Chapter Text
Ghost lets out a quiet groan into his mouth, which opens easily for him. His tongue slips in beside Ghost’s and he can taste the blandness of his lunch, more flavorful on Johnny’s tongue than it ever tasted on the cold silverware. Ghost groans again when he’s reminded of Johnny’s ravenous state in the cafeteria, how he has the same attitude now, as if Ghost’s piece of meat to Johnny’s empty stomach. Ghost threads his fingers through his mohawk, pulling him down and licking roughly into his mouth. His thumb rubs the skin behind Johnny’s ear, who responds with a shiver and his nails biting into Ghost’s forearms.
“Need this.” Johnny gasps out when their lips part with a wet sound. Ghost doesn’t respond, but captures his lips again and fists his hair firmly so he can’t pull back. He understands what he means, especially since the rooftop incident, the constant desire to be near has only swelled, pulsing and sucking on Ghost’s side like a bad leech. It leaves a nasty mark, a horrible scar, one that itches and peels and burns with infection, but the only remedy is temporary and addicting. It’s Johnny, hot and heavy with his lips on Ghost’s and the sweet encouragement of his blissed out voice.
“Been needing you so bad, Ghost.” Johnny repeats again as he pulls back, as if he believes Ghost didn’t hear him earlier, the pathetic way he whined, even more pathetic yet that it’s already replaying in Ghost’s head on a loop, how he wants Johnny to make it again.
Soap rests his forehead on Ghost’s, eyes peering into each other’s. “Gone pure bonkers without ye.”
Then, because Ghost feels it would not be socially acceptable for him to leave him without a response at this point, mutters back, “Never been without me, Johnny.”
From this close, he can see the slightest twitch of Soap’s mouth muscles as he fights down a smirk.
“Aye, like my own guardian angel.”
Ghost shakes his head; any essence of purity, any God given goodness inside him is long gone from the depth of him, corroded by whiskey and blood.
“Like a soldier.” Ghost amends, whispering for some reason. The room seems to shrink with his voice – the world shrinks. Him and Johnny are the only ones on his mind, strange, because his mind is usually so crowded. He taps a corrupt finger on Johnny’s chest. “Not letting you fight this war alone or die trying.”
Johnny nods solemnly, wraps his fingers around Ghost’s and gives a dry kiss to his palm, then down his wrist and forearm.
“Right there with you, Lt.” He says as his lips reach the crook of his elbow, moving along his bicep, nosing along the shirt sleeve to his covered shoulder. He teasingly lifts the fabric of his shirt from the hem over his hips, stomach and chest. It’s hardly a strip tease, more like a horror show reveal of split skin and jagged, keloid scars that distort his body and make him feel vaguely ill whenever he catches himself in the mirror after a shower. But Johnny sees them and gives a rough exhale, like he’s having trouble controlling himself before he dips down, starting at the bare skin of Ghost’s collarbones, kissing and mouthing before he licks over one light scar there.
Ghost’s breathing feels uneven from all the featherlight touches, he thanks his mask for covering where he feels hot in the face. He tries to take deep breaths as Johnny’s mouth moves further and further down. Ghost reaches up and yanks his mask back down his chin as Johnny bunches his shirt under his armpits and nibbles harshly at the fat on his sides. The balaclava suffocates him as his dick strains against his pants.
“Pent up?” Soap asks but Ghost ignores him again, focusing on his breathing. Johnny runs warm hands up and down his flank as if trying to placate him.
Tugging on Ghost’s pants when he reaches his hips, he kisses along the sharp bones, licking the shape of his V and sucking on his skin, tasting the flavor of him. When he finally reaches his groin, he shoves both his boxers and pants down in one go. What he sees rips out an ungodly noise from him followed by a sharp swear under his breath, before Ghost can question him about it, he’s already grabbing his hips and head butting Ghost’s thighs to make room for his head.
Ghost’s core tenses as the hot breath puffs onto sensitive skin, making it twitch and strain even harder with anticipation. But because Johnny is a sadist and evil and just plain mean, he gives Ghost nothing more than peppering little kisses to his half hardness, lips brushing his foreskin and nothing less. Just maddening, dry kisses to his shaft and the crown of his cock.
This time, Ghost speaks up first. “You're bloody ridiculous.” His breathy voice pitched deeper on purpose to combat the way he squirms for the featherlight attentiveness.
Soap lets up, moving away from his dick and instead tracing the tip of his nose along the crease of his thigh, breathing in. His mouth brushes against the inside of his thigh when he responds, jerking Ghost in a loose fist.
“Such a pretty knob, needs all my attention.” Johnny purrs, watching the way it bounces and leaks a cloudy white as he jerks it fast but without pressure.
Ghost digs his heels into the mattress, which groans in protest as Ghost arches nearly off the bed.
“It needs more than that, Johnny, fucking hell.” He pleads, strained.
Johnny laughs at him and kisses down his balls and then his inner thighs. Grabbing one leg and scraping his teeth against the delicate skin which makes Ghost bite down on his tongue as his eyes flutter shut.
“Big, meaty lad.” He growls out nonsensically through his hazy lust.
He slaps his thigh then abruptly ducks down to swallow him whole. The sudden tight wet heat around his twitching cock nearly sets him off, hips jerking off the bed as the head hits the back of his throat and Johnny gags loudly from where he’s buried in the soft of his wispy blonde hair. The sound echoes in the silent room.
Ghost heaves, trying to calm his body down, then places a hand atop Johnny’s head, fingers finding and lacing into his mohawk.
“F– Fuck .” He groans, legs trembling on either side of Johnny’s head. “Not a goddamn warning.” He half mutters, as if it's the sergeant’s fault Ghost can't control himself.
Johnny pulls off then, licking his lips and catching his breath. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then says, “I won't stand for blasphemy in my bed, Ghost.”
Ghost stares at him, still reeling from the feeling of his wet, warm mouth around him, still slightly disoriented. Lost, he repeats in question, “” Goddamn ”?”
Johnny spits on his dick and goes to town, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing like a man possessed. Ghost’s eyes flutter shut and he drops his head back onto the pillow, completely under his control, completely hypnotized. He's at it for a couple minutes. The slick noises of his spit gliding along Ghost’s cock and the guttural noises of Johnny's choking when he takes him too deep all attribute to Ghost’s finish line approaching embarrassingly fast. He gets Ghost fisting his hair and pumping into his mouth just to pull off at the last second, letting it go to slap wetly against Ghost’s stomach.
Ghost makes a little noise as his cock throbs like it’s bruised. It’s not a whimper that falls out of his mouth; more like a light, pleading protest.
Lifting his head up to rest on his chest, his head feels heavy as lead and his eyes don’t quite open all the way. “John..Johnny..?”
“Does it hurt?” He taunts, looking more cunning than the devil himself, referring to Ghost’s bright red, almost purple dick, veins bulging with balls so tight it pinches. He runs his hands up and down Ghost’s legs, his sickly sweet expression shifts, his eyebrows set, his voice darkens.
“Say it again, Ghost,” Soap dares him, squeezing his swollen cock harsh enough to make Ghost’s jaw ache from grinding his teeth. He sounds so good that it makes Ghost’s hips tilt up, almost pleading for Johnny’s attention.
“I can have you crying harder than your tadger.” Winking as he traces the bright pink leaking tip along his lips, it catches and smears on his mouth like a perverse lip gloss before Johnny licks it away.
Ghost’s head flops back onto the pillow, chest rising and falling rapidly. Fucking wanker. He thinks but holds his tongue. Johnny fucking called it, his dick is so hard it hurts . So hard he’s willing to let Johnny win this once and play nice for him.
“Sorry, mate.” Ghost heaves, staring at the ceiling and choking on his pride. “I’ll keep my big mouth shut.”
“Ah dinnae ask that.” He says in that smug, gorgeous voice as he begins to place sloppy and open mouthed up kisses on Ghost’s straining dick. The hot breath and wet lips sucking along his dick makes electricity shoot up his spine. Ghost's thighs quiver and he lets his eyes close again.
“That’s good.” Ghost manages as he sucks the head in his mouth. “Oh, Johnny.” He sighs as he sinks further down, hollowing his cheeks, getting it tight for him. Ghost can feel the gush of water flood Johnny’s mouth, he's so fucking hungry for him, so starved.
Soap’s hand trails down his asscheek, he glances up at him in silent question, eyebrows raised and thumb inching between his cheeks, towards his fluttering asshole. Ghost recoils, remembering the last time someone did that to him – a faceless man, one of Roba’s. He doesn't remember the details and yet it still haunts him, the unclear memory staying inside him like a stubborn parasite, unrelenting. All of what he experienced with Roba has stayed with him, but that man in particular, a blurry, blended body in his mind, has never failed to remind him how weak he had been, helpless as he was. Lingering in a lonely corner of the attic of his mind like a spider in its sinewy web, he still knows how to make him feel feeble even to this day.
Ghost has frozen on the bed. A cold, invisible, creeping hand settles around his throat but doesn’t squeeze. He tells himself it doesn't squeeze.
Steeling himself, he grabs Johnny’s hand “No,” He tells him, pinning it to his chest. “Get up here.”
Johnny follows his instructions without a word of argument or displeasure but instead shoves a hand under his mask to expose his mouth. They kiss and kiss, hot lips sliding together wetly, sharing muted, blissed out noises until that invisible hand dissipates into the thick air. Soap shimmies around on top of him so both his legs close around one of Ghost’s against his thigh, humping and rutting against him like he’s no better than a dog.
Finally between their shared gasps and groans and hot, heavy pants Johnny says something. Soft and almost shy, he brokenly begs against his lips, “Between your – your thighs, can I....?”
Instead of anything cold and unforgiving, Ghost feels heat coil tightly in his stomach. He audibly groans at the thought. “Yes. Fucking hell, Sergeant, Yes .”
At the permission, Soap gathers his legs and lifts them over his shoulder in a ridiculous show of strength as if they weigh nothing. Ghost’s knees knock together, his pants and boxers hang loosely from his ankles. The only sign that Soap exerts any effort being the bulge of his biceps, glistening golden with sex sweat in the pale light of his dimly lit room
“Squeeze your legs together.” He instructs as he leans to the side and rummages through his drawer desk to retrieve lube. He gets up straight on his knees and uncaps the tube to pour it down the backs of Ghost’s thighs, massaging the chilled wetness into sensitive skin and then in between his thighs like he’s really fingering him. Ghost squirms on the sheets but doesn’t tell him to stop.
Finally, once Ghost is right riled up and miserable, he slicks himself up and pushes in. Ghost sees the pink tip of him peek through the flushed skin of his legs before the rest follows. Not only can he see such a pretty cock but he can feel the thick shape of him pushing in and retreating as he watches.
“Fuck, yeah.” Soap groans lowly in deep satisfaction, hips drawing back slowly just to pitch forward again.
“Oh fuck, fuck, thank you .” Soap’s voice pitches higher, whimpering and trembling and so, so grateful. He leans forward and bends Ghost in half to keep both fucking him and to start kissing him as he rubs the side of his thigh appreciatively with his free hand, thrusting into him hard.
Johnny wasn’t wrong, he is a greedy son of a bitch. He gets desperate and frantic and messy when he gets what he wants. Ghost fists his stupid hair and pulls him closer. When they break away for air, his head lolls on Ghost’s knee and they stare down at each other with glazed eyes and open mouths. Ghost’s balaclava is still on, covering his nose and growing more uncomfortable with every sweet glide of Johnny’s cock spreading his thighs, but he doesn’t take it off. He doesn’t want to ruin this precious moment where Johnny feels good, where Ghost is letting him feel good. He doesn’t want Johnny to have to know the face of this devil that he finds so worthy of worship.
On one particularly hard thrust, Soap reaches around Ghost’s legs to wrap a lube slick hand around his sensitive cock to stroke him tight and slow. Ghost gasps and then moans loudly and just as, if not more pathetic than he did on the rooftop. He writhes and tries to thrust his hips up into Johnny’s hand but he’s practically being pinned to the bed.
“I’ve got you.” Johnny seems to read his mind and pumps his hand faster, pressing down on the head of his cock with his thumb every time he passes it.
“ Please , Johnny.” Ghost begs, hands closing around his strong arms, rocking with the motions of Johnny’s erratic fucking.
It feels too good. Too fucking good. To lay here and take the gentle pleasure Johnny’s giving him so selflessly. He doesn’t have to touch him or make sure he finishes, Soap could just keep fucking Ghost until he comes and leave Ghost like this, a sticky, wet mess and excruciatingly hard. He could leave him like this but he wont. He pins him down and he won’t leave him.
Ghost cries so silently, just a little bit as his cock twitches finally, coming in bursts across Johnny’s knuckles and his own chest, tears dampening and darkening his mask as he shakes through it. The worst part is that Johnny sees, he watches him as he makes a mess of his mask, as his nose runs and that stains too. As his wet, panting breaths suffocate him as he loses it. At least it doesn't stop Johnny. The crying doesn't make him question Ghost or start saying something stupid to try and comfort him. He keeps fucking into him but never looking away. In fact, it seems like he can't bring himself to look away.
His thrusts start to become erratic.
“Fuck. F– fuck.” He grunts softly, leaning in – so close that Ghost feels the burn in his hamstrings– to shove his face into the wet fabric as he spills all over Ghost’s thighs, all over the soft line of his red, spent dick and the plane of his stomach.
“There you go, soldier.” Ghost says softly when he finds his voice again, but even then it comes out partially wrecked and gravelly.
Then, for some reason, Ghost feels a huffed out breath against his cheek, then he feels Johnny shaking against him in a quietly hysterical laugh. He laughs softly against Ghost’s face, letting go of Ghost’s legs where they fall heavily onto the rickety cot below.
“Ghost, you’re just full of surprises, aren't you?” Johnny rasps, still mildly amused. Ghost can't tell if he's referring to what just happened or the fact that Ghost allowed it to happen.
Regardless if it was either, Ghost’s answer would say the same; “Don't make me kick you out on your arse.” He threatens, idly tracing his fingers through the cooling mess of Johnny’s spend on his stomach even though they’re in Johnny’s room.
Johnny snorts and sprawls out, half on top of Ghost to keep himself from falling off the edge of the bed. Ghost sits half up, ignoring the way Johnny’s hand darts out and curls around his forearm to stop him as if he's afraid Ghost is already leaving. but Ghost simply rips off his sweaty, bunched shirt and swipes it messily down his soiled legs and torso before he throws it to the floor uncaringly. His head hits the pillows again and he pulls his mask back over his lips, getting comfortable. They lay like that for a while, catching their breaths, feeding off of each other’s heat; getting comfortable.
And because Johnny’s never been able to stand silence for long, he turns so his head is cushioned on Ghost’s bare chest.
“Who was your first?”
Ghost has never really been one for pillow talk, in a sexual exchange by now, he's usually getting dressed and half way gone. But he stays, that has to mean something.
Ghost keeps staring at the ceiling. “Not getting all possessive over me, are you, Johnny?”
Johnny scoffs, pokes him hard in the ribs. “I want to know things about you, fuckheid.”
Ghost rolls his eyes, “You know enough.”
Soap puts one hand on the other side of him to hover over him.
He’s smiling as he tells him, “No, not enough.”
Ghost looks at him. He has to look at him when he’s all up in his face.
His brows furrow beneath his mask and he squints at Soap, who’s still smiling. “You're the first person to have said that.”
Soap hums, then leans in, nose brushing Ghost’s nose through the black fabric. He whispers softly, “Not the first to fuck you though?”
Ghost can’t help but furrow his eyebrows in exasperation, “Is that what you're worried about? Afraid you popped my cherry? Ruined my untouched purity?”
“Ye hardly fuck like a virgin.” Johnny blurts out with a little grin and sparkle of mirth in his eyes. Ghost can’t help the fondness in his eyes which he stares back at him with.
“Better not have.”
Johnny pulls back and away, shoulder shaking in a silent chuckle as he lays back down on his back. “Do cry like one, though.”
Ghost nearly hits him. Well, he does punch him in the side, just not nearly as hard as he wants to. “ Mactavish .”
An arm slithers around his waist, “Lot of people aren’t into that, you’re a lucky one to have me.”
“What a burden it is to bear.” Ghost huffs, arms folding over his chest.
“It’s honest work.” Pulling his arms back, he kisses Ghost’s naked chest.
Ghost doesn’t realize he’s smiling while he’s gazing at him until Johnny leans in to peck his covered cheek. I trust this idiot. is the first thought Ghost has, staring into his eyes. It’s scary and it’s embarrassing but mostly, Ghost feels something snap. Some great big stick of tension inside him; maybe his whole spine.
Because it's stifling and disgusting and Ghost has just made a terrifying revelation, he tears the bloody mask off.
“I had a friend,” He begins, throwing his mask onto his nightstand.
“Surprising.” Soap mutters almost absently, eyes intently tracing over his uncovered face. It isn’t the first time Soap’s seen his face, but it’s the first time in a long while. Ghost slaps a hand over his mouth for the comment. If he’s telling this story, he can’t deal with Johnny’s unhelpful commentary without losing his carefully balanced sanity.
“I met him when I was seventeen, he used to smoke outside of the butchery I worked at. I always bumped into him when I clocked out and he always offered me a smoke.” He recalls, a pleasant nostalgic haze settles over his mind. The good old days.
“We went to the same school and had only one class together. He was kind to me. And…” Ghost clears his throat, unsure why he feels flustered just talking about it. Want still feels taboo. “Very attractive.”
Johnny makes an interested hum beneath his hand that makes Ghost clamp his hand down harder.
“The girls in school were very interested in him but he didn’t want anything to do with them, people thought he was more of an academic than a romantic. He didn’t have friends.” Some ache blooms in his stomach, the kind of ache that stays and spreads, the kind that feels like grief.
“But he liked me.”
Johnny pushes Ghost’s hand off by the wrist. “Name?”
“Anthony.” The name barely makes it out of his mouth, the letters unfamiliar on his tongue; he hasn’t thought about Anthony in years.
“He used to invite me to his house and let me eat his food, play his games. I could even take some of their dinner back with me for my..” Ghost stalls with the word family. “Anthony really did care for me.”
“What happened?” Johnny asks softly, still holding his hand close to his face, brushing his fingers over his scratchy chin.
“He sucked me off in his family's pantry and never spoke to me again.”
Johnny gets to his hands and knees, peers over Ghost with such an endearing indignance clear as day in his eyes. “Fucking pardon? ”
Ghost just shrugs, carding his fingers through that gelled mohawk. “Told you he wasn't the romantic type.” He reminds him, almost soothing, almost condescending in his tone.
Johnny’s eyes shine with – Ghost wants to say he sees pity swimming in the ocean of his irises but he doesn’t, he sees pain. He sees Johnny feeling pain for Ghost. Maybe that’s the same as pity but Ghost has seen pity and this.. This isn’t that. The way he’s looking at him doesn’t make Ghost want to clock him in the jaw for one. Johnny turns his head to the side, Ghost's hand falls low to hold his cheek, a bizarre wave of affection washes over him.
“Jesus, a right walloper, that one.” He mumbles into Ghost’s big palm that nearly covers the entirety of the side of his face, leaning into his touch like a love starved puppy.
Ghost shrugs, swiping his thumb against his temple. “He was ashamed. And scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of himself.”
Some clogs must turn inside his brain because suddenly, he's sitting down on Ghost’s lap, taking his hand into a bone crushing grip and staring down into his eyes.
“But Ghost, ye know I like you.”
Ghost stares at him, blank. “That’s what Anthony said.”
Johnny shakes his head, pressing Ghost’s knuckles to his forehead and rolling them there, as if he’s fighting off a headache.
“But I want you.” He insists, voice wrecked while looking down, face obstructed by Ghost’s hand. “I want you outside of all this. Somewhere where I get you all to myself.”
Ghost wraps his free hand around the back of Johnny’s neck and pulls him close so he can look him right in those hungry, frustrated, wild wanting eyes. Their noses almost brush, Johnny’s breathing open mouthed against Ghost’s face.
“Now, you’re getting possessive.” He tells him, digging his fingertip into the muscle to keep him in place.
Johnny laughs, places thr hand he holds onto his hip.
“ Now ? You’re my lieutenant.” He practically growls at him, “You’ve been mine.”
Ghost wars with himself, his hands ache to hold Johnny, grab him and pin him down. His body wants to let himself be owned but he knows, deep down in his twisted heart, he's better off a stray.
“The fact that I’m yours is the exact reason why I can’t be yours .” He whispers, squeezing the nape of his neck.
Johnny just looks at him like he could strangle him.
“I'm your superior.” Ghost reminds him, swallowing thickly.
Soap lets his head hang low and he lets out a defeated sigh. A blade of grief splits open Ghost’s chest cavity because Johnny sounds like he’s finally given up on him.
But then he looks up, levels Ghost with his tired eyes. “Then why are you still here, Ghost?”
Ghost grips Johnny’s hip and takes a deep breath. He's too weak to lie. Their hearts beat in silence for too long. Johnny knows Ghost is weak, too weak to deny Johnny and too weak to leave.
“Guess that makes me one greedy son of a bitch, doesn't it, Johnny?”
It makes Johnny grin right at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling in joy. Anthony flies right out of Ghost’s mind. For a moment, he’s free of all the weight of guilt, all the dead that were pinning him down float away and his lips twitch, almost a smile.
“Guess it does.” He agrees, leaning down to knock their noses together before he tilts his head up to kiss Simon gently.