Chapter Text
Soap leans his head back and tries to imagine a different place than the one he’s in. He tries to imagine a place that doesn’t smell like cigarettes, sweat, and sex. Maybe a beach - like the one he’d been to in California when he’d trained in the States. The salty evening breeze, the smell of suntan lotion and margaritas.
The woman - a tall, brown-eyed blonde - pulls at his hand, beckoning his attention. In her heels, they’re eye to eye, but he wishes she were taller.
“Something wrong?”, she asks over the pounding music.
He doesn’t answer, because something is wrong. This doesn’t feel right. He tries to go back to that beach in California as he slides his hands up her thighs, lifts her up and places her on the bathroom sink. Someone is bound to barge in at any moment and he prays they do so this encounter can end as soon as possible.
Prayer. Maybe he needs to invest some more time into it. It can’t hurt more than this.
He can feel the orangey-pink light of the setting sun across his shoulders as he kisses her, fingers her open, listens to her moan and cry and he suspects he’s doing something right. Poor girl. She doesn’t even know how uninterested Soap is. How is she going to take it when she feels Soap isn’t even half hard as she goes to unbutton his pants?
Just then, as if someone in the sky really is listening, a couple burst through the bathroom door. Two men, half naked, stand in surprised shock.
“Sorry, didn’t know anybody was in here.”, one says.
“No worries. Just leaving, anyway.”
Soap smooths the woman’s skirt back over her legs and bolts before she can protest. She follows him out, has a hard time keeping up through the crowd of people, yelling and cursing him the whole time. He’s alone by the time he reaches the parking lot.
He looks up at the sky, black and dotted with stars. All that’s missing is the sound of waves on the shore.
—
Soap stalks around base, sticking to corners and shadows.
“You alright, mate?”, Gaz asks one day. They’re in the mess and Soap had avoided their usual table to sit by himself.
“‘M fine.”, he lies. He hasn’t slept since that night. Guilt curdles in his gut.
“You’re looking more like Ghost these days. It’s not like you.”, Gaz presses gently. Soap huffs a bit, knowing his friend is just concerned for him. He evens his temper before he speaks.
“Just been in my head lately. Nothing to worry about.”
Gaz can see how troubled Soap is, but doesn’t want to force the man to say something he doesn’t want to. He’ll let him talk in his own time.
“If whatever’s in your head ever wants to escape through your mouth, I’m always around.”, he says reassuringly.
Soap looks up and offers a small, genuine smile. He knows he can always count on Gaz.
“Thanks.”
“Mind if I stay?”
“Sure.”
They eat in silence, but it’s comfortable. That is, until a looming shadow is cast over Soap. Whoever it is leans down low, their body almost pressed to his back.
“Mind telling me what you’re doing here instead of finishing that mission report, Sergeant?”, a Manchester accent, far too close to his ear, startles Soap.
“Fuck! I’m on it, sir.”, Soap flees just in time to hide the bulge in his pants. The feeling of Ghost’s breath over his ear, puffing down his neck had gotten him dizzyingly hard. One of many confusing boners he’s had in his life. He thinks of anything else. Like that night in the pub, he just wants to escape. California. The beach. Just relax and breathe.
He makes it to his barracks where the mission report sits unfinished on his desk. It’s boring, grueling work, the worst part of his job in his opinion. He plops down in his chair and puts his mind to work while he tries to forget what it felt like to have Ghost’s body heat pour down over his back.
—
The chapel is near empty, except for a few devout church-goers. Daily mass has ended and Soap’s footsteps echo in the sanctuary. He finds a pew in the back and kneels. He doesn’t know how to pray. He never paid enough attention in Catholic school to remember how it’s done properly. He does, however, remember years and years ago when he was a child in Sunday school that praying is supposed to be like talking to a friend, confiding in a loved one. He can’t imagine his friends or loved ones understanding what troubles him, so what makes God so different?
Hands clasped together and head bowed low, he tries. He doesn’t feel much, so what is tangled up in his mind comes out in pained, desperate whispers. It helps, it really does. A weight, however small, is lifted off his shoulders. When he stands, he feels as light as he did on that beach.
He wouldn’t necessarily label himself a religious person by any means - church had been the bane of his existence as a teenager, but he supposes it’s that way for many young people. Yet, he finds himself there every Thursday night when duty ends. Kneeling, praying, and it goes on for hours until, sometimes, he’s the last person there.
He’s not sure what he prays for and nothing ever feels different once he leaves the church. Only there in that moment when his grievances are able to escape him and the lost burden finally allows him to stand does he feel free.
—
In celebration of a months long mission gone well, Soap finds himself in another pub packed to the brim with drunken bastards and Soap isn’t much better off. He’s dragged outside to an alley by a woman. Giggly and handsy, she unbuckles his belt. All Soap can do is imagine a way to make this somewhat arousing. In his stupor, his mind floats so much easier than it does when he’s sober. It floats far away, again, to that beach, the hot summer breeze, the feeling of it on his bare skin-
“Fuck.”, he moans, feeling the woman’s mouth over his cock as it grows harder.
He thinks of the warm towel he’d laid on and the warmer sand below it. He’s there, sitting by a fire pit surrounded by teammates who would all become close friends. Close friends. Nothing more.
“That’s it. Like that.”, Soap fists the woman’s dark hair and thrusts his hips shallowly.
It’s not enough. Soap craves something more, something different. He thinks of sitting so close to his teammates, some drunk like he is now, but one person whose clear, aware gaze never left him the whole night. He hopes that, somewhere on the other side of this brick wall, those eyes are searching for him now.
“Fuck- sorry.”, Soap pulls out of the woman’s mouth, erection flagging. His mind had drifted too far for his comfort. Again. A burning sensation rushes over his face, down his neck and chest, washing over his shoulders. Like someone is watching him and he’ll have to explain his thoughts. Ask for forgiveness for them.
The woman asks what the matter is, if she’d done something wrong. Soap assures her that he’s just too drunk to give her a good time. He ushers her back inside and buys her a drink before leaving the pub alone. He thought so, anyway.
“Can’t keep it up, Johnny? That’s a shame.”, that voice comes from behind him again. Where the burning resides. Like Ghost had been the one watching.
“Piss off.”, Soap bites. Ghost catches up, walks beside him. Those lazy, glazed over eyes look down at him. He’s all too pleased to tease Soap.
“Creepy fuck. You like watching people shag in the alley?”
“Just passing by. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
They walk a while in silence. Soap texts Gaz that he and Ghost are headed back to the barracks.
Ghost is an intimidating presence. Soap has known him long enough to know he’s largely just a regular guy that does regular things. He hunts, he fishes, he watches trashy television, he cooks, the whole thing. Still, Soap feels a tightness in his chest, something like fear, but not quite that. He’s been afraid, terrified before - for his life, for his team’s lives, but what he feels when he’s around Ghost is close - the way it gets his heart racing, blood pumping.
“Johnny.”, Ghost barks. Soap snaps out of his thoughts just a moment before he walks straight into a streetlight pole.
“Something on your mind?”, Ghost asks. If only he knew.
“Drank a little too much, I guess.”
A hand on the small of his back lures him away from the pole and further down the sidewalk.
“Keep you from walking in the street, too.”, Ghost jokes while Soap tries to walk as normally as he can without alerting his superior to his boner.
Soon, yet far too long later, they’re at the barracks. Soap showers quickly, leaving just as Ghost walks in in nothing but a towel and a mask. Soap averts his eyes, looking up at the ceiling as he passes by. Laying in his bed, Soap tries to alleviate his painful problem. He’s got enough lube and a good pace going, but it’s still not enough. He doesn’t know what he needs, why he can’t cum, but it’s going to drive him insane.
After an unsatisfying orgasm and a fitful sleep, Soap looks the part of a zombie the next morning. They’re all called into a briefing and he can hardly pay attention. Ghost rises from his seat, walking toward the coffee pot in the corner. Strange. He hates the stuff.
Soap’s attention flickers away from him for a second before a white paper cup full of burnt, black coffee is placed in front of him. Soap feels that tightness in his chest again, like he’s having a panic attack, but he likes it. He wants to feel more of it.
—
Soap’s head hits his pillow in the wee hours of the morning. The mission had gone tits up before ending the way they’d hoped it would. Arm in a cast, knee throbbing in pain, Soap closes his eyes and silently begs for sleep to find him. It does, but only to torture him further.
He’s not in California anymore. He’s in Germany. Staked out in a tiny village at midnight with that looming figure watching over him.
“Two hostiles, three o’clock.”, Soap hears in his ear before he turns to his right and shoots the men between their eyes and they drop to the ground.
“Good work.”
Trekking further through the village in the dark, Ghost cautions Soap about a group of twenty soldiers.
“Keep quiet. Don’t want them to hear you.”, Ghost says lowly. Soap expertly avoids their attention.
“Excellent. Wish I could have you this quiet all the time, Johnny.”
Ghost led him through the village all the way to the target who he’d then captured and brought back to him. Passing the unconscious man over to Ghost, who tossed the man over his shoulder like he weighed nothing was the start of this nightmare.
“You alright, Johnny?”
Soap looks down, checking himself over. In the struggle, he’d been slashed by the man’s knife. Nothing bad, just a surface wound. Nothing gauze couldn’t fix. Still, it was nice that Ghost wanted to watch over him even when they were together. Gloved fingers traced over his bleeding side. Dusting over the swollen edges of the gash, Soap felt his breath flutter at the possibility of contact, of having Ghost’s hands on his skin.
Soap’s eyes blink open and he picks his phone up to check the time. He’d been asleep for only half an hour. He registers why he’d woken up, the warm stickiness between his legs making itself known. This isn’t normal. It’s entirely inappropriate. He shouldn’t feel this way about his superior officer, but here he is having a wet dream about him. Soap grumbles as he rises from his bed, admittedly feeling more relaxed than he has in weeks. His sleep pants cling to his thigh, so he gets a new pair and tosses the soiled ones in a hamper.
—
Another night, another pub, another nameless person begging for Soap’s cock. It’s a man this time - Soap’s first encounter with one. His gut twists, he feels nauseous, but not in a bad way. The kind of nausea he felt defusing his first bomb, the kind that will make this an experience worth remembering.
Still, that burning feeling is back, like he’s being watched. He’d been told this kind of thing was a sin, that God is always watching. It’s ridiculous, and even if He was, He’s not going to start another flood about it. It’s a stupid story from a stupid book. Soap will be sure to apologize for such thoughts next Thursday during prayer.
“You’re so big.”, the man comments between sloppy kisses, smoothing his hands over Soap’s broad, muscled shoulders. Soap feels a hot blush cover his face at the attention the man gives. He’s fully erect, rutting against the man’s thigh.
“Fuck me.”, the man begs, and Soap does. Much to his gut wrenching dismay, the orgasm is only mildly satisfying. Something is still missing, still off somehow. He’s had the breath knocked out of him, though, and his legs quiver as he struggles to stand. He pulls out of the man’s hole, watching his cum trickle out and a thought flickers across his mind.
He’s jealous. That’s why he can’t find pleasure in this.
—
Jealousy had never served Soap well in his life, so he never concerned himself with it too much. Now, it’s left him at a loss for what to do next. During prayer, he kneels and asks for guidance, wisdom, and strength to fix these festering thoughts.
“Never took you for the praying type.”
Soap nearly turns and tackles him before he recognizes Ghost in civilian clothes. Black jacket with the hood pulled up, dark jeans, black mask covering the lower part of his face. Blond curls stick out of the hood. Brown eyes peer down at Soap from where Ghost is seated in the pew.
“Helps me sometimes.”, Soap shrugs.
Ghost cocks a brow and nods slowly, unimpressed.
“Fuck off, I’m trying to talk to Jesus.”
“You can’t swear in church, Johnny.”
Soap rolls his eyes, bows his head again, and apologizes for the interruption. Ghost stays and sits, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, leg bouncing in boredom. Ghost peers down at Soap again and he can’t help but acknowledge how good Soap looks on his knees. He’d seen Soap fucking that man at the pub. Too bad he’s not into the receiving end of things.
“Amen.”, Soap murmurs before standing.
“All done talking to nobody?”, Ghost jokes.
“All done.”, Soap assures.
They leave the chapel and walk back toward the barracks. Ghost takes in Soap’s appearance. Dark circles under his tired eyes screaming that Soap hadn’t been sleeping well lately.
“Not getting any shut-eye, Johnny?”
Soap perks up, wondering if it’s that obvious. Warmth spreads through him at receiving Ghost’s attention.
“Can’t get my brain to turn off.”
The image of Soap on his knees offers Ghost a few ideas of how he could achieve that for him. The walk is ultimately uneventful. To Soap’s credit, he does seem less stressed after his little prayer session, so Ghost won’t tease him too hard back at base. Maybe.
—
- Flashback to California -
“Do I have something on my face?”
The worn skull pattern of Ghost’s balaclava against the campfire light sticks out in Soap’s memory. They’d been the only ones to stay out this late. The others had walked back to their makeshift base already.
“No.”, Ghost answers smoothly, poking a stick at the flames. Soap had noticed Ghost’s eyes on him all night. Too bad he’s only dressed in swim trunks.
Ghost’s eyes map out his muscled body, admiring the thickness and strength of it. Soap notices how - comparatively speaking - light Ghost had dressed for the heat. He couldn’t imagine the man walking around in his usual, heavier get-up. The size of the man is somewhat startling. Without gear to add to the illusion, Ghost is massive on his own.
Soap supposes it’s a little hypocritical for him to comment on Ghost staring when he himself can’t take his eyes off the lieutenant. The sound of the ocean just a few yards away is enough to lull Soap to sleep. The last thing he sees is Ghost’s eyes on him.
Ghost ponders the sleeping man. He never sees him this still and quiet, but now that has, it’s a little off-putting. Ghost enjoys his ramblings on every topic under the sun. The steady rise and fall of Soap’s chest is good enough for now, though.
—
Soap prays harder than he has in all the months he’s started seeking refuge in the chapel. Again, he’s woken up in the middle of the night from a wildly inappropriate dream. This time, he’d seen something different. It wasn’t a memory of a meaningless fuck or reminiscing about a mission alongside Ghost. No, this was a complete fabrication of his own mind.
They’re on that beach. That godforsaken fucking beach. He’s grown to hate that place now, what used to be a safe space in his head. He’s laying on the towel Ghost has Soap’s legs spread and pressed up toward his shoulders. He thrusts into him and Soap’s back arches off the ground. He fantasizes an immense arousal and pleasure he’s never felt before, but he wants to. He wants that dream to become reality so badly and it’s disgusting. He’s a man, a soldier, he shouldn’t lay down for another man like some trophy wife. No good praying man would allow that for himself, to moan and cry for a cock in his ass.
His knees ache for how long he’s been kneeling. He’d been the first one in as soon as the chapel opened, now he’s one of the few left - along with another man, two elderly women, and the priest.
Soap pictures his grandfather’s disappointed face when rumors of a couple of women moving into the empty how down the street from theirs, he can hear the wicked words his mother spoke about ‘those people’. Citing the Bible, she’d called them dirty, Hell-bound, disgraceful animals. No, Soap is a good man. He shouldn’t feel this way.
—
Soap struggles to breathe as blood flows a little too freely from his stomach. The loud noise of the helicopter, the shouting of his fellow soldiers, it’s all blurring together as his consciousness fades in and out.
“Johnny! Johnny, look at me!”
That’s Ghost. He feels a hand grasp his face and shoved to look at him. God, those eyes. So dark and full of terror and worry for him, for Soap. Soap doesn’t like it as much as he thought he would. He much prefers the crinkle of crow’s feet around Ghost’s eyes when he smiles.
“Stay awake. Just keep looking at me. You’re gonna be alright.”
Ghost ramble when he’s scared. Not nervous, not angry or anxious. Only when he’s scared.
Soap thinks of the chapel. If he were there now, he’d ask for that fear to be taken away. He’d ask that Ghost wouldn’t hold him so tight, like he’ll lose him somehow. He’d ask that Ghost’s heart would calm a bit, Soap can feel the pounding pulse in his neck where his head is resting. Who’s to say it’d help at all, but it’s worth a shot.
Words don’t come easy, not when his mouth is full of blood. He registers the helicopter landing, being rushed to the medic. The next time he opens his eyes, he’s in a dark hospital room. He’s sore all over and his stomach hurts like a bitch. He’d been shot twice by the feel of it. He blinks as his vision clears and he looks around the room. Sure enough, he’s met with Ghost staring at him.
“Morning.”, Soap offers. His voice is strained and rough.
“Evening.”, Ghost moves his chair from the opposite side of the room over next to the bed.
Soap regains himself. His head aches, too.
“Earned yourself some time off with that stunt you pulled.”
That stunt had been jumping in front of a gun for Ghost. Stupid, he knows, but he was out of ammo anyway and Ghost had been holding the packed they were tasked to retrieve.
“Are you alright, sir?”, Soap asks. Ghost’s blond brows furrow and he shakes his head in disbelief.
“Who gives a fuck about me? You’re the one that’s been laid up in a hospital bed for three days.”
Three days? He’d waited for him for three days?
Just then, Gaz and Price walk in. They’re carrying takeout containers. Gaz freezes when he sees Soap’s eyes open.
“About time you woke up. Sorry, we didn’t bring enough for four.”, he stands beside the bed. Soap’s stomach turns at the thought of food.
“Not hungry.”
Ghost lifts his mask to eat. Soap blames the drugs he’s on to dull the pain, but he finds himself lifting his hand and poking Ghost’s bare cheek. It earns a snort from Price, a bout of laughter from Gaz, and a statuesque deer-in-the-headlights sort of reaction from Ghost.
“I’ll let it slide this time, since you took two bullets for me.”, Ghost says lowly. This seems satisfactory for Soap, enough so that he falls asleep again to the sound of the three men talking.
—
The Glasgow apartment Soap had been taken to for the duration of his recovery is small, but it’s home-y and comfortable.
He moves slowly around the small space, careful not to hurt himself more than he had. He’s alone, though. Worse than that, he’s horny and pent up. It hurts too much to jerk off so soon after he’d been stitched back together. As days go on, it gets harder to ignore. His dreams are increasingly plagued by visions of Ghost bending him over in various positions. Sometimes he’s gentle and slow, others he’s rough and careless. Without fail, Soap wakes up with an agonizing erection that flags with failed attempts at relieving it.
Soap finds a church not far from his apartment. He limps his way inside and sits in the pew. He figures the Lord will excuse him for not kneeling this time. Soap bows his head, confides that he’s having wicked thoughts again and that he can’t seem to push them away, feels deep shame for not wanting to. He’d thought time away from Ghost would help, but it’s only made things worse.
His grandmother’s voice - shrill and hateful - fills his head. Having been verbally lashed for letting his sister paint his nails with polish, Soap had been called all kinds of names that he wouldn’t learn the meaning of until much later in life and an unending desire to know how any woman could speak that way to a child.
Soap’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He takes it as his cue to leave before his thoughts spiral any more. Ghost’s name is on the screen and he answers as he hobbles his way down the sidewalk.
“Johnny.”
God, Soap has missed that voice.
“You’re disturbing my leave, sir.”
“Price told me to come look after you. Said you have a tendency to disobey the doctor’s orders. Considering I’m outside your flat and you’ve fucked off somewhere, it’s a warranted visit.”, Ghost chastises. Soap grumbles and hurries his awkward gait.
“I was at church.”, Soap answers honestly.
“Little church mouse can’t stay in bed like he’s supposed to? God can’t hear your prayers from outside the sanctuary?”
Soap rounds the corner and approaches the door to his apartment building.
“I’m almost there, calm down.”
He hangs up the phone and finds that the tiniest jolt of excitement shoots through him at the knowledge that Ghost is waiting for him. Ghost will be there when he gets home. He shoves the memories from his dreams as far to the back of his mind as he can manage.
“About fucking time.”, Ghost grumbles as Soap exits the elevator at the end of the long hall. He watches the man try to walk as normally as possible. It’d be cute if he hadn’t seen the blood staining his body, soaking through his clothing - if he hadn’t seen the reason why he walks that way.
“Hey, Lt.”, Soap greets breathlessly, winded from his short journey. Soap looks the man up and down. He really is a big guy, his ill fitting clothes emphasizing as much. He’s dressed in his workout clothes - a long sleeve shirt, sweats, and tennis shoes. He has two large, brown paper bags in his arms.
“What’s all this?”, Soap nods to the bags.
“Food for you. Know you can’t cook worth shit, so I thought I’d make you some food so you don’t live off instant ramen and sweets.”, Ghost berates him lightly. It’s true, though. Soap had managed to set most of the kitchen appliances he’d owned in his life of fire at some point, including his coffee maker once.
“That’s nice of you.”, Soap says. Ghost cocks his head to the side.
“No snide remarks?”
“None that come to mind immediately. I can think some up if it makes you feel better?”
Ghost’s eyes dart over Soap’s face.
“God changed you.”, Ghost sneers.
At this, Soap laughs sharply, which makes his stitches hurt. He holds his stomach as he continues his bout of laughter.
“There you are. I like you better this way.”, Ghost smiles. Soap only knows as much because his eyes crinkle, the rest of it hidden behind his mask.
Upon entry, Ghost inspects the apartment. Unlike Soap’s room back at base - which is a mess of organized chaos - his apartment is tidy. It’s got a lived-in feel - a basket of unfolded laundry sits by the couch, the broom is leaning on the corner, chores he hadn’t gotten to because of his injuries, no doubt.
“Sorry for the mess.”
“I’ve seen worse.”, Ghost shrugs.
Ghost sets the bags down on the kitchen counter and opens the near empty fridge.
“What have you been eating this whole time?”, Ghost looks back at Soap.
“Takeout.”, Soap answers simply, not seeing the issue with that.
Ghost can only sigh deeply and get to work putting meals together for the man. He’s got several kinds of pasta, some steaks, and soups.
“How much did this all cost? I can pay you back.”
“Your payment will be in the form of you taking care of yourself and getting back to work.”
Soap insists, Ghost denies him further. He’s banished to the couch. Feeling useless, he leans to pull the basket of laundry toward himself to fold it. He grunts in pain as he does so.
“Don’t fucking touch that, Soap.”, Ghost barks. Soap sits back on the couch. He hears the chopping of vegetables and the gas stove turning on. All Soap is allowed to do is watch tv and occasionally look back to see what Ghost is up to.
Soap admires Ghost’s dedication to his workout routine, even when he’s not on base. The smell of his deodorant follows him around like a cloud. From the looks of it, he’s been back home for a while - long enough that he’s gone through his jeans and hoodies. He rarely sees the man in sweatpants - a shame, really. The fabric drapes over his tree trunk-like legs, making them look absolutely delicious. Soap can’t help but want to lick all the way up until-
Shit. No. Not again.
“Dinner’s almost done.”, Ghost announces.
Ghost rounds the corner around ten minutes later with a steak, asparagus, and mashed potatoes.
“I could have ordered something. You really didn’t have to do this.”
“If you want to heal, then you need to feed your body proper nutrients. Cheap takeout won’t cut it.”, Ghost says, his tone sharp. Soap must have really worried him when he got hurt.
“Just let me take care of you, get you back on your feet. You’ll be better in no time. I promise.”
—
It’s the third day that Ghost has stayed with Soap. He sleeps on the too-small couch, his feet hanging off the arm of it if he has his legs stretched out. He’s a good roommate - cleans up after himself, doesn’t make too much noise, is insistent on doing all the shores and shopping so that Soap doesn’t have to lift a finger.
Soap had thought he’d been exaggerating, maybe that the sentiment would fade after the second day, but Ghost is still adamant that he sit in his armchair and watch tv. It’s like a form of torture having the man of his dreams pamper and dote on him and all he can do is offer a smile, a joke or two. God how he wants to show his appreciation in dirty, depraved ways.
Soap has never been one to rely on pain medication to deal with an injury. He’s grown accustomed to toughing it out by himself. Ghost, however, is content to force the pills down his throat if he has to. With one hand squeezing his jaw so that it hangs open - the way he does with Riley when she’s particularly stubborn - and the other holding two pain killers, he wrestles Soap to the floor - though, he does so as gently as he can.
“Take the bloody pills, Johnny!”
“Fuck you!”
“I’ll shove my fingers in your mouth and make you choke them down.”, Ghost threatens.
For one fleeting second, Soap doesn’t think that sounds so bad. However, that one moment of slackened strength is all Ghost needs. Soap gags around his thick fingers as the pills slide down his throat.
“Wanker.”, Ghost mumbles, standing and tossing a bottle of water Soap’s way. Soap is in a state of shock. Sitting on the floor, he contemplates whether or not that had all just happened or if he needs to seek professional help for hallucinations.
“Get up. Lunch is almost ready. You have to eat after you take those.”, Ghost calls casually from the kitchen.
For too fucking long after, Soap feels groggy and sluggish. Walking is a chore, thinking is like pulling teeth, his head feels like it’s full of cotton.
“Feeling better?”
“Hmm.”, Soap, from where he lays on the couch, huffs. The bright side is his stomach is full, he’s pain free, and he’s dozing off.
Somewhere between being awake and asleep, Soap feels his legs being tenderly lifted while Ghost sits on the couch and sets them back over his lap. Ghost rubs his feet, seemingly out of boredom, and Soap melts in the feeling. He loves so much to be doted on, watched over, taken care of.
—
Soap is back in the chapel, sitting in the last pew, far away from the altar. There’s a man there - the priest, Soap assumes - with his head bowed in prayer.
Soap does the same, kneels down and bows his head.
“Something troubles you.”
That voice. It’s Ghost’s voice. Soap looks up and there he stands in a black shirt with a white collar, black slacks, and shiny black shoes.
“Gho-“
“Uh-uh. What should you call me?”
This is wrong. Soap tries to stand, but Ghost forces him down with a shove from one hand on each shoulder. Soap feels sluggish in his movements and his head spins as he looks around. He’s alone, there’s no one else around. He tries to call for help, but his tongue feels heavy.
“Don’t be afraid. God can help you. I can help you.”, Ghost speaks again, oddly calm for how much he’s struggling to keep Soap still.
“Don’t fight this. He loves you, He made you this way.”
“Fuck off!”, Soap manages. What the hell is Ghost doing?
A firm grip on his jaw shuts him up and he’s forced to look at Ghost. Soap obeys and he’s rewarded with Ghost softening his hold, caressing his face.
“Let me show you how much He loves His creations. The Lord made you just as you are.”
As he speaks, Ghost’s other hand snakes down Soap’s body. Soap grabs his arm, but can’t bring himself to make him stop. Not when Ghost dips below his waistband.
“He loves you, doesn’t He?”, Ghost coos, his nose brushes against Soap’s cheek. Soap leans into him as his cock fills out. Ghost starts slowly stroking him, murmuring things that Soap doesn’t quite catch.
“Let me show you. Let Him use me as a vessel. Don’t I take good care of you, Johnny?”
Soap whines as Ghost quickens his pace, tightens his grip.
“Answer me, love.”, Ghost taunts.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”, he taunts again.
“Yes, Father.”
“Good boy.”
Soap soon finds himself laid back on the pew, one leg thrown over the back of it and the other dangling with his foot on the floor. Ghost sits between his legs, spreading his thighs apart. Soap feels exposed, cold, and he lets out a shiver. Running his hands over his body, he realizes he’s naked.
“Chilly, darling?”, Ghost asks, partly genuine and partly to tease him. Soap nods, mouth agape in a silent plea for Ghost to continue whatever it is he’s planning on doing to him. Ghost leans over him, draping Soap’s body in his own warmth.
“Better?”
Again, Soap nods. He places his hands - in a much too familiar manner - on either side of Ghost’s face. He’s never seen Ghost’s bare face before. He’s so breathtakingly handsome, gorgeous in a way Soap hadn’t quite expected from the war-hardened man.
“What do you say?”
“Thank you, Father.”
This time, Soap’s reward is a kiss - long and slow, yet dripping with passion and Soap’s own eagerness.
“Relax, love. We can take our time here.”
—
Soap wakes abruptly with a jolt.
“You okay?”, Ghost asks quickly.
Soap gathers himself, acknowledging his dream and Ghost’s concerned voice.
“Were you having nightmares again?”, Ghost asks, this time his voice is tightened with worry. Soap feels bad for lying to him, to see those big, brown eyes soften under falsehoods.
“Yeah.”, he lies. They’re not quite the nightmares Ghost is thinking of.
Soap should be thankful that enough of the medicine is still in his system that he’s not hard, though he glances downward to make sure. Then he catches Ghost’s eyes darting over him.
“Really, I’m fine.”, Soap insists.
Ghost nods curtly. There’s something off about him. He seems more anxious now. Perhaps he’s picked up on what Soap had been trying so hard to hide. He’s smart, perceptive in that way. Maybe Soap is making him uncomfortable. He’d be uncomfortable if someone was emanating unwarranted sexual tension towards him.
“You can go.”, Soap says unprompted.
“Where?”
“Back to base. You don’t have to take care of me. They’re probably scrambling without you.”
Ghost seems to consider this and, as is the man’s way, declines the chance to escape.
“I said I’d help you get back on your feet.”, he says, as if he’d sentenced himself to this punishment.
Soap concedes. There’s no point in arguing with Ghost - he’s as stubborn as a mule and though Soap can be hard-headed himself, he’s not in the mood.
It’s not until days later when a fever spikes from infected wounds, leaving Soap bedridden and Ghost badgering the doctor over the phone that the blond gets a bare glimpse of the things swirling in Soap’s head. Hopped up on fever reducers, antibiotics, and God knows what else Ghost had made him swallow, Soap watches Ghost’s anxious pacing at the foot of his bed. Ghost talks to someone - maybe the doctor again, maybe Price or Laswell - but his words are muffled and jumbled. He sounds far away even though they’re in the same room. Sweat beads from his forehead and slowly drips down his temples.
“Speak to you soon.”, Ghost ends the call. He looks up toward Soap, who he almost had to chain to the bed because he refused to rest.
Soap lifts his hand, beckoning Ghost over. It feels like a dream - weightless and lazy - so he might as well indulge in it before he wakes up. Ghost comes to his side, says things he doesn’t register, and places his hand over the back of Ghost’s head, pulling him close until his lips make light contact to his forehead.
“Goodnight.”, he slurs contentedly.