Chapter Text
If Soap had known that making an obscene comment about taking his lieutenant’s dick up his arse would lead to said thing happening, all while out on a mission in the middle of Russia, he would’ve told that stupid joke much sooner. Or in a different setting. His room back at base, preferably. Not while they were clearing some dusty garage.
Ghost had stopped in his tracks, rifle lowered as he turned. “You really want me to fuck you, Sergeant?”
“If ye’re offerin’.” Soap had said, unbelieving at first, a sly smirk playing on his lips.
All the pining he’d done for the past years, all the men he’d fucked that looked a lot like someone with a loose trigger finger and six feet something of pure brutality and muscle - he could’ve done without it, Soap realizes.
Ghost had pulled up the creaking garage door until it was just high enough for him to see outside while bent over the wooden table top, legs spread, rough hands pushing down until he was pressed flat against the rough, dusty surface.
“Keep watch.” Ghost had said, and Soap had done everything he could to keep his eyes on the outside street. Just below the rim of the horizontal door. But- god- it was the hardest he’d ever fought to keep his eyes open on a mission.
It wasn’t every day you got your ass fucked within an inch of your life. Literally. By your lieutenant on top of that.
It was nothing like he’d imagined.
He knew the man would be rough, heated, maybe even a little mean in bed but what surprised him was the impersonal nature with which Ghost held his hand clamped over Soap’s lips. Almost like he was annoyed at his moaning. But that couldn’t be further from the truth because Ghost was careful too - he prepped him as much as he could, used his fingers one by one, asked if this was “Olright.” and all that.
That doesn’t mean it was romantic, they didn’t kiss or anything. Which was fine with Soap. Ghost didn’t make any eye contact either, which was also fine. But he would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t miss the man’s eyes while he was being taken apart like the G43 in his abandoned holster, now hanging loosely from his bunched up cargos, bouncing to and off the ground with every thrust as Ghost picked up in speed.
He didn’t have much time to think about it though, before he was pulled up and off the table, his changed point of view now cutting off any visual on the street outside as Ghost had started fucking him so hard he saw stars.
But what surprises him the most is:
Ghost pulls out of him before he finishes.
That’s the first thing.
The sound Ghost makes as he nears his orgasm makes Johnny want to drop to his knees and let him cum down his throat as he sucks him off, all sloppy and wide-eyed, staring up at the face Ghost makes. Beneath the mask, of course. But he won’t. Soap’s not suicidal and he quite values his life. Thank you very much.
An almost animalistic growl escapes the man’s lips beneath the balaclava as he grips the table to steady himself.
He bucks his hips up into his pumping hand before he cums over the plate of the table, painting it dark brown where the spurts of cum dissolve into the wood, some of it dripping to the floor. Pity, Soap thinks and licks his lips as he watches Ghost from over his shoulder, the straps of his vest almost concealing the way Ghost’s dick jerks so prettily one final time.
His eyes trace every movement of the taller man’s arms, as they flex and shake while he wipes his cum-stained fingers off on his trousers, too elegantly after what they just did.
And Fuck. What they just did ... he made Ghost cum. He did this. Soap’s in heaven.
Fuck, this is a dream…
Johnny hasn’t turned around yet, his back is still slightly arched, shoulders tense from holding himself up on the table while Ghost had fucked into him with full force. At least he’s got his breathing under control by the time Ghost tucks his dick back into his underwear.
Nevertheless, Soap’s left standing there.
And that’s the second thing surprising him that day.
His ass out and on full display, the sweat-through cargos shoved down and bunched up above his knees, legs spread as he watches Ghost take ragged breaths a few feet away. He feels slightly exposed, to say the least. Not cheap… just…
He can hear the taller man zip up his fly now, still with his back to him.
Johnny’s lower jaw bone still hangs loosely from its zygomatic hinges. Lax. In awe of the mountain of a man in front of him. Of the fact that Ghost - the Ghost himself - just plowed into him like Soap was some cheap whore he picked up at the pub.
But his mouth snaps shut once he realizes Ghost won’t be coming back.
No really. He’s walking off.
Okay, maybe he does feel cheap now.
With wide eyes he watches the taller man duck down and through the lowered garage door in front of them, his combat boots crunching as they step on the dirty concrete of the driveway.
Oh, Johnny thinks. Oh, as in the job’s done then.
He almost wants to shout after the other man, ask him to wait. But he decides against it - technically they’re still in enemy territory and shouting after your lieutenant probably wasn’t the safest thing to do. Not after having kept his moaning to the minimum. Ghost had made sure of that too, his gloved hand pressed over his mouth- so fucking hot… Christ, he’s out of it.
Get your shit together, MacTavish.
Now.
He steps away from the edge of the table and hastily pulls up his underwear, then his cargos.
Almost bumps his head too on the freaking garage door because he’s too busy fumbling his belt closed. Multitasking usually was one of his strengths but not when you just got your ass destroyed by your superior, all while out on a mission in the middle of nowhere.
This is fine. Right?
He tries not to think about the absence of a last glance as he catches up with Ghost. The absence of a muttered, “Let’s get going, Sergeant.” Or just a pat on the ass. Even a mumbled “This wasa mistake. Les no’ do it again.” would’ve sufficed. But like this, Soap is left wondering what the other man could possibly be thinking. If he even IS thinking anything.
He stops when he sees Ghost already standing at the nearby bridge. It’s the one Price described in the briefing and Soap takes the last few feet of distance between them to clear his throat.
Why is he nervous?
His hand comes up to touch at his neck, he can’t help it, touches where Ghost’s hand had lingered mere minutes ago. He can still feel his fingers pressed into the soft tendons there.
With a huff of breath and a slight shake of his head Soap snaps himself out of the situation back at the garage and tucks his shirt into the waistband.
“Price call yet?” He asks completely casual once he’s caught up to the other man. As if he hadn’t just seen Ghost talk into his coms. As if everything was back to normal. As if his ass won’t be sore for days.
“Said he’ll be here in ten.” Ghost says into the sky, forearm slightly leant against the railing of the bridge. “We’re back just in time for breakfast.”
That.
Johnny considers those words for a second. The meaning behind them. First, he thinks, what the fuck?! Breakfast? That’s what we’re gonna talk about? Ghost’s post nut clarity is clearly not working in Johnny’s favor…
Then, he thinks, maybe it’s an olive branch. He did say ‘we’re’. Maybe that means something. Maybe he’ll say more about what we are about to do. What we are.
Hopefully that means this won’t change anything between them…
“Ye think?” Johnny says anyway, even forces himself to smile so he sounds less like a hopeless romantic clinging to any ambiguity Ghost might be hiding behind those words.
But Ghost just nods. Tired.
Shite.
Nothing then.
No more olive branches.
It’s quiet for a few seconds. And while Ghost is probably listening to the birds getting ready for their daily courtship routine, Soap’s brain is running a million miles per hour, regret, fear, desperation, hope - you name it, all of his emotions are crashing in on each other because what the fuck?
He shifts his weight onto his better leg, subconsciously taps the tip of his foot against the ground a few times, waiting. Nervous.
Tap tap tap tap tap.
This is fine. This is totally fine.
Ghost isn’t that type of man…
He won’t ignore him. He’s not like that…
Right?
“Soap.”
The thoughts in his head came to a halt at the sharp tone in the man’s voice.
Ghost is looking at him, his eyes saying ‘Stop the foot dancing and stay quiet. You’re annoying the heck outta me.’
And yes. Johnny can do that. Christ… what’s wrong with him. Ghost - this is Ghost we’re talking about. What did he expect?
It didn’t mean anything. They had a good shag. That’s all there was to this.
So shut up, he tells himself, tells his brain.
Shut up before you do something stupid again.
And then, since clearly, Ghost doesn’t see this as anything else than a one time thing, Johnny tries to fall back into their easy banter.
Because yes. It would be nice to be back on base just in time for breakfast.
Now, think about what you’re gonna say. Don’t want to annoy him again.
One,
two,
three,
four,
five.
“Would kill for an omelette right about now.”
Ghost huffs at that, though it’s not as wholeheartedly as usual.
But it’s enough to ease Soap’s frantically beating heart a little bit.
The other man sits opposite of him in the heli, legs spread wide as he leans back against the metal head board. The rotors swallow any other sound and set him in a daze all the way back to base.
It’s just him and his thoughts now. Where his head is normally empty after a mission, on airplane mode until he wakes up the next morning - now there’s Ghost, dancing around like swirls of smoke in his head.
His gaze wanders to said man a few times but the way he stares at a spot on the ground tells Johnny more than he needs to know. As in, he’s not up for a talk right now. As in, he can’t tell what Ghost is thinking and it’s driving him nuts again. Their smalltalk earlier eased some of the tension in his overthinking brain.
He should be used to this…
He’s experienced this before.
It’s nothing new to him, being left behind with his own thoughts after a quick shag or a one night stand. If anything, this is how you went about it in the military. They were soldiers and soldiers weren’t usually the type of people that cuddled after sex, let alone Ghost.
Then why is it such a problem for him this time?! Why does he keep thinking he did something real bad?
Oh well.
All he can hope for now is that the other man won’t be an ass about this. That he’s the kind of man Soap fell so utterly hard in love with, even after getting intimate. Even if this isn’t the same for Ghost as it is for Soap.
And yeah, normally Soap can tell what Ghost is thinking - but right now, he’s a mystery, a goddamn ghost through and through - more apathetic than ever and Johnny…
Johnny feels like the last piece of gum in his pocket - stale, sweet and a joy at first. But now he asks himself - what if Ghost didn’t like the taste of him after all? What if he took a bite and then decided he wasn’t what he expected him to be, wasn’t good enough or even worse - good enough but not enough for a second time.
Soap wants there to be a second time though. He needs more of it, like he needs air. But he won’t push. That’s the last thing Ghost needs right now.
Ghost’s eyes are closed now. He’s not sleeping. Johnny knows that.
But he won’t push. He won’t overstep again. Not make any vulgar jokes, no foul mouthed jabs, no nothing.
They don’t talk about it. Not the next day. Not the next week. Not the next month.
It’s all back to professional yes lieutenant’s and fleeting glances across the halls.
But Johnny will manage. He always does.
Everything’s back to normal.
It’s fine.