before Soap’s gaze shifts lower, only to realize Ghost’s predicament mirrors his own. The unmistakable strain beneath Ghost’s trousers is impossible to miss.

Soap’s mind falters, unbidden memories flashing to life. The countless times he’d walked into the locker room, Ghost toweling off with that casual indifference, unconcerned by Soap or anyone else around. And now, Soap can’t unsee the vivid reminder of how big Ghost is, even in those moments.

His throat dries as the thought hits him, unrelenting. God help me… that thing’s gonna kill me.

Then, abruptly, another thought creeps in, unsolicited and unwelcome. Wait... did I just assume I’m gonna bottom tonight? Soap’s mind grinds to a halt, disbelief and confusion tangling into a tight knot in his chest. What the fuck...

His subconscious, ever the smug bastard, jumps in with an unhelpful, Well, yeah. You did clean your arsehole earlier, didn’t you? Didn’t eat anything heavy. Why the hell did you even do that?

Soap blinks, his thoughts racing back to earlier in the evening. What possessed me to do all that? It’s not like I- But the voice in his head cuts him off, wry and all-knowing. You knew. You’ve lived long enough to know how gay sex works, Johnny. And now look at you. Prepped and ready like you were waiting for this moment.

Soap swallows hard, the protest in his mind faltering as something deep within him begrudgingly surrenders to the truth. He’s never seen himself as submissive, not once. If anything, he’s always been the opposite: assertive, in control, the one calling the shots. And yet, the moment Ghost had proposed the idea, casually throwing out that challenge— If you wanna see if you can really do men or not, come to my quarters tonight —he hadn’t even hesitated. Without a second thought, he’d assumed a role he’d never imagined for himself, as though the decision had already been made before the words were even spoken.

The question hangs in his mind, unanswered, as he shifts uncomfortably on the bed. His jeans feel impossibly tight now, the ache growing more insistent with every passing second. This is all his fault, Soap decides, desperate to direct his spiraling thoughts elsewhere. His bloody fault. That stupid proposition. That stupid tone. Like he knew I’d say yes . The bloody menace.

Ghost’s voice cuts through the chaos in his head, low and amused. “Gonna keep gawking, Johnny, or are you finally gonna say somethin’?”

Soap jerks his eyes back up to Ghost’s face, only to find a knowing look in those shadowed eyes.

Soap snaps out of his trance, his cheeks flushing crimson, but instead of backing down, he scoffs, trying to save face. “Hard not to look with that damn thing sittin’ there like a bleedin’ monument,” he shoots back, gesturing vaguely at Ghost’s predicament. “Could cast a shadow big enough to block the sun, for God’s sake.”

Ghost bursts out laughing, his head tipping back as the deep, hearty sound fills the room. It’s so uncharacteristic that Soap can’t help but gawk for a second, momentarily forgetting his embarrassment. He'd never get used to seeing Ghost like this.

“Jesus, Johnny,” Ghost says once he catches his breath, wiping the corner of his eye as though to dab at nonexistent tears. “You’ve got a way with words, don’t you?”

Soap shrugs, feigning nonchalance, though the tips of his ears are still burning. “Well, if you didn’t bring a bloody batterin’ ram to the party, I wouldn’t have anything to comment on, now would I?”

Ghost leans closer, his smirk downright devilish. “You’re not wrong, but I can’t help wonderin’... do you always spend this much time thinkin’ about it?”

Soap glares at him, though there’s no real heat behind it. “You wish, mate. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t need to,” Ghost retorts smoothly, leaning just a touch closer. “You’re doin’ all the flatterin’ for me.”

Soap crosses his arms over his chest, glaring up at Ghost from where he’s lying. “Are you just gonna yap all night, or-”

Before he can finish, Ghost leans down, cutting him off with a kiss. It’s sudden, leaving no room for argument. Soap’s body tenses beneath him, his eyes wide as Ghost’s lips press against his own. The weight of Ghost’s presence, hovering over him, is inescapable; the solid warmth of him, the faint brush of stubble, the sheer intent behind the kiss.

Ghost’s gaze flickers down, his smirk growing as Soap’s breath hitches ever so slightly. The air between them feels charged, as Ghost’s hand begins a slow descent. His fingertips trace a path down Soap’s torso, brushing over the ridges of his abs with maddening precision. Soap tries to keep his breathing steady, but each touch sends a ripple through him, a quiet betrayal of how his body reacts under Ghost’s hands.

When Ghost reaches the line of Soap’s happy trail, his thumb pauses there, circling lightly, almost teasing. Soap tenses beneath him, his muscles taut, as if bracing for what’s to come. Ghost glances up, his eyes catching Soap’s, dark with intent but also a flicker of question, as if giving him a moment to object.

Soap doesn’t.

Instead, he swallows hard, his throat bobbing as he looks away, muttering under his breath, “Get on with it, you tease.”

Ghost chuckles softly, low and almost fond, before his fingers dip lower. He hooks them around the hem of Soap’s jeans, tugging lightly as if testing his resolve. When Soap doesn’t protest, Ghost moves with purpose, unzipping them with a slow, deliberate motion. The sound of the zipper feels deafening in the otherwise quiet room, and Soap bites his lip, his face flushed as Ghost begins to tug the denim downward.

With practiced ease, Ghost peels the jeans away, pulling them down to Soap’s thighs, then past his knees, leaving him in just his boxers. The cool air of the room brushes against his skin, and Soap shifts slightly under Ghost’s gaze, his hands still gripping the sheets at his sides. Ghost doesn’t rush, taking his time as he sets the jeans aside, his hands returning to Soap’s legs, his touch firm but careful.

Soap exhales shakily, trying to gather his thoughts, but when Ghost leans back slightly to look at him, taking in every inch of his now-exposed skin, Soap feels his pulse quicken all over again. “Satisfied?” he mutters, his voice tinged with both nervousness and defiance.

Ghost’s lips twitch in that familiar smirk, and he leans down, his voice a low murmur against Soap’s ear. “Not even close, Johnny.”

Ghost’s eyes flicker with something darker as he leans back, his movements measured. He reaches across the bed to the nightstand beside him, his fingers brushing over the surface until he grabs a bottle of lube. Soap’s breath hitches, feeling the anticipation rising, pooling low in his stomach, an ache that’s impossible to ignore.

Ghost doesn’t say anything, but Soap can feel the change in the air, the weight of his presence now more intense than ever. The room feels smaller somehow, as if the space between them is closing in, and Soap's mind races, still grappling with everything that’s happening.

With a fluid motion, Ghost unscrews the cap, the faint sound filling the otherwise quiet room. He pauses, his eyes never leaving Soap’s face, and the gaze they share is almost palpable, charged with something deeper now. Soap’s pulse quickens in response, a mix of nerves and something else, something he doesn’t want to name yet.

“Relax, Johnny,” Ghost murmurs, his voice low, like a promise. The sound sends a shiver down Soap’s spine, and for the first time in a while, he can’t tell whether it’s excitement or nerves twisting his insides.

In all the countless battles Soap had fought in, never once had he felt this kind of nervousness. This raw, palpable tension. He had faced down enemies in dark alleys, stormed through chaotic firefights, stared down death without batting an eye. His heart had never pounded like this before, not even in the face of danger. The adrenaline he’d grown so accustomed to, the rush of combat, had never come close to what he feels now.

This isn't about survival. It isn't about making it through another mission or dodging a bullet. No, this is something entirely different, something more personal, more vulnerable. Every inch of his body seems to be hyper-aware, his skin tingling, his heart hammering in his chest. And the worst part? He can't escape it. There is no way out, no distraction from the overwhelming pull of the moment.

Soap swallows, trying to steady himself, but the anticipation still crawls up his spine, making every nerve feel alive. He feels exposed in a way he never had before; raw, uncertain, but somehow... alive in a way he didn’t expect.

Ghost hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Soap's boxers, slowly pulling them down and freeing his erect cock. The sight causes Ghost's eyes to darken, desire clouding his gaze as he takes a moment to appreciate the view. Soap's cock stands tall and proud, flushed and glistening at the tip with precum.

An unspoken understanding passes between them, an electric current humming in the air, charging every moment. Without breaking eye contact, Ghost drizzles the lube over Soap's length, letting it coat every inch before wrapping his large, calloused hand around the base. Soap's body arches, his head thrown back against the pillow, as he lets out a low groan of pleasure. Ghost's hand glides effortlessly along Soap's shaft, his fingers working their magic as he pumps with steady, practiced strokes.

Ghost watches Soap intently, noting how every stroke of his hand makes Soap's body tremble and writhe with want. Ghost's voice is low, almost a growl, as he leans in closer. “You’re so damn responsive, Johnny,” he mutters, his fingers lingering on Soap's skin.

Soap can’t bring himself to answer, his breath hitching, his body reacting without thought to the pleasure that’s overtaking him. All he can do is clench his jaw, struggling to keep himself together as Ghost continues, the sensations clouding his mind. Ghost adjusts his grip, applying just the right amount of pressure to make Soap groan louder, his hips bucking upwards to meet Ghost's movements. Ghost continues his ministrations, varying speed and intensity as he pleases, savoring every reaction he draws from the man beneath him.

Soap's fingers shake with determination, his breath coming faster as he reaches for Ghost’s jeans. The weight of the moment presses down on him, but something inside refuses to let Ghost be the only one in control of the situation. He pulls at the zipper clumsily, his hands uncoordinated in his haste, but the feeling of Ghost’s touch on him only pushes him forward.

Ghost doesn’t stop him. Instead, he seems to lean into it, his hand never ceasing its movement, and Soap feels the weight of his attention, the heat of it, as Ghost releases a low hum. There’s a shift in the air, a change in the way Ghost moves, as if he’s reveling in the act just as much as Soap is, both of them tangled in this moment of raw, uncontrolled need.

Soap finally manages to get the zipper down, his heart racing in anticipation of what comes next. He looks up at Ghost, trying to keep his focus despite the overwhelming sensation building within him. Ghost’s eyes are dark with intent, but he doesn’t say a word, his hands still on Soap's cock, urging him forward.

Soap’s hand trembles for a moment before his fingers brush against the edge of Ghost’s boxers, working his way with hesitant but growing confidence, eventually freeing Ghost's cock from its confines. The moment his hand makes contact, Ghost’s breath hitches, the mask of arrogant control faltering for the first time that night. Ghost then takes Soap's other hand, pouring lube onto it, silently urging him to return the favor. Soap complies, slowly moving, feeling the heat radiating from Ghost, the weight of his cock on his palm, and the sheer firmness of it. The harder Soap touches, the more he feels Ghost’s body react. Each subtle shift, each breath that escapes from him, not the usual controlled ones, but ones that speak of vulnerability.

For the first time, Soap sees it; Ghost’s cocky smirk drops, replaced by something more raw. His face contorts, eyes half-lidded, his jaw clenched in an effort to stifle the noise threatening to escape. It’s a side Soap’s never seen, something that makes the air feel thicker, almost too heavy to breathe, as though the very ground beneath them is shifting.

Ghost doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. His body speaks for him, every movement a silent admission of how much he’s enjoying Soap’s touch, how much control he’s willing to give up for this moment.

Ghost's hand moves steadily up and down Soap's cock, his thumb swiping across the sensitive head every few strokes to gather the beads of precum that form there. His grip tightens slightly as he feels Soap's fingers mirroring his movements on his own erection, their hands working together in perfect harmony. Ghost watches, fascinated by the sight of their hands, each stroke eliciting a matching gasp from Soap. The friction created by their combined efforts sends waves of pleasure crashing through Ghost's body, as well as Soap's.

Their hips rock together in a primal dance, the sounds of their arousal filling the room. Soap's grip tightens around Ghost's cock, his movements becoming more erratic as he nears the edge. Ghost's own strokes grow rougher, his free fingers digging into Soap's thigh as he fights to maintain control. Their bodies move together, each man lost in the sensation of the other's touch.

Soap’s breath hitches, the pressure building up inside him, and he grits his teeth, trying to push back the overwhelming need to let go.

“Ghost... I-I’m at my limit,” he mutters, his voice tight, nearly pleading.

Ghost pauses for a moment, his fingers halting their movements. Soap’s eyes snap open, confused and frustrated.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Soap huffs, his frustration now mixing with something else.

“No way, Johnny,” he teases, his voice low and amused. “You’re nowhere near your limit. Not even close.”

Soap stares at him, bewildered. “What the hell are you doin’, then? You tryin’ to torture me or somethin’?”

Ghost just chuckles, fingers still trailing along Soap’s skin. “Torture? Nah. This is just the warm-up.”

“Warm-up?” Soap huffs, eyebrows furrowing. “What, you think this is some kinda bloody game?”

“Absolutely,” Ghost replies with a smirk. “It’s all part of the fun.”

Soap’s face flushes with frustration. “Oi, don’t leave me hangin’ like this. You’re not really stoppin’, are you?”

Ghost grins wider, but this time, he pulls his hands away. Soap’s chest tightens with protest. “What the hell, Ghost? Are you kiddin’ me?”

“Relax, Johnny,” Ghost says with a devilish smile. “I’m not stoppin’, but you’re not gonna get off that easy.”

Soap looks at him in disbelief. “What? You can’t just leave me like this!”

“Don’t worry, we haven’t even done the real thing yet,” Ghost says, voice smooth and playful.

Soap stares at him, blinking rapidly. “The real thing? What the hell does that even mean?”

Ghost leans in a little closer, his voice dropping low, almost teasing. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean.”

Soap raises an eyebrow, a mix of confusion and something else swirling in his gut. “Wait, are you seriously saying you’re gonna top me?”

Ghost leans back, looking utterly smug. “Well, if you think you’re gonna top me, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Soap stares at him for a moment, processing, and something in him finally clicks. He feels a sinking realization gnaw at him. He fucking knew it. He was gonna be the bottom. The thought bothers him to no end, but there’s a reason he’s not protesting harder. The undeniable truth? His body’s been reacting to every inch of Ghost’s touch, every teasing whisper, and Soap knows that protesting now would be pointless. It’s not like he’s got the upper hand anyway.

He grins, trying to cover his nerves with a bit of bravado. “Alright, you’ll top me. But that’s a big responsibility, Lt. You sure you can handle it? Can you give me everything I need?”

He leans back slightly, eyeing Ghost, silently daring him to meet the challenge, all while a spark of nerves dances behind his confident smirk.

Soap snorts, rolling his eyes. “Oh yeah, sure. I’ll just back out, get dressed, and march right outta here. Maybe go knock on one of my exes’ doors, tell her to finish me instead.” His tone is light, teasing, meant to rile Ghost up a bit.

It works.

The air between them shifts instantly, like the calm before a storm. Ghost’s smirk fades, his eyes darkening to a predatory gaze that makes Soap’s breath hitch. Without a word, Ghost leans in close, his presence overwhelming, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur against Soap’s ear.

“As if I’d let anyone else touch you after tonight,” Ghost growls, each word a warning that vibrates through Soap’s chest. “No one else gets to lay a hand on you. Not after this.”

Soap’s pulse kicks into overdrive, his body reacting instinctively to the possessiveness laced in Ghost’s tone. And what’s more surprising? He’s okay with it. He should feel annoyed or put off, or at the very least, wary. Instead, a strange comfort settles over him. Something about the way Ghost claims him, almost protectively, feels right in a way he can’t explain.

Not that he knows what the hell is going to happen after tonight. They’ve never crossed this line before, and Soap has no idea what they’ll be to each other once the heat of this moment cools. The uncertainty should terrify him; it does terrify him, but somehow, it’s not enough to make him pull away. In fact, the fear is almost exhilarating, like standing at the edge of a cliff and deciding to jump anyway.

“Well… guess I don’t need to knock on any doors then, huh?” Soap mutters, trying for humor to mask the chaos in his head.

Ghost pulls back just enough to look at him, his gaze steady and unrelenting. His lips curve into a faint smirk, but the weight of his words lingers in the air. “Damn right, you don’t.”

Soap swallows, his nerves still buzzing, but beneath it all, there’s something else; a strange kind of resolve. If this is where they’re heading, he’s okay with it. Scared, sure. But okay.

As if Soap’s unspoken agreement was enough, Ghost leans in again, capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s hard and deep, leaving no room for hesitation. Soap responds instantly, meeting him with equal fervor, his hands threading through Ghost’s hair as though anchoring himself to the moment.

The kiss is a clash of intensity and hunger, lips moving together for the nth time tonight. Ghost’s hands find their way to Soap’s waist, gripping him firmly, pulling him closer as though trying to erase the space between them entirely. Soap’s hands aren’t idle either, roaming over Ghost’s broad shoulders and down his back, marveling at the strength beneath his touch.

The heat from before reignites, flaring hotter with each shared breath, each brush of lips and graze of hands. Soap lets out a low sound against Ghost’s mouth, a mix of frustration and need, his fingers digging into Ghost’s back.

Ghost hovers over Soap, his face uncharacteristically soft yet deeply serious, his eyes searching Soap’s as though looking for any sign of hesitation. He lifts a hand, brushing a thumb gently over Soap’s flushed cheek, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

“Johnny,” he begins, almost hesitant, “I mean it. One word, and I’ll stop. No questions, no pressure.”

Soap blinks up at him, momentarily stunned by the uncharacteristic vulnerability in Ghost’s voice. It tugs at something deep in his chest, a strange mixture of gratitude and exasperation bubbling to the surface. He doesn’t answer right away, instead sliding a hand up the back of Ghost’s neck and pulling him down into a kiss. It’s slow but firm, an unmistakable answer in itself.

When they part, Soap’s lips quirk into a lopsided grin, his voice soft but teasing. “Shut up, Ghost, and just do it. You should know by now how much I trust you.”

The words hit Ghost like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, he freezes, his eyes wide as they bore into Soap’s. Trust. The weight of that word from Soap, of all people, isn’t something he takes lightly. He swallows hard, his usual calm façade cracking just enough for a flicker of emotion to show through.

“Johnny…” Ghost’s voice falters, softer than Soap’s ever heard it, almost reverent. He closes his eyes briefly, grounding himself in the moment before opening them again, filled with a mixture of determination and something deeper.

He doesn’t say anything else, but Soap can feel it in the way Ghost’s hands move over him; steady, patient, yet brimming with intent. It’s all there, unspoken but clear, as the heat between them rises to an almost unbearable level. Soap feels his heartbeat hammering in his chest, nervous and excited all at once, but the look in Ghost’s eyes reassures him in ways words never could.

There’s no turning back now, not that either of them would want to.

Ghost leans over Soap's form, his eyes burning with desire and determination. He grabs the bottle of lube and generously coats his fingers, the cool liquid dripping onto Soap's exposed entrance. He takes a deep breath before pressing one slick finger against the tight opening, watching Soap's face carefully for any sign of discomfort.

"This might feel weird at first," Ghost warns, his voice husky with anticipation. Soap nods, biting his lower lip and letting out a soft whimper as Ghost begins to push inside. His movements are slow and gentle, allowing Soap's body to adjust to the intrusion.

As he feels Soap relax, Ghost adds another finger, scissoring them to stretch him in preparation. Ghost’s movements are measured, careful, his touch surprisingly gentle given the size of his fingers. He keeps his eyes fixed on Soap, watching every flicker of emotion that crosses his face.

“How’re you doin’?” Ghost asks, his voice low and almost tender, a stark contrast to the heat between them.

Soap shifts slightly beneath him, his lips curling into a faint smirk despite the nerves flickering in his gut. “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he replies, a hint of bravado lacing his tone. His eyes meet Ghost’s, and there’s a glimmer of something deeper. “We’ve both seen and been through worse, haven’t we?”

Ghost huffs a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Aye, that we have,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with something close to admiration.

He leans down, his lips pressing against Soap’s forehead in a gesture so soft it makes Soap’s chest tighten. The warmth of it lingers, a silent reassurance that Ghost is with him, fully present, fully here.

“Still,” Ghost mutters as he pulls back just enough to meet Soap’s gaze again, “you let me know if it gets to be too much. I mean it, Johnny.”

Soap rolls his eyes, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll wave a white flag if it comes to that. Now quit fussin’ and get on with it.”

Ghost chuckles, low and deep, before his fingers move again with care. He can feel Soap's muscles clenching around him, fighting against the intrusion before finally relaxing. Satisfied with the progress, Ghost adds a third finger, slowly working it in alongside the others. Soap's breath hitches sharply out of a sudden, and Ghost knows he's hit the right spot. He begins to thrust in earnest, the sounds of wet flesh and harsh gasps filling the room. Soap's body arches off the bed, his moans growing louder as Ghost brushes against his prostate repeatedly.

"There you are," Ghost murmurs triumphantly, a smirk playing at his lips as he watches Soap's reactions. He knows exactly how good it feels and takes pleasure in drawing it out, relishing every twitch and tremble from the man beneath him. Soap's fingers dig into the sheets, his hips bucking wildly.

“Bloody hell,” Soap gasps, his voice ragged, “do that again.”

Ghost stills, raising an eyebrow. “That how you’re askin’, Johnny?” he drawls, his tone a perfect mix of amusement and challenge. “’Cause it doesn’t sound like you’re askin’ at all.”

Soap growls low in his throat, frustration mixing with the ache building inside him. “Oh, for God’s sake, just-”

Ghost interrupts him with a slight shift, enough to tease but not satisfy, and leans closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Ask nicely, or I stop.”

Soap glares at him, his pride warring with the desperate need clawing at him. He clenches his jaw, the words catching in his throat before he finally exhales sharply, his voice dropping into something softer, more urgent. “Please,” he grits out, then bites the inside of his cheek before adding, “Please… more.”

Ghost’s eyes glint with satisfaction, but there’s no gloating in his expression, just a quiet intensity as he leans down, murmuring, “Good.”

And then his fingers move again, and Soap’s resolve shatters entirely.

Ghost leans down, capturing one of Soap's nipples between his teeth and tugging gently. Soap’s breath hitches, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him as his head tips back. The tension inside him builds, coiling impossibly tight, and through gritted teeth, he rasps, “Ghost... bloody hell, I’m close.”

For the second time tonight, Ghost halts his movements entirely, his fingers stilling like a taunt. Soap’s eyes snap open, his frustration bubbling over as he glares up at the man above him.

“Are you serious?!” Soap barks, his voice rough and incredulous. “You’ve got to be takin’ the piss at this point!”

Ghost tilts his head, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And here I thought you were a soldier, MacTavish. Bit of patience shouldn’t be beyond you, aye?”

Soap lets out a strangled sound, somewhere between a growl and a groan, as he throws his head back in exasperation. “Patience? Patience?! I’ve had plenty o’ patience, you absolute menace. Twice now, you’ve stopped me just to—what? Wind me up?”

Ghost leans in, the amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Winding you up is a bonus,” he quips smoothly. “But I want to make sure when you go, you’ll bloody feel it.”

Soap swears under his breath, his chest rising and falling as he fights the urge to strangle the smug bastard. “You’re a sadist,” he mutters, his tone equal parts frustration and begrudging admiration.

Ghost chuckles lowly, his fingers brushing teasingly against Soap's entrance again, enough to make him jolt but not enough to push him over the edge. “And you’re a glutton for punishment,” Ghost counters.

Soap narrows his eyes, his voice sharp as he fires back, “Aye, well, if I don’t get some relief soon, you’ll find out just how much punishment I can dish out.”

Ghost only hums in response, thoroughly enjoying Soap’s frustration as he presses a kiss to his temple, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. “Noted,” he murmurs, the glint in his eyes says he’s in no rush to let up.

Ghost positions himself at his entrance, pressing forward slowly as the head of his cock breaches Soap's hole with ease thanks to the careful preparation, and Soap doesn't question the fact that Ghost has done so all raw, with no hesitation. His thoughts, hazy with anticipation and nerves, flicker to the mandatory screenings from SAS orders, something they’ve all gone through countless times. It’s routine, a precaution. So this? This isn’t anything strange. They’re both safe. It’s part of the job, part of the discipline. No need to overthink it. Ghost would never put his health at risk.

Soap's tight heat envelopes Ghost, the sensation almost too much to bear. Ghost groans, fighting the urge to thrust in fully as Soap adjusts to the intrusion. He feels the resistance give way, allowing him to slide in an inch at a time, relishing the way Soap's body stretches to accommodate his girth. Ghost waits patiently, rubbing soothing circles on Soap's thighs with his thumbs as he allows him to adjust to each inch. Once Soap has taken all of his cock in, Ghost stills, taking a moment to savor the feeling of being completely inside him.

“Breathe, Johnny,” he murmurs, voice soft but commanding. “Take a moment. Get used to it. Breathe.”

Soap’s chest rises and falls with shaky breaths as he complies, trying to center himself. The heat between them is intense, but Ghost’s soothing circles on his skin keep him grounded, the simple gesture of care easing some of the tension. The rush of everything happening so fast is overwhelming, but he focuses on Ghost’s touch, the rhythmic motion calming him.

It takes a few moments, Soap’s mind still a bit scattered. But as the pressure begins to feel more bearable, more manageable, he finally nods, looking up at Ghost. Ghost nods back, acknowledging the signal Soap gave him to proceed.

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Soap's forehead before pulling back slightly, beginning to move again. He can feel every ripple of Soap's muscle around him, contracting and relaxing in a delicious rhythm. When he finally does begin to move, it's with exquisite care. He withdraws almost completely, savoring the feeling of Soap's tightness as he slides back in. He keeps the pace slow and steady, each thrust conscious and precise. Ghost wants to draw this out, to make it last as long as possible.

He leans down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along Soap's neck as his hips rock forward. Soap's nails rake across Ghost's back, his moans growing more desperate with each passing second. Ghost's own pleasure builds steadily, coiling tighter and tighter in his gut. He reaches between them, wrapping his hand around Soap's neglected cock and beginning to stroke in time with his thrusts.

Soap grits his teeth, the pleasure rising in waves, his breath coming in sharp gasps. "If you keep doing that..." he mutters, unable to finish.

Ghost's voice is low and steady, a hint of something reassuring in it. "It's okay, Johnny," he murmurs, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on Soap's skin. "You can lose yourself this time."

Ghost's movements grow more confident as Soap continues to yield to him, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony. He angles his hips slightly, hitting that special spot inside Soap that makes him cry out.

"Lt! God, do it again," he demands, his voice thick with frustration and need.

Ghost's lips curl into a teasing smirk. "You’re forgetting something, Johnny," he says, his voice almost too calm, too controlled.

Soap's jaw tightens, irritation flashing in his eyes briefly. He opens his mouth to retort but stops, feeling his pride crumble with the intense need pooling in his gut. His voice comes out strained, raw, and desperate. "Please, Ghost... just... please."

The simple word hangs in the air, and Ghost's smirk falters, the teasing tone slipping from his voice. The raw vulnerability in Soap's plea cuts through him, and for a moment, his entire demeanor shifts. He leans down, his resolve breaking, the sound of Soap’s desperation reverberating deep within him.

Without a word, he nods, no longer teasing, his touch steady and sure as he finally gives Soap what he begged for.

Ghost obliges, making Soap's moans turn into one long, continuous sound. He can feel Soap's cock throbbing in his hand, precum pooling at the tip as he lazily strokes it. Ghost's hips snap forward, driving his cock deep inside Soap as his prostate is hit with relentless precision. Each thrust causes Ghost to groan, pleasure coursing through him like electricity as he feels Soap clenching around him.

Despite being already hard enough, Ghost's cock somehow grows even harder, swelling and pulsing within the tight confines of Soap's hole. It's almost painful, the sensation is so intense, but Ghost doesn't stop. The sounds of their bodies slapping together fill the air, punctuated by Soap's deep, needy moans. Ghost can feel the sound vibrating through him, fueling his own desire even further. Soap's hole stretches and adapts to his size, becoming even tighter as he continues to pound into him. The feeling is overwhelming, causing Ghost to lose his rhythm at times, but he quickly regains control.

Ghost’s breath is ragged, his voice low and filled with something raw as he moves to whisper into Soap's ear, his words almost a confession. “This... feels so damn good, Johnny. More than I ever imagined...”

Soap’s heart races, taken aback by the unexpected depth in Ghost’s voice. The admission hits him harder than he expected. His pulse quickens as the words spill out before he can stop them, "You think about me a lot?"

Ghost's eyes flicker, his movements slowing for a moment as he meets Soap’s gaze. And then, without the teasing he’s come to expect, Ghost’s voice drops, raw and sincere, "Every goddamn time."

Soap’s breath catches at the response, the weight of the words settling in his chest. For once, Ghost isn’t hiding behind his usual walls. And in that silence, Soap feels a rush of something more than the heat between them.

Soap captures Ghost's mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing his own moans and replacing them with Ghost's groans. Ghost's tongue eagerly invades Soap's mouth, tangling with his as their bodies move together in perfect unison. He can feel Soap's orgasm building, his body trembling beneath him, and Ghost knows he's close too. He pulls back briefly, panting against Soap's lips as he gazes down at him. Ghost's movements become more urgent as he drives into Soap, the need for release building inside him like a storm. He thrusts harder and faster, each movement causing the headboard to slam against the wall in a steady rhythm. His hand works Soap's cock in time with his hips, tightening his grip as Soap's moans grow louder.

"Let it out, Johnny," Ghost pants, his voice harsh with desire. "Cum for me."

Soap's body tenses, his cock swelling in Ghost's hand as he tries to hold back. But the relentless pounding against his prostate and the firm strokes on his shaft are too much. With a strangled cry, he explodes, hot cum spurting across Ghost's abs and chest. The sight sends Ghost over the edge, and he follows suit, his own orgasm ripping through him like lightning. He buries himself deep inside Soap, filling him, releasing his load deep inside Soap as his entire body shakes with pleasure. Ghost takes a moment to savor the feeling of their bodies connected, still twitching with the remnants of pleasure.

He slowly withdraws his cock, his eyes darkening as he watches his cum drip out of Soap's well-used hole. He can't help but feel a sense of primal satisfaction at the sight, instinctively tracing the slick trail left behind with a finger. Ghost shifts slightly, keeping his gaze fixed on Soap. Soap's eyes are closed, lips slightly parted as he catches his breath. His chest rises and falls, the rhythm slow and steady, each inhale and exhale a quiet testament to the gravity of what just transpired.

For a moment, Ghost is still. He watches Soap with an intensity he doesn’t fully understand, his eyes tracing every detail; the way Soap’s muscles twitch, the way his skin flushes, the way he seems so utterly vulnerable yet strong. The image is overwhelming, and Ghost can't look away. There’s something about the way Soap’s laid out, exposed in a way he hasn’t been before, that tugs at something deep inside Ghost.

Soap doesn’t stir, completely unaware of the weight of Ghost’s gaze, of how the moment is branded into Ghost’s mind. It’s raw, a beauty in the stillness that Ghost wasn’t prepared for, and it leaves him speechless, caught in the feeling. The warmth between them, the shared breaths, the silence that speaks volumes... it’s all too much.

Soap slowly opens his eyes, still catching his breath, and when his gaze lands on Ghost, it’s like the world pauses for a moment. Soap hadn’t expected the way Ghost is looking at him, and the connection between them feels heavier now, in the silence that follows. Soap’s heart skips a beat, and he can’t help the flush that creeps up his neck and across his face.

He quickly averts his gaze, a small, embarrassed laugh escaping him. “Oi, don’t look at me like that,” Soap mutters, his voice soft, but there's a hint of playfulness hiding his embarrassment.

Ghost just smiles, that trademark smirk of his tugging at the corner of his lips. “Can’t tell me what to do, Johnny,” he replies, voice low and teasing, as though he’s thoroughly enjoying the moment.

Soap, now blushing even deeper, raises an eyebrow, trying to regain some of his usual bravado. “Aye, well, looks like you’re abusing your power as my bloody Lt,” he shoots back, his attempt at a joke covering the vulnerability still lingering in the air.

Ghost chuckles, the sound deep and knowing. “Power? Nah, Johnny,” he says with a grin. “Just enjoying the view. And you’re not exactly making it easy to look away.” His gaze softens just slightly, but there's a warmth there now, something that speaks volumes without him needing to say more.

Soap groans, pushing himself up a little, shaking his head. “You’re a menace,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it, just a mixture of frustration and amusement.

Ghost stands up, his muscles flexing as he reaches over to grab a towel from the edge of the bed. He moves with that familiar, effortless grace, almost as if the moment itself doesn't faze him. He pauses for a moment before carefully cleaning them both, the quiet intimacy of the action not lost on either of them.

Soap watches him, half-lidded eyes still trying to catch up with the whirlwind of emotions that had just passed through him. His lips twitch into a grin as he watches Ghost's careful movements. “Look at you,” Soap says, his voice teasing, “always so sweet, aren’t you, Lt?”

Ghost doesn’t respond immediately, just finishing up the task, but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes when he looks up at Soap. Without a word, he casually throws the now-dirty towel onto Soap's face with a smirk.

Soap immediately yanks it off with a laugh, tossing the towel aside as he sits up. “Bloody hell, Ghost,” he says, shaking his head, still chuckling. “If this is how you’re gonna treat me, I’m questioning all those 'leader' qualities you've been bragging about.”

Ghost shrugs, but there's a glimmer of fondness in his expression. “Can’t make it all easy for you, Johnny. Gotta keep you on your toes.”

Soap grins, leaning back into the bed and letting out a small laugh. “Aye, you sure do.” He lets the silence stretch for a moment, still amused by Ghost’s antics. “But I still think you're a soft touch deep down. You just don’t like to show it, do you?”

Ghost raises an eyebrow, clearly not willing to engage in that particular line of teasing. Instead, he lays down beside Soap, pulling the blanket back up over them both. He pulls Soap closer, his arm settling around him in a way that's almost possessive, as though he wants him near. Soap stiffens for a moment at the unexpected closeness, his eyes wide as he tries to make sense of it.

"You don’t want me to go back to my quarters?" Soap asks, his voice a mix of surprise and uncertainty.

Ghost doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he buries his face in Soap’s neck, his breath warm against his skin. “Stay,” he mutters, his voice low and steady. “Just stay.”

Soap’s heart skips a beat, and the weight of those words—of Ghost’s unspoken plea—has him melting just a little bit inside. He swallows hard, trying to keep his composure, but the fluttering in his chest is impossible to ignore. He feels an unexpected rush of affection, a warmth that has nothing to do with their physical closeness, and it makes him smile despite himself.

A moment passes, and he turns his head slightly to meet Ghost’s gaze, his voice quieter now. “So... what are we now, after all that? What’s next?” His tone is light, playful, but there’s an underlying vulnerability in the question.

Ghost’s eyes narrow slightly, as though the answer should be obvious. He leans back a little, giving Soap a rare, almost fond look. “We’re together, of course,” he says matter-of-factly, as if the entire thing was already settled in his mind.

Soap’s heart flutters again, this time more intensely, and he can’t help but chuckle softly. "Oh yeah? I didn’t realize it was that simple."

Ghost’s lips curl up in a smirk. “Well, it’s simple for me. No need to overthink it.” His hand runs slowly along Soap’s arm, a quiet gesture of reassurance, of something more than just the mission they were once tied to. "I’m not letting you go. Not after tonight."

Soap laughs again, this time more content, his eyes softening as he shifts closer to Ghost. “Guess I’m not complaining.” There’s a brief pause before Soap can’t help himself. His lips curl into a mischievous grin. “So, no more girlfriends to steal from me now that you’re seeing me?”

Ghost doesn’t hesitate. His voice is deep, serious, as he looks Soap in the eye. “Damn right. You’re all mine from now on.” He pulls Soap closer, his hold tightening ever so slightly.

Soap’s grin softens into something more genuine, his heart doing another flip at the possessiveness in Ghost’s words. "Guess I don’t understand a lot about this... whatever it is," Soap starts, his voice quieter now, filled with something that sounds like curiosity, mixed with excitement. "But one thing’s for sure... I’m looking forward to figuring it out. With you."

Ghost’s hand tightens around his, his grip steady and reassuring. “We’ll figure it out together, Johnny.”

And for the first time in a long while, Soap feels like he's exactly where he's supposed to be.