Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Price stood by him as they watched some of the grunts clean up the mess, both of them still keyed up after a nice little firefight. Price, who already had a cigar in hand, offered Ghost his lighter as he pulled out a cigarette of his own.

Ghost accepted it, taking a short couple of drags.

“Left you a gift in your tent. Had some of the boys bring it over earlier,” Price said casually, sending a knowing look in his direction.

Ghost grunted. “Last one you sent me didn’t last very long. Harder to clean up than to enjoy at that rate.”

Price let out a laugh. “S’Because I didn’t know your type. Think I have it figured out with this one.”

It was rare anyone found exactly what Ghost needed, but his interest was piqued enough that he took one last drag of his cigarette before ashing it under his foot. “Mind if I leave this to you?” he asked, gesturing to the mess in front of him.

Price let out a laugh, waving him off. “Go on then, earned yourself some time to relax.”

‘Relax’ was a bit of a twisted way of putting it but Ghost nodded in thanks nonetheless. He left the man to oversee the cleanup required of an operation of this size.

The walk back to his tent was a quick one, easily memorized in the month and half that he’d been stuck here. Could have done it with his eyes closed at this rate, had walked it so many times. Found it easily enough through the crowd of tired bodies, all exhausted after a hard battle won.

He tried not to feel too eager as he pulled back the flap to his tent, had been let down by presents like this in the past.

Just as Price had promised, inside sat his little gift, all tied up and ready for him. Was set up in a kneel, his head slumped down. Didn’t even look up as Ghost entered, as he closed the tent tight behind him.

Ghost made his way over to the man. He took a handful of his hair, something short cropped into a stupid cut, and wrenched his face back to investigate. 

Already collared, Ghost thought.

Price must have done it, affixing him with the symbol of captivity to differentiate him from the rest of the men. It was a band of black leather, a thinner metal strip surrounding it, standing out in stark contrast against his skin. At his nape sat a little lock, the same silver as the band. As for the man himself, he had some pretty significant wear and tear, obviously had been in the melee on the field. A cut ran across his temple to leave a fairly considerable amount of blood coating his face, a couple more shredding different parts of his shirt and pants.

But he had pretty eyes, blue, still alert and assessing even through his obvious fatigue.

Ghost crouched. Even from this position he still towered over the man, but it closed the distance some. Let go of him to remove his gloves before untying the gag and taking the man’s face in his hands, thumb rubbing at the marks where the fabric had bitten into his skin.

They stayed like that for a moment, neither of them saying anything as Ghost massaged away some of the ache caused by the gag. “Do you have a name?” Ghost asked after a couple of minutes. He kept his voice low, casual, as if not to spook his guest.

The man blinked up at him but said nothing. He let out a long breath through his nose and straightened his back.

Ghost smiled at that. He liked the man’s spirit, knew it meant he still had some energy, some fight. There was something about the way he didn’t speak, didn’t give himself away that had Ghost feeling pleased.

Maybe Price had gotten it right after all.

“Gunna clean you up,” Ghost said, letting go of the man’s face. “Then we’ll get some water in you. Maybe you’ll feel like talking after that.”

The man frowned, looking a little apprehensive.

Ghost didn’t blame him in the slightest. That look only deepened as Ghost pulled out one of his knives, leaning towards him. Those intelligent eyes flicked up at him, then went back down to the blade. Ghost leaned forwards, bringing the knife around behind the man’s back.

He didn’t so much as freeze or flinch away, just kept still. There was a hundred different ways the man could have fought back in his position. In all honesty, Ghost was leaving himself open to see what he would do, what he was capable of.

But the man did nothing.

This was going to be…so much more interesting than Ghost could have hoped for.

He cut the man’s feet free, left his hands bound.

The man didn’t move, not even as Ghost turned that knife back on him, as he cut the ruined shirt open. It revealed a fit torso marred in scars and minor cuts that had Ghost staring, has him laying a hand there to feel the flexing of muscles under warm skin. He didn’t do anything more, just wanted to acclimatize the man to being touched like this. Wanted to get some of those walls down despite the position he had been forced into.

But this man already wasn’t like the rest, barely flinched under the contact. He was a puzzle, something that required thought and trial.

Ghost hummed and retracted his hand. He left the stranger to search his tent for a bottle of water, cracking it open to take in a mouthful, swallowing. Then he held it out, offering it to the man.

The stranger didn’t even hesitate, just tilted his face up, letting his mouth fall open.

Ghost liked that. He lowered the bottle to the man’s lips, letting him take in a couple of long sips from it. “Good?” he asked after the man had pulled back some, after he had nearly finished the whole thing.

The man said nothing, but somehow Ghost got his answer from his body language, looking up at him with eyes that were apprehensive of what was to come. Ghost didn’t touch him again though, just closed the bottle, chucking it into a pile with some of his other stock. Then he circled the man, coming to rest behind him.

He was smart, too smart for his own good. Had anticipated getting caught, had ripped off his tags and any markers that indicated rank or name. But there were other ways to identify a man, ones that people often they themselves forgot about. Ghost reached down, taking hold of the back of the man’s shirt collar, tugging it.

Soap was printed there on the inside material in neat little letters.

“’Soap’” Ghost read aloud.

The man flinched at the word, more or less confirming what Ghost already knew, that this was the man’s call sign. Wasn’t as good as a birth certificate but it would do.

“S’not a name, but it’s English. That’s good,” Ghost said, letting go of the garment. “Just means you can understand me.”

Ghost crossed the room and took hold of the chair he had in his tent and brought it over to Soap, placing it down carefully in front of him.

Soap watched him as he did, that apprehension growing.

“Do you know why you’re here, Soap?” Ghost asked, looking down at the man.

Slowly, Soap nodded.

Ghost smiled at that. It would only make all of this significantly easier if he didn’t have to explain everything. It was always the bargaining phase that bored him the most.

“Good,” Ghost said, sitting in the chair. He made sure not to jostle Soap as he did, spreading his knees so that Soap was kneeling in the V of his legs. “We’re going to keep you and the rest of your squad until your boss calls us, until he surrenders. Then you can all go home to your family, is that understood?”

Soap again said nothing, just let Ghost speak. The irony was lost on the stranger that Ghost had been made the chatty one in this scenario, that it was usually others who had to fill the silence.

“In the meantime, we’re going to put you to work,” Ghost told him. He reached down to undo his belt, watched as Soap stiffened but didn’t pull back.

That was good, maybe he’d been in this position before, didn’t wear the scared look most of the men wore when they got dragged in for the first time. There was apprehension there, but little more than that. Ghost had never minded the struggle that came from breaking in new toys, but on a night like tonight, right after a battle as long as this one, he’d much rather this.

The belt slid out from its loops and Ghost thumbed the button of his pants open, taking Soap’s chin with his free hand. “Use any teeth and I’ll knock them out, understood?”

A sharp breath through the man’s nose, his eyes closing momentarily as the sound of a zipper filled the room. Soap opened them again and nodded, looking up at Ghost’s face.

There was something so curious about the man’s posture, about the way his expression held no fear, only a cool understanding of what was to come. A near boredom, even. He even shuffled closer as Ghost let him go to push down his briefs, to pull out his cock.

“That’s good,” Ghost validated, wanted to see that. It usually took a couple of days for toys to learn their places, to stop fighting and to understand that the less they fought, the kinder they were treated before they were finally released.

He took Soap by the chin again, guiding him forwards. Hummed as the man opened his mouth, tongue already darting out to meet Ghost.

Fuck, that felt good. It’d been a while since he’d bothered taking anyone like this, usually left them for the other men to play with. But this one at least had experience sucking cock, was keeping his teeth carefully out of the way.

Ghost put a hand on the back of his head, just resting it there for now. The man kept him shallow, closing his eyes. Ghost slid his hips forwards on the chair, giving him even more space to ease down.

And it did feel good. Soap had to have known that he needed to do a somewhat decent job to keep Ghost entertained. But Ghost was only so tolerant of the way Soap had taken to disassociating through this, seemed on autopilot as he worked his mouth around Ghost’s cock in shallow bobs of his head. But without the use of his hands, still tied behind his back, there was only so much he could do.

“Deeper,” Ghost warned, hand applying just the tiniest bit more pressure to the back of the man’s head. He wasn’t pushing, but it had Soap opening his eyes again, looking up at Ghost in annoyance.

Ghost snorted at that. “It’s in your best interest. If I get bored, I’m just going to fuck your throat.”

Soap let out a long breath through his nose at that. He listened, tongue sliding over the underside of Ghost’s cock as he hollowed his cheeks, as he took Ghost in a little deeper.

There it was, much better this way. Had him firming up in the man’s mouth, had his breaths coming a little quicker now.

Ghost let out a grunt as Soap made it about halfway down. Soap looked up in interest at that, the pause almost unnoticeable. Then, he worked himself down with renewed energy.

He gagged once, eyes pinching shut again, but there was none of the vacant and mechanical nature in the way Soap was blowing him this time. Ghost let him keep his eyes closed, saw how it seemed to be helping him concentrate as he began to pick up his pace.

The next time Soap gagged around Ghost’s cock, he held himself there, didn’t even need to be asked. The head of Ghost’s cock nestled pleasantly against the back of Soap’s throat, had him enjoying that twitching pressure around him.

“Good,” Ghost grunted, grinding his hips up just a bit. It felt so good to fuck up into that wet, tight heat of his mouth. He let himself be loud, knowing that everyone in camp right now would be more or less engaged in the same type of play.

Soap seemed interested in the way Ghost was enjoying himself. He ducked his head back down more than once, eliciting a couple of more gags, building that heat in Ghost’s gut, couldn’t have been very comfortable for him. More than that, Ghost had come to him unshowered, still covered in his own sweat and grim. The two of them made quite a pair, still so fresh from the hardships of the day.

But maybe the man was seeking out an escape of sorts, was using Ghost in the same way he was being used—to get out of his own head.

As a reward, Ghost let his nails rake over Soap’s scalp, had him letting out a surprised moan that vibrated along Ghost’s cock. “Like that?” Ghost couldn’t help himself but to ask, knew the answer already.

The man didn’t respond, just pulled off Ghost’s cock, sucking in heaving breaths through his mouth as he did.

Instead of trying to push him back down, Ghost allowed him a moment, reaching inside of a pocket to produce a cigarette. He pushed up his mask a bit, lighting it to take a drag.

Soap watched through half lidded eyes as he worked to even his breathing, gaze skimming over the exposed parts of Ghost’s face.

Ghost let him, took himself in hand to lazily jerk himself off as Soap recovered. He offered the cigarette to Soap, who only thought about it for a second before leaning forwards, wrapping his lips around it.

Ghost liked that, liked that the man took whatever Ghost offered to him. Water? Drank right from the bottle. Cigarette? Took a drag. Ghost offered him his cock? The man parted his lips for it. There was something powerful about the submission the man gave him. Like he knew he had been beaten, was resolved to this fate—penitence for a battle lost.

Ghost took one last drag at the cigarette before dropping it on the floor, ashing it. “You’re not going to like this bit,” Ghost warned him, standing. The chair rocked back slightly and Soap flinched, but at least he didn’t try to fight or flee. Ghost put his hand back on Soap’s head, fingers fisting into the short hair of his mohawk. “Unfortunately, it’s gonna take a bit more.”

Soap’s eyes widened as Ghost pushed the head of his cock to Soap’s lips, tapping it there until the man parted them.

Ghost went slowly as he sheathed himself down into Soap’s throat, ignored the gagging and the whimpering as he did. Gave a sharp warning as teeth accidentally nicked the sensitive skin there, but Ghost’s couldn’t really blame him.

Fuck, he looked pretty like this. Eyes struggling to stay open, tears clumping lashes that fanned across his cheekbones. Lips stretched out around his cock, split slicken and flushed from the abuse.

It took Soap a second but he managed a breath in through his nose, had him relaxing just the tiniest bit. Ghost let him adjust a second longer before pulling back, shushing him as he gagged again. He drove his cock in a little faster this time, watched as Soap’s face pinched in discomfort.

“That’s it,” Ghost breathed as he did it again, as Soap gagged. But Ghost wasn’t keen on stopping now that he knew how good Soap’s throat felt, how tight it got when the man struggled.

Soap’s eyes flashed open in an expression of slight panic, trying to pull off with no avail. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would scare the shit out of him to keep going. Ghost gave it another couple of thrusts before he let Soap pull off, sputtering and coughing as he did.

He got a couple of good breaths in him, turning to flash an accusatory look Ghost’s way.

Ghost ignored it to place a hand on either side of Soap’s face and pulled him back down. Soap went easier this time, seemed resolved to the abuse his throat was taking. Heat coiled low in Ghost’s gut as he drove in, faster, was chasing the high of it all.

Soap’s eyes rolled back, throat twitching around him. It was enough to have Ghost grunting out a warning, watching the way Soap’s hips rolled up into nothing as Ghost’s hands tightened. He could feel the sharp bite of Soap’s cheekbones under his hands, moaned against the sound that vibrated up his cock.

Ghost’s thrusts became uneven as his release was coaxed out of him, coming hard down Soap’s throat.

He seemed to anticipate the way Ghost ignored it when he gagged, managed to swallow it all down as Ghost worked himself through it, uncaring of the man below him’s needs.

That had been fucking perfect, was just what he’d needed. Ghost couldn’t have been happier with how this night had turned out. Soap coughed as Ghost finally pulled himself out, heaving in deep breaths.

More interesting was the way that Soap seemed embarrassed, his cheeks flushing as he knelt face to face with Ghost’s cock. Ghost hummed, putting a hand on Soap’s shoulder, pushing him back slightly. It gave him a view of the length of Soap’s body, all the way down to the way his cock was tenting in his jeans.

Ghost barked out a laugh at that, earning a glare. He tucked himself away and zipped up his pants before pulling his mask down, contemplating his options as he sat. “Think you deserve a reward for that,” Ghost said, voice low. He lifted his foot and tucked it between Soap’s parted knees, so that his shin pushed up against the man’s straining cock.

Soap let out a moan at that, not seeming to anticipate this. He listed forward, back bowing as his forehead tipped down to rest against Ghost’s thigh. Ghost could feel the hot breaths being panting there, as he held still.

Ghost didn’t push him, just put his hand back on Soap’s neck, squeezing. “Not gunna force you,” Ghost said, “but you’re going to be here for a couple of days. Might be worth it to get what you can from your time.”

For a moment, Soap did nothing. Then, slowly, he rolled his hips, letting out a small gasp at the friction.

“Good,” Ghost murmured, keeping his tone soft.

Soap looked up at that, eyes slightly glazed over. He did it again, back straightening as he pushed himself up the length of Ghost’s shin, giving himself a better angle to grind up against Ghost.

“Put your weight into it, there you go,” Ghost said as Soap leaned more heavily against him, seemed to trust that Ghost could take it.

Ghost watched as Soap ducked his head, panting out hot breaths as he fucked himself against Ghost’s leg. “Just a fucking mutt is what you are, aren’t you? You’d take anything I offered.”

Soap’s eyes closed at that. He turned his face, burying it into the fabric of Ghost’s jeans.

“Can hide if you want, but I’ve got a condition to this generosity,” Ghost said, hand tightening.

Soap let out a sound at that.

“Going to let you come, but after I get to hear your pretty voice thanking me. Is that understood?”

It was a minute before Soap cracked an eye open, seemed to be thinking over his options. He didn’t have long to decide judging by the way his hips were picking up speed, frantically pushing into Ghost.

“You hear me?” Ghost asked, voice lowering dangerously.

Soap said nothing. Ghost watched as the man thought, wondering if this is where he’d show his defiance. But finally, he nodded.

Ghost smiled at that. He shifted, pushing his leg in harder against Soap’s cock, knew just what he needed.

The man moaned at that, head tipping back.

“Leave me hanging and I’ll hold you down and edge you until you’re begging me to stop,” Ghost warned. “Going to hear you one way or another.”

Soap let out a sharp breath, his pupils dilating, irises near disappearing. His hips snapped hard against Ghost, coming in little stunted thrusts.

Ghost let him, sucking in panted breaths and groans, burying his face into Ghost’s abdomen as he recovered. His back expanded and contracted as he fought to gain control of his breathing, the torn shreds of his shirt still clinging to him.

Ghost gave Soap a moment to escape the head fog, to pull himself back together. And when Soap looked back up at Ghost, there was something there in his eyes that had Ghost smiling again, that hint of defiance.

“Have you decided?” Ghost asked him.

Soap hummed, letting his cheek fall heavily against Ghost. His body slumped forwards, finally exhausted from having worked off the day’s adrenaline.

There was a moment where Ghost truly thought that this was it, that Soap had made up his mind not to speak. Mentally Ghost was preparing himself for a long night, was interested in seeing what the man looked like with tears streaming down his face, to know what he sounded like when he begged.

But Soap surprised him. “Thank you,” he said. His voice barely a whisper, but it would do.

Ghost squeezed the back of Soap’s neck again, watched those eyelids slide shut for a moment before glancing back up at him.

“Gonna give you a choice,” Ghost said. “Can stay with me until you’re all released, or I can pass you around to the rest of the camp with the others. You decide.”

Soap let out a snort at that. He ducked his eyes some, thinking.

He was pretty, Ghost noted. Prettier than Ghost usually liked them. It had been a while since anyone had been able to survive more than a night with him though, and Ghost was preparing himself for the inevitable, for Soap to ask to be released into free use for the camp.

Finally, those eyes looked back up at him. “You gunna shove that massive thing down my throat every night?” he asked, a hint of an accent in his voice, Scottish.

Ghost let out a short laugh at that. “Might split you open on it instead. Just for variety.”

A pause as Soap thought over his options. “Here,” he said finally, letting out a little sigh as he did.

“Good boy,” Ghost said, giving his cheek a pat. “As long as you don’t pull a knife on me, we’ll get along just fine.”

“Might do it once,” the Scot drawled, voice dry. “Just as foreplay, though.”

Ghost hummed at that. “Get up, then. Can start on the cot. Won’t sleep there, but you’ll have an hour or so as I get some paperwork done.”

Soap struggled to his feet with Ghost’s help. He didn’t ask to be untied, didn’t ask for a clean up. Just shuffled over to the bed on tired legs, sitting down heavily on top of it. He wisely didn’t try to use the pillow either, opting to curl up at the very end of it, as if he knew not to push the limits of Ghost’s generosity.

Ghost remembered his first time held by enemy forces. He had barely been able to sleep, only managing fleeting patches from when he’d been fucked into unconsciousness. He wondered if that would be the same for Soap.

But soon the sound of soft, long breaths filled the tent, just shy of being snores.

Idly, Ghost wondered what kind of fucked up the man had to be in order to manage sleep right now.

* * * *

The flap of Ghost’s tent rustled and he glanced up to find Price, looking a little smug as he observed the man stretched out across Ghost’s bed.

“I’ve gotten it right, then,” he said, sounding pleased.

Ghost let out a short laugh, shaking his head. But he'd officially committed to keeping Soap, even went as far as to fasten the key to Soap's collar onto his dog tags. “Never thought I’d see the day.” 

Price folded his arms, looking over the space. “I’ll send someone in tomorrow to install some gear. Need a place to keep him at night, could use a hook or two to anchor him.”

That was a good idea, better than what Ghost had come up with. He was just going to tie the man to the end of the cot tonight, wouldn’t be comfortable for either of them. “Thanks,” he grunted.

Price nodded. “Enjoy him. We’re here for the next week or so, then we send them back.”

Roughly what Ghost expected, wouldn’t be long before the other side folded. “You inventoried all of the men captured and took stock of who grabbed who?”

Price nodded. “Warned them all against roughing up the guests. Don’t think it’ll be an issue after we made an example of Jameson last time.”

“Moron,” Ghost grunted under his breath. There needed to be order to this. Civility. Men couldn’t be expected to be treated well when captured if they themselves had a reputation for abusing POWs.

“I don’t expect too much more action but I’ll call on you as needed. Enjoy your boy in the meantime,” Price said, retreating.

Ghost watched in silence as the man slipped from the tent, thinking.

A week or two.

Ghost glanced over at Soap. Let his eyes wander up the length of his body, tracing hard lines and soft curves with his eyes. And that ass…

No, Ghost didn’t think for a single second that he’d find himself bored for the next couple of days.

Chapter Text

When Ghost returned for the night, he found an all too innocent looking Soap with bloodied wrists.

Ghost let out a sigh at that, especially as Soap’s eyes widened just a bit, feigning innocence. “Tested out the new equipment, did you?” Ghost asked.

True to his word, Price had sent someone while he’d been out. Similar instalments were happening around camp. It was hard to remember that the most exhausting part of fighting any battle was the clean up afterwards. All those people itching to get home, the highs from the melee fading. Having their guests helped with that, gave the men a way to burn off steam, to work through frustrations.

“Looks good to me,” Soap said flatly. “S’all here.”

Ghost hummed. He crossed the tent to shed some equipment, taking inventory of the new stock as he did. The technician had installed a post on the other end of the tent. It had a couple of eyehooks on it, good for attaching Soap in different positions while he was gone for the day. It would work for sleeping too. He could tie Soap up with enough give to stretch out properly without worrying that the man would be able to reach him in the night.

Ghost wasn’t dumb. Soap may be pretty, but there was a brain up there too. Despite the way he’d obediently opened his mouth to suck Ghost’s cock last night, he didn’t doubt that the man would try to sink a knife into him the moment he was offered an opportunity. Only anyone who was someone knew to strip their rank and name from their uniform before getting captured.

Gravel crunched outside of his tent, drawing his attention.

“Ghost?” A voice called.

“Of course,” Soap grumbled under his breath. “A spooky name for a spooky bastard.”

Ghost didn’t bother humoring him with a response, just pulled back the tent flap to let in his captain. “Price,” Ghost acknowledged.

The man stepped into the tent, looking around. “Everything in order?” he asked, eyes falling on Soap.

Soap was flat on his ass, hands suspended above him. Never one to miss a queue, he waggled his fingers at Price in a mockery of a wave. The captain smiled, glancing over at Ghost. “You two getting along?” he asked.

Ghost let out a sigh. He could feel Soap’s eyes on him, an expression of open curiosity there. “Fancies himself a comedian, but it’s easy enough to shut him up.”

Price hummed. He turned, facing Soap in full. “You have a name, son?” he asked.

Oddly enough, Soap resorted to the same stubborn silence he had used on Ghost yesterday. Price cocked an eyebrow at Ghost, who sighed. “He speaks English. Fuck, ignore him, I’ve tried this already.”

Price snorted, shaking his head a little. He looked back at Soap. “Gonna remind you of your options, the same ones Ghost gave you. You can stay under his care until the time of your release, or you can be held with the rest of the men for free use. Up to you.”

The look Soap leveled Price was icy. Either he didn’t know who Price was, or he had a healthy disrespect for authority. Ghost suspected there was a little bit of both. Slowly, Soap jerked his chin in Ghost’s direction.

“Alright then,” Price said. He produced two files from his stack of papers, handing them off to Ghost. “Medical’s cleared the both of you, clean bill of health. No concussions, no fractures, no STDs. Any questions?”

Ghost shook his head, Soap following suit.

“Excellent,” Price said. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”

Ghost walked Price out, waving him off before securing the tent closed again. Night was falling and his stomach twinged, a reminder that it’d been hours since he’d last gotten his hands on some food.

“You eat?” he asked Soap.

Soap didn’t need to answer, his stomach spoke for him.

Ghost grabbed an MRE from his stock before unclipping Soap’s restraints from the post, arms falling heavily into his lap. “Better?” Ghost asked.

Soap nodded, stretching. He looked a little apprehensive as Ghost sat down next to him on the hard floor, tearing open the packaging of their meal to begin heating it.

They were silent as Ghost began assembling their dinner, dumping out the contents of the rations. He could feel the weight of a question brewing, didn’t trouble with trying to cox it out, uncaring if Soap had the courage to ask or not.

“Where do my men think I am?” Soap asked.

Ghost shrugged. “Don’t know your name, can’t offer any intel on an unknown personnel.”

Oddly enough, that seemed to reassure Soap some. He settled a little as Ghost stirred around what was probably pasta but looked closer to a paste. He hooked his mask up above his nose, digging out the spoon to shovel in a bite.

Soap watched it all with assessing eyes, taking in every little bit of information offered to him. When Ghost offered him the next bite, Soap leaned in without hesitation, parting his lips to be fed.

It was oddly gratifying, the way Soap placed himself so wholly in Ghost’s hands. He had done this on more than one occasion yesterday too. Ghost’s eyes lowered to Soap’s wrists, where he had rubbed himself raw pulling at his restraints. “Can leave you tied up by your ankle tonight,” Ghost offered. “Give your wrists a chance to heal. But if I hear you fucking around, I’ll put a stop to it.”

Soap mulled over the offer. He took another bite of their meal and nodded. A moment of silence passed. “You’re oddly empathetic,” Soap said. “For a demon wearing a skull mask.”

Ghost grunted. “Just a man,” he said, voice low. His mythos didn’t need adding too, it was terrifying enough as is.

“You ever seen yourself on this side?” Soap asked, holding up his bound wrists by means of explanation.

“Course,” Ghost grunted, spooning Soap over another bite.

Soap accepted it, contemplating while he chewed. “How long did they hold you?” he asked.

“Over a month,” Ghost said. It had been a vicious stint in Mexico another life ago, was one of the reasons he was lighter handed with his guests than some of the other men tended to be.

Soap looked like he was going to ask another question. Ghost tossed him the dessert package before he could, the man’s face lighting up a bit. It was a little awkward to get it open with his wrists still bound, but he made due, tearing into it with his teeth to produce a pastry of sorts.

Distracted for the moment, Ghost finished off the last of the food and pushed himself onto his feet, cleaning up. Finally he came to stand in front of Soap, tugging his mask down.

Soap watched with interest as he did. “Am I ever gunna see what’s under that thing?” he asked.

“Dunno,” Ghost said. He reached down, gripping Soap hard around his bicep, dragging him up. “You interested in making it back home? Or would you rather see your body planted here, beneath the fucking ground?”

“Mask stays on then,” Soap said, an odd amount of humour in his voice considering the threat Ghost had just made.

“Too chatty,” Ghost grunted. “I’ll take you to piss before bed.”

Soap made a sound at that, indignant and high. “Didn’t do anything all day, won’t be able to fall asleep.”

“S’not my problem.”

Soap jerked his arm, trying to wrench himself out of Ghost’s grip to no avail. “C’mon, we can stay up a little longer.”

Ghost sighed heavily. He spun Soap around sharply, slamming him down hard against the table. “Then we’ll have to find someway to tire you out, won’t we?”

Soap let out a sharp breath as he was bent over, a hand between his shoulder blades pinning him down.

“Stay,” Ghost said sternly.

Soap tossed a look over his shoulder but didn’t move, his arms trapped between his torso and the table. Whoever had set up all of the stock had also left him a good amount of lube, was perfect for what he had in mind for tonight. If Soap fancied himself a guest here, he was only half right. Ghost wasn’t running a daycare, nor was he babysitting. Soap was here to help him burn off a little steam and nothing more.

Ghost wasn’t gentle as he jerked Soap’s pants down, left them to sit mid-thigh. Soap made a little sound at that—at his ass left to the open air—but Ghost couldn’t have given less of a shit. Soap was like a dog. He had to burn off all that energy after sitting around the house all day, and Ghost had a feeling Soap would be a needy little cunt.

Hips jerked forwards as Ghost closed a hand around Soap’s cock, stroking him off with efficient motions, gloves still on.

Soap turned his head, pressing his cheek to the table. His eyes slid shut as Ghost worked him through it. It wasn’t meant as anything more than to get the first one out, wasn’t long before Soap was making breathy little sounds, was such a little slut. He was silent as he came, shooting his load onto the dirt floor of their tent.

There was a moment where neither of them moved, Soap’s cock twitching in Ghost’s hand, heaving breaths shuddering through Soap’s chest. “That it?” Soap croaked. “Hoping that’ll be enough to tucker me out?”

Ghost snorted, giving Soap a swat on the ass. Soap rocked forwards in surprise at the contact, accidentally fucking himself into Ghost’s hand, earning a punched out groan.

Instead of an answer, Ghost finally let Soap go to pull off his gloves, tossing them onto the table. He picked up the bottle of lube, letting a healthy amount drip down the crease of Soap’s ass. “Guessing you’ve been fucked before?” Ghost asked. It was a redundant question, no one gave head like that and didn’t have at least a little experience on their back.

Soap let out a shaky laugh, looking up at Ghost over his shoulder. “Might be right about that,” he drawled.

“Good,” Ghost grunted. He ran his fingers over Soap’s ass before digging them into the meat there. “Gunna make this a little easier.”

He was gentle as he worked a finger into Soap, taking his time to ease him open. It was clear that Soap was still oversensitive from his first orgasm, but that had never stopped Ghost before. He purposefully kept his ministrations clinical, avoiding going deep enough to stimulate his prostate. Soap couldn’t seem to be able to make up his mind as to whether he liked that or not, was making muffled noises under Ghost, trying not to squirm.

Little did Soap know they had barely begun.

It was only when Ghost had gotten Soap adequately stretched out on three fingers did he switch up his technique. He slipped out a finger, earning a curious look from Soap. Ghost let himself push in a little further, fingers exploratory as he probed around for his target.

It was obvious when he’d found it, the gasp Soap letting out loud enough for anyone walking by to catch.

Ghost hummed, pleased. He changed his angle, pushing his fingers in there again. “This enough to get you to come?” Ghost asked.

Soap shook his head, mouth open and eyes pinched shut.

“You sure about that?” Ghost pushed, teasing. He’d finally found the button to shut Soap up and he was going to take full advantage of it. He picked up in speed, knew he was nailing that spot more often than not by the way Soap was clenching around him. The sounds Soap made were unholy, enough to have Ghost stirring in his pants.

Ghost couldn’t wait to get his cock inside of him.

“Soap?” Ghost prodded. With his free hand he pushed at Soap’s pants, watching as they dropped to pool around his ankles. That was perfect, gave him the opportunity to kick Soap’s feet open a little more, had such a pretty view like this.

“Need your hand,” Soap breathed, was barely intelligible with his face pressed up against the table.

Ghost wouldn’t deny him that, especially when Soap asked so prettily. He’d barely closed a fist around Soap’s length before he was coming again, the sound a little more pained this time.

Still, Ghost didn’t give him a break. Soap let out an indignant sound when he realized Ghost wasn’t about to slow anytime soon, was still stroking him in quick little motions. “Please,” Soap begged. “Please stop.”

As if Ghost was going to stop now, hadn’t even come once while Soap had shot his load twice. He ignored Soap’s bleating, pulling his fingers from Soap to unbutton his own pants, pushing them down just enough to free himself. Without finesse he lined himself up, pushing steadily into the tight heat of Soap’s hole.

They both let out a sound at the same time, albeit for entirely different reasons. Fuck, Soap felt good, was hot and wet for Ghost, hadn’t had anyone like this in a while. When he tightened his hold, the man threw himself back, trying to get away.

Ghost smiled. He released Soap, pulling a knife free of his tact gear. Soap watched with huge eyes as Ghost sank it into the table about a foot and a half above his head. The thing sunk down to the hilt with a thunk, earning a wince from Soap. Ghost wasn’t done, though. This wasn’t a threat. It was tactical. He pulled his belt free of its loops and wrestled Soap’s arms above his head, affixing them to the handle of the blade. It wasn’t perfect, but it would keep Soap in place for the next little bit.

Soap seemed to know it too. “Please,” he said, voice low, weak.

Ghost ignored him. He got a hand on each of Soap’s ass cheeks, squeezing.

Soap groaned, overstimulated but still hard as Ghost pushed back into him. Soap held himself still as Ghost set a pace for them, loved the way that hole was tightening around him.

“Just like that, Soap. That’s the way.”

“Please,” Soap said again, his voice wobbling. A hand back around his cock had Soap letting out a sound uncomfortably close to a sob. Unfortunately for the man, it only had Ghost all the harder.

“Think you needed some reminding about who’s in charge, here,” Ghost grunted, fucking into Soap properly.

“Didn’t forget,” Soap gasped out. He tried pulling against his bonds, only to find that they held strong.

“Think you did,” Ghost all but purred. He wasn’t mad, far from it. He’d been looking forward to teaching this mouthy little shit a lesson. “S’okay, Soap. I’m happy to remind you.”

A real sob now as Ghost’s hand stopped around the head of Soap’s cock, focusing his efforts there. When Soap came for a third time, Ghost wasn’t anywhere near ready yet. Soap must have realized it too, because the cry that bubbled out was unrestrained and from somewhere deep in his chest. He could tell from the way Soap slumped down against the table that he’d near had as much as he could take for the night, was retreating within himself.

“Almost there, Soap. You can manage it,” Ghost cooed, a hand rubbing up and down Soap’s spine. He took pity on the boy below him, finally letting go of his cock for good. He pulled out, stripping himself hard and fast until he was coming in spurts across Soap’s back. The man let out a weak sound of relief at that, couldn’t even raise his head as Ghost finished.

It hadn’t been his plan to go easy on Soap, but something about his sniffling and crying had Ghost’s resolve weakening. He patted Soap heavily on the shoulder, earning a low moan. “That’s it, Soap. Handled that beautifully.”

A sharp breath, the sound edging on annoyed.

There he was, Ghost thought. There was that fire, knew this wouldn’t be enough to tamp it out. Ghost liked that Soap was stronger than most were, liked that bitchy attitude.

“Think of it this way,” Ghost said, grabbing a fistful of Soap’s hair, dragging him up off the table. “S’good for both of our reputations.”

Soap shot him a look of disbelief, lips parted as he worked to regain his breath.

“I get a cute little thing screaming on my cock and you get to tell everyone you survived the Ghost.” Ghost murmured. “People will look at you in fucking awe.”

Soap snorted at that.

Ghost let go of Soap, who was at least able to hold his head up now. There was some confusion in Soap’s eyes as Ghost gently worked to clean him up, avoided touching any sensitive areas more than necessary. It didn’t take long before Ghost was freeing Soap of his restraints. Pants were pulled back up and fastened before Ghost hoisted Soap by his hips up onto the table. Soap’s movements were slow, sluggish, and he winced as he sat down.

Ghost didn’t comment at that despite how pleased he felt with himself. Together they shared a canteen of water, passing it back and forth in blessed silence.

“I’m not going to hurt you while you’re under my care,” Ghost said, voice low. “But you’re here to be fucked, is that understood?”

Blue eyes glanced up at him. They looked contemplative, like he was thinking over his options, as if he had a choice to begin with. Slowly, Soap nodded.

“That’s a good boy,” Ghost murmured, giving Soap a little pat on the cheek. “To bed with you, then.”

It was no surprise that Soap was out within minutes. True to his word, Ghost had left his hands unbound, would need time to let those wrists recover a bit.

Honestly, Ghost wouldn’t have respected Soap if he didn’t try to escape at least once. Ghost had been rough with Soap tonight, but it was important that he understood the boundaries of this relationship early. Any and all corrections of missteps now would prevent Soap from trying anything larger later.

Soap had asked if Ghost had been in his position before. Ghost had only partially told him the truth.

Someone had undergone captivity in Mexico. Only thing was, they hadn’t made it out alive. What had crawled out of that hole was the man who had become Ghost.

Ghost lit a cigarette and looked down at the boy. Fuck, he was pretty, those features turning lax and soft with sleep. But Ghost liked the fire he had, didn’t want to stamp it out. If anything, he wanted to push and push and push, just to see what Soap would do. No, submission was one thing but breaking Soap wasn’t part of the game Ghost wanted to play.

Stupid, but Ghost was going to make sure no one under his temporary care was ever going to suffer the same way he had.

Chapter Text

“Can at least pretend you’re happy to see me,” Ghost told him as he peeled back the tent flap, earning a reproachful look from his guest.

For a second Soap said nothing, just watched as Ghost crossed the room, coming to stand in front of him. “Told me to behave,” Soap said eventually, slowly. “Not sure lying would fall under that category.”

He was smart Ghost noted, not for the first time. Those eyes stayed fixed to him, watching, assessing. His instinct was to be a smartass, but that was mostly bravado for something Ghost couldn’t quite identify that lay hidden underneath.

Something dangerous, he hoped.

Ignoring Soap’s baiting comment, Ghost snorted, crouching. It was mid-afternoon but Soap was still on his bedroll despite evidence that he’d been up and about while Ghost was gone. In his lap sat the little notebook Soap had requested that morning, a pencil clutched tightly in his hand.

His expression shifted as Ghost’s eyes skimmed across the open page. Soap made to shut it but not before Ghost could stick a finger there, stopping him. Maybe yesterday Soap would have snapped at that, but the lesson obviously stuck because Soap’s lips only pressed into a thin line, letting the book fall back open.

Inside was what looked like a rough sketch of Ghost’s skull plate, the eyes empty. It was good work. From having gone off memory alone, it was impressively detailed.

“Almost got it right,” Soap said, his voice low. When Ghost looked up at him, he found Soap’s eyes on the mask itself. “Didn’t realize there was a piece missing here…” he trailed off, lifting his pencil to gesture slowly along the top part of Ghost’s mask.

Ghost hummed, lifting a hand to toy with the part in question. It wouldn’t be noticeable from afar but Soap had found himself one of the very few fortunate enough to survive being up this close and personal. “One of yours,” Ghost told him. “His skull was thicker than I expected.”

Soap’s lips twitched minutely.

Good, Ghost though. It always took a little bit for guests to find their footing after being reprimanded, but Soap was a quick study. Standing, Ghost offered a hand, pulling Soap to his feet. But when Soap tried to pull away, Ghost only tightened his grip, jerking him in a little closer. Rightfully on the defensive, but Ghost only wanted to look over the abrasions on Soap’s wrist. He rolled Soap’s hand over, palm up in his own.

Still untrusting, Soap’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as Ghost pushed one of his sleeves back. “These giving you trouble today?” he asked, glancing up at Soap.

There was a moment of hesitation, as if Soap couldn’t process why Ghost would be checking in on him like this. Then, slowly, he shook his head, eyes dropping to their connected hands.

More timidness from Ghost’s lesson.

Even if that was in the past, Soap would need to learn to trust Ghost in his own time. That was fine, trust wasn’t Ghost’s objective anyways—simply a bonus that made their stay together a little easier. What Ghost demanded from him was obedience.

So Ghost continued his prodding, fingers gentle as they glanced over the skin. Whereas yesterday it had been chaffed and raw, today brought the beginnings of fragile scabbing. The second one faired no better—an improvement but nowhere close to healed.

“Remind me to bring you an antibacterial later,” Ghost told him as he finished.

A nod, eyes still fixed downwards.

Ghost tried not to sigh as he let Soap go, expecting more from the man who’d shown him such spine on their first night. He reached into his back pocket, freeing a package that he’d grabbed on his way back.

Soap’s eyes flicked up to it, curious.

That was a little better. Unraveling it, Ghost revealed a razor and some clippers. “You have these in that barbarian state you call a territory?” he asked.

Eyes up on him now, the faintest hint of amusement there. “Think I can figure it out,” Soap murmured.

Ghost slapped the kit into Soap’s hand before reaching for the chain that swung between them, tethering him to his post.

Soap froze again, eyes widening.

Ghost only slid his hand upwards until he met where it connected to Soap’s collar, fingers running over the smooth metal. “You going to behave?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at the man.

Soap seemed to be genuinely contemplating Ghost’s question. Maybe he was looking for a trick—a catch. There wasn’t one. Soap would make whatever decisions he wanted and Ghost would be there to reward or punish him. Either choice would be equally enjoyable.

“Yes,” Soap said finally.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Ghost said, a loud click sounded as the chain was unlocked, falling heavily between them.

Soap stayed frozen in place, waiting, eyes fixed to Ghost.

“Go on then,” Ghost allowed, nodding over to the table.

Only then did Soap make his way, murmuring thanks when Ghost brought out a little mirror for him. Opening the kit, he contemplated his options before glancing up at Ghost, expression apprehensive. “And I can just…neaten things up?” he asked, voice hesitant.

Ghost understood the real question here, the fear.

In Mexico, he’d been given tests like this. They’d leave things out carelessly to see if he’d knick anything, punishing him when he tried. They’d shaved his head and done other things that had left him unable to recognize himself in the mirror.

The real question was if Soap was allowed to keep one of the things that made up his identity: his hair.

Ghost’s goals were nowhere near the same as his own captors had been. “As you please. Couldn’t be bothered if you stick with that fucking thing you call a haircut.”

His answer had Soap visibly relaxing, the tension bleeding out of his back and shoulders. He looked down at the kit with a renewed energy, as if finally interested in the task. Picking out a razor for himself, he got to work.

Ghost busied himself as Soap shaved.

He seemed to luxuriate in the task, cleaning up the lines of his beard before trimming it a little. Next he took down his shaved sides, efficient in the way he measured out the spacing around his mohawk. It was obvious that he’d kept this style for a while, the motions practiced and quick. It was when it came to the back that he hesitated, frowning as he looked into the mirror.

That piqued Ghost’s curiosity. “What is it?” he asked.

A pause as Soap readjusted his grip on the trimmers, considering. “I can’t…” he paused, glancing over his shoulder at Ghost. “I can’t see the back.”

It was Ghost’s turn to hesitate, considering. There was something behind Soap’s words, as if he wanted to ask Ghost to do it for him but wasn’t sure he was allowed. Prideful, torn between asking for help and suffering through fucking it up.

Crossing the room, Ghost stopped behind Soap, hand extended.

Soap’s fingers tightened around the thing, as if scared to give it up. “Just off the sides,” he said, a near-pleading quality to his voice.

“Just the sides,” Ghost confirmed.

It was another half second before the clippers were finally forfeited.

Ghost put a hand on the back of Soap’s head, right below his crown, and squeezed, rubbing a little. “C’mon, Soap. Head down, relax.”

A sound, a little anxious, before complying. That nearly drew a chuckle from Ghost. Soap showed more care and interest in saving his hair than he did his own skin. But captivity was already so dehumanizing and to an extent, Ghost understood.

Ghost left the clippers off as he traced out what he wanted to do, not unfamiliar with the process. He’d been forced to learn after he’d adopted the mask, Price being the only one to have seen him without it. The man had many admirable qualities but cutting hair was not one of them.

When the clippers flipped on, buzzing away in Ghost’s hand, Soap jumped. He cut Ghost an apprehensive look, mistrust clear across his face. “You’ve done this before, right?” he asked, voice strained.

Ghost paused, as if considering. “Never,” he deadpanned, “always wanted to try.”

A sound of deep regret as Ghost pushed his head into place. “Stay still, Soap. Have courage.”

Another noise, a little higher and more afraid.

It had Ghost smiling. But he didn’t fuck around as he brought the clippers down, making quick and thorough work of the nape of Soap’s neck.

It was clear it had been a while since Soap had last been afforded the time to take care of himself like this. The longer hair on top wasn’t too bad but the shorn bits were starting to become overgrown. Ghost ran his hand counter to the direction of Soap’s hair, a light film of oil clinging to his fingers from days unwashed, before letting his nails drag against his scalp as he re-combed it into place. He could tell Soap liked that from the little shiver that wracked his body, but never one to voice the things he actually enjoyed, Soap remained quiet.

He focused himself on one side at a time. Around the edge of Soap’s mohawk Ghost slowed, the hand holding Soap in place gentling as he followed that line. He did a second pass, a little more confidently this time. The buzzing stopped as Ghost finished the first half, stepping back and folding his arms to watch with amusement as Soap pawed at his head, checking.

Like everything Ghost did, the cut was meticulous, perfect. Soap made an insultingly relieved sound as he investigated, bringing the mirror up to check whatever he could.

“Satisfied?” Ghost asked him.

A pause, then a suspicious look in his direction. “Suppose so,” Soap said almost begrudgingly.

Ghost snorted, gesturing for him to turn again.

Even though Soap went more willingly this time, it didn’t mean he was any more comfortable with Ghost at his back, sharp implements around his neck.

Silence settled as Ghost worked on the other side. Impatient at having to ask Soap to adjust himself again, Ghost laid a hand on his neck, fingers and thumb guiding him.

Surprisingly, it was an oddly intimate task. To be towering over Soap, who looked oddly small like this, clipping his hair. Feeling the short bristles under his fingers, watching the rise and fall of Soap’s chest as he breathed, those movements getting slower and deeper as he finally began to relax.

“Someone usually do this bit for you?” Ghost found himself compelled to ask, curious. Those movements from earlier had been so practiced, so confident. It was odd that he couldn’t do the back as well.

A hum, barely audible over the clippers. “Gotta friend that helps,” Soap murmured into his chest. From his tone, it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it.

Ghost grunted, letting the silence settle back over them. Soon, they were finishing, the lines clean and sharp. He turned off the trimmers before tilting Soap’s head a little, checking the different angles. Confident with the work he’d done, he placed the things down on the table.

Soap took the mirror in hand and checked again, his lips twitching up into the faintest hint of a smile. When he was done his primping and preening, he set it down, turning to look up at Ghost.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, hands wringing nervously in his lap.

Ghost only nodded and jerked his chin to the stuff on the table. “Can clean that up, then.”

Silence settled as Soap did as he was asked, not a single tool missing as he returned it.

Another silence built around them. Soap looking up at him, waiting for instructions. This was the part of hosting that always itched at Ghost. He couldn’t constantly be fucking Soap, had to find a way to busy the both of them in the time in between.

He thought to Soap’s dirtied hair and the way filth stuck to the both of them despite the daily wipe downs they made time for.

“When was the last time you washed?” Ghost asked him.

A pause, then a glance from Soap. “’Sides your men bringing in water? Back at my camp.”

Ghost considered that. It wasn’t quite time to be thinking of eating, still early enough in the day. But this hour had its benefits, the outdoor showers that were reserved for higher-ranking officers rarely had a line up while men were preoccupied with their duties. “Fancy a walk?” Ghost asked.

Soap looked at him in interest. “Aye,” he said slowly, that accent rolling. “Think I would.”

He went to stand, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Do I need to cuff you?” Ghost asked him, voice lowering, making sure Soap understood the gravity of what he was asking. Leaving Soap unrestrained was a risk, but after this short trial period, Ghost was willing to chance it.

Soap considered, giving Ghost the same look he’d gotten earlier, the one that said he was trying to figure out what the test was. Maybe letting Ghost cut his hair had built up a little bit of trust, because he was fair quicker to make a decision. “No,” he said.

“Good. You keep privileges so long as you don’t piss me off,” Ghost told him. No trickery, only options—choices Soap got to make.

“I understand,” Soap replied, standing. There was something a little more confident about him this time. Gone were the ducking eyes, shy and demure as he was earlier, a look of curiosity returning.

Finally, Ghost thought. All it had taken was that bloody stupid haircut.

Ghost held open the tent flap for Soap to duck under, following.

There weren’t too many people out at this time, most of the men put to work. Ghost guided Soap to walk a couple paces ahead of him, taking direction easily as they went.

To be called ‘showers’ was stretching the truth. The shambled excuse for a privacy curtain around each one created stalls that were a luxury not every camp had. But the advantage of his rank and his anonymity meant that he had first dibs at such facilities.

They were nearly in sight when a group of men a little ways ahead turned, watching them approach.

Ghost knew them well enough, two of the three having served under him not long ago. But the problem with the waiting period between scrimmages and heading home was that even good men became bored.

And idle men always spelled trouble.

A glance from one of them, then a second take.

Ghost knew of his reputation around base. Largely isolated but respected for his tactics and strategizing. Not the top of the pile, but his friendship with Price allowed him certain benefits. Upon further inspection, he found the man wasn’t looking at him at all.

He was looking at Soap.

A second man turned to watch them approach, then the last.

Ghost steeled himself, taking notice of the moment Soap registered them too. But instead of the tension Ghost would have expected, Soap looked almost interested in the group of men despite their obvious hostility.

“Lt,” one of them called, the tallest of them. A big, ugly fucker named Don.

Ghost offered them a nod without slowing.

The blond to Don’s right didn’t seem to get the message though. He stepped into their path, eyes fixed onto Soap. The expression on his face said that they had met before and he was non too happy to be reacquainted. “Where did you find this little guy?” the blond asked. There was a casual quality to his tone, barely concealing a note of contempt beneath it.

On instinct Ghost reached out, hand fisting into the back of Soap’s shirt to drag him closer. Soap went easily, his shoulder bumping against Ghost’s chest.

“Careful,” Don said to his buddy in warning, but his eyes were raking over Soap as well.

For his part, Soap looked almost…bored by the interaction. So much so that his eyes turned up to Ghost, ignoring the men altogether.

Much to Don’s displeasure the blond took another step forwards, placing himself far too close for comfort considering the way they were eyeing Ghost’s property. “I recognize this one,” he said slowly, calculating. His eyes swept over Soap in a way that had a lick of annoyance crawling up Ghost’s spine. “Was fighting on the same field as us.”

That had Soap’s attention. He peeled his eyes off Ghost to look over, head cocking slightly.

The last person, one who had been hanging towards the back, perked up at that. As he did, recognition hit Ghost.

Jameson.

Not a well-liked fellow on camp. He was a man who stirred up any fight he could, but was a hell of a force on the field. Last time they’d overtaken a territory he’d lost rights to use any of the guests after roughing one up in a way that went against their entire code.

With such a delicate system in place, there needed to be rules, boundaries. If you got captured, you prayed that the other territory would treat you with some dignity. Only way that happened was if you yourself had a reputation for treating men fairly when it came to hosting.

Jameson did not.

A dark look past over his eyes as he stepped in, gaze flicking over Soap.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, consideringly. “Yeah… Recognize this one. It’s the hair. Had a friend that got away.”

Friend—there was that the same word Soap had used earlier. Ghost glanced down at him, interested in his reaction, watching as a little smile curled at that.

“A right fucker—took down Glenn. Nasty with a knife,” Don was saying, joining his buddies to loom down over Soap.

As he was wont to do, Soap defied all of Ghost’s expectations. His back straightened under their jeering faces and an odd sense of approval curled in Ghost’s chest.

“Shame. Your buddy was a sight,” the blond was saying. “Where’d he get off too?”

“This one gave himself up so the other could take off. Must have been a higher up,” Jameson said, his eyes narrowing. “Seen what you can do, easily coulda gotten away. Either stupid or love sick, who fucking knows.” His eyes glanced up to Ghost, who was taking this all in quietly. “You keeping this one, sir? Or borrowing him?”

Ghost grunted. “Doesn’t matter. You know you’re not entitled to guests.”

Jameson’s eyes narrowed. “Gotta talk to Price about that. Misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“Misunderstanding,” Ghost echoed drily, an awkward silence following.

The men at Jameson’s side shifted, uncomfortable at the building tension.

“So…” Jameson pressed. “This one yours or…? Might be that Don wants to borrow him next.” At his side, Don didn’t look too pleased at having been brought into the conversation.

“He’s mine,” Ghost said, fingers tightening in Soap’s shirt. He glanced down at the man, only to find he looked truly and fully amused for the first time all day. At what, Ghost would never know.

“Doesn’t even have fucking cuffs on,” Jameson continued, eyes falling on Soap’s hands. “An animal like that? Only good for being tied up and used. You didn’t see what he did out there—”

“How I use him,” Ghost interrupted, finally having had enough of their incessant yammering. The sharp edge to his voice had even Soap looking up in surprise. “Is my fucking business.”

Don and the blond had the wherewithal to look wary at that, backing off. Only Jameson seemed unfazed, arms crossing as he stayed stubbornly in place. “Just saying. Enough here have grievances with this one, could be good to work it out of their systems. Couple hours locked up aught to do it.”

“Jameson,” Don warned, but the man had already gone and pissed Ghost off.

“I don’t fucking share,” Ghost snapped. “And despite your dog shit opinion, he doesn’t need to be cuffed because unlike the lot of you, he fucking knows his place. So I suggest you find something to busy yourself with or I will—and you’re not going to fucking like it.”

Jameson’s face darkened.

Luckily Don stepped between them, eyes ducked as he nodded. He reached a hand out as if to grab Jameson, only for the man to wrench his arm away. Oh, he hated that. Jameson turned, stalking off alone.

“We’ll see too it that he doesn’t cause any trouble,” Don mumbled to the ground.

“Do,” Ghost bit out, eyes narrowing.

Don and the blond couldn’t get out of there fast enough, scrambling to catch up with Jameson. Only once they were finally out of sight did Ghost let himself relax just the tiniest bit, his heart still thumping in anticipation of a fight.

“I see you have fans,” he grunted, fingers unclenching from his death grip on Soap’s shirt.

“It’s my pretty face,” Soap drawled, a small smile there as he watched their retreating forms.

Ghost let out a huff, flexing his fingers as he shook off the stiffness. At least the interaction hadn’t drawn a crowd, but Jameson had proven he was still a problem. He made a mental note to warn Price later.

Behaving for once in his fucking life Soap stayed in place, waiting for Ghost’s say so. It came in the form of a small push to his back, urging him forwards. He trailed a little closer to Ghost this time, their arms brushing. “Lovely company you keep,” he said casually.

It was a testing comment, one that would either draw Ghost temper or provoke a chuckle. More than anything it had Ghost curious at how the threat of violence had improved Soap’s mood from earlier. But there was no doubt the man had more than a couple screws lose.

“Count yourself amongst those numbers?” Ghost found himself asking, rolling his shoulders to try and stretch out the last of that tension.

“I don’t.”

They walked a couple feet in silence. “Bored men are an issue,” Ghost allowed finally, letting out a sigh.

Soap snorted. “I’m bored.”

“Point proven.”

“Can let me go anytime.”

“You have your uses. Make for a half decent cock sleeve.”

“Thanks for the review,” Soap said dryly.

Ghost didn’t humour him with a reply, only gave Soap a harder shove from behind, forcing him ahead. It earned him a sour look before Soap eased off, recognizing Ghost’s shortening patience.

As they continued walking, Ghost took a moment to look him over. Back still straight, a casualness to his stride, seemingly unbothered by the interaction that had just happened.

He thought about the words those men had said. It didn’t surprise Ghost that Soap was a force on the field. But to be captured ensuring someone got away?

“That man you gave yourself up for,” Ghost said, letting his words trail off.

Soap glanced back.

“That your boss?” Ghost asked.

He blinked, considering. “It’s like I said,” Soap murmured eventually, a little more quietly this time, “just a friend.”

Friend.

He thought to Price, who Ghost supposed was as close to a friend as he was capable of having. Would he chance captivity again for his superior?

He wasn’t so sure.

Ghost let the lie pass without comment, the showers finally coming into view. It was more crowded here then it had been in the maze of tents but a man recognized him and waved him forwards, gesturing to one of the empty stalls.

Soap’s eyes glanced around with renewed curiosity. Around them a couple other guests could be seen but not many. There was a time when it had been fashionable to keep a personal toy after a hard victory—a show of dominance over a fallen foe. The novelty had worn off fast. It was burdensome having to care for another person who didn’t want to be there, who whined and bitched and begged. Easier to use someone in the playpen where they were kept clean enough, didn’t have to worry about what came next.

Honestly, Ghost had expected to grow tired of that aspect as well when it came to hosting Soap. But there was something interesting about the man, erasing some of the monotony of the day.

And fuck, if Ghost wasn’t just the tiniest bit hard, remembering the line of Soap’s spine as he looked up at those men earlier. Last night he’d made a mess of that same man, had Soap crying and begging beneath him. Ghost had earned that from someone who inspired fear and anger, making him feel all the more powerful because of it.

“Strip,” Ghost commanded, pushing Soap towards the stall.

Soap’s look turned knowing but he did as instructed.

Maybe he felt it too, the buzz that followed a confrontation, because he made a show of pulling his shirt off over his head. As he did, the collar around his neck stood out all the more. Marking him as Ghost’s in front of all of these people. A protective feeling curled in Ghost’s chest as Soap bared himself, pants following.

The thought startled him.

Possessive, he forced himself to remember. Not protective. Soap wasn’t here to be coddled and looked after. He was a possession to be guarded. Ghost didn’t share anything, never mind a play toy.

That was all Soap was.

Annoyance settled over him at his slip up, that Soap could elicit such emotions from him. “Hurry up,” Ghost grunted, the words coming out clipped.

It was as if Soap could tell he was getting a rise out of Ghost. He ducked his head but a smile played at his lips as he turned, giving Ghost a perfect view when he tugged his briefs down, fabric dragging over the swell of his ass.

Ghost let out a growl at that. He stepped into the small space, crowding up against Soap before he pulled the curtain shut behind them. He tugged the discarded clothing from a smirking Soap’s hands, shoving it roughly onto the small stool outside of their stall.

The irony that he was now irritated by the version of Soap he’d been trying to tease back into existence wasn’t lost on him. But maybe that’s what Ghost was chasing, that increased heart rate that had him feeling something.

“Eyes front,” Ghost warned him, taking his chin in hand to force Soap to look towards the back of the stall.

An amused snort sounded from Soap, but he went easily enough.

Ghost pulled his shirt off, then his pants and briefs. Soap’s head turned minutely at that, as if listening to the sounds behind him. Clearly needing the reminder, Ghost gave him a mean pinch to the spot where Soap’s ass met his thigh, earning a hissing remark.

“You remember what happens if you peek?” Ghost asked pulling off his mask before reaching up to hang it over the stall above Soap’s head.

Soap froze at that, head tipping up to gaze at the thing.

It had been an unfair move, tempting Soap like this. But after his little display, Ghost wasn’t interested in being kind. He watched as Soap tensed, as he resisted the urge to turn. “You hiding a knife where I can’t see it?” Soap asked, trying for humorous but the words came out mildly strained.

“If you feel something poking you, it’s not a blade,” Ghost said drily, reaching up to turn the nozzle, releasing the flow of water.

Whatever smart reply Soap had was lost as it poured over them. The stall was cramped and it was clear that he was trying to give Ghost as much space as he could afford. The moment the warmed water hit them—heated from nothing more than the afternoon sun—that plan was abandoned. As if against his will, his back glued to Ghost’s chest, trying to prolong any moment he could in the warmth.

Ghost let him. Soap had been stuck with washing whenever he could, water already cooled by the time attendees made their way to Ghost’s tent.

Slapping a bar of soap into the man’s hands, Ghost watched as he lathered himself before passing it back over his shoulder, eyes still forward. Undoubtedly curious, but the healthy fear that had been missing a couple minutes ago with those other men? At least he had the intelligence to conjure it here.

It was odd having company now. After months spent pushing back Soap’s territory—too young and excited for their own good—Ghost had grown used to the solitude. But there was something about Soap that differentiated him from even the men on his own base.

The fear even his own men carried towards Ghost wasn’t there. Apprehension—yes, but never outright fear. He was smart, something to keep Ghost on his toes during a time that usually inspired lax attitudes and laziness. Soap hadn’t liked the heavy hand he’d gotten last night, but he was adaptable, saw the lines Ghost was drawing and moved with them.

Evidence of that was squirming against Ghost now, ass accidently grinding against Ghost’s cock every so often. And the more Soap relaxed, the more their bodies sidled together, until Ghost was practically holding him up, fingers massaging into soapy skin.

A small content sound was the first sign that Soap might be overly enjoying himself. The second was when Soap’s pushed back just a little too purposefully, really grinding into Ghost.

A warning had Soap separating, but only for a moment, back in Ghost’s space with an excuse that he needed the spray.

“Soap,” Ghost said, firmer this time.

It was a mistake to say his name like that. Unthinkingly, Soap went to turn.

Time seemed to slow, Ghost’s chest seizing. It was only with quick reflexes that he caught Soap’s jaw, keeping his face forward.

They froze, waiting.

Then, a shaky laugh from Soap. “Fuck,” he breathed, shuddering.

The sound was so genuinely relieved that Ghost let out a laugh himself. He kept his hand firmly on Soap’s chin, angling his face down a bit. Soap didn’t fight him, just took a moment to steady his now racing breath.

It also allowed Ghost to let his eyes wander. From here, tucked up against Soap’s back, he was able to peer down his body. Water droplets clung to his skin, more tan than it should be. He seemed like the type of person who would try to spend every moment chasing the sun, soaking up its heat if this shower was any indication.

It also allowed him to note the way Soap’s cock was firming up between his legs.

“That something you have an interest in resolving?” Ghost asked, looking down at it.

A hum from Soap that Ghost could feel through his fingers. “Might be,” he mused, a breathless note to his voice.

Ghost himself had already been teased into a mostly hard state, something Soap couldn’t have missed with all his squirming. Maybe that had been the point. Neither of them could deny that they’d been rather wound up since meeting those boys earlier.

“If it is,” Ghost said, his voice low, right at Soap’s ear, “we’re going to practice some of the things we learned yesterday.”

That had Soap pausing, apprehension returning. “That being…”

Ghost hummed, pressing his lips once against Soap’s neck, right under the collar. “Your listening skills,” Ghost told him.

A pause, contemplative. “I can listen,” Soap said finally, slowly, as if testing the words out.

Maybe Soap was finally getting it, Ghost thought. Finally understanding that the better he acted, the more comfortable his stay would be. He hummed, pleased, pressing another open mouth kiss to Soap’s neck, above the collar this time. He didn’t pull back right away though, letting his lips linger, his tongue darting out to taste the skin there. It earned an oddly choked sound from the man, who didn’t try to pull away.

Good, that was good.

He sucked a mark into Soap’s neck, unsatisfied with the way the men from earlier hadn’t recognized Soap as his. He was going to have to fix that. His lips lowered, teeth grazing this time. Soap behaved as promised, not moving an inch despite a hiss when Ghost bit at his skin.

That felt better. Ghost let his hips roll lazily against Soap’s ass—honestly, more so against his lower back with how fucking short he was, just a tiny little vicious thing in Ghost’s care.

“That feel good?” Ghost murmured, nosing at his ear before taking a lobe into his mouth, sucking and tugging hard as he reached down, fisting Soap’s cock.

A sound, low and satisfied. “Not gonna—ah—not gonna tease me, are you?” Soap asked.

Ghost’s fingers on his chin tightened. “If I want to tease you, I fucking will. Is that understood?” he asked, his voice a command, pace slowing on Soap’s cock.

Soap nodded, the threat of what misbehaving would earn him clear.

“Good boy,” Ghost purred, ducking back down to resume sucking marks into the man’s skin. Soap’s head tipped to the side as he did, allowing Ghost better access to his neck, proving to be exactly the fucking slut Ghost had pegged him as the other day.

But a sour mood took over at the idea that it hadn’t been Ghost who had teased this out of him, but the promise of a fight earlier. It had been the presence of those men who tried to step in and take him today.

It dulled his arousal, the thought that they might have been the reason Soap was so worked up right now. That he would have liked being shared.

His hand tightened around Soap. It was meant to be punishing but Soap only moaned, loud and unashamed.

“So worked up,” Ghost grunted moodily. “That from those men?”

A couple of quick jerks around Soap’s tip that earned another moan, more embarrassed this time.

He really was fucked in the head. A broken little thing who was learning so many dangerous things about himself. “You would have liked that, wouldn’t you?” Ghost said, disgusted. “Being passed around. Am I not enough? Seemed like I was last night, had you coming three times all by myself. Or did you want me to fight those men over you? A little blood might have had you soiling your fucking pants, eh?”

A hand lifting to clutch onto Ghost’s forearm, nails digging in. “No, gods—no. Just this, just you,” he gasped.

That only spurred Ghost on, the broken honesty that tinged his words. “Just me?” He grunted—demanded to know. But there was one thing he was certain of. Soap loved this, loved being claimed, being shown who was in charge.

And he hated having to admit it out loud.

Ghost’s hand slid down, no longer on Soap’s chin but snug around his neck.

Soap didn’t object for a single second. If anything, his hips rutted forwards, giving himself away.

“C’mon, Soap,” Ghost goaded, pushing. Soap didn’t want to say it, but he would. “If you wanna be used by half the camp, you just need to say so.” He’d do it too, didn’t want to hang on to someone who’d go chasing after any cock he could.

“Just you,” Soap breathed again, a wrecked quality taking over his voice.

That had some dark and truly fucked thing in the most depraved part of Ghost’s mind unfurling. “Don’t believe you,” he growled.

He could picture it now, Soap on his knees for all three of those shit stains, begging to be used. He was such a needy little fuck, had taken coming three times to calm him down last night. If Soap truly wanted Ghost’s cock he would need to start proving it.

“Need a firm hand to put you in your place. To keep you in line,” Ghost growled. He let go of Soap’s neck, hand sliding down the expanse of Soap’s chest and over his belly to grip around the root of his cock, other hand slowing in his stroking.

If Soap recognized what was happening, he said nothing, only moaned. He was so loud. Not a single person around them wouldn’t be able to tell exactly what was happening in here.

Suddenly he almost hoped one of those dipshits from early was near. That they could hear what a mess he was making of their boogeyman—the man they were speaking of with barely concealed awe—their monster on the field.

“C’mon Soap, no need to be shy. Said you needed it, eh? You get so fucking hard every time I put you in your place.”

“Ah,” Soap breathed, the sound desperate.

“Don’t want to go to free use where those morons can find you?” he growled. “You can keep me so long as you behave. Just a fucking hole for me to use, that’s it. No different than a toy. Prettier than one though, I’ll give you that.”

Another sound, closer to a whimper this time.

Ghost laughed. It sounded mean, even to his own ears.

Soap’s hips were picking up and Ghost recognized the telltale signs of an impending orgasm. Just as Soap was about to crest up into it, Ghost let go with the hand that had been stroking him, squeezing hard around the base with the other.

The sound that ripped out of Soap’s throat was nothing short of beautiful, devastated and needy as his orgasm was stalled, pushed down and fizzled out at Ghost’s hands. Soap was his to control, something he needed reminding of.

He would also learn that good behavior earned rewards. It was for that reason that Ghost didn’t stop Soap as he went to reach a hand down, as if to finish himself off on his own. It was a move that would have earned him a heap of trouble had it not been for a pause before Soap remembered himself, stopping.

That’s it, Ghost thought.

Those fingers fluttered, torn between what to do. Finally, Soap reached up to join his other hand, clutching onto Ghost’s arm.

“Please,” he begged, nails biting into Ghost’s skin.

“Good,” Ghost cooed. He rewarded Soap by lessening his hold, giving him some space to squirm, to steal some friction. He even allowed Soap to get away with that for a little bit before tightening his hand again, earning another frustrated sound. “What about me?” Ghost asked, a purr in Soap’s ear.

Immediately a hand was groping around blindly behind him. Ghost laughed at that, but Soap was trying. Taking pity on him, Ghost guided his cock into Soap’s fist. He expected very little from this—not with the angle Soap had and how desperate he was—but he pumped his hips at a leisurely pace, fucking into Soap’s fist. Satisfied that for the first time today he felt like he had Soap’s full attention, the attitude he liked restored.

“That’s it. Later I’ll teach you how I like it. This’ll do for now.”

“Thank you,” Soap gasped.

Letting out a little laugh, Ghost began to stroke Soap again properly, taking in each of the noises he made. “Would fuck your thighs if you weren’t so fucking short,” Ghost grunted a little regretfully.

“Can get me a crate next time,” Soap said, head rolling back against Ghost’s shoulder, body putty in his arms.

Next time.

Ghost knew he had him.

Soap didn’t even know what he was being rewarded for when Ghost picked up his pace again. He focused heavily around the tip of his cock sliding a thumb over the slit when Soap let out a choked off sob, switching to long, tight strokes as his hips snapped, coming up his belly and onto the ground below.

Ghost wasn’t long to follow, fucking up hard and fast into Soap’s hand. The angle must have been wreaking havoc on his wrist but Soap didn’t complain, only held tight as Ghost came along the expanse of his back.

They slowed into a stand still, both of them panting hard as they recovered. Water pounded over them, washing Soap’s stomach clean with a little bit of coxing.

“Close your eyes,” Ghost warned after a moment.

Soap complied, grunting once they were. He allowed himself to be guided around, Ghost being careful as he brought Soap’s forehead to rest against his shoulder. Water ran down his back now, rinsing away the memory of what had just happened.

Those around them wouldn’t be so soon to forget.

“Good?” Ghost asked after minute.

A sound from Soap, satisfied. Eyelashes fluttered against Ghost’s skin, but he didn’t mind. With his cheek pressed to his skin like this, head away from him, there wasn't much he was afraid of Soap seeing. But when fingers brushed over Ghost’s arms, tracing his tattoos, Ghost knew he had to reel Soap in a little. “Behave,” he warned.

Soap let out a sigh, his hand dropping as his eyes closed once more.

Ghost looked down Soap’s back, rubbing away any remaining come that sat against his skin. Or rubbing it in, Ghost didn’t care to differentiate. His eyes trailed down to Soap’s ass, firm from working out and battle. He slid a hand down there experimentally, squeezing as he did.

Soap let out a surprised huff, leaning away from him.

Ghost only followed.

But in his hurry, Soap accidently rocked his hips against Ghost’s thigh. He groaned, mouth opening to pant hotly against Ghost’s skin, still oversensitive from coming.

A moment passed, then a second. Finally, Ghost decided to stop torturing him. “Turn. I’ll pass you your things.”

Soap went wordlessly.

Ghost turned off the water and dried himself first before handing the towel over to Soap, who made no comment about the second hand nature of it. Then he accepted his clothes, redressed in a satisfied silence, as if in a daze.

This was it, Ghost thought, satisfied. I’ve finally got him.

Nothing else could explain how good he had been. He’d shaved earlier, returning the kit all in one piece. He’d let Ghost tease him, had even been a moment where he thought Soap might fight him off before thinking better of it. Better yet, that attitude was back, the one that got Ghost so fucking hard.

The others could stick to their free use sluts.

Ghost had finally broken in his new favourite toy, one that he wasn’t so keen on letting go of just yet.

Chapter Text

Soap had been biting back a question all afternoon.

It was easy to tell. He’d been more hesitant than usual, eyes following Ghost everywhere he went. At first Ghost had just thought it was because he had left Soap untied after he’d returned again, but it quickly became apparent that there was more to it.

“Spit it out,” Ghost grunted, annoyed.

Soap looked up at him from where he was sprawled out on his stomach in Ghost’s cot, one knee hitched up. The blankets were tangled down around his feet, kicked there in the warmer weather. For someone being held against his will, the position screamed of familiarity, the unhurriedness of his movements oddly…comfortable.

That gaze slowly travelled over Ghost’s face and down his body before flicking back up to him with the same hesitant, considering weight as before. “It’s nothing,” he said eventually, words heavy with all the things he left unsaid.

“Like hell it is,” Ghost growled. He crossed the tent, taking a stance over Soap, towering above him.

Soap didn’t so much as flinch, only blinked lazily up at him.

It was enough to have frustration simmering just beneath the surface. He crossed his arms, feeling the way his sleeves tightened around his biceps. And though Soap’s eyes flicked down there, it did little to change the look on his face.

Ghost sighed and softened a little, recognizing the stubborn set of Soap’s brow. Stupid, but he’d almost grown good at reading Soap’s little tells in the short time they’d been together. “Can ask, Soap. Worst that happens is I say no.”

More of that long, considering gaze. “That friend I got caught protecting…” Soap said slowly, hesitantly.

Certainly not what Ghost was expecting to hear. “Same friend who cuts your hair?” he asked, lowering himself down onto his ass, one knee raised to rest his elbow on, face to face with Soap.

Soap seemed unsettled by the way Ghost had put himself on the same level as him. “Aye, that friend. Was wondering if he’d found himself here regardless. If all this was for nothing.”

A silence fell as the words settled in.

“And you wanted me to check for you?” Ghost asked slowly, weighing out each of those words.

Soap said nothing, just watched his face a moment before nodding.

It wasn’t entitlement that had Soap asking this question, nor was it pride. It was something else, coming from a place of genuine concern.

“M’sure you know not everyone gives up their name,” Ghost warned him.

Soap pushed himself up onto his elbow, a look of hope in his expression. “Can give you a description,” he offered immediately.

Ghost snorted, looking away as he thought. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. Should have told me you had a little boyfriend, Soap. Didn’t have to be so shy about it.”

A laugh that had Ghost looking back over. The cot creaked as Soap rolled onto his back, an arm folding under the pillow to prop himself up. “S’just a friend. But if I did, would that have gotten me outta being run through every bleeding night?”

Another snort. “With a mouth like that? Not a chance. What’s another sin to add to the pile.”

“So you’re jealous,” Soap mused, looking off into the distance as he thought.

“I don’t share,” Ghost said simply. Evidence of that were the darkening marks on Soap’s neck, settling in nicely around the collar. “And if I catch someone touching you I’ll be just as quick to teach you a lesson as I am him, that understood?”

Was it just Ghost’s imagination that Soap shivered at that? He didn’t think so, not with the way Soap’s eyes darkened under the words as his gaze found Ghost’s again.

Not for the first time, Ghost wondered what kind of life Soap led back at his own camp, and if he was the type to give without asking for anything in return. Had anyone ever taken the time to figure out what Soap liked? Because he certainly seemed to enjoy being handled like this, always had a glimmer of surprise and arousal when Ghost treated him rough. It would be easy enough to find it if he knew what to look for back home.

The thought had a darker, more possessive feeling nagging at the back of his head, one that he pushed down. It was an inevitability that one day Soap would no longer be his, but that was a distant concern.

Right now, Soap belonged to Ghost.

He lifted a hand, letting it fall heavily onto Soap’s cheek, thumb rubbing there. There was something knowing and resigned to his expression, as if anticipating where Ghost was going with this. Good, it was nice to see that he’d finally started falling into the routine of things. Ghost’s lips curled into a smile. He opened his mouth, ready to tease Soap when a knock ruffled the material of his tent.

“Ghost?” A voice called, Price’s.

Soap’s eyes shifted in that direction before sliding back up to look over Ghost’s face. He could try to pretend he wasn’t interested in Ghost’s advances but there was real confliction at the interruption.

That feeling he’d been fighting a moment ago reared its head, fed by his annoyance at the disruption, but he worked to let it go. “Off the hook,” Ghost told him. He looked back at the tent flap, watching as it opened a crack, light from the setting sun gentling its way in.

“Bad timing?” Price asked, looking between the two of them.

Ghost’s hand slid down to Soap’s neck, not trying to hide what Price had so obviously walked in on. “Nearly,” he told him.

Price let out a laugh at that. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

It was true. Ghost and Price had found themselves tangled together in the past, warming each other’s beds on difficult nights or sharing a toy out of boredom. That didn’t mean that he was particularly inclined to do so now.

Price was good though, never one to assume or overstep. “Have a drink with me? Can bring your boy if you wanted,” he offered.

Ghost contemplated. As eager as he was to sooth the lazy licks of arousal that had begun to simmer, he knew that if Price had sought him out, the invitation was only a formality.

“Give me ten,” Ghost grunted, forcing himself not to sigh.

Price nodded and let the tent flap swing shut, leaving the two of them alone.

Soap blinked up at him, waiting.

“You interested?” Ghost asked. He wasn’t in the mood to babysit a misbehaving Soap tonight, especially not in front of his superior. Better to leave him here if needed.

Soap pushed himself up onto his elbows, considering. “You gunna let me have a glass?”

Ghost barked out a laugh, feeling a bit like a parent being nagged by their teen. He didn’t know what Soap was expecting from this evening, but at least it would be a mildly pleasant way to break up the monotony. “You able to hold your liquor?” he asked.

An incredulous look from Soap.

“Stupid fucking question,” Ghost allowed. “Get yourself ready, then.”

Before long they were exiting together, Soap wandering just a little ways ahead of Ghost. He was an anomaly amongst his fellow captures, any of which within sight were tethered to a post or a fixture. Soap’s hands remained uncuffed, having temporarily proven to Ghost that he could behave well enough without them.

Idly, Ghost wondered if that made him something to be envied by his fellow service men, or despised—taken for a traitor. But as they made their way to Price’s tent, Ghost noted the way Soap’s eyes glanced over each prisoner they passed, nodding to any who made eye contact. Those who returned his gaze looked relieved to see him, as if greeted by a friend.

Ghost took ahold of Soap’s forearm as their destination neared, guiding him in that direction. Soap merely glanced down at the hand that circled him without comment, wisely choosing not to push Ghost’s buttons while he was being done a kindness.

A knock to the door that Ghost didn’t bother waiting for an answering reply to, just pulled the flap back before situating it securely behind them.

Across the room, Price was standing. He glanced over his shoulder as they arrived, but only went back to his task. “Your boy need tying up?” Price asked, not looking at them.

Ghost glanced at Soap, who was watching, waiting. “No,” Ghost said finally. “He understands that it’s in his benefit to behave.”

He had expected a smart reply, but oddly enough, Soap had fallen back into the same silence he had used with Price all those days ago. His eyes swept around the room with open curiosity, assessing in a way that reminded Ghost just how dangerous Soap had the potential of being.

“Alright then,” Price said, turning. His look turned surprised as he took in the state of Soap’s neck, a feeling of satisfaction curling in Ghost’s gut. “Christ, Ghost. Collar wasn’t enough for you?” he asked, sounding empathetic.

“Maybe if you got me a thicker collar,” Ghost grunted, arms crossing.

Price reached a hand up, as if to take Soap’s chin, then paused, looking to Ghost. “May I?” he asked.

Ghost hesitated, then nodded.

Much to Ghost’s pleasure, Soap was tolerant of the hand on him, back straightening as Price investigated his handiwork. It was a curiosity Ghost could appreciate that had Price tilting Soap’s face to the side, letting the lighting show off the deep bruises that lay against the skin there. He gave a satisfied sound before letting his hand drop, looking to Ghost. “The usual rules?” he asked.

Ghost’s lips twitched into something of a smile as Soap turned curious eyes to him. He nodded.

Price looked satisfied by his answer. Soap wasn’t going to like this, but Ghost thoroughly enjoyed pushing Soap to his limits, liked seeing just how far he would go before needing to be reined back in and taught a lesson. He watched as Price turned to Soap before pointing to the ground next to the tent door. “Leave your clothes here,” Price told him, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Strip and join us.”

Soap stiffened at his words, eyes flicking back to Ghost.

“You heard the man,” Ghost told him, unable to keep the hint of amusement he felt from his voice.

Despite what Ghost had told Soap earlier about his refusal to share him, this didn’t cross that line in Ghost’s mind. Price wasn’t interested in having Soap, as made apparent by having asked permission to touch Ghost’s guest moments ago. No, Price’s intentions came from someplace different. He didn’t have the same look of longing those three idiots from yesterday had when they saw what was Ghost’s. Instead he was curious, much in the same way Ghost was at the distraction Soap provided from the daily boredom.

Should he have warned Soap that Price had a particular attitude towards guests, a certain old-fashioned view and set of rules? Absolutely not, it was far more fun this way.

Soap’s fists clenched at his sides as he thought over his options. He had very, very few of them now that they had made it this far. He seemed to understand that too, an annoyed look flicking across his face. He reached up, grasping onto the collar of his shirt before wrenching the thing over his head, tossing it onto the floor.

That had been the wrong decision.

“Fold it,” came Price’s voice, a command there.

Even Ghost’s back straightened on instinct at the tone. He locked eyes with Soap, waiting to see if he would comply. It was in his best interest. Despite Soap being his, Ghost wouldn’t step in to interfere if Price decided to discipline Soap for throwing a fit. And the man had some very traditional ideals when it came to how guests should be punished.

Another tense moment, as if Soap was deciding what he wanted to do.

Honestly, it would make Ghost hard as a rock to watch Price bend Soap over his knee, to see him teach the boy a lesson. He would be due for another one soon, Ghost knew. Despite the obvious attitude change after his first one, they always needed a second after a couple of days.

Slowly, so fucking slowly, Soap crouched, picking the shirt up off the floor.

Ghost saw Price visibly relax out of the corner of his eye, his own shoulders loosening as Soap folded it, placing it down where instructed.

“Leave your briefs on,” Ghost couldn’t resist adding as Price turned, making towards the other side of the tent. Selfish, but part of him still needed to have some of Soap for himself.

Soap cut him a glare as the chair by the table creaked when Price lowered himself onto it, a groan falling from his lips.

Ghost gave Soap one last smile before he took the one diagonal to Price, listening to the quiet sound of clothing being shed behind him.

“Ran into Jameson and his crew yesterday,” Ghost told him.

A grunt from Price. “That boy’s a problem,” he said, sounding every bit as tired as Ghost felt.

“Need to remind the lot looking over our guests that he’s not to partake.”

A sigh. “Right, I’ll see to it in the morning.”

Ghost nodded, knew Price would take care of it properly. He was about to say more when padded footsteps approached, Soap pausing to stand between them.

Price turned towards Soap, knees falling open. “Can I see him?” he asked, looking over to Ghost.

“As long as he behaves,” Ghost said, ignoring the murderous look Soap sent him as he stepped between Price’s spread thighs. Instead he busied himself with pulling forward three glasses from the small set on the table.

“Hands behind your back, that’s good,” Price murmured as Soap listened.

To Ghost’s approval, Soap didn’t try to cover himself, just allowed Price’s gaze to travel over his body.

“Good,” Price said again. “Now turn for me.”

Soap went. He kept his attention on Price though, eyeing him from over his shoulder.

Price knew better than to touch, only leaned back. “Pretty,” he said finally. He reached over to the chair next to him to swipe a thick crewneck that hung there, folding it. Ghost knew where this was going, but Soap look confused. Satisfied with the job he’d done, Price leaned down to drop it next to Ghost’s chair. “There you go.”

Another look of disbelief. Soap stood there, eyes on Ghost, waiting.

“Go on then,” Ghost prompted.

The look Soap cut him said it all. But he listened for once in his fucking life, sinking to his knees in a way that was far more graceful than this moment should have afforded, facing towards the table in the same direction as Ghost.

Price watched the exchange with amusement. “He’s teachable,” he mused. “Shame I gave him up.”

“Shame,” Ghost echoed.

The comment grated at him, but it did fill him with an odd sense of pride. That so many who looked at Soap wanted him but couldn’t have him. He glanced back down at Soap while Price poured out their glasses, only to find Soap staring up at him. The expression on his face had shifted a little, that annoyance sliding into something a little more pensive.

For his part, Ghost was letting his own gaze wander, trying to take Soap in from Price’s perspective.

Soap was pretty, something he’d never denied. The usually hard line of his stomach softened as he knelt, skin bunching above the waistband of his briefs. His hands folded into his lap to find whatever modesty he could muster, giving him almost a look of submissiveness to anyone who didn't know better.

Not just pretty, smart too. Was such a stubborn pain in the ass, but oddly he had yet to embarrass Ghost when others were watching, knew better than to try.

Ghost kept his eyes on Soap, thinking. Across from him, Price slid over two glasses in Ghost’s direction, leaving the third for himself.

Soap looked over in interest at the sound, then looked back up to Ghost. His good behavior was back now that he had something he wanted within reach, a reminder of what his current suffering was for. His eyes held a question that Ghost knew he wouldn’t ask aloud, not with Price here.

“Go on,” Ghost told him, using one finger to guide the glass closer to Soap, who reached up to take it.

Price watched the exchange with amusement as he pulled out a cigar, lighting it. Ghost watched the process, taking in the way his current company was finally starting to relax in each other’s presence. It was that exact feeling of companionship that reminded Ghost of something that had been said earlier back in his own tent.

“Where would I find the manifests for the guests we took in?” Ghost asked.

At his words, Soap’s gaze flicked back up to him, watching with renewed interest.

Price pondered that for a moment, taking a long drag at the cigar before expelling a cloud of smoke. “With me,” he said, rising.

Soap’s eyes stayed fixed to Ghost, waiting. There was something there, something close to hope.

Ghost leaned down, taking Soap’s chin in his hand. Their faces were close enough that Ghost could just make out the scent of liquor on his breath. “I reward good behavior, Soap,” he said, as much a promise as it was a warning. Because they both knew that wasn’t the only line he drew—he also always punished the bad. “Remember that.”

Price turned, a ledger in hand. He flipped it open, eyeing a couple of pages before letting out a satisfied grunt and snapping it closed, crossing the room. “This is it,” he said, handing it over to Ghost, sitting again.

Ghost grunted out a thanks, letting Soap’s face go in exchange for the item. He held out a hand, accepting Soap’s drink before passing it over.

As Soap took it, he looked to Price, the book still shut tight in his grip.

“What’s he waiting for?” Price asked, interest obvious in his voice.

Ghost wasn’t sure either. But maybe… “Permission, I think,” Ghost said, an impressed edge audible in his voice.

He must have guessed right, because Soap’s fingers slid to the edge of the book, as if to open it, still waiting.

A laugh from Price. “Go on, lad.”

Soap nodded once, as if in thanks, then opened it, flipping through its pages.

“Shame he’s on the other side,” Price said, watching as Soap’s eyes skimmed the book. “More obedient than most of our men.”

Ghost didn’t disagree. Then again, he wouldn’t have been getting half the enjoyment out of him if that were the case. Instead of answering he pulled off his gloves, tossing them onto the table, finally reaching for his drink. The cool of the glass felt good against his fingers, a welcome juxtaposition against the heat of the day.

Proving he still had an ear on their conversation, Soap snorted.

That earned an amused laugh from Price. “And you say he speaks to you?” he asked, ashing his cigar.

“Unfortunately,” Ghost grunted, keeping his eyes on the man in question.

“He’s so expressive,” Price said.

“Shame he doesn’t tire himself out on someone who wouldn’t mind listening.”

Soap’s eyes shifted over to Ghost, a little smile there.

“You’ve had worse,” Price said. “Never one that lasted this long.”

What a terrible reality that was—when a mere four days was a new record. Ghost was far from the most brutal with their guests when it came to the men on base. But he suspected his reputation is what frightened them away in the end.

He took a sip from his glass, setting it back down heavily on the table before producing a cigarette. “Still have that Russian back home?” he asked off-handedly, eager to change the subject.

“Nik,” Price offered.

Ghost waved, already knew the man’s name. But he couldn’t understand why Price had kept him around. Toys were meant to be kept for the field and nothing more, disposable after being ridden hard and left out to dry.

“Big bastard followed me home,” Price said, his voice turning fond. He turned to look down at Soap, who wasn’t hiding the fact that he was actively listening now, the ledger left open and forgotten in his hands. “Couple years ago we took out a group of men east of here. Cleared out most of the squad. Brought him home with me while we negotiated with the rest of the higher ups.”

Ghost remembered that scrimmage well. A battle over a territory that wasn’t technically theirs but certainly was now.

“Must have tried letting him go a half-dozen times,” Price said, a smile growing. “Always found his way back. Eventually we put him to use. Hell of a pilot.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Ghost told Soap drily.

The look he got in return told Ghost he didn’t have to worry.

Soon Soap’s eyes were returning to his searching. Fingers ran along the list, pausing every so often as he read the description of their guests twice over or tried to make out the handwriting. He only let himself be distracted whenever Ghost handed him his glass, pausing just long enough to take a sip before giving it back.

Pages were flipped through once, then for a second time. Eventually, unable to find what he was looking for, Soap sucked in a little breath of relief, closing the book before offering it back up to Price, nodding in thanks when it was pulled from his fingers.

“Pleased?” Price asked him.

Soap hesitated, then nodded once.

“So your friend isn’t in there?” Ghost asked, taking another drag at his cigarette. He ashed the butt, pulling his pack out to grab a new one.

Those eyes turned to him now, followed by another nod.

Ghost grunted in approval.

Hopefully this would help Soap settle a little, wouldn’t have to wonder if his sacrifice had been for nothing. It didn’t matter to Ghost either way. But if this was a small way to get Soap to stop sulking like he had been all morning, he was satisfied.

There was something more comfortable about Soap’s posture now. He shifted, adjusting himself a little on the makeshift pillow, his nudity no longer seeming to overly bother him. Eyes travelled across Ghost slowly before turning, looking at Price next.

Annoyance flickered through Ghost at that, by how Price had captured Soap’s attention. Price’s muted interest in Soap made sense to Ghost but Soap’s? Those wide, exploring eyes as he took in Price while he chatted idly at Ghost had something close to jealousy prickling at Ghost’s conscience. He wanted to be the only one Soap looked too, wanted the man to know every kindness he was rewarded was at a result of his hand.

And sometimes the only way to do that was by taking those privileges away.

Ghost looked towards Price. “Do you mind if I…?” he gestured to Soap.

Price arched an eyebrow. It wasn’t like Ghost to ask something like this, but he knew the request wouldn’t bother his captain. “Please,” Price said, gesturing for Ghost to go ahead.

Between then, Soap eyed their exchange suspiciously.

Soap had good instincts, but that wouldn’t lessen what was about to come. Ghost stood, dragging his chair around so that it faced the man.

The expression on Soap’s face turned confused as Ghost took ahold of his collar, guiding him around until he was face to face with Ghost’s crotch. He stood there a moment, taking his glass to tip back the remaining contents before setting it back down. Once he’d re-settled in his seat he met Soap’s gaze, those big eyes looking up at him, still trying to process what was happening.

“Open,” Ghost told him, reaching for his belt.

Soap froze as understanding kicked in.

The sound of the zipper filled the room and there was a moment where Ghost thought Soap might fight him, might refuse. Even with his back to Price, there would hardly be any privacy if Ghost decided to fuck his throat right now.

Ghost watched as Soap weighed out his options, look turning unhappy. It wasn’t without consideration that he let his lips fall open as Ghost pulled his mostly soft cock free of his pants, beckoning him forward.

Soap’s mouth was unenthusiastic as he was slowly eased down, a heavy hand on the back of his head. It was as if he was steeling himself against something quick and rough. Unfortunately, Ghost wasn’t interested in that tonight. Soap’s eyes closed as he was forced to concentrate when Ghost’s cock nuzzled up against the back of his throat.

Ghost paused there, pleased with the tight, wet heat of his mouth, momentarily satisfied.

Price took drags at his cigar as he watched in silence, his knees spreading unconsciously. “He just going to warm you?” he asked, his voice rough.

“For now,” Ghost said.

He could feel Soap struggling to get air in, gagging a little whenever he moved wrong. Ghost wasn’t too concerned when a tear ran down Soap’s cheek as he struggled. They’d done something like this before, and he knew the man would be able to figure it out again, just had to relax enough to manage breaths in through his nose.

“That’s it,” Ghost told him, fingernails scrapping along Soap’s scalp as he managed a shuddery one. When Soap’s shoulders relaxed a little, Ghost did it again. “Just perfect.”

And it was. Lust pooled low in his belly at the thought of Soap, unable to think of anything but Ghost’s cock in his mouth, near suffocating him. He could feel it when his cock slid down further, nestling into Soap’s throat. Saliva pooled into his mouth as he sat there, and it wouldn’t be long before he was a mess, helpless to his body’s own natural reaction. He would keep it this way, he decided. Would have Soap stay like this until Ghost was ready to give up teasing himself.

Across from him, Ghost watched Price from the corner of his eye, catching the way he poured them another drink. He seemed to be enjoying himself well enough, tenting up subtly in his trousers.

“Through your nose,” Ghost encouraged when Soap gagged again.

“Listens well,” Price praised. “Just needs a little training.”

This was usually Price’s specialty, something of a traditionalist when it came to guests. Liked to break unruly men until they were submissive little things to keep in his tent. Didn’t look the type but he was also a kinky fucker when it came to doling out punishments. Rumor had it he enjoyed them mouthy and spirited just so that he would have more opportunities too.

In his lap, Soap’s hands bunched into fists, clenching and unclenching as he fought against the urge to pull back.

“Bout right,” Ghost agreed.

Soap managed a little breath through his nose, then a second. His back bowing as he relaxed, no longer gagging.

Good, so good. He wouldn’t say that though. Instead he would wait until Soap had really earned it, wasn’t just keeping himself still. Price was right, Soap was teachable. With a little routine and training, he could be made into something real nice to warm his bed.

“Any news from this one’s boss?” Ghost found himself asking.

Soap didn’t even look up at the question, his face relaxing as he resigned himself to his position.

It felt good, those lips wrapped around Ghost’s cock like this, tiny movements making way for small reliefs and teasing friction. He placed a hand on the back of Soap’s head, giving rewarding squeezes that had Soap letting out little sounds.

Price leaned back in his chair, observing Soap as he thought. “Not as of yet,” he said slowly, consideringly. It wasn’t the fact that Soap was in the room that was bothering him, or else he would have never bothered to invite him here in the first place. No, something about the situation was weighing on Price’s mind.

“What is it?” Ghost asked.

Another pause. Price’s eyes unfocused as he considered the question. “Can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s like they’re disorganized. Messages go through but no concrete answers come back.”

Ghost hummed, thinking. He’d seen their leader on the field. Ghost had always considered himself big but that man was a hulking beast of a person. They would have known if he’d been killed in battle, would have found the body.

“Injured?” Ghost offered. “Waiting on him to recover?”

“Not sure yet. Might send some men in to poke around. See what they can dig up,” Price said, taking another drag of his cigar. “It’s not like they aren’t doing the same. Couple men complained of their tents being broken into, but nothing was taken.”

His last words washed over Ghost, who was lost in thought. So they would be here a while longer, that was interesting to know. He wondered what Soap would think of this. He looked down, only to find himself a little surprised with what he saw.

Soap’s shoulder sagged, relaxed in a way Ghost had never seen as he knelt boneless between Ghost’s feet. His eyes were half lidded and a little glassy as they blinked lazily, fixed forwards on Ghost’s lower belly.

Christ, he was halfway under, drowsy in a way Ghost had never seen from a partner. It was fucking beautiful—and Ghost wanted to see just how far he could push him. “A bit more, Soap—that’s the way,” he murmured as he gentled Soap down further. Ghost was too big to fit all the way in, but Soap could stand to take a little more, had shown he had the talent for it the other night.

Sure enough, Soap gagged, tried pulling back but the hand on the back of his skull kept him firmly in place. Tears welled in his eyes, making them appear all the more blue, an almost crystal colour that reminded Ghost of the clearest summer days. His hand slid over to Soap’s cheek, watching as it collected and pooled, running down.

Ghost expected a fight but was pleased to see his expression slacken, those eyes fluttering shut. His breathing evened out into long, controlled motions through his nose.

He’d seen Soap relax several times now when he’d had every ounce of his control stripped from him, but never to this degree. From this reaction, Soap had likely never been put on his knees to cockwarm before, but it was possible he was enjoying himself if how he was listing forwards was any indication. He thought of Soap yesterday, leaning against Ghost so heavily as he let himself be helped with washing.

This was the behavior of someone who had never been treated the way he’d craved, Ghost realized. He’d never had someone put him on his knees and tell him to listen, to offer him a break by taking over. And he was beginning to think that Soap liked it, despite how hard he tried not to show it.

Of course, Price had noticed too. He had far more experience with whatever…this was. “He down?” Price asked, voice lowering.

Ghost’s thumb ran along Soap’s cheek again, but this time it was much more of a soothing gesture. Soap didn’t even open his eyes at that. “Looks like it,” he murmured.

Price hummed. “Christ,” he said, bringing his glass up for another sip. “You sure you wanna let this one go? Can scratch him from the records.”

Ghost barked out a laugh. “Can’t keep him on my cock like this forever,” he said, a little regretfully. “And the rest of the time, he’s a fucking menace.”

A laugh from Price. “Can stay as long as you want,” he offered, gesturing to Soap. “Better for him to ride this out properly.”

“Thanks,” Ghost grunted, looking down at the man. His hand slid down to Soap’s chin, where a trail of drool had started. He’d never seen anyone do this before, never mind with him. He thought it was a fucking myth.

“Wonder who he is back at his camp,” Price mused.

Ghost had been thinking about that a lot. “Don’t think he knew who he was either. Seems surprised every time he likes something.”

“And what does he like?” Price asked.

From anyone else, Ghost would have told them off. From Price, the question didn’t come unexpected. “Dunno. Everything. Behaves awfully soft for the monster Jameson made him out to be. Also likes being treated mean and fucked and tossed around. Tells me he doesn’t, but then he’s rock-fucking-hard. First time he’s completely checked out like this, though.”

Another hum, long and contemplative. “Some people don’t know how much they like letting go until they’re forced into it. Might like being tied up. Tell me if you want to try anything with rope, got a bunch of it around here.”

The lack of protest from the man on his knees told Ghost just how far gone he was. Soap would have absolutely protested to being restrained if he was in his right mind. “That’s your thing,” Ghost grunted. “I just like to play a little rough.”

“Not as much as you’d have other’s believe,” Price murmured, eyeing the gentle hand in Soap’s hair.

“Mind yours.”

“Just saying…”

Ghost cut him a look. “Well don’t.”

They must have been louder than they’d meant because Soap was shifting, eyes blinking open to look up at Ghost.

Gods, he was meant to be on his knees, all small and folded prettily and messy on Ghost’s cock. He wanted to keep Soap there all night, but his hardening length would soon be enough of an issue to have Soap struggling again.

Resolved, Ghost eased Soap off slowly, who gasped quietly as he was freed, letting out a confused little sound. He held still, eyes glassy and mouth open as Ghost took himself in hand, jerking off into full hardness.

A sound from Price—amused—that earned another sharp look. Ghost didn’t need to be told, he knew he was contradicting his own words but he’d meant it when he’d said he rewarded good behavior earlier.

It didn’t take long before Ghost was achingly hard. The saliva from Soap’s mouth offered him plenty of lube to make it feel good, heat coiling in a way that had him leaning back in his chair, breaths coming out harder.

“Eyes closed for me, Soap,” Ghost murmured.

It took being told a second time before the words sunk in, those pretty blues shutting. Even then his lips stayed parted and shiny with spit, breath hot against Ghost’s cock. The wet sound of Ghost jerking off filled the tent, not trying to be gentle with himself right now. He ignored it when Price adjusted himself in his pants anew as he watched openly.

A grunt was Soap’s only warning, who flinched as the first rope of come landed across his cheek, a second quickly following. He held still after that, mouth closing as he realized what was happening, uncharacteristically quiet as he knelt there. It was a good thing he had shut his eyes because come landed over a brow and down his lashes, clumping them together in a way that was grossly satisfying.

Ghost allowed himself a moment to observe his handiwork before sighing, knowing it was rude to leave his toys filthy like this. He fished around his pockets, producing a cloth that he shook open to clean himself with before tucking his cock away. Next he wiped Soap’s face, being careful around his eyes. Only when he was given the say so did Soap open them, looking up at Ghost.

He looked exhausted, like he was struggling to keep his head up. Even when Ghost offered him another sip of his drink, it was like he couldn’t even muster the energy to lift his hand. Soap only opened his mouth, letting Ghost press the glass to his bottom lip, leaning back so he could be helped.

It tugged at something uncomfortable, seeing the way Soap was giving himself fully to Ghost. There was something so lax about him, a fatigue that required him to be guided down to lean against Ghost’s leg, slumping against the contact. It was unsettling to watch, how taken apart Soap had become. He would probably hate himself for it later but right now, it was as if Soap had needed desperately to let go like this.

Ghost leaned forwards to pull off his jacket, earning nothing more than a slow creaking open of one eye before it shut again. Soap barely moved as it was dropped down over his shoulders, but it obviously added to his comfort as his weight settled more fully against Ghost’s thigh.

Quiet eased as he and Price contemplated the man between them.

“So what are we thinking,” Ghost asked, clearing his throat, trying not to feel a little bare without the missing layer. “Another week? Two?”

Price made a sound as he leaned back, noncommittal. “Higher ups won’t let us stay any longer than that. They’ll want to claim this territory and head back home before the month is done. If we don’t get a surrender soon, I can near guarantee they’ll have us mobilizing again in a fortnight.”

Christ, another two weeks. But when Ghost glanced back down at Soap, he didn’t find himself nearly as annoyed as he should have been. Because two more weeks until they were made to march again meant two more weeks with Soap.

Ghost pushed his glass towards Price, nodding when he held up the bottle. “Alright,” Ghost said, voice resigned. “Keep me updated.”

He would give Soap until the end of this last drink before getting him back up and into their tent.

Maybe he even allowed Soap a cigarette or two longer. Couldn’t quite separate himself from the feeling of his fingers sliding through Soap’s hair.

* * * *

Boredom fostered bad habits.

Vices like drink and gambling. Falling out of healthy routines and into lazy ones. In the next week that passed, Ghost knew if he wasn’t careful, he was certain to grow addicted to this.

To the insolent look on Soap’s face as he pretended he didn’t understand what was about to happen after they’d finish eating together.

To Soap, breathy and sweaty under him, pretending he didn’t like the way Ghost held him down and fucked him rough.

To the whimpering and moaning that filled the tent when Ghost rewarded him for taking it like a good boy.

He was the perfect distraction, sharp-witted but still so obedient, falling easily into the rules Ghost set for him.

Through it all, there were terribly complicated moments. Every so often when things felt just a little too domestic, one of them would forget themselves. Looks that became too soft, blinked away when Ghost’s fingers hooked into Soap’s collar, reminding him of why he was here. Too gentle check ins that were returned with a sharp tongue, earning bruising fingers.

Despite these small slip-ups, there was always one thing that kept Ghost sharp.

As each short day went by, Soap grew more and more restless.

Chapter Text

When Ghost had issued Soap a challenge during a boring afternoon, he couldn’t have anticipated it being nearly this amusing.

“You’re shit at this,” Ghost said, enjoying his struggling.

“Making me draw with my left hand,” came Soap’s response, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. His fingers flexed around the pencil, readjusting his grip on it. They both knew that wouldn’t help him, there were far more distracting elements at work here. Like Ghost’s hand, sliding higher up Soap’s inner thigh, pausing right below the place where he was already tenting in his jeans.

“Won’t get to come at this rate,” Ghost scoffed. “Can’t even make out what the fuck that is.”

Soap knew it too, his struggle becoming more and more evident in the way his breathing had picked up. “You promised—“ he tried but Ghost was already shushing him.

“Promised you’d come if I could guess,” Ghost reminded him. That had been a good five minutes ago and Soap still hadn’t produced anything even remotely legible. “A child could draw better than this.”

A small sound of despair slipped out as Soap’s hand clenched around the pencil, the wood creaking under his grip.

Ghost leaned down so that his masked lips glanced over the sensitive skin of his ear. “C’mon Soap, time’s ticking. Better make it count.”

He watched as Soap sucked in a shuddering breath, blinking himself into focus. Ghost didn’t fault him for his lack of concentration—not with his hand so close to Soap’s cock like this—but he’d at least hoped for something more impressive.

The next line Soap produced was wobbly, only worsening as Ghost’s other hand slipped beneath Soap’s shirt to thumb at his nipple. It wasn’t playing fair, but Ghost had never advertised as much. He was enjoying far too much the sounds Soap was making, placated and docile under his promises for the first time in days.

It was growing worse, the restlessness that was growing under Soap’s skin. Quiet questions about if there was any news from his side. It had become routine that Soap’s first words to him after he’d returned for the day was to ask if there was any response to the demands to surrender.

There never was, but Ghost didn’t say that outright. But as the days went on, he could see Soap becoming less satisfied with Ghost’s non-committal answers.

To his credit, Soap still listened, still behaved, just needed an extra push every once in a while, a small reprimand to get him back in line. But it seemed that today’s activity was interesting enough to momentarily quell Soap’s questions, a competitive streak that Ghost should have anticipated shining through.

When the next line came out a little too cleanly, Ghost pinched Soap’s nipple gently, rolling it between his thumb and index finger.

The pencil jerked as Soap gasped, his line redirected sharply upwards. He let out a sharp, annoyed breath through his nose as he attempted to refocus.

“Dirtying yourself,” Ghost mused as he looked down into Soap’s lap. The outline of his cock noticeable down the right leg of his pants, a small wet mark dampened the fabric at the tip. Sliding his hand upwards on Soap’s left thigh, he squeezed at the place where his hip hinged, fingers barely rubbing against the side of Soap’s cock.

It must have tightened the fabric down against the sensitive skin there though because Soap let out a low moan, head bowing, distracted again.

“Shame,” Ghost mused, looking at the page. He tilted his head, trying to make out what the damn thing was.

Soap had to have known he was fucked. Ghost could see the wheels in his head turning as they looked over the drawing together.

The confusion Ghost felt was warranted when Soap set his pencil on the table. It made a little more sense when Soap reached a hand up, sliding across Ghost’s cheek to caress him in a way that was far too soft for what they both allowed. Those blue eyes flicked up, blinked innocently at Ghost.

“C’mon,” Soap breathed, lips parted. He even sucked one into his mouth for good measure, slickening it with spit. “Know you have to be struggling too. Can make you feel good, could do that best if you let me come first.”

As much as Ghost wanted to laugh at the proposition, he couldn’t deny how achingly hard he’d become throughout this activity. But the long term reward he was promised if they played this out properly far outweighed the short term one of Soap’s begging.

Couldn’t hurt to see what Soap was offering though, Ghost thought.

Soap straightened prettily as Ghost slipped his hand out from under Soap’s shirt, cupping his jaw thoughtfully. Sensing he was winning Ghost over, Soap’s mouth fell open, an invitation.

He knew he was being guided by his cock over his conscience when he thumbed at Soap’s bottom lip contemplatively. “Show me,” he couldn’t help but ask, throbbing painfully in his pants at the way Soap’s tongue darted out right away to meet him.

Soap’s hand dropped from Ghost’s face, taking his wrist instead to feed Ghost slowly into his mouth, lips closing around him.

Ghost wanted to laugh at the display but was far too turned on. More than that, he knew he couldn’t let himself be swayed. Today it might be letting Soap worm his way out of a competition but tomorrow it could be something far more dire.

Regardless, he kept up his charade, a look of consideration in his eyes. He knew there must be some heat there too. Soap was smart, knew how fucking tempting he looked right now and was using it to his advantage. His hips worked in tiny little motions, grinding himself subtly against Ghost’s hand, hard and needy. Mouth hot and wet around Ghost, eager as he let the thumb be pulled free to accept Ghost’s index and middle finger instead. Didn’t even gag as Ghost pushed them down heavily onto his tongue, waiting to see just how much Soap would give him.

“So good,” Ghost murmured. “You know I love your fucking mouth.”

Soap let out a sound at that, didn’t even sound exaggerated. Was such a slut for being praised despite every instinct that told him it was wrong. That was one of the things Ghost liked best about Soap. He liked seeing everything he’d ever known get challenged, liked watching him fall to the reality of his newly skewed morals.

But Ghost had allowed this moment of distraction to go on long enough. Hope filled Soap’s eyes as Ghost leaned down, nuzzling tenderly at his temple. He knew what Soap wanted to hear. “Three more minutes,” he whispered instead, voice thick and sweet.

Just like that, the moment was ruined. Soap groaned loudly, pushing Ghost away before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He cast Ghost a dark look at the chuckle he’d earned, picking up the pencil before straightening, turning back to his work.

A real laugh bubbled up at that, watching Soap stubbornly set himself to his task. He braced his forearm on the table, as if that was going to help him.

Ghost only glued himself to Soap’s back, decidedly more thorough in his part in this activity. He flattened his palm against the heat of Soap’s length, making sure not to give him so much pressure so that he might come accidentally, but enough to keep the challenge alive.

Always too clever for his own good Soap bit at his lip, a punishing distraction against getting lost in the pleasure.

Ghost wondered if it would be enough.

Shaky lines were emphasized by continuous passes, solidifying them into something that was…almost taking shape. Soap seemed to know it too, a relieved sound slipping out.

“Want it bad, don’t you?” Ghost rumbled.

It was time to stop fucking around. He popped Soap’s jeans open, a hand slipping down into his underwear.

A gasp, those eyes closing momentarily as Ghost stroked him properly for the first time, no longer teasing. Heavily panted breaths cut through the silence of the tent, chest heaving as Ghost ran a thumb across Soap’s weeping slit.

“Made a fucking mess of yourself,” he teased.

Soap’s eyes opened again. His free hand closed into a fist, nails biting into his palm. Ghost wondered if it gave him the lucidity he was seeking.

Down on the page, shaky fingers managed to draw a mouth full of sharp teeth, mean eyes accompanying it.

Somehow, Soap was going to pull this off. Another bold line only added to the structure of the drawing, solidifying its shape. Still, Ghost wasn’t interested in making this easy for him. “For someone who draws all day, you’d think this would be better,” he chastised.

Soap said nothing, but he wasn’t fooling anyone with how desperate he’d become. And oddly, the more Ghost goaded him, the more he twitched and leaked precome into Ghost’s hand.

“Good thing you’re pretty, because this is horseshit,” Ghost continued, fascinated. Because each time he thought he had figured Soap out completely, something new presented itself.

A shrill noise cut through the tent, the timer on Ghost’s phone, forgotten and startling. But as much as he was enjoying teasing Soap, he stilled his hand, earning a shaky breath.

“Time,” Ghost told him. “Write what it is on the back for me.”

The sound of paper crinkling as it was turned over. Ghost ducked his eyes, not one to spoil the game by cheating, not when there was an actual promise of fun here.

More crinkling as it was flipped again. “Done,” Soap said, his voice strained.

When Ghost looked up again, the paper was back on the side of the drawing. He took his time, analyzing each line, each sloppily shaded section. Despite his obvious distraction, Soap had come up with something passable.

Ghost held out his left arm, turning it to show off the small tattoo of a bomb, a mean grin etched onto its face.

Soap let out a shaky breath of relief before flipping the paper over to reveal the word ‘tattoo’ printed in scratchy letters on the back.

Ghost hummed, impressed. “Looks like you have some talent after all,” he allowed. Having earned his reward fair and square, Ghost readjusted his grip on Soap’s cock, stroking him again properly.

Another shaky breath, something closer to a laugh this time. “Bleeding Jesus,” Soap murmured, relief evident in his tone. “Thought I wasn’t going to pull it off.”

“I’m not a betting man,” Ghost said. “But if I was, my money wouldn’t have been on you.”

“Bastard,” Soap said. His head tipped back, resting on Ghost’s shoulder as his eyes slipped shut. He put the pencil on the table before reaching down, taking a handful of the fabric on either thigh, tugging his pants down a bit so Ghost had more room to work him properly. “Gonna let me come?” he asked, breaths coming out quick and shallow.

“Whenever you want,” Ghost confirmed.

As usual, Soap surprised him, hand curling around Ghost’s forearm in a gesture that was almost tender, holding him. “Wanna last a little,” he said, voice breathy as his face turned to nestle in against Ghost’s neck.

He was doing it again, being too soft for what the two of them boiled down to. As if he had forgotten where he was and his circumstances. But Ghost was more inclined to allow it this time, an added reward for having won their little game.

“It’s your dime,” Ghost told him.

A short laugh, Soap’s mouth hanging open as the grip around his cock tightened, breath coming out hot against Ghost’s neck. His self-control was impressive, but it was obvious that despite his words, Soap wasn’t going to last much longer. His hips worked in little motions, grinding to meet Ghost’s hand. When he finally let himself go, he came with such a content little sound, shooting ropes onto the floor beneath the table.

Even then, Ghost worked him a little more, really making sure Soap was good and done, until the man was groaning and overstimulated, squirming in his hand.

“Good?” Ghost asked, a small smile on his lips as he let him go. He pulled out a square of fabric, wiping his fingers on it.

Soap hummed, still leaning heavily against him, momentarily satiated. Might even be enough to give Ghost an evening of peace if he was lucky enough.

But too soon, that hand was roaming over Ghost’s forearm, already in search of a new way to cure his boredom. Fingers ran feather-light over Ghost’s skin, tracing the patterns of the ink that nestled beneath the skin. Old tattoos that had greyed with time, still fresher than most could boast, nearly always out of sight from the sun’s harmful rays.

Practiced in finding trouble, Soap found the first scar that laid hidden beneath layers of art, then a second. Idle fingers turned more purposeful, his gaze turning to study the raised skin, barely visible in the low light of the tent. Two of many, many scars that adorned his body.

When those eyes turned up to him, Soap obviously curious but wisely silent, Ghost only grunted, pulling himself from Soap’s grip. “From another life,” was all he said, eager to avoid the flood of memories that such scars conjured up. A memento from his captivity, one he’d been eager to rid himself of.

Soap, as smart as he was, could never quite turn off the instinct that made him so dangerous on the field, studying and tracking Ghost’s movements. The feeling of eyes on him were inescapable as he crossed the room, fishing around in his stock until he pulled out a sweater, yanking it roughly over his head.

“From that time you were talking about?” Soap asked, voice careful.

Ghost grunted out the approximation of a confirmation but said nothing else. When he turned back around, Soap was still watching him, an expression on his face that Ghost didn’t like—something conflicted.

He’d been doing this more often these days. Small questions to try and get Ghost to open up to him. Small moments of intimacy in what should purely be a quick fuck to burn off steam.

It was dangerous for both of them to forget why they were here.

“You always strip me bare but only get your pants down enough to fuck me,” Soap continued, his pondering nearing dangerous territory. “Is that why?”

That frustration he always felt at Soap’s constant questioning bubbled up. Soap must have seen it too, his jaw clicking shut as he bit back all of those questions Ghost just knew had to be simmering below the surface.

“Sorry,” Soap said, ducking his eyes. “Won’t ask again.”

They both knew that he would. Soap had a curiosity-streak that ran a mile deep. Best way to satisfy it was through redirection. Ghost could use a distraction as well, an unhealthy coiling of irritation that threatened to sour a pleasant mood, unhealthy when it was paired with the lust that still clung to him.

If Soap could put a rest to his prying, Ghost could likewise work to curb his anger. “C’mon, Soap. On your stomach,” he said, eager to be rid of his hard on so they could both get to bed before the night turned sour.

Soap must have seen his efforts because despite looking like he wanted to argue, he only pouted a little. “Give me another minute? Hate when you make me come back to back.”

Any one of Ghost’s men would have clapped their guests across the mouth for talking back to them like that. Luckily for Soap, Ghost preferred using well-placed punishments when he got out of line. He was due for one soon, Soap’s attitude and defiance starting to bubble back up to the surface, but that would be better saved for another day. Tonight Soap was still being guided along well enough with little pushes.

“Had your minute,” Ghost told him. “Now up you go.”

Soap rose with minimal grumbling, pulling his shirt off as he did. It wasn’t long before his pants followed and Ghost was pushed up against his back, rubbing his cock there in lazy motions.

“Always about you,” Soap said, the faintest traces of bitterness in his voice. “Never ask me ‘bout what I wanna do.”

Ghost ignored the complaint hidden in his words. Part of him empathized. He knew Soap wasn’t built for sitting by complacently until he was brought out to be used. He hated being locked up for the day, hated not having a say in what went on.

“It is all about me,” Ghost reminded him. “But soon you’ll be home. Can go back to fucking all the boys around camp to your heart’s content.”

Another grumble before Soaped ducked his face, looking away.

Usually the mere mention of their time dwindling down was enough to pacify him, but it seemed Soap’s restlessness clung a little more stubbornly today. Not even their change in routine had distracted him for long.

“Soon,” Soap mumbled towards the floor. “S’always ‘soon’ with you.”

Sighing, Ghost took a hold of Soap’s chin, tilting his face up so that he could see the man’s expression. Oh, he was in a bitchy mood today. Such a disappointment after Ghost had let him win fair and square.

“Better than ‘never’,” Ghost reminded him. “Say the word, and I can scratch your name from the record. Can sit pretty on my cock for the rest of your days, never have to lift a finger ever again.”

A snort, amusement coming reluctantly at the quip. “Think I’ll pass,” Soap said.

Against him, Soap settled a little. Here was another reason Ghost had grown so fond of his little pet. Despite his instinct to fight, Soap always found a way to behave for Ghost in the end.

“Too high maintenance anyways,” Ghost allowed. He watched as Soap sputtered out protests but soothed him by running a hand down his ribs, fingers coming to rest at his briefs, which he was beginning to fill out again. “Satisfied? Let you have that minute you asked for.”

A sigh, that irritation returning but far more subdued this time around. “Can’t talk you into fucking my thighs?” but even Soap’s tone implied he knew this was a losing battle.

The hand around Soap’s chin slid down to his shoulder, giving him a little squeeze there before guiding him down onto his stomach.

“If you wanted to have a say in all this, you shoulda fought a little harder on the battlefield. Who knows, coulda had me bent over like a bitch instead,” Ghost said.

“Bastard,” Soap bit out. Ghost suspected he’d been trying for bitterness, but he betrayed himself. He was hard again and fighting it, stubborn in his attempt to keep up a façade of anger.

Ghost watched in amusement as he took his time adjusting himself so that his thighs weren’t pressed up against the table. One time Ghost had accidently fucked him a little too aggressively and had pinched his cock there. Soap hadn’t found it nearly as funny.

“Varity’s the spicy of life,” Soap tried as Ghost stripped him of his briefs. “Can try something new tonight.”

“Been here over a week, Soap,” Ghost reminded him. Ten days, to be exact. He didn’t think it worthwhile to mention that though. “Not much else left to try.”

Soap pushed himself onto his elbows, looking back at Ghost. “Not true,” he said. He was stalling and they both knew it. “Never let me face you when we fuck.”

A grunt from Ghost. “Christ, you’re a fuck toy, not my wife.”

The faintest glimmer of amusement in Soap’s eyes. “S’hurtful thing to say about me.”

Ghost placed his hands on either of Soap’s hips, noticing the way those bones cut into his palms just a little more sharply then the first time he’d had Soap like this. “Can’t have you getting too comfortable,” Ghost reminded him—maybe even reminded the both of them. It had been so easy to fall into a routine with Soap, to forget that this wasn’t anything more then a temporary ownership, less binding than fostering a dog.

But Soap was right. They tended to veer towards the safe, the easy. With his hands on Soap like this now, framing his ass, he was suddenly hit with an idea.

There had been a moment, early on in their meeting, when Ghost had given Soap a good swat on the ass. Soap had dismissed it with humour, but Ghost hadn’t forgotten the way Soap had tried to bite back a moan at the contact.

He’d been there when Price had bent a boy or two over his knee. Had fucked their tight, throbbing asses after, enjoying how they’d fallen apart on his cock. Maybe there was room to be adventurous tonight.

“Said you wanted to try something new…” Ghost said, contemplating.

Rightfully, Soap’s eyes turned a little wary. “Suppose I did,” he said slowly, carefully, traces of attitude still lingering.

It solidified his resolve.

“Down you go, then,” Ghost said, releasing Soap to undo his own belt and zipper. If he was going through with this, it’d be a while still until he came. He couldn’t have the added friction putting him at risk of ruining his plan.

Reluctantly, Soap lowered his chest back to the table, suspicious.

“Pass me the lube, then put your hands behind your back,” Ghost instructed.

There was a moment of hesitation. Ghost could see Soap working himself through all the steps.

If he refused, Ghost could just cuff him anyways. Question and he might incite anger. Finally, seeing no other option, he did as he was told, passing over the lube before placing his hands behind his back. When Ghost closed a hand around his wrists, pinning them together, that look of wariness only increased.

“I never say no to you,” Soap said slowly, the words coming out a little stressed. “You don’t have to hold me down.”

Ghost didn’t answer him, knew full well that for this exercise he absolutely would. But telling Soap that wouldn’t make any of this easier on him. Instead he placed his hand on Soap’s ass, rubbing soothing little circles there.

It did little to reassure him. “Ghost?” Soap asked, uncertainty clear across his face.

This was the closest Ghost had come to having Soap fully subdued in days. It had him hard as a rock and fucking excited, anticipation already humming through him. He readjusted his position, standing a little off to the side to give him the best angle to execute this at.

“M’not gonna lie,” Soap said, his eyes widening. “You’re kinda making me—,” he started but was abruptly cut off by a sharp yelp.

Ghost had given a love tap or two. He’d thrown a punch and he’d delivered a backhand.

Never once had he ever truly spanked anyone.

He should have been prepared for the way his hand stung with the force of the hit. He hadn’t even put his full weight behind it yet his palm tingled and burned a little. What he couldn’t have fully anticipated was the choked off moan that stuttered out after Soap’s cry, followed by the deepest look of mortification he had ever seen on a man.

Bloody hell.

They both stood there in stunned silence. It was with an abrupt motion that Soap tried to push himself up, only to be firmly held down by Ghost’s hand. He opened his mouth and closed it, no words coming out as they both processed the reaction.

“That new enough for you?” Ghost found himself asking, the words almost breathless.

Soap’s face turned to look up at him from where he was pinned to the table, a stunned expression there as he flushed a deep scarlet.

Ghost lifted his hand again, pausing.

Soap should have objected, should have told him to stop. Instead he only stared up at it, terrified and aroused.

Later Ghost would tell himself that he’d paused to readjust, to find the best angle to deliver the next blow. But in that moment, it had been to wait on a single word of protest from Soap.

Not hearing one, he struck hard and fast, landing another stinging slap to Soap’s other cheek, the noise echoing in the silence.

Soap jolted but otherwise took it, a short breath punched out of him, followed by a whimper. When he looked up to Ghost, it was with the most endearingly confused expression, as if shocked that this was actually happening.

“Always told me you’re a big strong soldier, Soap,” Ghost said, the words sounding detached as a hum he’d never experienced started thrumming through him. “You gunna show me what you got?”

It was nearly comical, the way Soap’s mouth opened before snapping shut, eyes remaining fixed to Ghost. “This because I talked back?” Soap asked, uncertainty in his words.

“No,” Ghost told him simply. It was the truth.

Soap didn’t look reassured by his words, seemed just as confused.

Despite this, Ghost didn’t try to explain himself. Instead he wound up to deliver two hits back to back, reveling in the way Soap’s ass shook under the impact.

For his part, Soap barely made more than a muffled groan.

There was a quiet power to this, having Soap below him now. He felt transfixed by the way those asscheeks were pinking, placed a hand there to feel the heat that bloomed right below the skin.

But Soap needed this distraction as much as Ghost did, a break from all those conflicted feelings that must have been running through him. From the way his cock was beginning to re-harden between his legs, it must have been working.

“Any further objection to me fucking your ass?” Ghost asked.

A laugh almost bubbled its way up as Soap shook his head, turning his face away from Ghost now.

“Don’t need to be embarrassed, Soap,” Ghost said. He picked up the lube and popped the cap off. With only one hand to work with he was left with little choice other than to squirt a healthy amount onto the small of Soap’s back, scooping it up from there. “M’sure a lot of men enjoy a little rough play once in a while. Course, never met anyone who likes it quite as much as you do.”

A sound, neither affirming nor denying. Just Soap, still processing and trying to catch up with what was happening.

Prepping Soap wasn’t without its challenged, but he made due. At least he was still in a bit of a stupor, only kicked out of it as Ghost’s middle finger massaged at his rim.

“Go easy on me,” Soap murmured against the table, his first protest since Ghost had spanked him.

Odd that after all this time together, aggressive and fast and rough, Soap needed to ask for this now. He didn’t mind the hand on his ass, but Ghost’s fingers inside of him in the interim? It was enough that it gave Ghost pause, to think of whether he had ever heard those words come out of the man’s mouth before.

No, not once. Not through the hair pulling and the biting. Not through the bruising fingers and painful snapping of hips. Not even through the spanking that Ghost was in the process of giving him.

Determined to not be set off kilter by this, Ghost didn’t dignify him with a response. He wanted to be defiant, to remind Soap that he was in charge, God dammit. To prep Soap fast and efficient to spite him. His body betrayed him though, easing himself inside more gently than he ever had before.

Fuck, the soft moan Soap let out was oddly rewarding. Ghost shook it off, refusing to be lulled down by Soap’s little sounds as Ghost scissored him open.

Did Ghost… like this? The soft fucking and the easy way Soap was falling apart under him?

No—he couldn’t. That’s not what they boiled down to.

Annoyed that he had almost let himself be distracted from his objective, his fingers turned efficient, yet—betraying himself—never rough. He even applied more lube when Soap made a sound a little too close to pained before getting back to work. But he drew the line when Soap squirmed sharply, hand withdrawing to lay a quick stinging slap to Soap’s ass that earned a little cry.

That was better, Ghost told himself. Closer to how they should be with each other. Lube smeared across the skin there, a now richer shade of pink standing out in contrast against his skin.

“Use your words,” Ghost warned him.

His own cock pulsed and strained against the fabric of his briefs, stirred to life at the electricity that sung through his veins. This was what he’d needed all along. He kicked Soap’s legs open further, changing his angle to bury his fingers in deeper, searching. He knew he’d found his mark when Soap gasped, hips rocking forwards.

“Right there?” Ghost asked, unable to keep the smug edge from his voice.

Soap didn’t answer, but he gave himself away in the closing of his eyes, in how his thighs tensed. It wasn’t long before he was lifting himself up onto his tiptoes, ass fully on display as his cock sat flushed and leaking between his legs.

Fuck, he was such a whore, such a tease. Said he didn’t want it, but now all he could conjure up were breathy noises as Ghost abused his prostate.

“What did you say to me earlier?” Ghost asked, nearly laughing as Soap whined when he withdrew.

Soap couldn’t seem to remember. Ghost wondered if he could recite his own name right now.

“’Always about you’,” Ghost reminded him. “Seems I’m spending an awful lot of time on you at the moment.”

“M’so hard,” Soap breathed, seemed about as much as he could muster.

“I know,” Ghost said, keeping his voice soothing. “I’m going to give you what you need. Just going to be a little selfish, first.”

Already his palm tingled in anticipation of what was to come next. He needed to see how far he could push Soap, wanted to see what he could take.

“No,” came the weakest of protests, barely audible, spoken in the direction of the table. Ghost wondered if Soap even wanted to let those words out or if he was simply doing it out of principle, because it was what he was supposed to do.

But Ghost had made a promise all those days back, when they’d first met. He wasn’t going to hurt Soap unless he fucking begged for it. “No?” he asked, taking his time and making a show of running a hand tantalizingly slow over the pink swell of Soap’s ass. Fuck, he was hard, wanted so badly to hit him again but was more interested in seeing this through.

Another pause, almost imperceptible, before Soap turned back to look at him. There was such confliction in his face.

“Listen to me carefully, Soap,” Ghost said, his voice lowering, eyes locking with Soap. For good measure he even squeezed one of those pinking cheeks, wanted to know what it would look like after a couple more spanks, wanted to see if he could get them glowing red.

Soap moaned at that, eyes fixed to Ghost, waiting.

“You tell me to stop, and I’ll stop. Tie you back up to your post where you can cool off for the night and I won’t touch you again till morning.”

A shiver, this time absolutely apparent.

“Or you can show me how fucking good you are. Know you can take it, just a couple more. Maybe another ten before I let you come, yeah? Bet you could handle that.”

Maybe giving Soap an option was worse for him. To admit that he wanted this, wanted Ghost to hold him down and spank the living shit out of him before making him come harder than he ever had in his entire life.

“Think you can do that for me?” Ghost asked, his voice softening.

Soap’s eyes wracked over his face, slow and assessing. His breathing had picked up, but fuck if he wasn’t just as hard as he had been a second ago. “Yeah,” he said slowly, testingly. He cleared his throat, then said it again. “Yeah, I can handle that.”

“Know you can,” Ghost said. He wound up and gave Soap a gentle, testing one, just to show him he could. “Just like that, taking them like a slut. Like you’ve done this before. Bet you have, haven’t you?” he asked.

“No,” Soap breathed, the words hitching as Ghost gave him another, just as soft, just a little warm up.

“That’s it. Two, out of the way. Gonna have you screaming, you’ll be coming so hard. You know I will, don’t you?”

It wasn’t a question that required an answer, but Soap tried regardless, a muffled little sound coming out all jumbled as Ghost struck him again, harder this time.

“Three,” Ghost told him, voice soft and affirming, same way he would urge on new recruits when they dusted themselves off and tried again despite how fucking frustrated they were. “That’s it. Keep your face like that so I can see what you’re feeling.”

Oh, Soap liked that—hated that he liked it, obviously—but liked it nonetheless. His eyes shut as Ghost rubbed a little roughly over his ass before winding up. The next smack he gave Soap was about as hard as the first couple had been, really building up now.

This time, Soap hissed, his leg lifting a little before putting it back down in a jerky motion, as if afraid he’d be reprimanded. This was perfect. Finally all of that fight and restlessness was gone, the tension releasing from both of them in a way their earlier attempt hadn’t been able to accomplish.

There was a roaring of blood rushing to his ears as he landed the fifth, barely heard the little cry Soap let out. He was too focused on the way Soap’s ass was starting to develop deep, blooming red marks across the paleness there. When he placed a hand against it, he found the skin warm, the blood rising to meet him. And through it all, Soap was still hard as a rock.

“You like this?” Ghost found himself asking, his voice low, measured.

A sharp breath out of Soap’s nose. “No,” he panted.

Liar.

Ghost laid down another two strikes for it, one to each ass cheek, the sound of skin against skin echoing loudly across the space.

Soap squirmed viciously in his hold, but it was useless. Ghost didn’t reprimand him for it, had sat through a lashing or two himself. More than the hits he remembered the way he’d desperately wanted to squirm free. Remembered a beating so brutal that he’d passed out, but that wasn’t his goal.

He had always wondered what his captors had gained from each of those exercises but now he understood.

“Never liked you as much as I do right now, Soap,” Ghost told him. “So fucking good.”

A small cry wracked Soap’s body as his eyes pinched shut. The sound was different from the last one, wetter, from somewhere deep within Soap’s chest.

Recognizing Soap needed a break, a moment to breathe, he reached between Soap’s thighs, taking a hold of his straining cock, reminding him what his prize was.

A small sob slipped out from between Soap’s lips, but the moan that followed betrayed him. His movements were becoming slow, sluggish, much like they had been just under a week ago with Price. It was amazing, he hadn’t been able to get Soap to turn his brain off in a similar fashion but somehow this was getting him surprisingly close.

Ghost readjusted his grip on Soap’s wrist, making sure he wasn’t putting undue pressure on his shoulders. “Got only three left, think you can handle that?” Ghost asked slowly, making sure Soap could truly hear him.

Another blink, then a small, subtle nod of his head.

“Knew it,” Ghost told him, knew how desperate he was for the praise, even now. “So fucking good.”

A whimper snuck out from between Soap’s lips. His eyes were no longer distant, fixed to Ghost’s face.

Ghost braced a leg behind Soaps’ to help prevent him from squirming too much. It was the only warning Soap had before Ghost gave another hard smack, to the other cheek this time. Soap jerked forwards as Ghost’s palm connected, trying to escape the stinging sensation. But he gave himself away in how he no longer fought Ghost.

“Two more,” Ghost told him, giving him a second to breathe. “But that might not be enough for you, eh? Won’t judge you if you wanna continue.”

Another whimper. Another hard slap to his ass. He misjudged the distance this time though, landed it too low, catching the sensitive skin of Soap’s thigh. He couldn’t have anticipated the reaction that it’d earn, the squirming and the sob Soap couldn’t contain, jerking back hard against Ghost’s hold.

“Fuckkk,” Ghost moaned, marveling at that brilliant red glow. “You tense up every time I spank you. Wonder what that would feel like around my cock.”

If he could guess, it would feel like fucking perfection. But he knew Soap might not be able to take it, not tonight.

“Last one, Soap,” Ghost said, nice and loud for Soap. He didn’t miss the way tears streamed down his cheeks and onto the table below. “Last one before I make you come on my cock.”

A whimper, followed by a slur of words that Ghost couldn’t differentiate from each other. Knowing Soap would behave he let go of Soap’s wrists, loving it when he didn’t try to push himself up again, just kept still. Blotches of redness spread over his shoulders and down his back to accompany the ones on his ass.

“Breathe in for me, Soap,” Ghost told him.

Soap did, his back expanding as he sucked in a lungful of air.

Ghost lifted his hand. “Out.”

It took a moment for the pain to register, the sound of the slap ringing out far sooner. But the moment it settled, the sound Soap made was gorgeously devastated, pained and disfigured by hiccupped sobs.

And with that release, Ghost had almost soiled his shorts, had almost shot his load. Holy fuck he’d never been so turned on in his life. No longer able to help himself, Ghost finally shoved a hand down his pants, pulling himself out as he watched Soap’s back wrack as he wept openly.

He wrapped his fingers so tightly it was painful around his base, desperate to keep it together until he could get himself fully seated. Even as he forced himself to take his time, lining himself up properly before pushing in so slowly, he still struggled against coming right then and there. Waiting had been worth it though, especially as those already tight walls contracted around his length with each sobbed breath.

“So good,” Ghost groaned to an unhearing Soap, who was past able to register any of what was happening.

Soon Ghost was working himself in and out, a rolling, building pressure forming low in his gut. Christ, he couldn’t have that, couldn’t come too soon. Had made it this far and couldn’t let himself go just yet. He grabbed either of Soap’s abused cheeks, spreading them so he could really get in deep.

Was Soap’s skin burning up under his touch? Or were his own palms just abused from the working over he’d given Soap? Honestly, he couldn’t tell anymore, was driven mad from his need to fucking come.

And for all his bitching and complaining today—honestly, this whole week—Soap was as docile as a fucking kitten right now. “You with me Soap? Little longer and I’ll let you come again.”

A sound, low and fucked out.

“Want my hand on you?”

No response.

Ghost clapped a hand against his thigh, trying for his attention. But Soap must have still been so sensitive because he clenched at the contact, his hole tightening in a way that almost had Ghost coming embarrassingly quick.

He must have made a sound at that because Soap shifted, his head turning a little. In his eyes was a question, one Ghost knew he would never ask aloud.

“You liked that, didn’t you Soap?” he said in a low, soothing tone. “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

Those eyes, looking up at him.

“How would you feel about taking two more good spankings while I’ve got my cock inside of you? I’ll make it up to you, going to make you shoot so hard you can’t even walk.”

Was Ghost begging?

Surely not. He was in charge here, had just spanked Soap senseless. He could do it again if he wanted too, was just giving Soap the option before he went ahead and did it anyways.

As if to entice him, Ghost seated himself in deeper, really giving Soap something to consider. He fucked forwards in little motions, knowing he was brushing up against Soap’s prostate from the way his hole was fluttering around him, squeezing. He kept his hips flush with Soap’s ass, abusing that spot, punishing that place with quick, fucking deep little thrusts.

“Eh? Can give you more of that, just gotta play nice a little longer.”

That seemed to help Soap make up his mind. “Just two?” he croaked out, voice rough and small.

A hand, smoothing a line down his back. That same hand already hummed with anticipation, knew Soap was going to say yes. “Just two,” Ghost confirmed.

It came slowly, barely perceptible, but finally Soap nodded.

Those eyes, still pinned to him. As apprehensive as they were, they betrayed his anticipation. Only when he focused himself fully did Ghost lay a brutal, stinging strike that had his hand throbbing despite the awkward angle.

But it have been worth it, to feel the way Soap’s tight little hole clenched up around him, almost painfully constricting.

He needed this so bad, so fucking bad. Needed to come desperately, could no longer restrain himself. He let himself fuck into Soap for real now, eager to tease that heat into something bursting and explosive. Could feel it, simmering right at the edge, ready to boil over. He pulled his hand back, winding up to deliver one last excruciating strike to Soap’s ass.

Fuck, that was his best one yet.

It took a second for the pain to sink in, but when it did, Soap cried out, clenching in a way Ghost had never experienced before. The most intense orgasm of his fucking life wracked through him, near blacking out as he was held like a vice, was forced to brace himself against the table.

Below him, Soap was begging, pleading.

Christ, he hadn’t come yet, couldn’t finish on Ghost’s cock alone.

Too come drunk to think better of his actions, Ghost slipped from inside of Soap, hole already leaking his spend, and fell to his knees.

“C’mere,” Ghost found himself saying, was helping Soap to turn. The man could barely move by himself, was more held up by Ghost’s hands on him, propping himself up on Ghost’s shoulders.

“Need it so bad,” Soap croaked out, desperate and needy.

Ghost had him, didn’t remember pushing his mask up but was taking Soap’s leaking cock into his mouth. Didn’t pause to think if he should leave himself open like this—fuck, there was a hundred and one ways Soap could take advantage of him in his position but he couldn’t have given less of a shit. Soap’s cock was sliding inside his waiting mouth and he found his own mind going oddly empty. He hollowed his cheeks and pressed his tongue up to milk Soap for all he had, barely needing to get him fully seated before Soap was shooting his load down Ghost’s throat.

When was the last time he’d sucked cock? Mexico surely, but right now he could barely conjure up the memories. Soap was musky and salty across his tongue and Ghost fucking loved the taste of him.

Neither of them were able to hold themselves up, that much was evident. All too soon Soap was pulling himself free before collapsing down into Ghost’s lap, the two of them a tangled mess on the hard floor. Everything ached, everything, but Ghost couldn’t find it in himself to care.

It had been ages since he was this tired, this satiated. They were so close that Ghost’s nose bumped against Soap’s head, the smell of sweat and lingering hints of the camp shampoo filling his senses. He shouldn’t have, but Ghost let himself be lulled down by the proximity and comforting smells.

They stayed like that for a while, longer than they should have. The only excuse they could make for the way Ghost and Soap clung to each other was the pure exhaustion that had taken hold and the stiffness that nagged at their joints. Ghost’s hand ached, his heartbeat throbbing a tempo through his palm. Soap’s ass had to be even worse.

When the shivering started, Ghost barely noticed it. But after a minute or two, it couldn’t be ignored. Soap’s body wracked with it, rocking both of their connecting forms.

The sweat had long since dried to their skin and their bones ached as they dragged themselves up. All that adrenaline pent up from the abuse Soap had taken, looking for a way out of his exhausted body, same as Ghost had experienced during his time in captivity. Soap wasn’t alone though. He had Ghost there to guide him through it, despite the odd little pair they’d become.

“You’re okay, Soap,” Ghost told him. “Got some extra layers for you to have for the night. Going to put you on the cot as well, will be easier on you there.”

It was clear Soap wasn’t going to be able to do this on his own.

Ghost forced some water into Soap as he worked to clean him, limbs too heavy and tired to do it himself. Couldn’t even get his own clothes back on, had to be dressed like a damn toddler, could barely stand up on his own.

Of all the things to happen tonight, Ghost found himself uncomfortable by how intimate this task felt right now. “Come on, Soap. Stand up straight,” Ghost said, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice.

In the setting high of their orgasms, their emotions were more volatile, each more flayed open in their come downs. When Ghost looked up to snap at him again, he paused, the look on Soap’s face so raw. Frustrated, but at who, Ghost wasn’t sure.

There was a moment when neither of them said anything. Then, when the tension became too much, Soap finally spat out the words he’d been trying to choke down.

“Some days I fucking hate you,” he bit out.

Ghost thought that maybe he had surprised the both of them, the shock on Soap’s face too honest to be faked in this state.

Oddly enough, the words didn’t incite anger.

Because clearly, today was not one of those days. Today he hated the things Ghost was helping him to realize about himself, hated the circumstances they came under.

But what Ghost was careful to remember was that there was more to survive than just their short time together. Being a guest in an enemy camp left far deeper wounds than just the physical ones. He was constantly overwhelmed by memories from his time.

The only way Ghost had made it through Mexico was by clinging to his hatred.

He tucked a finger under Soap’s chin, tilting it up. “Good,” he said, his voice truly serious for the first time in a while. “It’ll make this easier on you when you get back home.”

It was like the fight was knocked out of Soap, his shoulders sagging. “Whenever that will be,” he said, deflating completely in Ghost’s hold.

“Keep behaving for me and it’ll be soon enough,” Ghost reassured him.

All of that frustration bled out as Soap fell victim to his own competing emotions, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. It was with renewed patience and energy that Ghost wrangled Soap into some extra layers before tucking him into the cot, while Ghost would take the bedroll tonight. Locked him in by his ankle to the bedframe just in case, but it was clear to both of them Soap wasn’t going anywhere.

Soap was finished for the night, finally tuckered out, all that energy expended.

And as his eyes shut, Ghost almost reached out to run a hand through his hair. But in that tiny mistake, he was betraying himself too. Because as much as he needed to remind Soap to hold on to all that resentment, he needed to keep something in mind himself.

As much as Soap was an exciting new plaything, he was expendable. Something to be used and discarded. Ghost could let himself enjoy the here and now, but beyond that?

Soap could be nothing more.

Chapter Text

Seven Days until the Deadline to Surrender
…

When he returned that afternoon, Soap was pacing. Ghost was about to make a remark when he noticed the distant look in Soap’s eyes as he moved, enough to make him pause.

It was obvious Soap still had some discomfort after last night, a slight limp in his step. More interesting yet was the worry that clouded his expression, eyebrows furrowed as he contemplated something rather seriously. His hand rose, picking idly at his lip until he let out a little curse, eyes sharpening as he glanced down at his hand, blood shining up at him.

The fabric of the tent flap swooshed softly as Ghost let it fall, but it drew Soap’s attention to the entrance. Ghost wasn’t stupid enough to believe that it was warmth that filled his expression, but maybe relief that he now had someone here to help pass the time.

Ghost crossed the tent and placed a hand under Soap’s chin, tilting his face up. Blood welled there, a result of neglected lips chapping. “I’ve got something that’ll help with this,” he said, letting his hand fall to search for the balm he kept.

He expected a smart reply, but Soap only nodded in thanks when Ghost handed it over.

Odd. Soap hadn’t seemed overly put off this morning after the working over he’d gotten last night. He’d even managed to curse Ghost out as he left, an almost playfulness in his attitude. But something must have changed in the course of the day.

Ghost turned, looking him over a little more closely. Shoulders stiff, eyes calculating. Something was eating away at Soap. Something he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. That was fine, Ghost could play the waiting game.

“Better, I take it?” he asked, keeping his voice casual as he began pulling off unnecessary gear.

He knew that couldn’t possibly be true. This morning he had been sure to take a look at Soap’s ass before leaving, bruises already darkening from the night before. But Soap nodded regardless, eyes following Ghost as he moved across the tent, doing some assessing of his own.

Ghost sighed, not overly eager to participate in whatever this was. It had been a long day, the entire camp just about as restless as Soap seemed to be. No one liked the waiting. Even with the battle won, men were antsy. They either wanted to move on to the next fight, or to return home. This in between period wasn’t restful, it was suffocating.

So they learned, adapted. Had to crack down on the rules post-scrimmage. Discipline was doubled for insubordination and fighting would get you stuck on latrine duty, making it a shit option for burning off all that excess energy.

That left the next best thing: fucking it out.

Only problem was, men tended to get rougher as the days went on. There was a reason the higher ups didn’t want to wait longer than necessary to win this territory. And after a whole week? Days like today happened. Three boys needed to be removed from the restricted areas after getting a little rough with the guests. First warnings that earned them short-term bans, but it was enough to cause grumbling throughout the camp.

After enduring all that, Ghost was deeply in need of some relief of his own. Idly he wondered if he would be just as pent up as everyone else if it weren’t for Soap.

He glanced over at the man in question, taking in the way Soap still held himself awkwardly off to the side. “The boys come with supplies for you this morning?” Ghost asked.

He’d specifically requested that an additional trip be made to his tent today. It’s not that he felt guilty about last night—how could he, when Soap had nearly come on his cock alone—but he certainly wanted to make sure the man had the right tools to recover from it.

For someone who was almost constantly chatting at him, it was unnerving to see Soap quiet like this. Ghost pulled out the key to Soap’s cuff, looking him over again as he freed him from his post.

“You pissed because of last night?” Ghost asked.

They both paused, processing what he had just said.

Ridiculous, those words had been so thoughtless. He shouldn’t be concerning himself over the feelings of a man who was here for a singular purpose. But there was something about the way Soap was holding himself that had worry tugging at Ghost’s conscience, something that had forced those words out.

Soap blinked, contemplating. When he looked back up at Ghost, his eyes were a little softer. “No,” he said slowly. “I’m not pissed about last night.”

He turned, stretching a little as he was let free, looking around.

Ghost followed, closer than he normally would.

Soap went to take a step away, as if there were anywhere he could go to get privacy from Ghost here.

“But…” Ghost prompted.

“No ‘but’,” Soap said quietly, his tone turning a little pissy.

There he was. There was that attitude Ghost liked. He stepped into Soap’s path, hooking a finger into the D-ring of his collar, tilting Soap’s face up with his thumb.

Soap went easily enough despite his reluctance.

“I’m waiting on an answer…” Ghost pushed.

A sigh, deep and heavy before Soap’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Ghost cocked an eyebrow, dragging Soap forwards just the tiniest bit. He placed a hand on Soap’s ass, just gently at first. But as the seconds ticked by he slowly tightened his grip, until soon Soap was letting out a pained sound.

“Fuck, fine—I said fine,” Soap hissed out, squirming away the moment he was released. A small silence built but Soap seemed to understand that Ghost wasn’t going to allow it for long.

“Your men came in earlier,” he practically squeaked out as Ghost took a menacing step towards him, intentions clearly on making him talk.

Ghost froze at that.

In his mind he replayed the anxious look on Soap’s face when he’d entered the room, the delicate way he’d held himself. And after the day he’d had, his mind could only conjure up one explanation, that someone had touched what was his.

Red-hot anger shot through him as his mind went to the absolute worst-case scenario. Of someone coming into his tent while he was gone, seeing a prime opportunity to relieve a little stress. All of this would only be made worse if it had been because Ghost had requested the extra supplies for Soap that he had been put in harm’s way.

If anyone had dared lay a fucking finger on Soap while he was gone, he was going to see heads roll.

There were hands on his chest now but Ghost could barely feel them, looking past Soap to the tent door. In his mind he was already putting together a list, some tasks to check off in order to find out who had done this.

“—Ghost,” came Soap’s voice, breaking through the haze that was forming.

Ghost’s eyes focused back down on Soap, who was looking up at him in worry. “Christ, you scared the living piss out of me. Remind me not to get you mad,” he grumbled.

“Soap—,” Ghost started, trying to pull away but Soap’s hands stayed firm.

“Said it twice already, no one fucking touched me,” Soap said firmly. “They’re scared shitless of you, will barely pay me a second glance on a good day.”

Ghost blinked, the tension bleeding out of him just a little. “Then what?” he demanded, tired of the waiting.

“They were talking,” Soap said, his voice exasperated. He cleared his throat before taking a stepped back, letting his arms cross instead. “Mentioned that you still hadn’t heard back from my commander yet.”

That was it? This was old news, nothing to be wound up and pacing over. “I’ve been telling you that all along,” Ghost said carefully, waiting for the catch.

“You have…” Soap said slowly, his eyes fixed to Ghost’s face, searching. “But you never mentioned there was only one week until the ceasefire ended and you marched on our camp again.”

Ghost’s blood froze, taken off guard. He hesitated, but only to think of how he wanted to respond to that. But in that pause, Soap was able to see right through whatever carefully strung together pacifying comment he was about to make.

His shoulder’s sagged. “You knew already,” he said, an exhausted accusation in his tone.

There was no recovering from this, no lying. It was clear in the way Soap took a big step back, putting space between them.

“You understand warfare,” Ghost said, keeping his tone neutral. “We can’t stay here forever waiting on an answer that won’t come.”

At his side, Soap’s fingers twitched. He was trying to keep himself together, to respond to this new information with logic. Only problem was, all that intelligence only made up one half of Soap. The other part of him was beautifully reactive, exciting but dangerous if it took over in moments like this.

“Something has to be wrong then,” Soap said, his composure holding. “Else you would have heard from my commander by now.”

Ghost shrugged. “We have it on good intel that he’s still alive. There’s movement in and out of his tent. As far as we know, he just doesn’t care to respond.”

“S’not true,” Soap said, his calm slipping. “He’s not like that, he would have responded if he could.”

There was something buried deep in his tone, something he was trying to hide. Ghost wondered what their relationship was. Nothing familial, they had pictures of him in the tent they’d set up as the war room. A massive man, with greying blond hair. Ghost had studied the photos enough to know there was no hint of Soap’s features in his face.

But whereas Soap was losing himself to his emotions, Ghost’s perception was only heightening. “And how would you know that, eh Soap? Came in here with your rank ripped off. Got yourself a cozy little spot in his circle, do you?”

But where Ghost expected defensiveness, Soap’s face only flashed with genuine annoyance. “Served under him since before I should have been allowed to enlist,” Soap bit out, his anger rising. “He’s a good man.”

Oh, that was a soft spot. Ghost wondered how else he’d ‘served’ his commander. Maybe he was the reason Soap was so well trained in bed.

Maybe he should send over a thank you card.

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Ghost told him, his own annoyance starting to build as his thoughts turned to Soap, pinned and moaning beneath someone else.

“But—“ Soap tried, but Ghost was already tired of this conversation.

“But nothing,” Ghost said, taking a hold of Soap’s bicep and dragging him in. “S’above our pay grades, Soap,” he whispered, mouth at Soap’s ear. “That’s the nice part about our role in all this. Don’t have to make any important decisions. Just have to follow and enjoy the highs and lows of battle.”

Soap was about to protest again when Ghost sighed, finally having had enough of this conversation. “Got a feeling that you’ll need an extra good workout tonight, Soap,” he said, pulling back to give Soap a warning glance. “You’re awfully fucking antsy. Lucky for you, I’ve got some energy of my own to burn off.”

Soap’s eyes widened at that. He tried to take a step back but Ghost was already dragging him in, hand sliding down the back of Soap’s pants.

“First, lets see how pretty my work from last night looks today.”

* * * *

Ghost sat on his cot, cigarette in hand as Soap lay panting behind him. Neither of them had eaten, but it was well out of their minds now, Soap’s eyes barely staying open on their own.

Ghost hummed, satisfied.

It had taken a bit of work, but the results had been worth it. The subject of surrender was firmly out of Soap’s mind for the night, the man so tired he even declined the cigarette that was offered. There was just one matter left to attend to before Ghost could join him in sleep.

He gave Soap a heavy pat on the cheek as those eyes began slipping shut again, urging them open. Soap grumbled, annoyed at being disturbed when so close to nodding off.

“Going to let you sleep,” Ghost told him, voice low, soothing. “Just want to know one last thing first.”

Soap’s eyes turned to him, barely conscious.

“Tell me what those boys from earlier looked like,” Ghost prompted gently. “The ones who came into the tent this morning…”

* * * *

When Soap crossed the room to sit himself in Ghost’s lap on the cot, knees hugging Ghost’s ribs, he didn’t think anything of it.

Today had been almost enjoyable, his work from last night must have done the trick because Soap didn’t revisit their conversation once. Instead he’d found a new way to make himself an annoyance. All afternoon he’d been trying to coax a quick fuck out of Ghost, who was currently bogged down by reports.

“Told you no,” Ghost said, his eyes still fixed to his reading. One of six, he might add, but he was trying to forget that bit. Price had insisted he be up to speed before morning. “M’not interested.”

“Too busy with your paperwork,” Soap grumbled. “Didn’t take you for a pencil-pusher, Ghost. You more interested in bureaucracy than what I’m offering?”

“You know I love your ass,” Ghost said regretfully. “But I’m concerned over what will happen to mine if I don’t get this done by sun up.”

Soap huffed, annoyed at being turned down yet again. But Ghost didn’t miss the way he shifted his hips, moving far too purposefully to be accidental.

It felt good, little tingles of heat running up his spine, but he had more pressing matters to attend to. There had been a number of break ins and thieving around camp. Nothing important, but just enough to raise tensions amongst the men. Price wanted him up to date and on it come morning.

A heavy sigh. He could feel Soap giving him a hard stare before letting his eyes wander, pausing on the hand that Ghost rested on his sternum. Fingers took it, lifting to inspect at it eye level.

“What’s this?” Soap asked, something suspiciously like concern lighting his tone. It was enough that Ghost pulled himself from his report, glancing down as well.

In Soap’s hand was Ghost’s right fist, the cracked skin of his knuckles under close inspection. He glanced up at Ghost, waiting for an answer.

Ghost shrugged, going back to his paperwork. “Helped with a little demonstration today.”

It wasn’t completely a lie.

He’d taken the time to track down the two morons from yesterday. The lesson he’d imparted on them would last at least until the end of Soap’s stay. No one would be stupid enough to let information slip in front of him again.

Soap’s frown deepened. He readjusted his grip on Ghost’s hand, flipping it so it sat palm up in Soap’s. Ghost was about to ask what he was doing when thumbs smoothed up his skin, insistent and firm, the pressure feeling unexpectantly good on his abused hand.

The gesture was so surprisingly domestic that it had Ghost stopping short, gaze falling to Soap properly. He looked good tonight, shoulders relaxed and expression easy as he massaged at the meat of Ghost’s palm. It was a little chilly, meaning Soap had knicked one of Ghost’s sweaters from his stock, the garment too big on him.

Without conscious thought the report Ghost had been holding came to rest on his chest, abandoned momentarily.

Those eyes stayed glued to their work, as if deeply absorbed by it. He massaged all the way down each of Ghost’s fingers, down his thumb as well. Dug little circles across his palm, really working the scarred tissue. When Soap moved his way up to Ghost’s wrist, fingers dipping under the line of Ghost’s compression shirt, he had to draw the line.

Soap let out an annoyed huff as Ghost pulled away. “You ever going to let me take this off?” Soap said, fingers plucking at the hem of the shirt.

Ghost snorted. “Not in your lifetime.”

A laugh, like Soap had expected that answer. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

Ghost could. He set these boundaries for a reason. Maybe if he had just let Soap see the ruined planes of his body on day one it would have saved him the trouble of having to explain. Too little too late. But soon, Ghost wouldn’t have to deal with the headache of Soap’s oddly empathetic attitude for much longer.

“C’mon,” Soap baited. “What are you hiding from me? Worried I’ll grow attached if I see all of you?”

“Too godly for earthly eyes,” Ghost deadpanned.

He hardly owed Soap an explanation, but it seemed there was no other way to get through his paperwork than to satisfy some of Soap’s curiosity.

When he rolled over to drop the report onto the floor, Soap tried to scramble off him. Ghost kept him in place with a hand on his thigh before settling more comfortably onto the cot.

Anxious energy hummed through Soap, an uncertainty as to whether he’d gone too far and was about to be punished, or if his needling would be rewarded. Luckily for him, it seemed Ghost was in the mood to reward bad behavior.

He grabbed Soap by the wrist, only getting slight resistance as he dragged that hand up and placed it on his pec. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Soap’s fingers flexed. It was rare the man ever got to put his hands on Ghost like this. And when he did, it was usually in the throws of passion, not in such a leisurely way. But tonight those fingers were allowed to slide along the clothed skin, exploring as they pleased.

Soap’s eyes flicked up to him, assessing. “Are those…?”

“Mhm,” Ghost hummed.

Scars. So many he’d lost count. Probably would have killed the average man, but Ghost had never advertised himself as such. Too fueled by stubborn rage, determined to survive so that he could return the favour tenfold.

He let go of Soap’s wrist, who stayed glued in place. Then, slowly, he continued his investigation. Thick ropes of scar tissue intersecting. Worse in some places than others, but Soap was quick to pick apart each section. A thick patch over his chest that had gotten worse with infection. A section just above his ribcage, as if someone had been trying to carve one out.

“I thought I was bad,” Soap mumbled.

That almost surprised a laugh out of Ghost. Soap’s wounds, though more numerous than the average person, were nothing in comparison to Ghost’s.

He held out a hand, palm up. There was no hesitation this time, Soap simply place his hand in Ghost’s.

Ghost guided it down to the edge of his long sleeve, sliding it below the hemline. The warm skin felt good, those fingers exploring again. Blue eyes glanced back up, a look too close to pity for Ghost’s tastes filling his expression.

It soured the moment.

He was sure Soap could feel it too because he didn’t need to be told to pull his hand back, keeping blessedly silent as he did.

Ghost hated the weakness Soap drew out of him. He hated those empathetic looks and soft glances even as Ghost kept him here against his will, using him as he pleased. Anger he could deal with—hell, he had enough for all of them. But this…Ghost didn’t know what to do with it.

“Satisfied?” Ghost asked, trying to deflect as he recovered, not eager to let Soap see how destabilized he’d become. He turned, groping around on the ground next to him, in search of that report.

Soap didn’t answer, only watched him paw around without success. He let out a heavy sigh before finally deciding to help, leaning forwards to gather up the papers himself.

The motion had Soap grinding down on Ghost accidentally.

It was like they both simultaneously agreed that this was a healthy distraction from the growing tension, a welcome replacement for whatever was building.

Soap abandoned the task, bracing his elbow against the frame of the cot, just taking a second to breathe through it. His breath mingled with Ghost’s, hot and panted, eyes slipping closed. When they opened, his pupils had dilated, eyes dark.

“Still going to turn me away?” Soap asked a little breathily. “Because from where I’m sitting, you need this just as bad as I do.”

“Can’t leave well enough alone, can you Soap?” Ghost asked, voice equally strained.

“Promise I’ll behave if you let me ride you.”

Tempting, Ghost couldn’t deny that. “Is that where this was going?”

“If you weren’t such a stubborn bastard? Absolutely,” Soap said, straightening. He placed his hands carefully on Ghost’s chest and looked up, as if to ask if this was okay.

Oh, Ghost hated that, hated the tiptoeing now that Soap had seen just a piece of him. His hands clamped bruisingly down onto his hips in response, feet sliding off the cot to plant on the floor. That was better. It gave him the leverage he needed, even while on his back, to grind up into Soap properly.

That shook away the last of the gentleness.

Soap let out a laugh. “Christ Ghost, easy. I’m getting to it.”

“Then hurry it along,” Ghost grumbled impatiently. Because sex was easier than all these feelings, than the vulnerability he ached to lock back away.

A sigh, but Soap moved his hips a little, sending thrums of heat teasing up Ghost’s spine and coiling in his gut. “I’m still a little sore from the other night,” Soap said, his breath quickening. “But if you let me stay on top I’ll make it worth your while.”

As much as Ghost wanted to protest, Soap had undergone enough abuse in the past couple of nights to put the average man out of commission. He supposed the least he could do was allow Soap to control the pace for tonight.

It took a moment to find a rhythm that worked but soon Soap was working his hips in little motions that felt good for the both of them. Unease filled Ghost as he reflected on how easily they had begun to fall into bed together. How natural it was for Soap to climb up into his lap and demand attention that Ghost gave over all too readily. It was a thought he buried just as deeply as he did the memories of how he had come to acquire so many wounds in his lifetime.

Fingers flexed against Ghost’s chest, pulling him back to the present where Soap was subtly tracing the scars beneath his shirt. “The boys back home talk about getting captured all the time,” Soap said slowly, carefully.

“That so?” Ghost asked, barely listening as he reached for the button of Soap’s pants.

The man didn’t even register it, barely moving an inch to help. “But I’ve never heard of anything like this before,” he continued.

“Lucky me,” Ghost said, hoping that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

“I was fucking terrified when I first got here. Tried not to show it, but fuck,” Soap admitted with a little laugh.

“Excellent, Soap. Excellent. Can we save this conversation until after I’ve gotten off?”

Soap let out a sharp laugh at that. There was something odd beneath it, something a little strained. “Ya. Of course. It can wait until later. Just…you’ve been good to me, that’s all.”

The words were odd in this context, Soap’s expression changing.

Ghost frowned up at him, hands stilling.

Soap seemed to have realized how offbeat his comment had been because he forced a smile, the expression disingenuous. “I just mean that I know I could have had it worse. You keep me around despite my yapping and make sure I’m fed. Just a thank you, that’s all.”

Was Soap…trying to make him feel bad? The other day he’d practically begged to be released, yet today he was being thanked for keeping him?

Ghost replayed those words, looking for the trick in them.

Soap’s smile faltered, knowing he’d gone too far. “That was out of line, I’m sorry. I’ll shut up and finish so you can get back to your reading.”

Unfortunately for Soap, Ghost was thoroughly distracted.

Soap had been oddly pushy all afternoon, insistent about fucking. And it wasn’t that this was new for him—despite his bitching, Soap rolled over for it every moment he could—but coupled with his behavior yesterday, it was enough to give Ghost pause.

Because oddly enough, those words sounded like a goodbye.

Testing a theory, Ghost let his hands slide around to Soap’s ass. He was immediately stopped by a hand on his, something flashing across Soap’s face before it was smoothed over with a laugh and a smile. “Still too sore for you to touch me like that. Told you I was going to do the work tonight, Ghost. Going to keep that promise.”

There it was. Soap was stalling. But for what, Ghost couldn’t be sure. He reached around more insistently now, hand going to the back of Soap’s waistband.

Before he could blink, there was a knife at his throat. And when he glanced back up, Soap was looking down at him with the oddest expression of guilt.

Ghost laid there, surprised. Of course he’d known this day would come, but he’d been expecting anger and shouting. He certainly hadn’t predicted he’d be lulled down gently and sent off sweetly with soft goodbyes.

They stared at each other, the air thick, tense, both of their chests heaving.

Then, Ghost chanced a glanced down, a laugh startled out of him when he took in what he saw. It wasn’t just any old knife at his throat, but his—the same one Ghost had sunk into the table on their second night together. Not one from the gear he kept stored, not one from one of the boys who came in the morning. This was directly a product of his own stupidity and brashness. The irony was not wasted on him that he had tied Soap up by it to teach the man a lesson. Now Soap was using it to help Ghost learn one of his own.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” Soap said, an honesty that had no place being used between them heavy in his voice.

Ghost let his eyes pass over Soap, assessing. The man was a trained killer, one of the best in his camp if the whispering was to be believed. There shouldn’t be any conversing, Ghost should already be dead and Soap? He could be halfway across camp by now if he’d wanted.

The fact that he wasn’t had Ghost on edge. If he was still alive, it had to be for a reason. Soap had the upper hand in this position, but Ghost knew if he found a way to flip them, he might be able to survive this in one piece.

“When did you knick this?” Ghost asked, forcing himself to keep his words airy, almost amused.

A pause, fractional, that knife poised and ready should Ghost make any sudden moves. “Day you let me cut my hair,” Soap said carefully, calculating each word as if not to give himself away.

“Of course,” Ghost murmured. He’d been so focused on whether or not Soap would return all of the shaving supplies he’d hardly remembered the knife that had been lodged into the table. “And what’s your plan, Soap. Hmm? Slit my throat and take the key? Run off to find that friend of yours?” he asked, putting a little venom behind the words.

An expression Ghost couldn’t quite catch flickered across Soap’s face. Something too soft to be annoyance. “Don’t want to hurt you, Ghost,” he said. Ghost was impressed, he sounded almost genuine. “Just help me take the collar off and we’ll tie you up for the night. Your men will find you in the morning when they come to bring breakfast.”

Would leave him gagged and humiliated no doubt. That was neither believable or of interest to Ghost.

“Sure,” Ghost said with a snort. “What do you really want, Soap? You’re keeping me alive for a reason. Else you would have killed me and run by now.”

Another look Ghost couldn’t quite interpret. “I…don’t know what you mean,” Soap said, the words coming out shaky for the first time.

Ghost snorted. “Is it my captain you’re after? You know this war is over as much as I do. Nothing you do tonight will change that.”

This time, there was only open confusion on Soap’s face. The knife at Ghost’s throat faltered a little before those fingers flexed, that confidence returning.

“I’ll kill you if you make me,” Soap said, his voice hardening. “Just thought I’d give you an option.”

“Set you free or die?” Ghost asked, voice turning mocking.

The question disarmed Soap more than Ghost was expecting. And although Soap put up a good front, there was something very, very wrong with Soap’s plan that Ghost had caught on to early.

It seemed that Soap didn’t actually want to kill Ghost, and that was his first and last mistake.

All these threats of violence and bloodshed had Ghost firming up a little in his trousers. Paying little heed to the knife, Ghost lifted a hand, placing it on Soap’s cock to stroke him a little. But whereas Ghost was hardening again, Soap had gone completely limp. That didn’t stop him from letting out a hissing breath, fingers tightened around the handle of the blade.

“I’m not fucking around, Ghost—“ he tried but his words were choked off by a moan as Ghost ground his palm down to give him a little more friction.

“I know you’re not, Soap. I know you’re not. Doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun in the meantime. After all, it’s what you wanted, no?”

Soap didn’t seem to have an answer for that, his teeth gritting as he tried to concentrate. Ghost replanted his feet, grinding up against Soap in a mockery of fucking, as a reminder of what they’d been so close to starting minutes ago.

Nasty with a knife, Don had said that day at the showers. Good. Ghost knew each of his own knives like the back of his hand and this was a favourite. Perfect balance and always sharpened to perfection. Another half inch and it would be biting into his neck, the sweet sting a welcome addition to the pleasure.

“How about I give you a little ultimatum of my own?” Ghost asked, voice rough from arousal. He worked Soap as best as he could through his pants, earning another sharp breath in through the man’s nose. “Put the knife down and I’ll still let you come.”

The laugh Soap let out was higher than his usual one, strained.

“Not a chance.”

Good boy.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Ghost said. Moving quickly, he reached up to grab Soap’s wrist, fingers bruisingly tight on the arm that gripped the knife.

Soap’s reaction told Ghost he’d been expecting it. Except that Ghost didn’t try and jerk the knife away. He pulled it in closer.

Surprise flashed through Soap’s eyes and for a moment, it almost looked like he was about to drop it.

“C’mon, Soap,” Ghost goaded. “Lets see if you can’t learn something. If you bring out a knife, you need to be ready to use it.” He ground his palm in a little harder against Soap’s cock, throwing him off further.

Ghost could feel it when the blade bit through the fabric on his mask, steel—his steel, just as good as he’d imagined—sinking into skin. Not deep enough to kill but warm blood soaked at the fabric, already spreading to the surrounding areas.

Soap dropped the blade suddenly, cursing.

In the back of his mind, Ghost wondered if it really had been in fear of hurting Ghost. But that thought was dangerous, implied that there were feelings at play. He tucked it away and did what he needed to do. He lunged at Soap.

Together they rolled off the cot. Soap landed on top, but only by sheer luck. In a moment Ghost had them flipped but he barely had the time to feel satisfaction at that because Soap was already recovering. Unfortunately for the man, Ghost barely flinched when Soap kneed him in the side, the blow landing awkwardly from this angle. He was a strong little shit, but after over a week of being held captive? Even Soap had to have known he’d lose this fight if he relied on brute force alone.

Despite his advantage, Ghost remained wary. The knife had been knocked out of reach but Soap wasn’t any less dangerous. He was quick and clever, knew how to use each situation to his advantage. “This the foreplay you promised?” Ghost asked, remembering Soap’s words from all those nights ago. If he was lucky he could goad Soap into abandoning all that logic that made him so dangerous, to kick him into panic mode.

A sharp breath, like he was trying to control himself. “You know it,” Soap grit out. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Ghost—“

“Good because you’ve done a shit job of it so far. Suppose that’s mission accomplished.”

“—but you left me no choice,” Soap finished, the words turning a little shaky under Ghost’s taunts. To his credit, he kept trying to buck Ghost off. A jab to his elbow missed but it provided enough of a distraction to open up Ghost’s other side, a second knee to the ribs landing. It was a hard blow, giving Soap an opening to drag himself backwards.

Pain throbbing in his side, Ghost ignored it to grab as Soap’s ankle, pulling him back.

When Soap jerked a knee up, he was well placed to land a hit to Ghost’s jaw, snapping his head back. Pain exploded as his teeth clacked together. It was only the fabric of the mask that covered Ghost on this part of the face, absorbing little of the impact.

Fuck, that had hurt. He was sure to be a bruised mess in the morning. If he survived, that was.

Despite the pain he held tight to Soap, who thrashed around. Ghost expected it better this time though, moving with Soap to keep his grip tight. When he pulled Soap in again, Soap came, a hissing sound of anger bursting out of him. He flipped, trying to crawl his way free but Ghost only pinned himself to Soap’s back, holding him down.

In this position, it felt almost better than all of that half-hearted grinding earlier. Nothing like a little sparring and some proper squirming to get the blood flowing. Soap was putting all of his weight into it, thrusting back against Ghost, ass rubbing against his swelling cock.

“Just like that, Soap. Didn’t know you were so eager to get back to our little activities from earlier. Could have just said so when you had the chance. Only had to ask.”

“Fuck you,” Soap bit out, voice breathy.

Ghost laughed. “That’s right. I’m going to fuck you.”

A groan, then Soap threw his head back again, likely aiming for Ghost’s nose. He dodged it but in doing so missed that this was just another distraction for the elbow Soap threw. It was a good hit, hard, right in his lower rib cage. The next jab he made was to Ghost’s elbow, buckling it.

The nasty little shit squirmed his way free but Ghost was already recovering, on his feet. A hand tangled in Soap’s shirt kept him from getting too far before he was dragged backwards. Ghost clamped an arm across Soap’s chest before he could try and break away again, effectively immobilizing him. More of that squirming, the friction so good. Soap was hot and heaving against him, sweat making his skin hard to grip onto. Dirt covered them both but all of this was just an afterthought to the adrenaline that pumped.

“Let me go,” Soap grunted, fingernails clawing into Ghost’s arm.

“You know I can’t do that,” Ghost panted, mouth at his ear.

An outraged cry. Soap tried to stomp at Ghost’s feet, to kick at him. Another elbow flew backwards, but it was all useless.

“Please,” Soap begged.

Idly Ghost wondered if passersby would be concerned over the ruckus coming from their tent. Then again, it was hardly different from any other night around camp. It was just the first time Soap had genuinely fought him like this.

More of that heavy breathing. “Please,” Soap tried again, voice weakening.

“You’re lucky I like a little fight in my fucks, Soap,” was Ghost’s only reply. Blood glistened up from where it smeared over Soap’s shoulder, a result of his handiwork from earlier. It had his pulse racing, his cock stirring.

Soap’s next attempt at escape had him wrenching forwards against Ghost’s hold. All that accomplished was to give Ghost the perfect angle to rub his cock against Soap’s pert little ass. This fight was ending, they could both feel it. Ghost’s erection was the next issue at hand. He clamped his free hand down hard on the hinge of Soap’s hip, keeping him there.

An outraged cry fell from Soap’s lips as he realized what was happening. He was fighting for his life, while Ghost was only fighting for a new way to shoot his load. This would more than do, the high of the scuffle making him dizzy with it.

“Won’t take long, Soap. Just need a little more—“ he grunted, the heat of their connected bodies near suffocating. He could taste blood in this mouth, likely from Soap’s head-butt earlier. It was a little sick that he liked it so much, just wished it was Soap’s blood instead.

The hand at Soap’s hips slid over, cupping him. Soap moaned, but it sounded more in dismay then in arousal. But he was hard—how could he not be? Ghost was, achingly so. On the edge of coming his pants, couldn’t remember a time when he’d needed it so badly. He lowered his mouth to Soap’s neck, teeth first finding the hard metal of the collar, then the skin there.

He mouthed at Soap, searching for a spot he could really sink his teeth in to. He mourned that he was still wearing the mask, wished he could cause some real damage, something that would last as long as the pretty marks on his ass. This had to be enough for now.

Whimpering at the pain, but Soap’s cock was still twitching under Ghost’s hand. Soap was just as twisted as he was, a perfect partner to his madness. But he’d made a promise to Soap earlier.

Drop the knife and he could still come.

Soap had made his choice. And now Ghost had another scar to add to his collection.

Soap sobbed when Ghost took the hand off his cock, pinning him across the middle instead.

It wasn’t enough. Ghost was so close but that heat coiled with nowhere to go. Soap was still struggling against him but those movements weren’t nearly as fast or aggressive. Ghost fucking needed this. Luckily, he knew what would help.

The arm around Soap’s chest slid up, clamping down over Soap’s windpipe.

Soap’s protesting gasp was cut short as his airway constricted. Panic seized him just like Ghost knew it would and a hand clawed at Ghost’s arm, then a second.

Soap was fucked and they both knew it. Ghost clamped down harder and all that logic Soap prided himself on slipped right out the window. He thrashed around for real now, writhing and bucking in Ghost’s hold. His body was losing air and some primal part of him was taking over, desperate to survive.

His face reddened, then purpled the longer he fought, the longer he went without air. And his body, fuck. Their hips shoved together roughly, squirming until he could feel his high cresting.

This was it, this was what he’d needed. Ghost wasn’t going to kill him but Soap didn’t know that, was in the process of fighting with everything he had left. Nails bit into flesh, only adding to the pleasure, and a hard shove backwards had Ghost coming in startling bursts, his hips snapping unevenly. Fuck, that was just what he needed, so fucking good. Come coated his briefs in a way that would be uncomfortable in a moment but was so satisfying right now.

But Soap hadn’t given up yet. His time was short, breathing raspy and thin. Ghost contemplated letting him go, but it would be better if he just passed out. That would give Ghost enough time to clean them both up and to make plans.

Decisively, Ghost tightened his hold.

Soap would have cried out if he could spare the oxygen but nothing came out. Making one last desperate attempt, Soap flailed, his hand connecting with the last thing he could have possibly been aiming to take hold of: Ghost’s mask.

Soap’s fingers clamped down, ripping the garment free.

Surprised, Ghost dropped Soap in an attempt to save this moment, to catch the mask before it could be fully wrenched off. It was far too late for that. Soap was falling, twisting as to not have his back to Ghost, but his hacking and coughing made it impossible to defend himself.

In a heartbeat Ghost was on his knees over Soap, a hand clamping down over his eyes. Blood smeared over Soap’s face but that was the least of their worries.

“Ghost—“ Soap rasped out but Ghost was already harshly hissing at him to shut up.

“The fuck did you see?” Ghost growled, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. Because there was a big difference between a little wrestling around with a knife and Soap having seen his face. One got you a nice little punishment and the other, well, Soap already knew the consequences of that.

A hand clasped around Ghost’s wrist, but he didn’t think it was to free himself of the blindfold. It was almost like he was…keeping it there.

“Nothing, I swear,” Soap rasped out, voice hoarse and distorted.

Under Ghost’s hand, he could feel him shaking, real fear tangible.

“You better not be fucking lying to me,” Ghost threatened. Cool air replaced the warmth of the fabric that usually clung to his face, the sensation oddly confusing. His orgasm and the fight should have left him exhausted but renewed energy was pumping through him, the skull face looking up at him from the ground.

“I’m not, I swear it. I’m not, I wouldn’t lie to you,” Soap said pathetically.

Ghost let the moment play in his mind once, twice, then a third time.

Soap falling before turning onto his back, his eyes shut as he coughed.

Soap falling and flipping onto his back, his eyes shut as he hacked.

Soap falling and moving himself onto his back, his eyes shut as he gasped for air.

Every time Ghost replayed the memory, Soap’s eyes remained closed.

Slowly, so very fucking slowly, Ghost loosened his hold. “Keep em shut,” he warned, waiting to ensure that Soap was listening before removing his hand entirely. Oh, Soap was definitely trembling now. Ghost couldn’t be sure if it was the fading adrenaline or from ripping Ghost’s mask off. Maybe both.

Finally he sighed, snatching up the mask to dust it off roughly. It was a fruitless task considering the blood and the dirt that caked the fabric, but it was the only option he had at the moment.

“Soap,” he said, having to actively work to keep his voice calm, measured as he slid the mask back on.

Soap didn’t move from his position on the ground, the fight gone from him.

Ghost sighed and took Soap’s hand none too gently in his own, lifting it so that he could feel the edges of the mask, firmly in place. Soap didn’t pull back but he shook, those fingers trembling as they timidly explored to ensure Ghost wasn’t lying to him.

Slowly, Soap’s eyes cracked open, his breathing coming out raggedly. There was something about his expression, openly terrified at Ghost for the first time. Bizarrely, it had something like a wall going up in Ghost. Not raised from the knife at his throat, not from the fight or the mask coming off, but from this…lack of trust Soap had in the aftermath.

“You’re more clever than me, Soap,” Ghost found himself saying, his voice hardening. “I would have never thought to lower someone’s guard like that. Get them to open up a little before shoving a knife in their throat. Attack the psyche, then the body. I’ll remember that one. Brilliant.”

Soap’s lips parted as if to say something. Nothing came out.

As Ghost had expected.

An anger was building but he knew better than to let it win. He had worked too hard over too many years to fall victim to it now.

This shouldn’t be drawing any emotion from him. Soap had warned him since that very first night that he would try something like this. No matter how good their connected bodies felt, Soap didn’t want to be here, didn’t choose it. He had someone back at camp waiting for him, someone he was eager to return to.

He’d had his chance at escaping. He’d given it his best go.

But he’d gone and fucking blown it.

Sucking in a deep breath, Ghost rose on shaky legs. “Got that out of your system?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain even as he dragged Soap up as well.

Soap nodded immediately, the movement jerky, desperate.

Ghost sighed. He could feel it now, the exhaustion he’d expected a couple minutes ago nagging at him. Tomorrow he would deal with all of this but tonight he needed to rest, to compose himself. “Then let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

A look of mild relief crossed Soap’s face. “That’s it?” he asked. He sounded like shit but Ghost didn’t regret putting him into that headlock. He’d be better after a little rest and some water.

“For tonight,” Ghost said plainly. “But tomorrow you’re going to learn a little lesson before we can go back to normal. Do you understand?”

More of that fear from Soap, the one that had Ghost’s stomach tightening into little knots. “None of that,” he admonished. “What have I told you since the beginning?”

A pause, almost imperceptible. “That you wouldn’t hurt me…?” he said, the statement turning into a question.

Ghost ignored that bit. “But I can’t let this go unpunished, can I?”

Soap’s eyes slipped shut, his trembling worsening.

Ghost tilted Soap’s face up, still smudged and filthy, wiping it a bit. His fear was fascinating. He’d seen Soap laugh in the face of three men as they’d ganged up on him. He’d watched Soap’s back straighten under the sharp command of Price’s voice. What was it about tonight that had Soap so scared?

“What are you afraid of?” Ghost found himself asking.

Blue eyes creaked open, contemplative. Of what, Ghost couldn’t be sure. “I’ve seen your scars,” Soap said finally, his voice so quiet. “You’ve survived far worse than anyone I know. I’m worried you’ve forgotten what it takes to break a normal man.”

Those words were like a slap in the face. It was with great effort that Ghost steeled himself against the empathy that threatened. As if he—the one who had a knife to his throat not minutes before—should have to console the man who’d done it.

“I’ve kept my promises,” Ghost said, voice equally low.

“So have I,” Soap retorted.

That he had. Ghost didn’t miss how he had yet to apologize. He liked it better this way.

Oddly, Ghost found himself calming. This was nothing personal, just a role he and Soap needed to play. Just like tomorrow’s punishment was something that Soap would simply need to accept.

Action, reaction.

Duty would spare them both any hard feelings. Ghost had an obligation to keep Soap here as the winner of their territories’ most recent scrimmage. Likewise, Soap needed to do everything he could do get himself home. This was simply the lot they had drawn, the path fate had carved out for them.

But if that was really the case, why was it that neither Ghost nor Soap managed any sleep that night?

Chapter Text

Five Days until the Deadline to Surrender
…

“I thought you weren’t going to share me,” Soap said, apprehension thick in his tone.

“Not in this lifetime,” Ghost confirmed, pulling him along. With the gates of the Playpen looming overhead, Soap had every reason to assume otherwise. Or “Restricted Area” as the brass insisted it be called, but Soap would hardly appreciate the differentiation right now.

And in all honesty, neither did Ghost.

He was in a foul mood. Sleep had evaded him for most of the night, coming restlessly when he actually managed some. This morning hadn’t been any better.

Logically, he knew what he had to do. Soap had put a fucking knife to his throat. How could anyone possibly respect his authority if he allowed that to go unpunished? But every time he’d begun devising any sort of plan, Soap’s eyes from last night flashed into his mind.

He’d seen all manner of expressions on Soap.

Vicious, blissed out, hateful, but never scared. Hell, even on their first day together Soap had been nothing but curious. It was one of the reasons Ghost had decided to keep him in the first place. But scared? Ghost didn’t understand where that feeling was coming from.

I’m worried you’ve forgotten what it takes to break a normal man.

Stupid. It had never been Ghost’s intention to break Soap, even after last night. He had to have known that, didn’t he? But those words seared themselves into his brain, doubt corrupting every plan he concocted.

It had taken ages to come up with something he’d finally deemed suitable. A promise had been made that he needed to keep. Put the knife down and I’ll still let you come, he’d told Soap.

Now Ghost had a new scar to boast.

He figured he’d take his time, do it properly. Price had offered his rigging serves not too long ago and Ghost had to admit Soap would look pretty all tied up. He could spend his day slowly edging Soap until he was begging for release, hoarse from how often he’d asked.

Ghost wouldn’t let Soap off easy, either. Figured a good five or six times might teach him the lesson he needed to learn. A seventh just to be sure. Soap wouldn’t survive being tied up that long but he could withstand a round or two. Three if Ghost was feeling really mean.

But when Ghost had approached Price about it this morning, he’d been promptly shut down. Reprimanded, even. First for not having finished those reports and then for thinking he could get the day off.

The reminder had Ghost sighing, annoyed all over again.

So now Ghost needed a babysitter for his problem guest and a punishment to boot. Ironically enough, it had been Soap who’d supplied the solution.

Ghost had been reflecting on just how he would discipline Soap. The man was an annoyance, turning every punishing hit into a reward. Overstimulation hadn’t done a damn thing, but something stood out about that first time Soap needed correcting. It was the look in his eyes as Ghost had asked if he wanted to stay or be released into free use. There was something urgent on Soap’s face as he’d asked to stay.

Maybe it was being passed around that made Soap anxious, maybe it was being fucked out in the open. Whichever, it didn’t matter. The Restricted Area would be the perfect place to keep him, even short term.

No other place at camp was as well guarded. With how many men they kept, it needed to be. Even now guards stopped Ghost as they entered, taking note of the time before checking the collar around Soap’s throat.

The sight of them had Ghost relaxing a little. Good men, ones he’d had serving under him previously. It was a small consolation to have them posted here, one less thing to worry about. Because at least if they were on duty, he didn’t need to worry about seeing any morons they’d recently banned.

“Checking him in, sir?” the shorter of the two asked, Phillips.

Ghost shook his head. “Just taking advantage of the facilities.”

A laugh from the second guard. His name escaped Ghost but the boy had a bright face, red hair sticking out from under his cap. “Shame. He would have been popular, not as used up as some of them.”

The comment had Soap shifting. Out of worry for his own skin or his men, Ghost couldn’t be sure. It also hit a nerve with Ghost.

“Is Jacobs working today?” Ghost asked, thinking over his options.

A nod from Phillips. “I think he’s posted in Section Three.”

Pillories. That wouldn’t do. Ghost had a goal for today and it didn’t involve seeing Soap in one of those. “Have him switched to One. Tell Jacobs I’ll owe him a favour.”

An arched eyebrow from Phillips, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Ghost didn’t love indebting himself, but for Jacobs he’d make an exception. Ghost trusted him, liked him even. The other day it had been the two of them dragging out miscreant after miscreant. If something happened, it was Jacobs he wanted on watch.

Penciling in his signature, he thanked the boys, giving Soap a little shove to urge him forward.

Whereas Ghost was all too familiar with the Restricted Area, this was Soap’s very first time. Soap slowed as they entered, eyes widening as he took in his surroundings.

Ghost had been overwhelmed the first time he’d seen it, too. It was almost clinical, how they treated their guests. Work in exchange for food and shelter, in whatever form that took. Some camps used the prisoners for hard labour. In the early days, that was practical. But once the fighting had started and their camps were set up, the need for such work diminished.

That’s where the Restricted Areas came in.

There was something here for everyone. Sections helped men dictate where they needed to go to find what they wanted. Section two had men affixed to posts and eyelets in a kneel for easy access for blowjobs. Section Three held pillories and Four kept benches for men to be bound to and fucked. What Ghost wanted today was One. It was hard to miss. Poles towered over them as they approached, cut from trees in the nearby forest. A thick chain hung from the top of each of them, adjustable so that the guest’s hands can be stretched up over their head, restrained and out of the way.

He could feel Soap’s anxiety rise as he took in the crowd of prisoners. Faces he probably knew looking unseeingly out as they passed, exhausted and defeated. There was something so empathetic about Soap’s expression, an almost guilt.

“Doesn’t make you more or less culpable because you aren’t out here with them,” Ghost found himself saying.

Those eyes found him, a hundred questions there. Questions he wouldn’t make himself ask.

He didn’t owe Soap an explanation, Ghost reminded himself. But those words from last night kept ringing through his ears. “They don’t stay here long,” he said with a sigh. “Only work three hours or so.” He took hold of Soap’s forearm, pulling him closer to make room for a small group of guests being led in, replacements for those on duty now. “After, they get cleaned and fed.”

Some men certainly worked harder than others, but Soap didn’t need to know that. They pushed into Section One, Soap’s look of worry deepening. “So if you’re not going to let them touch me,” he said slowly, “what are we doing here?”

Ghost stopped in front of a vacant pole, looking it over critically. It had been well used, the grass worked away to leave a fair-sized circle of dirt around the base where men had stood. But the wood was strong, no damage in sight.

“You’re going to spend the day,” Ghost said simply. “Price wants me on those reports and you need to learn that there are much less comfortable ways to spend your time in this camp.”

Soap froze at that, looking from the pole, to Ghost. “I’m going to spend the day here…alone,” he said slowly.

“Correct.”

Another pause. Soap looked like he desperately wanted to argue. His eyes slid down to Ghost’s neck. The damaged fabric had been since replaced, but Ghost knew exactly what he was thinking about. The knife he’d stolen, poised and ready above Ghost’s throat.

He wondered if Soap regretted not finishing the job.

Soap’s lips pressed together into a thin line, resolving himself to silence.

Ghost supposed there was nothing more too say. He placed a hand on Soap’s back, guiding him forward. “Face the pole then, Soap. Behave today and we won’t need to do this ever again. Misbehave and we’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Lieutenant,” a voice called, interrupting them. Jacobs, making his way over with easy strides. “Found yourself a place to set up, then?”

“Jacobs,” Ghost acknowledged.

Jacobs was a good kid. Ambitious, young. Unshakable, despite his shorter size. Bulky, but deceptively quick. Born from good stock, he would move up quickly in a place like this. “We don’t see you spending leisure time in these parts,” Jacobs said, offering him a smile. “Usually only come down when the boys are getting a little rough.”

“This isn’t one of those trips,” Ghost grunted. He turned to Soap, who was still obediently facing the pole. “Need a babysitter for my boy.”

Jacobs cocked his head, looking Soap over. His gaze was almost bored, desensitized from being posted in the Restricted Area for days on end. It’s just what Ghost wanted right now. “Won’t be a problem. I’m here till 18h00, then I’m told Baker and Lewis will be in to replace me.”

“I’ll be back before then,” Ghost reassured. It was just before noon now, meaning Soap would have plenty of time to sit and stew.

Clearly the atmosphere was already getting to him, shoulders tense as he stood and waited for direction. Around them was the wet sound of flesh meeting, the gentle rattling of chains and moaning. It was quieter than one would have thought. The men had long since stopped begging to be released, their lots clearly drawn after so many days in captivity.

“Need something before I start making the rounds?” Jacobs asked.

“Might need a thing or two,” Ghost allowed.

The list was short, all things he knew they kept on hand. “Won’t be long,” Jacobs said.

“Eager one, isn’t he?” Soap asked flatly, watching as Jacobs jogged off. “Bet he’d bend over if you asked. Might even liked being tied up here instead.”

Ghost snorted. “Didn’t know you had a jealous streak, Soap. I’ll remember that for the next time you need discipline.”

Soap’s look darkened. “You’re not worried they’ll try and use me the second you leave?”

If it had been a couple of days ago, maybe. But they’d made an example out of the last group of boys who’d toed the line in the Restricted Area. Since then, all had been quiet.

“Thinking a little highly of yourself, no?”

Soap didn’t laugh at that.

Ghost sighed, motioning for Soap to turn back towards the pole, pleased when he listened. “I think today,” Ghost said, keeping his voice level, “will be an excellent example of just how much weight my name carries around here.”

Wisely, Soap chose not to respond to that.

There was something in the air between them, something tense. Ghost was about to address it, to reassure Soap that he would be alright. He couldn’t even get the words out. Jacobs had rematerialized, holding a small box at Ghost’s elbow.

“Got everything you asked for in here,” he said, placing it down at Ghost’s feet. “Just tuck it on the other side of the pole when you’re done and someone will deal with it later.”

The moment was clearly broken, whatever it was interrupted by Jacobs arrival. “Good man, Jacobs,” he said instead, glancing down to see everything accounted for.

“Find me before you leave,” Jacobs said with a nod. “I’ll be around.”

“I won’t lie,” Soap said as Jacobs’ footsteps quieted with distance. “I have no idea what’s going on in that head of yours. Scares the piss out of me.”

The time for comforting Soap was over. He needed to do this. They both needed this. “Good,” Ghost said, steeling himself. “Maybe you’ll think twice next time about pulling a knife on me.”

A short breath, a little shaky. Like maybe he had been expecting something like reassurance from Ghost. “Aye. Suppose I will.”

Ghost rounded Soap, taking his bound wrists in hand. Next he reached for the chain, stretching Soap’s arms up to lock him in. “Did you open yourself up this morning like I told you?” Ghost asked as Soap’s breathing picked up, anxiety rising.

He knew Soap had, watched him fuck himself on three fingers before leaving their tent. But he wanted to hear Soap remind himself that he was ready to take whatever Ghost would give him.

Soap nodded. “Didn’t let me come,” he grunted as he tested the chain, finding it held strong.

“I keep my promises.”

Another steely silence.

Ghost did a round, checking to ensure Soap was installed properly, feeling those eyes follow him as he did. And even though Price had given him shit, Ghost figured he had a little time to enjoy this. Especially with how sweet Soap was being, how good he looked.

There was a slight elevation to the base around the pole, meaning Soap had some height to ensure they lined up for once. Stepping forwards, he let himself press up against Soap’s back, adjusting his hips to tease a little friction down to his cock.

Soap made a sound, his muscles flexing in anticipation. Not relaxed, but no longer as uneasy as he was a minute ago. Hands on his ribs helped to further sooth him, running up and down in a way Ghost knew he would like. Next he flattened a hand down over Soap’s stomach, following until Soap’s clothed cock was sitting against his palm.

“Go on,” Ghost said when Soap hesitated. “Best to take what you can get while I’m giving it to you.”

There was something about this place, the sound of skin on skin that was oddly turning him on. The muskiness, paired with the smell of sweat. He leaned forwards now, burying his face into the back of Soap’s head, getting a good nose full of him.

Soap must have felt it too because his hips twitched, just a testing push of his cock in against Ghost’s hand.

“That’s it,” Ghost whispered against him. “Just like that.”

Another rolling of his hips, the chain rustling as he did. “Does—“ Soap tried, his breath catching as Ghost curled his fingers to offer him more friction. “Does it bother you to have everyone watching?”

Ghost contemplated his question seriously for a moment. “No,” he said finally, meaning it. “I’m not looking at them. Got something worth my attention right here.”

That seemed like as good an answer as any, but he didn’t expect the little sound Soap made. Something pleased, a little turned on as he rubbed himself against Ghost’s palm.

But he couldn’t let Soap get too wound up, this was a punishment after all.

When he took his hand away, Soap let out a frustrated grunt. Ghost ignored it in favour of stepping back, grabbing the first item out of the crate. A spreader bar.

Ghost took pleasure in kicking Soap’s legs apart before crouching, securing it into place.

“The fuck is this for?” Soap asked, testing the restraint.

Ghost didn’t answer him, only reached around Soap, following the line of his belt until he found the buckle. Soap cursed as it was pulled open, his pants and briefs shoved roughly to the ground unceremoniously. He wasn’t hard yet, only filled out enough that he hung heavily between his legs.

“S’fucking cold out here,” Soap complained.

If only he knew.

“Can’t have this getting dirty,” Ghost asked, pushing Soap’s t-shirt up until it sat snuggly around Soap’s biceps. That wouldn’t do, the damn thing kept slipping downwards. Ghost yanked the front over Soap’s head, stretching it tightly across the back of his shoulders, the material digging into his armpits.

Humiliated, Soap said nothing.

Good, he fucking aught to be.

Returning to the box, Ghost looked over his options. Jacobs had been thoughtful, even including a bottle of lube for him. He pulled himself out before snagging it, slicking up his cock as he contemplated Soap’s form.

Those bruises stood out from the other night, still nice and visible. They were joined by a collection of scars that most thoroughly congregated on his back and thighs. It reminded Ghost of the conversation they’d had last night. To the moment where Ghost had let Soap feel his own scars, right before he’d drawn the blade.

It only steeled his resolve. Sure of what he needed to do, Ghost grabbed a hold of Soap’s hip, steadying him as he lined himself up.

Idly, he wondered if Soap had been surprised by that, if he’d expected Ghost to double check his work. But he’d given Soap a chance to ready himself earlier, wouldn’t waste time on it now. Price would be waiting and he only had so long before he’d be getting an earful from the old man. But worry still nagged at Ghost as he pushed in, waiting for Soap’s response.

A small part of his chest unknotted as Soap’s breathing hitched, the sound mildly uncomfortable but not pained. That was to be expected, Ghost reminded himself. The discomfort was what would put them back on track.

“That’s it, Soap,” Ghost said. “Did a good job for me this morning.”

Even so, Soap was like a vice around him, tight from a couple days without use, from limited prep time. And this set up wasn’t like the cot or the table, either. He had to be careful about how he threw his weight around without sending Soap stumbling forwards, the spreader bar stripping him of his balance. Another hand on Soap’s hip helped, gripping hard to keep him in place.

“Remember,” Ghost warned him. “You're only out here as long as you need to be. Give me one good day and we don’t have to come back.”

Soap turned his face. Though it was mostly blocked from view by his arm, Ghost could make out the miserable look in his eye. But Ghost was so close to bottoming out, and he was finding it harder and harder to remember why this had been a bad idea in the first place.

He adjusted himself, making sure he had a solid stance. Soap made a sound as he worked his hips back, tip tugging at Soap’s rim. That’s when he fucked himself back in fully, cock throbbing with how fucking good it felt to be driving inside of Soap like this.

They moaned in unison, lost in the chorus of those around them. Soap was so tight, so good. It was easy to tune everyone out when he had Soap like this, those tight walls hugging him just right.

“This first one’s just a warm up,” Ghost said, voice a little breathy as he gave another testing thrust of his hips. “Later I’ll really take my time, tease you slow. It’ll be busier then too, lots of people around to hear you beg.”

Did Ghost imagine it? Or was there a slight tremble to his body. Maybe it was just a result of Ghost ramming inside of him.

“Got a bad feeling,” Soap said, his voice coming out shakily. “Don’t want you to leave me out here.”

“No one’s going to touch you,” Ghost reassured him, picking up the pace. He wished he could be leisurely about this first one, but he’d already dragged his feet enough, his time growing short. “If they do, I’ll have their fucking heads.”

No, Ghost didn’t imagine it this time. Soap definitely shivered. He didn’t even have a hand on him and he was half hard, cock bobbing in rhythm with Ghost’s thrusts. It wasn’t kind, but Ghost wasn’t shy about getting in deep, enough to tease at his prostate.

He knew Soap was starting to enjoy himself when he heard the little curse, the stretcher clicking quietly as Soap went to adjust his stance.

“Like that?” Ghost asked, teasing.

In response, Soap made a frustrated sound. He tried to spread his legs again to no avail. His hips tilted, but Ghost couldn’t let him have too much fun. He readjusted in kind, focusing on faster, shallower fucks.

That did the trick. Soap was good and pissed now. All that heat and pleasure with nowhere to go, just tightening in his gut.

Such a shame.

Ghost flattened a hand against his stomach, could feel his hard little prick bumping against the back of it. It gave Soap some friction, but not nearly enough.

“C’mon,” Soap complained breathlessly.

Ghost didn’t acknowledge him. “Haven’t decided if I want to come inside you, so that you can feel me dripping out of you for hours,” he mused, thinking. “Or on your back where everyone can see.”

“Ghost,” was all Soap breathed out. He must have sensed his window was getting shorter by the way Ghost’s pace was quickening. “Ghost, please.”

A mean laugh. “C’mon, Soap. Think I’d let you off that easy? It’ll be a while before you get to come.”

Ghost’s hands slid up to Soap’s chest, using his forearms to clamp him in hard. All that heat coiled and crested until Ghost was snapping his hips against Soap, drilling into him in an uneven tempo.

Inadvertently, he’d made his decision, too come drunk to pull out as he chased his orgasm. Burying his cockhead in deep against Soap’s prostate, Ghost made a fucking mess of him, something he probably couldn’t clean up if he tried. And Soap moaned, feeling the way Ghost coated his insides, wanting that same release.

“Please,” Soap whined, desperate to get any amount of pleasure he could.

Ghost felt slow, was leaning just a little too heavily against Soap but couldn’t pull himself up just yet. “Don’t think you should be begging, Soap. Think maybe you should be apologizing instead, no?”

Soap wasn’t ready for that.

He hadn’t been driven to the edge so many times that he would do anything to reach his climax, hadn’t been pushed to his limits. So Ghost understood it when Soap only turned his face away sharply, eyes fixed stubbornly to the ground as his chest worked.

It would take some time, but Ghost could wait.

He gave himself a moment before pulling out, being extra careful to keep whatever he could securely in Soap’s needy hole, still so desperate to come.

Tucking himself in, Ghost took a step back, looking Soap over. The man was always pretty, no matter his circumstances. Even now his back was straight, cock leaking a trail of precome that had yet to bead off onto the ground.

The sound of gravel crunched under Ghost’s boot as he made his way over to the crate, earning Soap’s attention.

“So this is how you’re going to leave me?” he asked, heat and frustration in his eyes.

“Not quite,” Ghost said. He pulled the final item out of the box: a thick, black marker. Soap looked adequately apprehensive as Ghost uncapped it. On Soap’s back in big, clear letters he wrote:

PROPERTY
OF
GHOST

Finally satisfied, he marked a single tally on Soap’s ass before pressing the capped marker to the seam of Soap’s lips, waiting patiently for him to understand. When he did, the look in his eyes sharpened into something like hatred, even as his mouth opened for Ghost to slide it inside like the bit of a horse bridle.

Now Soap was truly upset.

Ghost couldn’t let himself care. “If anyone touches you, we come back and do this all over again tomorrow,” he said, his voice level. “Same for if you drop the marker.”

He waited for Soap to complain—albeit, around the gag in his mouth. But Soap didn’t protest once, only remained silent.

Ghost thought back to all of the ways they’d spent their time together in the past two weeks. Spankings and overstimulation and hard fucks that left darkening bruises. Each of those times, Ghost hadn’t found a single thing Soap didn’t like.

He supposed he should be proud. This was clearly the right choice in punishments. So why did he feel the oddest swelling of anxiety now that it was time to leave him behind?

“Behave,” was all he said in lieu of goodbye, forcing his leaden feet to move. An unease he couldn’t shake nagged at him, but he didn’t let himself look back as he left.

On his way out though, he couldn’t help but to flag down Jacobs.

“Warn any man that goes over there that they’ll get strung up if they lay a fucking hand on him,” Ghost said, deadly serious.

Jacobs understood the promise behind his words. “Yes, sir.”

* * * *

Today was supposed to have been a good day.

An excellent day, even.

And it might have been if he hadn’t been forced to spend it trying to figure out what the fuck was happening around camp.

Even the people he’d spoken to were confused about the matter. Break ins, but very little had actually been stolen. Or if something was stolen, it was never anything of consequence. Even Price couldn’t make ass or end of it.

“Let’s just hope this is a case of men being too embarrassed to admit they’d misplaced their goods,” Price said before waving him off.

Ghost had been pleased at that, excited to be dismissed early. Except for when he returned to his tent, he immediately knew something was wrong.

Even while sharing, Ghost managed to keep a uniform system in place. His stock was meticulous, expertly organized.

But today, something was off.

Whoever had done it was good, but it only took one errant report before Ghost found another thing misaligned, then another, and another.

There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind. Someone had been here while Ghost was out.

Thank Christ the important plans and intel was in the war tent, but all his mind kept going back to was “what if Soap had been there?” This was so obviously the work of restless men misbehaving. What if one of them had stumbled in to see Soap all tied up? There wasn’t supervision here like there was in the Restricted Area, no one to stop an intruder who might try to take advantage of him.

It had been enough to send Ghost marching right back to Price, their day continuing anew.

And now that it was finally behind him, he couldn’t quite shake the black mood that hung over him. He hated that—hated that someone insisted on breaking into his tent and making him second guess what was supposed to be a safe space.

But there was nothing to be done about it now. Instead he worked on quelling his temper, keeping his mind on his reward.

On Soap.

Would he be relieved to see Ghost? He had to be exhausted, that position not easy to hold for an entire day. Most men only worked a three hour shift, but Soap had been up there for the better part of five, the time almost 17h45 now.

Would he beg to be let down?

Not likely, but Ghost didn’t mind that bit. He didn’t like Soap docile, craved that bravery and that edge. He had to trust what he knew about the man. He’d been so careful to choose a punishment that would only push him far enough to teach Soap a lesson, not to break him. That didn’t stop the thrum of anxiety that betrayed him as he made his way to the Playpen, the area already busying.

With everyone finished with their daily chores and training, men were looking to take the edge of before calling it for the night. Phillips and the other boy had long since been replaced, but Ghost would arrive in time to see Jacobs off. If the replacement guard was surprised to see Ghost, he didn’t show it, only nodded as Ghost picked up the pen to sign in.

When he did, he paused.

Names filled the page but only two of them stood out to him.

Jameson       | 17h35
Don             | 17h35

Ghost stopped dead.

“Something wrong, sir?” the guard asked.

Ghost cocked his head, processing. “Is Jacobs still here?”

The man frowned, looking over to his partner, who nodded. “Jacobs isn’t set to be relieved for another 10 minutes or so.”

That should have been enough to put Ghost’s mind at ease, but yet... No, if Jacobs was around, Ghost needed to keep his head on straight, to focus. As much as he desperately wanted to get back to Soap, he knew the right thing to do would be hunting Jameson down first.

Placing his hand on the logbook, Ghost tapped the name twice to draw the guard’s attention there. “Need you to round up a couple of men. This one’s not allowed in here.”

The two guards exchanged a look, confused. “He came in with a note signed from Price. Said he’s been allowed back.”

Morons. Price didn’t wave off a penalty like this. Jameson was a danger and now he was running loose in the Restricted Area.

“A piece of fucking paper wouldn’t clear someone of their ban,” Ghost said, the beginnings of anger seeping it’s way into his tone.

The boys paled, rightfully so. This fuck up would come with discipline, fairly severe depending on how badly it went apprehending Jameson.

The men were already moving before Ghost saw himself out. He knew his duty was to drag Jameson out of here, but another part of him understood he wouldn’t be able to do his job without informing Jacobs of what was happening first. A quick little detour and he could get back to Soap, another hour at best. That didn’t stop him from picking up his pace, being none too gentle as he bumped his way through the crowd.

He wouldn’t stay here, Ghost decided. After the day he’d had, he longed to be back in his tent where he could take Soap apart properly, free of any and all interruptions.

The poles stuck up over the crowd of people, guiding Ghost’s step. Around him were the sounds of men fucking, deep and primal. He thought he heard something else too, something like a scuffle off in the distance. With any luck, they’d already found the man and were teaching him a lesson. Hell, if Jameson was so desperate to be here, maybe he should work a shift or two himself. That might help to get it out of his system. Ghost supposed he should wait to see how successfully it worked on Soap first, though.

The throng of people thinned and the sound of the scuffle grew louder, nearer. Something was definitely happening. Ghost pushed himself free of the crowd, eager to see what was going on.

It became instantly apparent what was wrong. A little ways out, a scrap had started, two men fighting over the same boy. But what stood out most to Ghost was Jacobs, who had a chokehold on one of the men while another guard took down the second.

Fuck. If Jacobs was here, who was looking after Soap?

Ghost forced his panic down, priorities shifting. Turning, he scanned the rows of poles that jutted out. But with so many people, it was impossible to find Soap at a glance, the noises and the smells assaulting him. It wasn’t until he looked again that he spotted the man.

When he did, he froze, rooted in place by fear and fury.

It didn’t last long. The sound of pumping blood thundered through his ears as he picked up his pace, intentions murderous. There had been a reason why Ghost hadn’t spotted Soap at first glance. Jameson and Don had beat him there, blocking his view.

Don stood off to the side, smart enough to look grossly uncomfortable by this whole situation, but not so much to have stopped Jameson from sneaking in here to begin with.

Jameson didn’t share his sense of reason.

The fucking moron was standing right behind Soap, eyes raking over his body like it was something to be consumed. Adding to insult, it was the look of smugness that had Ghost reeling, as if he deserved to even so much glance in Soap’s direction.

“—don’t you fucking dare,” Don was saying.

A laugh, one that had Ghost gritting his teeth. “I’ll be quick. This one needs a little hard handling, something to keep him in line. Ghost is going to thank me once I finish with him.”

“Is he?”

Ghost barely got the words out before he was slamming his fist into the side of Jameson’s face.

A sickening crunch filled the air, along with gasped out curses and rough coughs. Blood sprayed as Jameson fell, pushing himself onto his feet blindly in an attempt to keep his guard up. Ghost didn’t give him the chance. Another blow sent him flying to the ground, where he stayed down longer this time.

Pain shot through Ghost’s hand but he barely processed it, preparing himself to lay another hit. It wasn’t needed. Jameson rolled himself over onto his side, drawing his knees up to protect his stomach. Blood poured out of his nose, most likely broken.

Ghost wasn’t done, though. All of that frustration from today boiled up and over, the logical side of his brain turning off. He was pissed. Beyond that, he was fucking rabid in his rage. Incensed that Jacobs had left Soap unattended, at Price for keeping him so long. But most of all, he was furious with himself for leaving Soap in the first place.

But those were complicated emotions to work through, targeted at people who mostly didn’t deserve his anger. What he had here was a willing scapegoat, an outlet, someone who had practically thrown himself into Ghost’s path, begging for a beat down.

So Ghost did the only logical thing he could think of. He drove his foot into Jameson’s side. And when that wasn’t enough, he did it again.

The next cough sounded significantly wetter than the last one, but Don didn’t even lift a finger to help. If anything, he shrank backwards, fading into the background.

It seemed fucking wasn’t the only thing men liked to see around here. A good little crowd of men gathered, watching as he circled the quivering frame. He landed blow after blow after blow to Jameson’s downed form, but it lacked satisfaction when he just laid there like that, moaning.

Ghost forced himself to stop, breaths coming in quickly and sharply with exertion. As good as it felt, he couldn’t let himself get lost in his anger. He had other things to attend to, Soap to look after.

“You’re hurting him—” Don tried, but Ghost was beyond caring. He did a slow glance around, taking in the numbers that had gathered. All of the men who were slowly putting the pieces together, who saw the words on Soap’s back and assumed the rest of the story.

At least they were here to see an example being made. No one would touch Soap ever again.

“The fuck you all looking at?” Ghost spat out, glaring at them.

It was enough to have some flinching, leaving immediately. Others were slower to go, enjoying the show a little too much for Ghost’s tastes. Eventually, the crowd dwindled down until it was just the five of them.

“Sir—,” Jacobs started, but Ghost silenced him with a look, not ready to hear an apology just yet. Instead he made his way over to Soap, assessing.

The man was in rough shape, sweat and rain sticking to his skin. It had been drizzling on and off all afternoon but Ghost hadn’t thought too much about it. He placed a hand on his stomach, out of sight from the other men, feeling. Internally he cursed, taking in the coolness of Soap’s skin.

But something like pride settled in his chest when he noticed the marker, still safely settled between Soap’s lips. Ghost freed him of it, shucking a glove to wipe away the spit from his chin and neck.

He shook, wary from exhaustion.

“Soap,” Ghost murmured softly, probably gentlest he’d ever been with the man.

Soap’s eyes flicked up to his. In them, Ghost could only see a bone deep exhaustion.

Ghost smoothed a hand over Soap’s cheek, thumb rubbing there. “We’re going to go back soon. Just need to know first if he touched you.”

Soap blinked, struggling to conjure up the words he needed while this fucking tired. His tongue ran across his bottom lip and he wobbled a little, needing support to stay standing.

“C’mon, Soap. I know. Just need to finish up here before we can get you into bed.” As much as he wanted otherwise, it was clear there would be no room for any other activities tonight.

Soap looked at him for a long second, as if assessing. “Just my ass,” he said finally, forcing out the raspy words.

“Good. Good, Soap. I know it’s not your fault, watched you trying to pull away.”

Behind him, he heard someone take a step forwards. “We’d just got here,” Don said, a wobble in his voice. “I swear it, sir. I tried to stop him—“

“Didn’t try hard enough, did you?” Ghost bit out. But he softened himself a little as he looked back to Soap, whose eyes were flagging. “C’mon Soap, stay on your feet. One last matter to attend to before we get out of here.”

He didn’t miss the way Soap moaned as Ghost stepped away, straining to hold himself up on his own. Ghost needed to nip this in the bud, though. Needed to make sure Jameson’s days sneaking around and making a nuisance of himself were finished.

“Did I hear that right?” Ghost drawled, circling. “You put your hand on my boy? After I explicitly told you not to?”

Don didn’t so much as lift a hand to help him. He just stood there quietly, gaze vacant as he watched.

But Jameson, whose pride was far more wounded than his ribs, just didn’t know when to stop. “You can’t leave him out here like that and expect none of us to touch him,” he gasped out, voice thin.

Good. Ghost was looking for a release for the last of his anger. He loomed over Jameson, arms crossed as he listened.

“A fucking tease, hanging him out here but none of us can touch?” Jameson continued. “Should have just let me have one fucking round with him. He’s already all banged up—damaged goods. What would one more quick fuck, hurt—?“ but he never got to finish that thought, a scream ripped from his throat.

Ghost had the heel of his boot ground into the palm of Jameson’s hand, being none too gentle as he put his weight down into it. In his mind he was replaying it over and over again, Jameson’s words from a moment ago.

Ghost is going to thank me once I finish with him.

The only thing he was going to do was send Jameson to the fucking medic.

Ghost ground down, luxuriating in the sound of bones grinding together, forced into a new position. Popping and dislocating, skin split open on the hard dirt below.

Another agonized scream wrenched its way from Jameson’s lips, terrified and high. No on moved to help him.

Ghost kicked him over, ready to go again. Maybe he’d aim for a knee this time, or his stupid fucking cock—

A hand on his shoulder had him wheeling, Jacobs’ grim face looking up at him.

At their feet, Jameson was sobbing, pulling his injured hand to his chest. Ghost was about to tell Jacobs to fuck off when he held a hand out, pointing to Soap.

No longer able to hold himself up, Soap was sagging forwards.

“I’ve got him,” Jacobs was saying. “Go get him down.”

Ghost didn’t need convincing, was already next to Soap, assessing.

He cursed. He’d seen Soap cusping on his limits a couple of times. He’d begged, cried. Now his eyes only flagged as he listed forwards.

Fingers trembling, Ghost fumbled at the restraints, struggling to unclasp them. He doubly struggled with righting Soap’s clothing, thrown off immensely by that look in his eye.

“I’ve got you, Soap,” he said. The words were meant to be a balm but they only washed over the man, who trembled.

Fuck, this had all gone to shit.

In his mind, Soap should have been relieved to see him, desperate even. After spending the day watching his fellow service men get used, a dozen or so tallies on their asses while Soap only had the one, he might even throw himself at Ghost for the chance at a second.

Instead he’d come back to this—the absolute worst-case scenario.

He suppose he’d gotten what he wanted, he thought darkly. He had Soap obedient and docile, but not in the ways Ghost had intended.

It took a while but finally he was satisfied Soap was ready to be moved. Knowing Soap would collapse the moment he could, Ghost wrapped an arm securely around his waist, reaching up with his free hand to work open the chain clasp.

As he expected, Soap dropped, completely dead weight. Ghost had him though, was working him carefully to the ground to give him a moment to breathe, to steady himself.

“I’m sorry,” Soap said, his voice so thin, but Ghost shushed him. They kept close, the noises in the background falling away until it was just the two of them like this.

“No need to be sorry, Soap,” Ghost told him, eyes searching. It was good that Soap was still talking, that he hadn’t completely retreated within himself.

But there was something pitiable in Soap’s eyes, something defeated. “I let him touch me—”

“No you did not,” Ghost said sharply. In a fair fight Ghost would have put his money on Soap in a heartbeat. Tonight? Ghost had taken away his voice, his hands and his feet. Soap hadn’t stood a chance.

“You were testing me and he still—”

“I wasn’t testing you,” Ghost said, the words stinging his throat. “I wasn’t testing you. Got there a minute too late, Soap. No one was ever supposed to put their hands on you.”

The admission hung in the air. Soap quieted as he searched Ghost’s face, looking for the truth in his words. But when Ghost raised a hand to wipe away the rain that beaded his skin, Soap flinched, causing Ghost to tighten it into a fist, dropping it pathetically between them.

Ghost struggled, uncomfortable with the way the power had shifted. “Let’s get you back,” he said lamely, looking for anything to cut through this silence. “There’s going to be a couple of boys in our tent when we get there. Don’t mind them, they’ll be gone soon.”

Something like fear filled Soap. “Is it because of what I did—?”

“No, Soap. No,” Ghost reassured him, kicking himself. “Told you, you take your punishment and we go back to how it was.” He needed Soap to know this was over. Ghost took his chin, forcing his face up, to look him in the eye. Soap did so reluctantly, a deep mistrust there. Ghost didn’t blame him. “It’s finished, Soap. Do you understand?”

He could tell from Soap’s expression that he didn’t, that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Irritation nagged at Ghost. “Our tent got broken into this afternoon,” he said by means of explanation. “The men are there to help investigate.”

Something flashed across Soap’s face. “What d’you mean, ‘broken into’?” he asked, eyes sharpening.

The mere mention of it had Ghost’s temper rising all over again, but he worked to stifle it. “It was around 14h00. Based off the level of stealth they likely acted alone. Nothing was stolen but a couple items were out of place.”

There was an odd tension that Ghost couldn’t quite interpret while Soap processed that information. Mostly, he wondered what he must look like to Soap in this moment. Couldn’t keep a single thing in his possession safe, must be a fucking joke to him.

But when Soap sagged forwards, Ghost wasn’t expecting it, barely catching him in time.

“Okay, Soap. You’re okay. M’going to get you back.”

Soap didn’t even have the energy to help, couldn’t get to his feet alone. It was useless. With very few options left, Ghost crouched, pulling Soap up onto his arms, ass resting on Ghost’s forearm as thighs hugged his sides.

“That’s it, Soap. Arms around my neck, there you go.”

Soap was barely responsive, moving sluggishly.

Ghost couldn’t get out of here faster, anxious to see it behind them. Soap was trembling in his arms and he didn’t understand the sudden change, only felt that Soap’s skin was cool to the touch.

Jacobs was rising with Ghost. “I’m so sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to leave him like that—“

“I know,” Ghost reassured him. He was pissed, had every reason to be, but he knew Jacobs had been doing his job. “Make it up to me?”

That had Jacob’s attention.

Ghost nodded to Soap’s vacant pole. “Throw a gag and a mask on Jameson. String him up until Price gets here.”

This was one of the reasons he liked Jacobs so much; he only smiled at Ghost’s request. “I’ll give it an hour before making that call. Give the boys a round or two with something fresh.”

Price would be pissed, but there was a good chance he’d go easy on Ghost. Jameson had been an issue for a while now and this seemed like a fitting enough punishment for someone who couldn’t keep himself out of the one place he wasn’t allowed in to begin with.

“Appreciate it, Jacobs.”

On the sidelines, Don shifted from foot to foot, looking down at his friend anxiously. For a moment, Ghost thought he would be wise enough to keep that trap shut.

He hated being disappointed.

“I think he might need a medic, sir—“

“I will decide if he gets to see a fucking medic or not,” Ghost seethed. His knuckles throbbed, at risk of being split open again after his demonstration from the other day, but he could probably stand to lay another blow or two. “And just be fucking grateful you aren’t joining him.”

Don’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes flicking to the ground. “Yes sir,” he whispered, a coward through and through.

No one stopped them once on the walk back to the tent. Unfortunately, that’s where their luck ended.

Soap was all but unresponsive, staring past Ghost with half lidded eyes. It took three or four times to get his attention, calling to him over and over again. And once he had it, he couldn’t keep it for long.

A hand on his forehead had Ghost cursing, the beginnings of a fever warming his skin. It was when Soap couldn’t even climb into bed by himself that Ghost felt his panic rising.

He’d done it, the one thing he’d been trying so hard not to do. Ghost would never admit it to anyone, but in Soap’s eyes he saw a piece of the man who had died in Mexico. He saw the beginnings of defeat, muscles lax and gaze disassociated.

He didn’t know how it had happened, but he’d broken Soap.

Surely that wasn’t the case.

“Soap,” Ghost said, crouching down next to him. When he didn’t get a response, Ghost prodded him gently.

Those eyes creaked open, but there was nothing behind his stare.

Ghost snapped up, needing to get away from this.

He wracked his brain, trying to think back to what he’d said, what he’d done for this to happen.

But Soap’s words from yesterday were all that would come to him.

I’m worried you’ve forgotten what it takes to break a normal man.

Maybe he’d done just that. Maybe he couldn’t figure out what had happened because he was so out of touch from what normal men felt, what they could endure.

Ghost paced. For an hour, he paced. And when that did nothing, he went to medical. Jameson lay uselessly in the tent, barely able to make eye contact but Ghost felt none of the satisfaction he was owed.

Despite the hit to his pride, he knew going to medical was for the best. It was because of that trip that Soap slept that night, put under by the cocktail of meds Ghost forced down his throat.

But even the coerced sleep had come fitfully. Whatever dreams haunted him were mean, ruthless, causing Soap to whimper into the darkness.

Ghost sat up with him as penitence for his role in this. A silent watcher, as if he might be able to scare off whatever was haunting him.

As if drawn in by Soap’s nightmares, Ghost’s own memories resurfaced. But for the first time in a while, Ghost didn’t fight them down, to distract them away. Instead he closed his eyes, letting them overwhelm him. Maybe he’d find the answer to what had thrown Soap over the edge in their depths.

That night, the glow of the cigarette cherry was the only light between them through the immense darkness.

In it, Ghost let himself sink.

Chapter Text

Three Days until the Deadline to Surrender
…

Soap slept through the entirety of yesterday.

Which was not like him in the slightest. Usually the man was up with Ghost at the crack of dawn, already eager to get food in him or bitch at Ghost for not bringing back coffee. So when Soap alternated between dozing and staring off vacantly, Ghost didn’t think it entirely unreasonable to feel concerned.

It shouldn’t matter, Ghost tried to tell himself over and over again. Soap was a guest. Ghost had done his time, so had over half the men in this camp. They endured it, lived with the scars and came back stronger than ever. That was their lot. Someone had done all of this and more to him. He’d survived, hadn’t he?

But he supposed that was the problem, wasn’t it?

He hadn’t, not really.

Ghost may have come out of Mexico but in order to do so, he’d had to leave a part of himself behind.

He wondered who Soap would be after this.

No, it wasn’t the same. For the sake of his own sanity, Ghost had to believe that.

He’d always been kinder than his men with guests, told himself it was because he’d endured the worst of it and didn’t want the same for them. Sure he would toss them around a bit, fuck them hard and send them back a little worse for wear. But Soap had been able to handle it—had near liked it even.

A convenient lie you tell yourself, the cruelest part of Ghost’s brain hissed at him. The same part that had been desperately and heartlessly unearthing memories he’d worked to keep buried.

It was his kindness that had broken Soap, he’d decided. Soap was strong. He could have withstood all of this had Ghost just kept consistent in his role. If he’d simply used Soap instead of trying to babysit him emotionally.

But even now, he just couldn’t seem to help it. Found himself sitting in the dirt next to Soap’s sleeping form, resisting the urge to check his temperature for the sixth time this morning. Nursing him with mouthfuls of water every time he awoke, whether he wanted them or not. Setting a timer for his medication, prompting food into him before he could pass out again.

Another day, the medic had promised him this morning. Ready to use come dawn.

Ghost wondered if they mistook his moodiness for impatience and not the concern he finally had to admit was debilitating him.

He struggled over and over again to justify why he might be bogged down by that nagging emotion. Why his humanity was resurfacing now, for a prisoner no less.

Giving in, Ghost sighed and pulled off his glove, no longer able to resist. Pressing his bare hand to Soap’s face and forehead had unsettlingly become the only thing that helped unknot the tightness in his chest, to feel some of that anxiety lessening, if only for a moment. As if every degree Soap’s fever lowered cleared Ghost of any and all wrong doings.

Maybe that was why he had refused the medic’s offer to take Soap off his hands. Didn’t have to be long term, they’d told him, just until the fever broke. Selfishly, Ghost had refused.

He tried to tell himself that it was to idle away the hours, something to occupy himself with.

A lie, there was plenty to do around camp that Ghost was neglecting.

Next he clung to the idea that if he had worked Soap into this state, it was only fair he brought him out of it.

That wasn’t it either.

It had been for this, Ghost knew deep down. So that he could continue to make sure Soap was alive, to quell his own unsettled emotions.

How low he’d fallen. Deep down he was spiraling and he knew it. Too trapped to Soap’s bedside to escape his own clawing thoughts, too duty bound to let him go and destabilized to be without.

If he had seen an insubordinate struggling like this, he would have given an order to take a walk. To remove themselves, even just for a couple of minutes.

He couldn’t do the same now despite its wrongness.

Instead he stayed fixed in place, grounded by his palm against Soap’s cheek, skin sweaty and warm to the touch.

Because you left him out there in the rain by himself, that traitorous part of his brain whispered.

Christ. When had Soap become so pale? Sure, he was fever ridden, but it was more than that. It had been one of the very first things he had noticed about Soap, that tan skin that made it look like he spent any moment he could chasing the sun.

Ghost supposed there was no sunlight in this tent.

The moment he was well enough, they’d go somewhere. Sneak off for a bit, no one would even know they were missing. Soap could spend however long he wanted baking in the heat and Ghost will have offered an apology he could never say out loud.

More traitorous thoughts, he wanted to tell himself. He didn’t need to apologize to a guest. He didn’t need to nurse them back to health or sit by their sides or reassure them. Deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. In order for Ghost to survive this, he did.

He lifted his hand, pausing as he looked at Soap’s face. It was obvious he was battling something in his sleep, his expression not nearly as relaxed as it had been a moment ago. Sweat beaded his forehead and his cheek twitched, eyes darting around underneath his lids.

Ghost contemplated waking Soap, soothing him somehow. But he couldn’t picture a reality in which Soap didn’t see that gesture as further pain.

Closing his hand into a fist, Ghost let it fall uselessly into his lap. But that didn’t mean he had to let the man suffer through a nightmare.

“Soap?” he tried, voice low. Not to wake him, but maybe to guide him out of whatever dream was keeping him trapped.

Nothing at first. Then, a low groan, so quiet it would have been missed were he any further away.

Ghost’s heart thudded painfully. What did Soap see when he closed his eyes? Was it Jameson, bearing down on him with ill intent in his eyes? Sending that man to the medic hadn’t been nearly enough. Ghost should have sent him to the fucking morgue for what he tried to do.

A second, more likely reality hit him. That Soap might be dreaming of him. It had to be, from the shaky breath Soap let out, his lips parting. Who else but him had done this much damage?

A sharp breath, Soap’s lips parting, trembling.

No, not trembling, Ghost realized. He was speaking.

Ghost leaned forwards, frowning. He could hear it now, barely a breath from out Soap’s lips. Hardly even a whisper.

He needed to get closer.

Without hesitation, Ghost lowered himself down onto his side, lying face to face with Soap. So close that he could feel the heat of his fever radiating off him, uncaring if it got him sick as well. But he could make out those words now, still so devastatingly low.

“Came for me…” Soap was mumbling, eyebrows furrowing in his sleep.

Ghost frowned, slowing his own breathing to better hear.

A sharp breath, followed by a low, pained noise. “He…came for me…” Soap said again, no louder than the first time.

There it was. That knot in Ghost’s chest, tightening again.

Who had come for him? Certainly not Ghost. By the time he’d made it back it’d been far too late, evidenced enough by the state he was in now. Fuck, why hadn’t he noticed it when the rain had started to fall? He’d been such a fucking moron.

Another whimper, louder this time.

“M’right here,” Soap whined, eyebrows pinching.

Ghost leaned closer still, hanging on every word. Needed either to be absolved of this guilt or to know how he could achieve it, hated the weight that he carried around with him.

But a ruffling knock at the tent flap broke him free of his trance, pulling himself up straight. He took a moment to compose himself, grunting out a rough “come in” when he was ready.

It was obvious that Ghost had failed to put himself back together from the way Price’s eyes skimmed over him, the corners of his lips turning down. How they flicked to his equipment next, scanning the room. There weren’t many people who would look around and call when they saw ‘disarray,’ but Price was one of them. Only he would see the minute changes and understand it for what it was.

Mercifully, he said nothing of it, only let the tent flap swoosh shut behind him.

Price cleared his throat, putting his back squarely to the mess behind him. “I’m not here to reprimand you about Jameson, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said, gaze carefully sweeping over Soap.

It had been Price who’d seen how much of a mess they’d both been two nights ago, who had dismissed Ghost until Soap was fit to be left on his own again. And as much as he wanted to perceive Price’s presence as coddling, something in Ghost relaxed just the tiniest bit at the sight of him.

“Didn’t even cross my mind,” Ghost admitted finally. He’d had far more pressing matters to attend to. Besides, if they were going to punish him, they’d have done to already.

“It should have,” Price scoffed. “Made a whole mess of trouble for me.”

Cross but not scolding, Ghost noted, relieved against his will. “Not even going to compliment my creativity?” he asked drily.

“You’re going to be complimenting mine if you don’t cut the cheek,” Price grumbled, but it was hardly the worst talking to Ghost had ever gotten. He thought maybe Price saw a bit of his appreciation because the man reached down, squeezing Ghost’s shoulder just once before straightening back up, all business again.

“And what happens to Jameson now?” Ghost asked.

“Sent packing. Wrote it off as an accident. An altercation gone bad.”

“You’re a good man, Price,” Ghost said.

If Price hadn’t noticed how off kilter he was earlier, this would have done it, the rare vulnerability he showed in giving thanks. At least he knew better than to mention it. “Yeah, well. You fucked his hand to shit. Not much use I can make of him here. Don’s been sent off too. Don’t need him around to feed any chatter. Saw them both off myself.”

A little bit of the stress that sat so heavily on Ghost’s shoulders lifted. Don and Jameson, gone. No longer a problem he needed to contend with. Good, that meant he could focus his attention elsewhere, on Soap.

It’s where they both fixed their attention to now. To his restless, sleeping form.

“You didn’t want to check him into medical?” Price asked.

There was no judgment in his voice, but Ghost still bristled. “Adds some interest to the day,” he said, keeping his words purposefully bored.

If Price saw through him, he let the lie go unchallenged. Instead he hooked his thumbs into the straps of his chestplate, adjusting his grip. “I have other news,” he said, voice turning a little grim.

Ghost knew that tone. There was hesitancy there, something Price didn’t want to admit. “Tell me.”

“Brass sent some news down the pipes. Confirmed that they have yet to hear from the other side. We’ve been given orders to start making plans for an attack.”

Ghost glanced down at Soap, doubly making sure he was still asleep. The boy was, still nightmare bound and struggling. “When?” Ghost asked, looking back up to Price.

“They have another three days. After that, we march at dawn.”

Fuck. Ghost had been so caught up with Soap he’d lost track of the days, the timeline closing in without his knowledge. A week ago, he would have shrugged. But Soap’s worry was rubbing off on him. What were they waiting on? With so many men in custody, who could possibly be left to fight?

“Any sign of their commander?” he asked, frowning.

A sigh from Price. “Less and less these days. Nothing reported today.”

Ghost opened his mouth, a retort on his lips, when he paused.

It wasn’t his place to argue, he had to remind himself. His job was to follow orders, to wait until he was told to move. But something Soap had mentioned was bothering him.

Up until now, their leader had been actively involved around camp. To hear that there was no longer any sign of him was troubling. If something had happened, wouldn’t they have replaced him?

“You look troubled,” Price said, voice pulling Ghost out of his stupor.

Price trusted his judgment, welcomed it even. But right now, Ghost couldn’t say for certain he wasn’t just the slightest bit compromised. Between his worry for Soap and his own pestering guilt, how could Ghost actually sit there and tell Price that something felt wrong about all of this?

Ghost shook his head, not trusting himself right now to voice his concerns. “Just eager to see this done and behind us,” he said. The omission was a fair compromise, the words mostly true. He was exhausted, burnt out. Yet he knew that the closer they got to seeing this war behind them, the closer he was to letting Soap go.

“Aren’t we all,” Price said, Ghost’s weariness mirrored back at him. “Have you given any thought to what you’ll do with your boy after this is over?”

That had Ghost’s back straightening.

He supposed he’d always just assumed that the other camp would eventually surrender. That one morning, Price would come in and give him the news. That Ghost would get to spend one last day with Soap, fucking him until he couldn’t possibly be rid of all the marks Ghost left, allowing him to walk out come sundown.

It was one thing to have Soap quietly become assimilated under their banner, but that wouldn’t happen if the other territory refused to surrender. To march on the enemy camp would mean something else entirely.

“You have options,” Price reminded him. “Can’t picture you keeping him around your flat in town. They tax pleasure slaves pretty heavily these days, too.”

Oh god, no. Ghost couldn’t do that. If Soap struggled here, under these conditions—the war not yet over and knowing he was going to be home soon—how would he survive what would come next? To continue his life under Ghost, defeated, all of his friends dead?

“But there’s always the pleasure auctions if you want to sell him off,” Price continued. “A boy like that would go for a pretty penny, wouldn’t have to worry about taking care of him.”

Ghost was at risk of losing his breakfast, stomach churning sharply.

The pleasure auctions, he hadn’t thought about those in ages.

He could almost see it. Soap, led up on stage. Showered and shaved and oiled before a group of wealthy pricks. There’d be a demonstration to show off his skills before the betting would begin. There was no doubt in his mind that Soap would go for a high price. Sucked cock like he was made for it and begged the second he got on his hands and knees. But he wouldn’t last with that mouth of his. Ghost wondered how long it would take to train him down into one of those quiet, demur things he sometimes saw on the television.

Never, Ghost suspected. Soap would rather die than to see a life like that.

“Don’t need to have an answer just yet,” Price said. “Something to think about.”

Ghost nodded, worried that if he opened his mouth, he would say all of the things he knew he shouldn’t.

Price turned, as if to leave, then swiveled around once more. “One last thing,” he said, expression troubled. “I’ve informed the boys in the Restricted Area but its best you know too. There’s word on a Second we have yet to find. A Scot, but that’s about all we know. Not uncommon in these parts, but it’s something. Keep your ears open for me.”

A Scot.

Ghost blinked, forcing himself not to immediately look down at Soap, whose drawling accent he’d become all too accustomed to.

“Come find me after dark if you want a drink,” Price said, seeing himself out.

It was a good thing too, because Ghost was preoccupied with his own racing thoughts. A Second…Ghost had never even considered the possibility. Soap always fell into line so easy, obviously groomed to rise in ranks. But he was just so young.

Everyone ripped off their tags these days. Ghost assumed he must have been a Sergeant at best, but their Second?

Fuck. He looked down at Soap with renewed interest, trying to see him holding a rank like that.

This territory was relatively new, over eager in their search for land. Stepping on toes in a way that showed emotional immaturity but nothing overly reckless. Maybe that was the problem, though. Their commander was older, more experienced. That didn’t mean the rest of his men had this in common.

It would be wrong not to at least mention this to Price, no? But it wasn’t like that man didn’t know already. He’d met Soap several times now.

Except that each of those times, Soap had never spoken.

Moments and pieces were clicking into place.

Soap, refusing to speak during their first night together. Keeping that same icy silence with Price, then with Jameson and his squad. Even two nights ago he’d kept his voice low, whispered. Ghost had thought it had been from a loss of energy, fatigue. In reality it had been Soap’s attempt at keeping his identity hidden.

And Soap had been so good up until a few days ago. Right up until those men had come into his tent, talking about the assault they were planning on Soap’s territory. Because Soap cared about the men he fought besides, showed it every time he walked through the camp. Nodded to every prisoner he passed, earning the same respectful nod back.

More than that, there were the break ins, Ghost realized. The fucking break ins. Nothing important stolen, never targeting anything of importance. As if the person responsible was searching for something.

Or someone.

He came for me, isn’t that what Soap had said in his sleep?

Whoever was looking for Soap obviously hadn’t know where to find him, was hitting spots at random. He’d finally gotten it right, only it just so happened to be the day Ghost had switched his location.

“Figured it out, did you?” a voice asked, drawing Ghost’s attention down. Still in the grips of that fever, Soap could do little more than lay there, eyes half lidded as he looked up at Ghost.

Looking at him, Ghost realized. Not staring vacantly at the tent wall, not stuck in a stupor of silence. Awake and blinking, engaging with him.

Confusion and hope clawed at him, both dangerous emotions—too vulnerable to be showing in front of Soap. He schooled his face into a neutral expression, trying to understand what Soap was getting at.

“Can tell,” Soap continued, voice hoarse. "You're not usually this tense."

Ghost finally understood. “Your friend…”

Soap’s eyes closed momentarily, as if struggling. “S’my fault. He told me to sit still. Said he’d come get me. Missed my chance.”

The word sorry caught in his throat, a betrayal to both of them that he dared not speak. Maybe he’ll try again, were the next words that came to mind. But Ghost didn’t owe Soap either of those sentiments, and he certainly didn’t expect Soap to appreciate hearing them.

Besides, the man never hit the same place twice. Once he struck out, he simply moved on to the next mark.

Why was Soap telling Ghost this? To draw empathy from him? He’d spent the whole bloody morning pouring it out onto Soap, dotting after him while playing caregiver.

No, that had never been Soap’s game. This was something different, something more raw.

This was Soap, finally admitting defeat.

Not for the first time, guilt wormed its way around Ghost’s ribcage, crushing tight to his chest. “How do you know?” Ghost asked, the best he could come up with through the heavy buzz of inappropriately sympathetic thoughts at risk of slipping out.

A hand slid down next to Soap’s bedroll, groping around blindly for something. His notebook, Ghost realized as Soap’s fingers tapped against it weakly. “He would have left me a message,” he admitted brokenly.

Ghost didn’t have to ask. From his tone, it was clear Soap had found nothing.

So all this time Soap had suffered through Ghost’s company in order to wait for his friend to show up. Every camp had some variation of the Restricted Area, so Soap would have been smart enough to know they’d never reach him in there. It was far too well guarded, too many men stationed at any given point. And even if you made it in, there were no guarantees you’d make it back out.

Fair, Ghost supposed. He’d been using Soap too. Night after night he’d taken Soap to bed. He could tell himself over and over that Soap had enjoyed it, that those moans had been real. But he was all too aware of the reality here.

Soap wasn’t here willingly.

And now that his friend had shown up, there was no more reason for him to stay.

“I’ve always given you the option,” Ghost said, eyes ducking. “Don’t have to stay here if you don’t want. Could send you off to the medic’s. They’d keep you until your men decide to surrender.”

He’d made the offer out of compassion, one last apology for the mess Ghost had made out of disciplining him. Soap saw it as anything but. He was immediately trying to push himself up on wobbly arms, still too weak to be moving around.

It startled Ghost, the panic in his eyes. He reached out automatically, hands gentle on his ribs to still him. It wasn’t enough to stop Soap.

A shaky hand fell to Ghost’s knee, sliding slowly upwards. Not comprehending, Ghost caught his wrist, stopping him. “Soap—“ he tried, confused.

But when he looked up at Soap, he thought maybe he understood just a little.

After so many years in the service, Ghost had seen it all. Shell shock, sleep paralysis, memories that seemed far more real then they were. But this… this was something desperate.

“Please,” Soap said, the word catching in his throat. He swallowed, then tried again. “Please. Don’t send me back.”

Guilt stabbed at Ghost, more effective and devastating than the blade Soap had wielded that night. “No,” he said, leaning forwards. “No, Soap. You’re not going back there.”

A sharp breath out of Soap’s nose, like maybe he didn’t believe Ghost just yet. “I can make myself useful, I swear,” Soap continued. “I want to stay here with you, can prove it. I feel fine, can use my mouth if you want.”

It was less than controlled, the way he slumped down against Ghost’s chest, not strong enough to stay upright for long. But his hand continued up Ghost’s thigh, sliding over to cup his soft cock. Dismayed by Ghost’s lack of arousal, Soap made a sound, low and devastated.

“C’mon,” he said, breath hot against Ghost’s neck. “Please. I can make you feel good. Don’t have to give me away.”

Whatever had been keeping Ghost paralyzed a moment ago broke, freeing him. He dragged Soap up, pulling him to rest properly in between his knees, side leaning up against Ghost’s chest.

“No,” Soap whined, a meltdown threatening. “No, please. Please, Ghost—“

“You’re okay,” Ghost told him, finally getting his tongue unstuck.

“I won’t complain anymore,” Soap said, eyes pinched shut as he turned his face to bury into Ghost’s neck. A hand tangled into Ghost’s shirt, as if to keep himself there indefinitely. “Will sit quietly and listen.”

“I doubt that,” Ghost said. He’d been going for humorous but the words had come out strained, about as strung taut as he felt.

“Please,” Soap was saying, desperate and low. “Please.”

No longer was Ghost thinking about the knife at his throat. Also gone was the conversation he’d just had with Price.

Should he have been grilling Soap about this Second, he’d mentioned? Absolutely. But all he could think of right now was Mexico. Was his own time, trembling in the dark, wishing someone had just fucking told him he’d be okay. That he’d been given a single bead of hope, something to cling onto throughout all of that darkness.

“M’not sending you back to the Restricted Area, Soap. I promise. Not even if you pull another fucking knife on me,” Ghost told him, swearing it.

Those fingers in his shirt tightened. From this angle, Ghost couldn’t see Soap’s face but his body had yet to relax. He couldn’t tell if the man liked being held or would have preferred being left alone. He took a chance though, figuring that if Soap wanted the space, he would have at least made an effort to try and fight Ghost away. Wrapping his arms around Soap, he tugged him in closer, feverish body a small furnace against him.

The sound Soap made was encouraging, not altogether displeased. Ghost spread his fingertips out a little, unaccustomed to comforting others, and rubbed small, soothing circles. “I’m not sending you back,” Ghost said again, more firmly this time.

There it was. Just fractionally, Soap relaxed.

Ghost didn’t understand it—any of it. Did Soap want to stay with him, then? He shouldn’t, Ghost had fucked this all up royally. He didn’t know where he’d gone so wrong, just that he wasn’t sure he could host a guest ever again.

Was it always like this? Wasn’t Soap supposed to be nothing more than an idle distraction? A way to burn off frustrations? When had it become so complicated?

Even now he should be grilling Soap, demanding he admit to being who Ghost suspected him to be. Dragging him before Price in an attempt to find out what the fuck was going on with his men.

He couldn’t, not after what he’d done. Not today, at least.

Tonight, he would help put Soap back together. Even now, he was close to drifting off, his sickness wearing him down. “You’ll let me stay,” Soap said, relief breathed into every word.

“Yes,” Ghost allowed.

It was like Soap was trusting him not to be pushed away, was sagging more fully against his chest. Breathing evening out as he starting slipping back under, what little energy he had exhausted.

“Tell me…” Soap murmured, likely not even aware he was saying it. “One more time.”

“One more time, what?” Ghost asked, confused.

A long breath in. A longer breath out. “You’re not…going to make me go back.”

How could Ghost promise that? His chest tightened. No, it wasn’t a question of how. Ghost was in survival mode now, too. He had to survive having Soap’s well being in the palm of his hands. If he had to turn Soap in, it would only be after building back up just a little of that spirit he’d selfishly torn down.

Ghost would find a way. “You’re not going back, Soap.”

Soap’s breathing fell into a consistent pattern, slow and deep. “One…more time.”

“We’re never going back there, Soap.”

“Again.”

“You’re not going back, Soap…” Ghost said, vowing to tell him as many times as he needed before drifting off.

And when Soap eventually slipped under, Ghost finally let himself voice the words he dared not say while Soap was conscious.

“I’m sorry,” Ghost whispered once, then a second time. It wasn’t enough. He said it again and again, so often that his voice cracked. Unsure of what he was truly seeking forgiveness for, all Ghost knew was that he had to keep saying it, for his sake, and for Soap’s.

Chapter Text

Two Days until the Deadline to Surrender
…

Ghost was loyal. Unquestioningly, and unflinchingly loyal. If every part of him were flayed from his bones, this would be the last piece to remain.

Thing was, Ghost was losing track of just who he was loyal to. An issue that was becoming increasingly more clear as he sat pondering the choices before him.

Keep Soap, or turn him in.

It should have been simple. Soap was a hostile, ranking amongst the most feared from the enemy camp. Except here he was, standing demurely in the entrance of their tent, staring out as the rain fell around them. No chains, no restraints, kept in place by command alone.

There never was a choice, Ghost tried to remind himself stupidly. He was just giving Soap a couple more hours to rest before he was ushered off to Price, that’s all. But traitorously, every time Ghost told himself that now was the time, his leaden legs wouldn’t move. One more hour, he’d tell himself. Yet here they were, already late into the afternoon, where the weather had turned to rain.

Apropos, he supposed. Like even the weather had sensed he was about to lose something and was mourning alongside him.

He’d always picture their last day to be different. A note from Price, telling him a surrender had finally come down the line. One last tumble with Soap before sending him off with a pat on the ass and no hard feelings between them—just the casualties of war.

This was very different. It was like they were relearning how to exist together. But Soap was keeping his promise from last night.

It unnerved him, the way Soap was so pliant and polite. Barely raising his eyes when Ghost checked his temperature, only responding with one word at a time, voice just loud enough to be heard. He was the model of a perfect guest, civil and restrained. If Ghost were to order Soap onto his knees this second and skull fuck him in front of the open tent door, he didn’t think it unrealistic to believe Soap would take it without complaint.

Broken in.

He should feel pride, shouldn’t he? Anyone else would have. Soap had come to him mouthy and brash. Now, he was the image of submissive. A nagging tightness in his chest robbed him of that.

Ghost tore his eyes away from the line of Soap’s back, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist for long. Thoughts like those were dangerous. They kept him from where his mind should be. On the coming battle. On turning Soap in.

“With weather like this, bet the showers would be empty,” came Soap’s voice, rough from disuse.

It pulled Ghost from his thoughts, so easily distracted when it came to Soap.

“Any chance we could pop down later?” he continued, turning a little.

Still not making eye contact, Ghost noted. And this question was far from his usual cheeky demands or casual bitching. But at least he was talking, likely the only words that hadn’t been forced out of him all day.

Showers, Ghost thought. It’d be tight, fitting one in before taking him to Price. But he wasn’t going to dissuade this bout of courage now. “Think we can manage that,” he said.

Christ, he sounded just as hoarse as Soap. The man didn’t seem to notice, though. Only flashed a small smile that couldn’t quite reach his eyes before turning back towards the door. But when the wind howled anew, Soap shivered.

“You’re not cold?” Ghost asked reflexively, too used to worrying about him in these past few days.

But his words didn’t have the intended effect. The material of the tent crinkled as it was immediately dropped, swinging shut as Soap turned. As he jumped to behave.

It made Ghost’s stomach churn.

“Sorry,” Soap said quietly, stepping away from the door.

Around them, silence threatened, disturbed only by the sound of the rain drumming down overhead. Ghost hated it. Last night they had been so vulnerable, so stupidly open with each other. But Soap must have reminded himself of his circumstances.

Obviously it was time for Ghost to do the same. That didn’t mean he couldn’t at least try to make Soap comfortable in their last couple of hours together.

“There’s more to eat if you needed,” he tried, but the words fell awkwardly from his mouth.

If Soap noticed, he said nothing of it. “M’good,” he responded instead, gaze fixed somewhere around Ghost’s chin rather than looking him in the eyes.

Try again, Ghost thought to himself. “I can see about getting you more meds if you needed—“

“I’m fine,” Soap said, a little bit more firmly this time. And as he did, his gaze flicked up to meet Ghost’s for the first time all morning.

He expected to see fear, timidness. Instead, there was something almost…uncertain.

When had Soap ever been afraid to speak his mind? But Ghost knew trust was harder to earn once broken. “Tell me,” he prompted, softening his voice a little. Taking a small step forwards, close but not touching.

Soap’s eyes ducked again, hesitation clear in his body language. “Don’t need to ask after me,” he said apprehensively.

There was more to it, that much was clear. A half-truth. “Don’t know what you mean,” Ghost prompted patiently, waiting.

Soap’s eyebrows furrowed. “I just feel…” he stopped, a look of frustration flashing across his face. But even while he struggled, there was evidence of something familiar in Soap’s attitude. Like he was slowly coming back into himself.

“Like?” Ghost pushed, wanting to see more of it.

“A burden,” Soap said finally. And as he did, his shoulders slumped, the truth finally out in the open.

“A burden,” Ghost repeated, letting the word linger, confused. There were so many instances in which he’d been able to support Soap after his own experience with captivity. Ways to relate with how he must be feeling but this…Ghost was at a loss.

Soap folded his arms across his chest, as if to cover himself. “I know why I’m here, don’t need to pretend otherwise. But you haven’t touched me in days. Not quite sure why you keep me around.”

Ghost froze, the pieces finally falling into place.

Soap must have noticed because he flinched, misinterpreting Ghost’s reaction. “M’not trying to push you—it’s just, I’m worried if I don’t—“

“You’ve been sick,” Ghost said dumbly. As if that answered all of his questions. Because to Ghost, it did.

Soap wasn’t quite so convinced. He didn’t say so, though. Only pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes searching. Retreating as he tried to read what Ghost expected of him.

But Ghost didn’t want that. He stepped forwards, cursing himself out internally as Soap moved away in response. Recalculating, he softened his body language a little, ignoring the nervous hammering in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, only knew that he had to say something. Why was it that last night, in the darkness of the tent, it’d been so easy to be vulnerable? Today, everything felt so strained.

“Said I wouldn’t hurt you,” he tried. “I…” It was his turn to struggle. Torn between all the promises he’d made and didn’t keep, the apologies he wanted to make, and his duty to his territory. No, he couldn’t apologize. But he could explain himself. “I just wanted to give you time to rest.”

If someone had said those words to Ghost, he was certain he would have spit right in their face and taken the consequences without batting an eye. He braced himself for it now, the anger that was sure to follow. Maybe that would finally absolve Ghost of this guilt that dogged his every step.

Soap couldn’t even give him that.

Instead, the man’s shoulders slumped a little, something like understanding filling his features. “Okay,” he said finally. And oddly, it felt almost like forgiveness.

It was a forgiveness Ghost didn’t feel he’d earned, one he didn’t understand. “Okay,” he repeated dumbly.

It felt like he owed Soap more, a real explanation, maybe. But the man looked more solid, no longer uncomfortable by their proximity. His eyes wandered around the tent, then landed back on Ghost, considering.

“Can I ask you another question?” he tried, voice not nearly as hesitant as it had been the first time.

Ghost wondered if he’d survive this version of Soap he’d coaxed into life. Regardless, he nodded.

“What happens. If we don’t surrender?” Soap asked.

The question caught Ghost off guard. Having learned his lesson from yesterday, he made sure to keep himself loose, relaxed. A bloodbath was the correct answer. Soap’s territory wasn’t equipped to deal with the battle to come, something his commander had to be aware of. But the man didn’t need to hear that right now.

“Depends,” Ghost deflected, not bothering to clarify on what. There were hundreds of factors, including ones Soap hadn’t considered. Like how Ghost knew he was the camp’s second in command.

Soap wasn’t deterred. “On?” he pushed.

Just his fucking luck that the man’s confidence would come back to him now of all times. Ghost knew there was no getting out of this conversation.

Outside, the wind whipped around their tent. Soap tried to hide it, but a shiver wracked through him, arms tightening around his middle.

“C’mere,” he said, seeing an opportunity to buy himself a little time.

It was evident Soap thought this was an attempt at dodging the question. Regardless he took a step forwards, expression wary, waiting.

Ghost stripped off his top layer, dragging the hoodie he had on free. He shook it, pulling an arm right-side out before holding it for Soap to take.

At first, Soap didn’t move. There was something oddly vulnerable about holding out the sweater, as if it were a gift to be appraised and considered. But finally Soap reached out, gaze softening as he accepted it.

They were quiet as Soap pulled it on. The hood caught, and any other time Ghost would have reached out to get it. Tonight, he didn’t dare, only stood dumbly as Soap pushed it back, readjusting his hair as he did. A piece still stuck up in the back. Ghost made no move to help.

“So…” Soap prompted, looking up at Ghost as he smoothed the fabric into place.

Ghost couldn’t place the feeling he had seeing Soap in his clothing. To the untrained eye, it appeared completely black, save the word “Lieutenant” printed across the back in big, fading letters. What Soap didn’t know was that right next to his heart had been evidence of a person long forgotten. The word “Riley”, unstitched by hand, destroyed when he’d finally been discharged from medical after Mexico.

He forced his eyes up, focusing on Soap. “Communication from your camp’s still dark,” he said finally.

Soap blinked, but the look on his face said that he was expecting to hear something else. He didn’t say it, though, just nodded.

That had Ghost pausing. Soap already knew that information though, didn’t he? Which meant he was referring to something else.

“I meant more…” Soap stopped a moment, thinking. “After.”

After. After what? “You mean if there’s no surrender?” Ghost asked.

A heartbeat of hesitation, then a nod.

“You think this will come to a battle?” Ghost asked, surprised.

Another pause, longer this time. “I…don’t know what to think anymore,” Soap said, the words so honest on his tongue. “Just want to be prepared.”

It was Ghost’s turn to be caught off guard. He’d never seen Soap so defeatist before. Then again, he supposed he didn’t know Soap very well, did he? Still, if the man wanted the truth, it was the least Ghost could give him. “You’d be relocated with the rest of your men,” he said not unkindly, keeping his voice low, even.

“Relocated,” Soap repeated, as if testing the word in his mouth. A glance up at Ghost, considering. “To another battlefront with you? Or elsewhere?”

Ghost let those words wash over him, replaying them again and again. Because it almost sounded like—

No. He couldn’t be so naïve as to read into something that wasn’t there. That shouldn’t be there. Because Price was right. He’d never been the type to hang onto trophies, wasn’t worthy of keeping pretty little things for himself. Had a bad habit of ruining them, something he wouldn’t make the mistake of doing with Soap again.

“Elsewhere,” Ghost made himself say.

Soap nodded, eyes going a little distant as he thought. Then, his gaze flicked back up to Ghost. “And if we surrender before the final day?” he asked. Nervous for the answer, fingers tugging the sleeves down around his fingertips.

“You’ll be freed and assimilated under our flag,” Ghost said. They both knew it was more complicated than that. It would take months of negotiating and less than ideal conditions, but eventually, his men would be free, territory no longer their own.

“There’s still time,” Ghost reminded him, a thin attempt at comfort.

Another nod, but this time, Soap made no move to continue the conversation.

His fingers itched for something to do. He felt awkward, exposed under Soap’s gaze. Reaching down, he freed his pack of cigarettes, fishing one out.

Soap watched as he lit it, eyes raking over the skin of Ghost’s neck as the mask was hooked over his nose. Focusing in on the scar. “That’s not itchy?” he said, jerking his chin in the direction of the scabbing wound.

Ghost shrugged. Everything ached and pained these days. What was one more scar in the collection? Deflecting the question, he offered Soap the cigarette, letting smoke fill the air between them.

Soap took it, blessed silence filling the tent as he took a drag, then a second. When Ghost got it back he ignored the way it was a little damp, Soap’s sloppy style of smoking familiar and comforting.

But he could tell Soap wasn’t about to let this go. Funny how the very parts of Soap he had been trying to tease back to life were now making him so uncomfortable.

It was the empathy, he decided. Soap had never been this empathetic. But he had, hadn’t he? Was always trying to soften Ghost’s touches, looking at him with those big eyes. So many words alive in his gaze that neither of them would survive having out in the open.

If Soap was the broken one, what did that make Ghost?

“You mentioned earlier, about not hurting me,” Soap said, words careful.

Ghost’s chest ached. He looked up, waiting. Took another drag, too deeply from the way it burned, from the way the cherry glowed so close to his fingertips.

“I didn’t…mean to hurt you either,” Soap finished, his voice quieting.

Christ. Ghost turned, needing to hide his expression before it gave way to just how much he couldn’t stand this vulnerability between them. He stepped over to the table, dragging the ashtray over loudly to stub out the dying embers.

Soap followed, hovering close by. Waiting.

He didn’t owe Soap anything, he reminded himself. But maybe this would be a small comfort in the days to come. “I know,” he grunted, the words coming out rough and wrong.

The only reason Ghost had this scar was because he’d pulled the blade down. He still remembered the look of shock on Soap’s face as the blood had begun to well. The way they’d fought. Ghost, only intent on subduing him. Soap, only working to get away.

The admission seemed to give Soap courage. His eyes intensified as he watched Ghost pull out his pack, lighting another. “You’ve been good to me—“

That did it, a line crossed. Especially right now. “Soap,” Ghost said sharply, silencing him.

It had Soap pausing, but only for a moment, all of that pretty confidence Ghost helped to rebuild showing itself. “I just…know you’ve been through worse,” Soap said.

Worse.

As if it was something to brag about. As if a piece of himself hadn’t died.

“I want to see what they did to you,” Soap said quietly. A request.

It was like Ghost had been slapped. He recoiled, but Soap only held his ground, looking up at Ghost expectantly. Asking something of Ghost that he couldn’t give.

“No,” Ghost said, stabbing his cigarette into the ashtray.

He made to leave, but Soap stepped in front of him, hands out, low, like he was trying to subdue a wounded animal. “Seen parts of it before, Ghost,” Soap reminded him, voice gentle, calm.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He’d let Soap trick him into thinking he’d cared once already. Ghost couldn’t make that mistake again. “And look where it got me,” he spat out, voice sharp.

But something in Soap had flipped, his expression determined. As if he could see how vulnerable Ghost was right now, how his resolve was inexplicably fragile.

“Please,” he gentled. “Just once.”

And with that, anger—the sweetest, strongest vice Ghost had ever known—erupted from him, finally pushed too far. Evoked at the softness, at the empathy he hadn’t earned.

“Do you think it will justify what’s been done to you?” Ghost roared, bearing down on Soap.

The man didn’t even flinch.

Somehow, it made him angrier. “That I hurt you because someone hurt me?” Ghost bit out, uncaring of the damage he’d cause.

But he’d underestimated Soap. That was his specialty, wasn’t it?

“No,” Soap said, that same calm in his voice. “I want to see what you survived through. So that I know I can do the same.”

And just like that, his rage deflated, an immense sense of shame left in its wake.

He wanted to ask why—why Soap needed this so badly. He supposed it didn’t matter.

For a moment, neither of them moved, only stood there, staring at each other. Then, Ghost lifted a hand, then the other. He pulled his mask down first, then reached so slowly to grab onto the fabric at his waist. Don’t make me do this, he wanted to say. He didn’t. Inexplicably, he knew he owed this to Soap.

With a sharp, jerky motion, he pulled the garment loose. It tugged free of his pants, sliding up and over his shoulders, cool air hitting skin in a way that had him shivering.

Not from the cold. From the exposure of being bared to another person for the first time in ages. Even nurses and medics gasped when they saw the mess that had been left for him to live with. Soap wouldn’t be any different.

He waited. For the horror and the revulsion. When a sharp breath broke the silence, Ghost knew he was about to come face to face with something he’d finally earned. Disgust, it had to be.

When he looked at Soap, he saw anything but.

Soap’s eyes raked over his body, truly seeing for the first time every devastating injury Ghost tried to hide. Signs that he was capable of weakness, that he’d once been made so small. And though Soap had felt it before, he took in each newly revealed piece of skin as though it were all new to him.

Ghost waited for it, the mockery that was sure to follow. The bogeyman made human, a coward in a mask.

It never came. Not the smugness or the lording or the ridicule.

Only more of that open curiosity.

“Just a man,” Soap whispered, as if he couldn’t quite help himself.

The words caused an ache in Ghost’s chest. “Just a man,” he echoed, matching him in volume. A plea for Soap to understand, but not going so far as to hope he would forgive.

“Is your back any better?” Soap asked, voice thick with an emotion Ghost couldn’t identify.

His tongue felt welded to the roof of his mouth. Unable to speak, he just shook his head.

When he didn’t move, Soap took a step, testing. And when he wasn’t stopped, another. More curses, some of which Ghost didn’t recognize. When Soap came back around, his eyes held something Ghost didn’t comprehend: anger.

“What did they do to you?” Soap asked, voice lowering.

Ghost swallowed, trying to catch up with how they’d gotten here. To Soap, all wound up over this. “Lashings,” he said when he’d finally unglued his tongue. “For bad behavior.”

It had been their favourite punishment. Dozens and dozens of them. Enough that Ghost had blacked out before they’d come to an end, reawakening to find his captors hadn’t finished with him yet.

The first time Price had seen it, he’d almost thrown up. In his defence, they’d been more raw back then. Fresher.

Not that it’d healed any better.

On his worst nights, he could still feel the fiery sting of the whip, coming down on his skin. Slicing it open, digging into muscle. Even now his skin felt hot, their wounds still breaking him down years later.

Soap stood there, worry in his eyes, concern that Ghost didn’t deserve. Silence fell, tension thick enough to slice with a blade as Ghost gave Soap a piece of himself that no one had earned before. And when Soap lifted a hand, eyes carefully considering, a clear question, Ghost nodded.

Soap went slowly, hesitantly. And when he placed it down over the puckered skin of Ghost’s chest, inexplicably, it was like a balm.

At first he didn’t move, only kept it there. Then, carefully, he began his exploration. Fingers slowly mapped over the bumps and plains of his ruined flesh. A body no one could love, including Ghost.

Maybe Soap was trying to rectify his actions from the other day, seeking a forgiveness of sorts. It didn’t feel like it. Instead, it was like he was smoothing away each vicious thing that had been done to the skin there.

And as he did, Ghost found himself slowly relaxing.

A second hand joined, trailing up over the skin of his abs, repeating that same process. Exploring, smoothing away aches gone by.

Ghost’s eyelids flagged. His hands reached forwards without his consent, fisting into the sweater that draped over Soap’s body. Pulling him closer, to have more of that warmth.

Soap went easily, eyes focused on Ghost the whole time. Not suspicious or scheming, only…assessing. Waiting to see if he needed to stop.

In answer, Ghost slid a hand around to Soap’s back, pulling them together. So that they were chest to chest, breathing the same air.

“You okay?” Soap checked in quietly.

Ghost hummed. He didn’t have words to describe what he felt right now. Good? He couldn’t be sure, it’d been so long since someone had touched him like this. But maybe that was why he was struggling so much, to understand whether or not he deserved to feel this way.

Instead of trying to work it all out, he let himself fall into the fantasy of it. That Soap wanted this. That he was touching Ghost because he felt like it, not because he “knew why he was here.” That when Soap accidentally shifted his hips, it had been on purpose. Because he wanted Ghost just as badly as Ghost needed him right now.

Needed this lie.

Soap’s gasp seemed real enough when a thigh was worked in between his own. Another innocent touch Ghost had perverted, transformed into something selfish. And when he flattened his palm down the base of Soap’s spine, he could almost convince himself that Soap arched into his touch, not away.

“Please,” Soap breathed, eyes slipping shut. So that he no longer had to look at just who was making him feel good. So that he could fall into a fantasy of his own to help get him through this.

Ghost would let him.

He staved off his response, pressing his lips into a thin line. Keeping silent so Soap could imagine it was one of the other pretty boys from his camp touching him instead. Pressed his thigh in against Soap’s cock, earning a sigh.

A hand slid upwards on Ghost’s ribs, finding one of the fewer pieces of skin left unmarred on his body. Settling someplace Soap could pretend wasn’t a part of his captor, rolling his hips slowly up against Ghost.

Everything in Ghost was urging him to ruin this. To go faster, harder. To scramble towards that lick of heat so he could fuck off somewhere he wouldn’t be reminded of the shame that accompanied each of these touches. Of how he’d gotten that stolen pleasure. Of who he’d taken it from.

But Soap needed this.

His fingers trailed upwards slowly, tracing along each knob of Soap’s spine. Callused fingers meant more for war than gentle touches but he knew he’d done something right when Soap let out a breathy exhale, the sound content.

Had he ever paid attention to all the little noises Soap made when he was enjoying himself? That hadn’t been the priority, had it? He had a litany of them. Sharp breaths that had his chest expanding against Ghost’s. Quiet moans from somewhere deep and swallows that echoed when they were so close like this.

Ghost’s fingers splayed out as his hand gentled between Soap’s shoulder blades, pulling him in closer. The sweater hooked into the crook of his elbow, dragging it upwards. Heat pooled in his gut as their bellies pressed together, the hair of Soap’s body so foreign against him.

Why hadn’t they done this earlier? Face to face, touches soft and movements gentle. The teasing of that fire inside of him, so good and slow.

Ghost pressed in closer. His hand continued upwards until—

Until he remembered why.

The harsh metal of Soap’s collar glanced over Ghost’s fingertips, ripping him from the small fiction he’d been feeding into. Soap’s eyes opened, meeting Ghost’s. More than certainly dragged free of a daydream of his own.

Ghost pulled his hand back, placing it safely on Soap’s hip.

They weren’t made for tender touches, he reminded himself, a lesson he’d learned long ago. And soon, he wouldn’t have Soap here to make it so easy to forget.

“You solid?” Soap asked, eyes still a little glassy, cock firming up against Ghost’s hip.

If Soap was content to fool himself, Ghost would at least continue. For him.

Instead of answering, he hitched up his thigh, rewarded by another breathy moan.

Ghost half expected Soap to close his eyes once more, to return to whatever space he’d build up in his mind. Soap never did. Instead, he continued looking up at Ghost, something inexplicably soft in his expression.

Trying not to let his discomfort show, Ghost worked a hand down between them, fumbling for the button of Soap’s pants. Christ, he was already hard, worked up from a little heavy petting, flushed around the tip.

“Eager?” Ghost asked, trying to regain the upper hand here, to force a casualness into his voice.

“Yes,” Soap said easily, throwing him off once more. “Fuck, more—please.”

How could Ghost deny him that? He spat into his palm, adding to the mess of precome that had already started to bead. But this time when he took Soap in hand, it was a little rougher, a little impatient.

If Soap noticed the change in his demeanour, he said nothing, only gasped as Ghost stroked him. Reached down to fish Ghost out in turn, far kinder than Ghost had been. Fuck, it felt good when Soap palmed at his balls, hand warm and thorough. Ran teasing fingers up his shaft before squeezing at the spot under his head.

This is what they needed. Quick and efficient, tactical. Get off and get back to business, mind where he needed it.

Of course, Soap had other plans.

He tilted his hips a little, making it so easy to push up together.

Holy shit. Ghost gripped at the sweater, moving it up and out of the way. His other hand moved to grasp them both, the velvety glide of their skin so sensitive. Balls grinding together, hot and heavy.

And suddenly, Soap was letting him go to smooth a hand up Ghost’s back.

Muscles jumped under Soap’s unexpected touch. Returned to the skin of his back, no less, and not where it was safe to touch over his ribs. Because like this, there would be no fooling himself on just who Soap was fucking, the damage there so tellingly Ghost’s. Fingers moving with such purpose, like he was trying to untangle the mess of scars woven into his skin.

Impossible, Ghost knew. There were far too many.

Ghost was struggling to focus. Get off and get out, that’s what he needed. He’d have a clearer head somewhere else. But Soap had those eyes on him again, no longer trying to buy into an alternate reality as Ghost had suspected him of doing.

Instead he was staring right at Ghost’s masked face, as if mapping it out. Lips slightly parted as he watched openly, taking in each piece. Ghost should have put him on his stomach like usual, should have fucked his thighs or that tight little ass. It was too late now. He was just as caught up as Soap, absorbed by the puzzle before him. Of Soap, trying to drag out their pleasure instead of chasing it.

Get this over with, something in Ghost urged. His fingers tightened around them, drawing out a real moan from Soap this time. Squeezing them both around the heads, jerking off quick and rough there.

Soap loved it.

Nails bit into Ghost’s back, sharp and familiar. Safe. He almost felt something like relief when Soap gasped out an apology, his fingers relaxing. Unclenching and smoothing, gentle once more.

Ghost’s mouth felt dry, his head heavy with confusion.

“Ghost,” Soap breathed, blinking up at him. When a hand slid under the fabric of Ghost’s mask, he froze, but Soap was easing him back down. “Just want you close,” he murmured, palm moulding to the back of Ghost’s neck. Fingers playing with the baby hairs there.

He couldn’t explain why he let himself be pulled down, why his chest unclenched as their foreheads settled together. It couldn’t have been comfortable for Soap with the mask, but he didn’t complain. Eyes continuing to wander over every dip and line, drinking it up.

Why, Ghost couldn’t be sure.

Because you broke him, he reminded himself. There was no stepping around it, no lying. Soap was just a man striving to survive, desperately trying to give Ghost what he wanted. To avoid getting punished again.

Ghost had never hated himself more.

They were both broken, then. Two enemies who couldn’t even kill each other. Who were desperately panting and breathing life into the other’s weaknesses.

And suddenly, giving Soap up was no longer a choice or an option. It was a need. Who else had ever made him feel this disarmed and volatile? Looked right past his mask and the bravado and saw inside of him? To the pieces he’d worked so hard to lock away?

He couldn’t allow it. Obviously he’d been deluding himself for far longer than he’d first thought, something he could no longer afford. It was time to end this.

So this was it, their last time together. He’d imagined this moment dozens of times before. Never had he pictured it so soft, so gentle. Didn’t envision it hurting this much, either.

“Good?” Soap asked, always far more observant than he ought to be. Checking in with him. The perversity of it had Ghost’s stomach sinking.

“Good,” was the lie he forced out.

It must have been believable because Soap nodded, his nose bumping against Ghost’s. The space between them was so small, so suffocating. A small gasp whispered over Ghost’s lips as he adjusted his hold, making more room to stroke them both.

“Just like that,” Soap begged. He’d begun to help too, fucking into Ghost’s fist with each stroke.

How could Ghost deny him? Who else would show him kindness in the coming days? Sure, he’d be treated fairly. But kindly? Just Ghost, here and now.

“C’mon, Soap,” Ghost said, his voice low, encouraging.

Soap’s eyes were on him, hanging on his every word.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

It was like he was waiting for that, for permission. Fingers tightened on Ghost’s neck when he shuddered, beautiful as he came apart. Cock pulsing against his own, come spilling over Ghost’s fist to help lubricate each movement. But in Soap’s come down, he tipped forwards.

It happened in near slow motion, the way he dragged his face lower. A nose bumped along Ghost’s cheek, startling him as parted, gasping lips pressed up against the corner of Ghost’s mouth.

A surprised, wounded sound left Ghost’s lips as his orgasm wracked through him like a gunshot, hips snapping unevenly as Soap sagged against him, murmuring nonsense at him like he didn’t understand the damage he’d just done. Pulling away as if he didn’t comprehend the magnitude of what had just happened. His head fell heavily against Ghost’s collarbone, at least affording Ghost the privacy of falling apart in private.

Fuck.

The feelings of Soap’s lips on his was still seared into his brain. How could he—

He stopped himself.

He couldn’t follow that train of thought. There was no “if” or “buts”, no excuses he could allow himself to make. He couldn’t.

The hand disappeared from Ghost’s hair, leaving him with a sense of coldness. Arms settled around his waist, but Ghost knew he was just searching for stability. Propping himself up on shaky legs, nothing more.

“Fuck,” Soap breathed, still panting.

Ghost just continued to heave, hoping that with enough air, he could calm his racing heart.

“So fucking good,” Soap said, a laugh forcing its way out. “Been so pent up.”

Contrarily, Ghost was struggling. He was grateful Soap didn’t notice, so caught up in the afterglow. Even now he was nestling closer still, such an easy trap to fall into.

He had to remove himself.

It wasn’t subtle, how he untangled himself so suddenly. He could feel Soap hovering, concerned eyes boring into the back of his head as he wiped himself clean and dragged his shirt back on. Every part of him screamed to stop, to go back to that place he’d been just moments before.

He made himself stay the course.

Soap looked like he wanted to say something—maybe even to comfort him—but Ghost didn’t give him the chance. When he held up the restraints, Soap’s shoulders sagged a little but he behaved, crossing the room so Ghost could lock him in.

Neither of them spoke as Ghost made a hasty retreat, more than aware of the fact that he was fleeing his own tent.

He needed to get out. To clear his head. Outside, the rain continued to pour down around him, but he barely felt it. With no direction in mind, he started walking. He wouldn’t stop until he was ready, he decided. No more hesitation, no more flip flopping.

The only reason he would go back to his tent would be to get Soap. Then, he would finally do what needed to be done.

* * * *


It was on heavy, exhausted legs that Ghost carried himself back. He couldn’t be sure just how much time had passed, but from the way he ached, it had to be hours. Even the rain had stopped and night fallen, the lingering clouds making it impossible to see the stars.

Better this way. It made the darkness just that much more dense. He wouldn’t be able to see Soap’s confused face as he brought him before Price.

He was ready.

Heart and mind steeled to what he needed to do, steadfast and composed. He would dispose of this issue and could fully focus on the task at hand, on the battle or surrender that was to come.

The familiar shape of the tent became visible before him, a beacon drawing him back. Ghost paused, collecting himself. He took a deep breath, then drew the flap open.

A dim light had been left on, casting a warm glow over the space. His eyes scanned the tent, falling on the small heap of blankets overtop the bedroll, to Soap’s shaggy head sticking out the end.

Asleep, of course he was, still wearing the sweater he’d been given. Ghost had lost track of the time, but it made sense, especially with how spent Soap had been earlier, the lingering bits of his sickness stubbornly lingering.

Part of him wanted to soften, to let Soap rest. But he’d made too many allowances already. It was time to finish this.

The gravel beneath his feet sounded thunderous to his own ears, but Soap didn’t so much as wake. Something made him pause next to the man, thinking.

The first thing Ghost noticed was the state of Soap’s hair, due for another trim. The second was how peaceful he looked in sleep, face slack, oblivious of what was about to happen.

He wouldn’t let that stop him. Ghost crouched, taking hold of a corner of Soap’s blanket. He’d barely tugged, but the fabric slid down off Soap’s shoulder, earning a little shiver. Fingers twitched to readjust it but he resisted, eyes following the line of his arm, down to the curve of his elbow.

All for the last time.

But as Ghost allowed himself just one last leisurely glance at the man before him, something caught his eye. A corner of Soap’s sketchbook, half hidden under the bedroll.

Curiosity had Ghost leaning over, carefully pulling it free.

He remembered the first time he’d seen it, how impersonal those drawings had been. Flipping through the pages now, he found it, the first sketch of Soap’s he’d ever seen.

Ghost’s mask.

The memory came easily enough. All Ghost had to do was remember Soap from those early days. Even Ghost’s men tended to look away as he passed, but Soap was bold right from the beginning, gaze always fixed to him. That’s how he’d been able to capture the skull plating so well—he’d never been afraid to look.

But there was something different about the piece. Whereas previously the mask had been faceless, Soap had made an addition to the drawing.

Ghost shifted, uncomfortable.

Soap had added his eyes.

He hadn’t thought himself capable of the emotion that was reflected up at him in graphite. Something soft, almost… kind. Surely that couldn’t be how Soap saw him.

Ghost flipped the page, needing to see more.

A couple light studies that were less than interesting, featuring different objects from around the room. An attempt at Soap’s own face that wasn’t half bad, considering he didn’t have access to a mirror. Price’s amused expression surprised him by coming up next, an annoyance he couldn’t quite tamp down threatening. But when he turned the page once more, he found another drawing of himself. Well, part of him. His face, mask rolled up to make room for a cigarette between his lips.

Christ, Soap had him figured out, hadn’t he? Only took a couple fags before bed and some shared meals before he’d been able to capture his likeness perfectly. He supposed he should expect nothing less, Soap had always proven himself exceptionally clever.

Another turn of the page showed a face he didn’t know. A lean man with dark skin and tight, short curls. Obviously someone important to Soap based off the expression he’d drawn. Friendly, open.

Idly, Ghost wondered if it was that “friend” Soap kept mentioning, the one who was making trouble around camp. Maybe he should tear out the page, circulate the image a bit. He decided against it.

But the next set of sketches were more confusing still. Not a singular face, just a series of quick, disconnected features. Some of them had been heavily crossed out, others carefully shaded and brought to life.

Ghost frowned. There were dozens of them, the same nose over and over again, the same eyes. Eyebrows that weren’t attached to a face, all hovering around the page without rhyme or reason. Lips with a thick scar twisting through them, down over a jaw.

Something nagged at Ghost. He knew that mouth, that scar. And those eyebrows…

Ghost froze.

That night, when Soap had pulled the blade on him. When he’d insisted he hadn’t seen Ghost’s face.

He’d been lying.

Here on the pages of the sketchpad, everything became evidently clear. If he were to cut out each of these pieces, he was sure of what he’d find by putting them together properly.

Ghost’s own face, staring up at him.

Oh, Soap had been smart to hide this away. Making sure that at a glance, Ghost wouldn’t be able to tell what he was up to. But Ghost had figured it out.

Soap had seen his face.

No living person since Mexico had seen what was beneath this mask and had survived to speak of it. This changed everything.

It was obvious Soap wanted to remember what he’d seen, or else he wouldn’t have recorded it like this. Had sketched out only as much as he’d dared in an attempt to…what? Recreate it later?

If he could, what would he do with that mock up? Would he let himself be sold off to the highest bidder, then try and buy his freedom with Ghost’s identity?

No…that didn’t make sense. But to the right people, it was possible. Possible, and dangerous.

Ghost had done much more than get his petty revenge in Mexico. It hadn’t been enough to stop at the men who had tortured him. He’d gone for the higher ups too, had gone after their money. A great number of people wanted Ghost’s head on a platter, and would pay well to get any information they could to see that to completion.

Fuck.

Ghost looked down at Soap’s lax form, so innocent as he slept. All afternoon, Ghost had been struggling to decide what needed to be done. He’d been so close too, was just about to turn Soap in.

But Ghost couldn’t risk this going any further. This needed to end with just the two of them.

Carefully, Ghost put the book back, not wanting to raise any alarm just yet. A sense of peace filled him as he stood, all that noise and confusion fading into the background. There were things to do, he knew. Supplies to nick, seeds to plant. He’d make sure to find that knife Soap so obviously coveted, might even appreciate the irony.

A new plan came together easily in Ghost’s mind, one he was surprised to never consider before. For all his agonizing, it was funny how in the end he didn’t even have a real say in the matter.

Soap had made this decision for the both of them.

Chapter Text

One Day until the Deadline to Surrender
…

“Are you sure that’s what you want, son?” Price asked. It was only mid morning and already the camp was alight with movement, audible even through the captain’s tent. On the crowded table between them sat an ashtray, both of them holding tight to their vices.

Ghost was, he’d spent the night thinking over his options. This was the only course of action that made sense. He nodded.

The cigar burned away in Price’s hand and he brought it to his mouth, pondering. Finally, he sighed, the cherry reddening as he inhaled.

“Shame,” he said as he exhaled, the smoke filling the space between them. “Was hoping to see a little more of what he was capable of.”

Though the comment irked Ghost, he kept silent, waiting as Price contemplated.

His captain sighed. “Can arrange to have someone else take care of it. I know you’ve grown fond of the boy.”

“No,” Ghost said immediately. “It’s my fault. I’ll see it through.”

A look, heavy and long. But Price knew him too well by now, knew he wasn’t one to budge. “Fine,” he said slowly, consideringly. “Take him to the usual spot. We’ve already got a couple cold ones out there. Can have the rest of the day off but I expect to see you tomorrow. Fit for duty.”

The orders felt familiar. They helped to make all of this easier. Just like the knowledge that today was a result of Soap and his own actions. Because if Soap hadn’t seen what he’d seen…

Ghost knew it wasn’t worth lingering on the ‘what if.” The only thing that mattered was what came next.

Price picked up the pen, scratching a line off the manifest in long, quick strokes.

Soap’s name, Ghost knew. Another victim of this war.

* * * *

Soap was first out of the tent, running a hand over the newly trimmed lines of his hair. “Was getting a little long on top,” he said in thanks, stepping aside to let Ghost take the lead.

Ghost nodded, eyes furrowing against the midday sun. If he’d thought it’d been busy before, it was nothing compared to now. The camp had become a bustle of energy and bodies that hadn’t existed in a while. There was something about an upcoming battle that always brought life to tired men.

Soap fell into step behind him, a persistent presence at his elbow. “Where did you say we were going?” he asked, eyeing their surroundings as they went.

“I didn’t,” Ghost said. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

A sound, but only mildly put off, more playful than anything.

If Soap thought anything was off, he didn’t show it. Likely chalked it up to having pushed too far last night. He’d badgered Ghost with apologies throughout the morning, only relaxing when Ghost produced the clippers, waving him over to the little chair.

It probably helped that Ghost was unusually physical today, the little unconscious touches comforting to Soap. Maybe it had been the comment from Price earlier or the timer they had on their time together, but the only word that could characterize what Ghost felt was needy. It was like he couldn’t get enough of Soap, needed his hands on him at all times. Even now something tugged at him for contact. He slowed, guiding Soap to walk in front of him with a hand on the man’s lower back.

A look from Soap, the same one he’d gotten earlier. Curious maybe, those ever-calculating eyes assessing. But he took it in stride, settling comfortably into the change. “Y’know,” he said, “coulda done yourself too if you’d wanted. Figured you’d trust me enough not to peek.”

Of course he wouldn’t, Ghost thought. Had already gotten his fill, committed it to memory and paper. But saying so would give himself away. “Didn’t need it,” he murmured instead.

“Can’t say the same about me,” Soap continued. “Was nice to get my beard as well.”

“If only we could do something about the pelt that covers your body,” Ghost deadpanned.

Soap let out a laugh at that. “Didn’t know you like em hairless,” he mused. “Picked the wrong person if you wanted a little of that.”

“Cheeky.”

Soap peeked back at him, expression considering. The very same one Ghost had been dodging all morning.

“Just spit it out,” Ghost sighed. There was no use avoiding the topic if Soap was going to insist on addressing it.

A pause. Soap moved in a little closer, away from the mass of bodies that hurried through the crowded path. “Just worried I’d gone too far last night,” he admitted finally.

Feeling Soap’s eyes on him, Ghost schooled his expression into a mask of neutrality. “We’ve been over this,” he made himself say, forcing himself to meet Soap’s gaze.

He could feel the way Soap was searching, was assessing. Seemingly finding what he was looking for, Soap nodded, eyes forward once more. “I know,” he said, sounding satisfied. “Said I didn’t push but it just feels…” he trailed off, words lost in the space between them.

Ghost didn’t let himself try to guess at what had gone unsaid.

Because today, Ghost was stone.

Last night he’d kept waiting for the betrayal to hit him, the anger. Instead, all he could muster up was simple resolve. When Ghost had been held captive in Mexico, he’d told himself he would do anything to survive. How could he not expect the same of Soap? Ghost had only been so smart as to see plan A, but Soap was clever. Of course the man had a backup.

This was business, pure and simple. Compartmentalization was what Ghost did best, and he’d decided that getting Soap out of his system was the only way to ensure he’d be fit for duty tomorrow morning. So he guided Soap in a little closer, ignoring the tightness in his chest that had become the new norm.

They continued in silence, their leisurely pace standing out against the rush of those around them. Ghost had purposefully taken the long way, drawing out their time together and avoiding any signs of the Restricted Area as to not cause Soap any undo stress. But when the gates to the camp came into view, Soap cocked his head. It was obvious he hadn’t anticipated they’d be leaving the camp itself, his back tensing under Ghost’s palm.

“Won’t take long,” Ghost said quietly, pushing him forward a little, making room to do a quick inventory of his stock. It wasn’t much. A gun at his side and a blade strapped to his thigh, didn’t need much when the grounds were already heavily patrolled as they were.

Two guards came out to greet them, a couple of boys Ghost recognized in passing. It was a short conversation. No one was allowed in or out right now—not with the battle looming so close—but that had been apart of Ghost’s visit this morning. He produced a slip, permission granted from Price himself, a day pass of sorts.

In moments they were waved on.

They passed through the gates in the same respectful silence that would be afforded a funeral procession.

It wasn’t until they were well away that Soap glanced back, watching as those big doors swung shut, groaning loudly on their hinges. “That was ominous,” he said. A thin attempt at humour, trying to shake off the lingering tension.

An understatement.

“Don’t suppose you’ll tell me where we’re going, then?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Without the crowd of bodies, there was no reason to keep close, but Soap still idled along next to him, arms brushing as they went. Ghost wasn’t about to complain. “Promised you a wash, didn’t I?” he asked.

The first look that flashed across Soap’s face was surprise. Then, slowly, a trace of a smile curling at his lips. “Thought you’d forgotten,” he admitted, his voice softening a little.

Ghost hadn’t. After making so many promises he hadn’t been able to keep, something about this one resonated with him. And with its proximity to the location Price had given him, it would work perfectly.

It was betrayingly gratifying to watch excitement fill Soap’s step. To see him straighten up, his pace increasing. Not quite sure what he was moving towards exactly but eager to get there.

Even Ghost couldn’t deny there was something revitalizing about leaving those fenced perimeters behind. The location they’d set up base on was pleasant as much as it was strategic. A thick forest stretched out to their left, as long as the eye could see. It worked to provide water and food to keep them nourished, as well as wood to fuel their fires.

But as beautiful as their surroundings were, what he truly couldn’t keep his eyes off of was Soap.

Whereas Ghost had slowly drifted into the shade, Soap continued along in the sun. He was singular. Face tilted upwards, if only minutely, taking in every ounce of it he could manage. Eyes mostly closed, trusting Ghost to keep him on track.

The knife on Ghost’s thigh had never felt heavier.

Those eyes opened again, immediately seeking him out. He grinned, making Ghost’s chest pinch. Why was it his smile that made Ghost most uncomfortable?

“Is it much further?” Soap asked.

Grateful for a reason to look away, Ghost turned his eyes to the treeline.

They weren’t quite there yet. This wasn’t his first trip into this part of the forest. Not all guests stayed to see the end of a war. And although there were rules in place to see as few casualties as possible, it was expected that they’d lose a handful or two.

There were a variety of reasons prisoners might face execution. Ghost wondered what Price had written on the report. Medical, most likely. He’d been sick, had required a number of medications that would have all been carefully logged. A cold he’d never quite gotten over, despite all of their efforts. Tragic, but it happened.

Soap’s gaze reminded him he had yet to answer the question. “Can’t be sure,” he said evasively.

“Cryptic bastard,” Soap grumbled, but there was fondness there. Fuck he was naïve. “You’re not worried, being this far from camp and all?”

“No,” Ghost answered honestly. There was little that truly scared him out this way. It was still apart of their territory, well guarded by patrols. Since they’d set themselves up, reported activity had been at a zero, including from this morning. Getting lost wasn’t a concern, either. Slowly, one of the mile markers peaked out from the mostly uniform line of trees.

Soap slowed as Ghost held up a hand, coming to join him.

A group of evergreens clumped together, alerting him of their coordinates. Soap had a sharp eye, following Ghost’s gaze to a series of notches high in one of the trees, a symbol to anyone from Ghost’s camp. Next to it was the mere suggestion of a path, not frequented enough to ware down the grass, wide enough to filter through one at a time.

“Here,” Ghost said. He turned, motioning for Soap to take the lead.

It wasn’t with even a second thought that Soap slipped into the forest, once again plunging himself into the shadows at Ghost’s request. “Should I be worried that you’re bringing me out here all alone?” he joked as they made their way forwards.

“Only if you’re going to start giving me attitude,” Ghost replied as smoothly as he could. The nerves were building again. It was like the closer they neared to their destination, the more his body processed how quickly the end was coming. That he would be losing something he didn’t dare admit had become anything, that Soap would no longer be with him.

Good, a stubborn part of him bit out. Soap was a crutch, a weakness, awakening something weak from deep inside that had been cast out for a reason.

That had to be true. For the sake of Ghost’s sanity, it had to be.

He gave Soap a hard look over. The man didn’t seem distressed. Fuck, he’d truly grown to trust Ghost. Even now his head was ducked, the long line of his neck exposed, collar glaring up at him. If Ghost really wanted, he could wrap a hand around it, wouldn’t take much. His eyes fixed to the forest floor, too preoccupied with keeping them steadily on the path, steps slow and languid. Would be none the wiser until it was too late.

It would be easier if Soap didn’t know what was coming, Ghost supposed.

They heard it before they could see it. A dull roar, loudening as they neared.

“Is that…?” Soap started, then stopped. He turned, looking up at Ghost, something akin to hope in his eyes.

How was it the little kindness that pained him the most? “Healthy change of pace,” Ghost said, making an effort to keep his voice even.

That was all the encouragement Soap needed. They followed along as the trees began to thin out again, right to a clearing where the river intersected with the forest. The density of the leaves diminished, allowing space for the sunlight to seep through, cleared completely at the widest part of the river.

It was private here, secluded. A quiet place to spend a couple of hours alone, perfect to grant Soap just one last request.

He wasn’t disappointed.

The look in Soap’s eyes as he took it in… like he’d never expected to see anything like this again. A weight lifted from his shoulders, a look of contentment settled onto his features. He turned to Ghost. In his eyes, there was something like gratitude. “Can I…?” he asked, not even finishing the question. Only cocked his head towards the river, waiting.

“Course,” Ghost said.

A smile worked its way onto Soap’s face as they continued on.

It was better than he’d remembered. Granted, last time he hadn’t been focused on its waterfront access. Instead he’d come here after a body drop, interested only in washing the dirt and blood from his hands.

Today he noted the way the water had eaten into the shoreline. Shallows that deepened gradually, wouldn’t get higher than either of their waistlines at its deepest. Silt coated the entrance, bunches of algae clinging to what rocks were visible. It wasn’t good for swimming, but would work to bathe in.

Soap pulled off his shirt, letting it fall into a heap at his feet. He reached for his belt next, working the buckle free. Sensing Ghost wasn’t following, he turned, arching an eyebrow. “You joining?” he asked, dropping the leather onto the pile.

But oddly, the haphazardly discarded clothing had the oddest ache working its way into his chest. It had Ghost thinking back to that night with Price, all those days ago. To the insolent way he’d tossed his shirt onto the floor. So much had changed since then, but this…despite Ghost’s best efforts, Soap had made himself unapologetically whole once more.

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head a little. He needed to stay focused, couldn’t let himself lose sight of his objective. “I’m coming.”

A small smile from Soap, genuine pleasure that he’d have company. He turned, shielding himself to work open his pants. The gesture was strange. Soap had never been shy before. But it was to give Ghost privacy, he realized. As if he had understood that last night had been singular, something that Ghost couldn’t give him everyday, vulnerable and exhaustive.

It was unnerving how Soap seemed to see him. A knot twisted in Ghost’s stomach. At least he wouldn’t need to suffer it for much longer.

But the man was correct. Unsurprisingly, shedding his weapons was the easiest part. He pulled off his shirt before he could lose courage, folding each layer into a meticulous pile, so at odds with Soap’s. They’d always been opposites, but somehow it had worked. Until yesterday, that is.

Soap finished before him, keeping close as he waited, eyes on their surroundings. He didn’t turn as Ghost approached, only leaned back when he sensed a presence. They took a moment. It was peaceful here, serene. Twigs cracked in the distance but neither of them flinched, taking in the small critters that skirted around the parameters.

But their tiny guests were enough of a reminder that the longer they lingered, the higher the chance they were interrupted, patrols not unlikely to pass by eventually. A pat on Soap’s side had him peeling off Ghost, headed in the direction of the water.

Ghost watched him go. Soap was so highly responsive, especially when it came to Ghost’s needs. Even now he’d pause every so often, waiting to see if he was called on or if he should wait. Today wasn’t about that. Soap deserved to spend these final moments in peace, focused on his own pleasures. So when Soap continue forwards, wading into the deepest parts of the stream, Ghost fought his urges and hung back, sinking down into the side of the riverbed.

Sensing Ghost was no longer following him, Soap turned back, eyeing him curiously.

Ghost waved him onwards.

Soap only hesitated a moment before giving him a smile, wading out further.

This was it.

If Soap was going to try anything, it would be now. He’d get a good lead if he decided to make a break for it to run naked through the forest. Ghost wouldn’t be able to stop him, but the patrols would pick him up eventually. At least he would have a chance.

But as water settled in around his navel, Soap stopped.

Tension bled from Ghost’s shoulders, a breath of relief following. He settled back onto his arms, feeling the squish between his outstretched fingers. The water was cool but not unbearably so, would be nicely warmed in the sun where Soap had—predictably—found himself once more.

Fuck it was bright out. Even Soap squinted, shielding his eyes against its rays to do a slow scan of the forest. He paused a moment, only to move on before Ghost could even try to follow his gaze. Turning to him instead, a smile pulling at his lips. “You staying there?” he asked, letting his hand drop.

Ghost watched the way the water responded to him, splashing around noisily. “M’fine here,” he said. There was something in Soap’s face he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he shoved the thought down, noting it as unimportant.

Soap made a contemplative noise, but said nothing. He sank down, letting the water slowly swallow him until he was nothing but a series of bubbles coming to the surface. Then he burst back up, heaving in a noisy lungful of air as he did. He laughed despite himself, straightening before scooping up a palm-full of water, letting it run down his arm before scrubbing at the skin there.

Selfishly, Ghost couldn’t take his eyes off Soap. It was like the man was treasuring each second of this. Luxuriating in the way he scrubbed the dirt from his skin, hand working in sure, confident motions.

Christ, he’d touched Ghost like that last night, hadn’t he? Had Ghost been deserving of such a thing? To feel the empathy that had been threaded into each small brush, especially with how today would end? Of course he wasn’t. It had been stolen, tricked out of him. Or maybe Soap had been foolish to offer it up so easily.

And yet, he wanted more of it. He clenched his fists against reaching out, tightened his lips against asking for it. Soap would give it to him, he knew. This isn’t about you, Ghost reminded himself. Let Soap have these last peaceful moments alone.

But Soap must have felt his gaze because he looked up, head cocking. Said nothing as his eyes racked over his face, over his mask. Splashed some water onto his other arm, rubbing wide circles all the way up to his shoulder.

The peace of the moment couldn’t last. “The mask,” Soap said slowly, quietly.

Ghost tensed.

That had Soap pausing, considering.

Silence stretched out between them, the distance growing wider by the moment, if only in Ghost’s mind.

Having come to a conclusion privy to only him, Soap sank into the water once more, stopping as it settled around his shoulders. He thought that might be the end of it, that Soap had lost his courage. But the man only pushed off in his direction, letting the water carry his momentum towards Ghost. It took effort not to startle as their bodies jostled together before Soap rearranged himself to sit between Ghost’s spread knees, leaning back against his chest.

The familiarity took Ghost off guard. What Soap got out of their closeness was beyond him. Ghost tried not to dwell on it, especially when his own body moved to accommodate him. Soap liked that. He could feel it in the low, rumbling sound that vibrated against their connected bodies.

It was peaceful. Domestic.

It clawed a piece out of Ghost’s chest.

A minute passed in silence. Then a second. Just when Ghost had thought himself free of the questioning, the man looked up at him, expectation in his eyes.

Ghost let out a long breath through his nose. “It’s complicated,” was all he said.

Soap was going to push, Ghost just knew it. But when the man only settled in against him, restrained and respectful, his discomfort grew. He cleared his throat. “Might be,” he said slowly, voice rough, “that a long time ago I made a good number of people very angry.”

A second passed as Soap thought, considering. He looked back at Ghost. “The same people who hurt you?” he asked quietly. Not an ounce of empathy or pity, just reflective.

It wasn’t the reminder of his wounds that had a lump forming in Ghost’s throat. Instead it was the reality that the only person he had ever shared this piece of himself with would soon be gone. Still, he nodded.

Another pause. “And you took care of them?” Soap asked, eyes turning back to the water. Offering him privacy to tackle this delicate subject, just as he had before. Considerate until the end.

It worked. Ghost hated it, but it did. It made it so much easier to unburden himself without those eyes on him, with the stupid levels of trust Soap kept affording him. “Yeah,” he said around the lump in his throat. “I did.”

A long moment. Then, a laugh. “Good,” Soap said, the furthest thing from what Ghost had expected. He readjusted a little, slipping more comfortably into Ghost’s lap. Crooked his knees up one at a time, legs spreading as he did. The reflection of the trees on the water gave him some semblance of privacy, but not much, his cock just barely visible under the surface.

Soap held up a hand, an invitation. Rough skin met in a gentle slide. Soap contemplated their connected palms for a moment before guiding him down, fingers tangling together as he placed their hands on his chest.

Ghost could feel it, the steady rise and fall. The warmth, so persistent. It was Soap who guided him down, over the planes of his stomach, where—regretfully—Ghost stopped him. “Didn’t bring you out here for that,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Soap replied, voice just as low. “But it might be I was a little bored earlier,” he admitted, peeking up over his shoulder.

That had Ghost’s attention. He pushed himself up proper, the both of them sitting upright.

Soap huffed out a laugh. “Felt like I owed you an apology,” he explained, hooking his other leg over Ghost’s, making the lines of his body so much more obvious like this. “Wanted to surprise you.”

“Is that so?” Ghost couldn’t help but to say. He peeked down, taking in Soap’s budding interest—so obviously on display now. A firming up of his cock beneath the water, just waiting for Ghost to notice. “How long have you been suffering this?”

Soap made a sound. “A while. You’ve been touchy today—I liked it.”

The man’s open honesty never ceased to surprised Ghost, to have him wondering what he’d done to deserve it. It didn’t matter, he decided. If Soap wanted this, he would have it. And selfishly, Ghost still wanted more and more of the man.

Fingers dipped below the surface of the water decidedly, trailing downwards. It was so different like this, skin cooled from even the shortest time submerged, distorting the usual heat and slide of Soap’s skin. He teasingly avoided Soap’s growing issue, fitting his hand into the hinge of his hip instead.

Hating to be ignored, Soap’s back arched, as if he could coerce Ghost into getting what he wanted. When that didn’t work he sulked. “Ghost,” he complained, only to earn a quiet shushing.

“Said this was for me,” Ghost reminded gently. He hooked his chin over Soap’s shoulder, making a show of raking his eyes over the man’s body. “Let me enjoy it.”

Not without restraint, Soap pressed his lips into a thin line, biting back any smart comments he was going to make.

“Shame you didn’t bring anything to help,” Ghost said, feigning regret, fingers continuing downwards. As if that would stop him from giving Soap what he needed, especially when he was asking so sweetly.

A sound, impatient. “Good thing—ah,” he gasped out as Ghost pressed firmly against his taint, “good thing I did.”

That had a laugh pulled right from Ghost’s belly. Of course Soap had. Probably nicked from his stock, how else would he have gotten it? “Do I want to know what else you took from me?”

“Not room to hide much else like this,” Soap said, voice breathy.

Insolent, right up until the end.

It had Ghost rock hard, something Soap was similarly struggling with if his thickening cock was to be believed. Coaxed into life by small, deliberate touches. He dipped a finger down, thumbing contemplatively at Soap’s hole.

Oh, he hadn’t been lying, Ghost came to learn. Had made himself so soft and loose for Ghost, must really have been trying to show off. Managed to sink a finger so easily into the wet heat of him, just begging to be filled properly.

Ghost ducked his head, laying a rewarding kiss on his shoulder, then another. “This just for me?” he asked.

“Made myself nice and pretty for you,” Soap breathed.

Satisfied, Ghost dropped one last kiss to Soap’s skin before pulling out, ignoring the returning sounds of displeasure. “Lets see just how good of a job you’ve done. On your knees, then” he said.

The look Soap gave him was knowing. Why wouldn’t it be? This was what they did, wasn’t it? Ghost ordered him over to fuck him quick and rough from behind, an easy resolution to a base need.

Today, Ghost wanted more.

On his hands and knees, the water came up to about Soap’s mid thigh. His cock was a precious thing, firmed up and just barely dipping into the water, eager for what would come next.

Soap didn’t know the half of it.

Ghost placed a hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing soothingly there. “Comfortable?” he asked, determined to make each of these next moments so solely about Soap, about his pleasure.

Soap hummed in confirmation. He spread his knees, making more room for Ghost to get in closer. “Need me to get the lube?” he asked, eyes half lidded, eager.

Fuck, Ghost thought. How was it possible he was getting rid of something so perfectly made for him?

“Not yet, Soap,” he said, earning a little look of confusion. “Want to try something first.”

He’d always had a thing for Soap’s ass, couldn’t help but to watch as the man paraded himself around their tent. Today, he was going to indulge.

Taking his time, he palmed at Soap’s cheeks, spreading him. Fuck, Soap wanted him. Couldn’t fake it when he was on display like this, pretty pink hole waiting and willing.

Ghost was going to ruin him.

“What are you going to—ah!” Soap cried, falling forwards.

Fuck. And to think Ghost hadn’t even started yet, had only barely pushed up his mask to teasingly run his tongue low over the spot behind Soap’s balls. He caught the man by the thighs, dragging him back up. “Anyone ever eat you out?” he asked, settling down properly behind Soap. Readying himself, barely feeling the pain that usually nagged at his knees.

It was clear Soap was struggling to formulate words, his answer clear in the puzzled look in his eyes.

Criminal.

One last thing Soap was going to learn about himself.

Instead of answering, Ghost put a hand under Soap’s stomach, guiding him up a little higher. “Try not to move,” Ghost warned, watching with amusement as Soap’s mouth fell open, words finally sinking in as Ghost dipped back down.

Soap couldn’t have anticipated what was coming.

Christ, Ghost hadn’t even touched his hole yet, was mouthing at his balls before sliding up to his taint, pushing there again, knowing how much Soap liked it. The noise he made confirmed as much, choked off and confused, was such a sweet sound to hear.

For their final moments together, Ghost wanted to hear nothing but.

Ghost flattened his tongue down over Soap’s taint, running it so slowly over him. Paused at that puckering little hole of his, waiting. Thumbed at it a little, giving a slow, teasing lap.

Of course Soap would like this. Threw himself backwards, nearly dislodging Ghost in the process. But it was far from an attempt to escape. The sound he let out was too raw, too surprised. And when he pushed himself back against Ghost’s waiting mouth, Ghost knew he had him.

“Relax,” Ghost whispered soothingly. Because if Soap thought this was good, it was only the beginning.

And Soap tried too, he really did. But another pass of Ghost’s tongue had his legs near giving out, so clearly in need of support.

That Ghost could do. “Hold yourself open for me,” he ordered.

Maybe that helped. The clear directive, keeping him from slipping down into a dribbling mess. Soap couldn’t have moved faster. He propped himself up on a forearm, the other hand clambering to comply. Like this, Ghost had more room to better support him. It also let him get his mouth on that tight ring of muscles, tongue darting out again uninterrupted. Because this time when Soap cried out, rocking hard against him, Ghost was ready—hands holding Soap firmly in place.

Oh, Soap liked that. Liked throwing himself back, knowing he had nowhere to go. Liked being manhandled, was so precious about it. Ghost wished they had days, weeks, years to look into that. To push and take and touch until Soap was an incomprehensible mess.

They only had today—had right now. He would make of it what he could.

The sound Soap made was desperate, low and aroused. It had heat tingling up Ghost’s spine to be wanted like this, to know that no one had ever made Soap feel this good—that no one ever would again. And Soap had done such a good job of opening himself up, made it so easy to slip himself inside. To fuck his tongue into his entrance, getting him nice and wet. Would be so soft and ready for him, wouldn’t feel a fucking thing but pleasure as Ghost’s thick cock hammered in along his walls.

“Ghost,” Soap gasped out needily.

Christ, Ghost wouldn’t mind dying like this. To have suffocated from not being able to pull himself away. Breathing was a burden he couldn’t afford, only coming up once his lungs were screaming at him. All worth it to see that pink little hole shining up at him, slickened from his spit. Spat on it for good measure, slipping a finger in to work him open. Scissored him wider to get his tongue in deep, jaw aching from the exertion.

Soap whined. It was easy to see the problem. Between spread knees his cock hung flushed and weeping, dribbling precome into the water below. Ghost didn’t want to leave him a mess. He ran a finger over the slit, watching as Soap’s hips rolled into the touch, a whimper falling from his lips.

“Touch me,” he demanded petulantly and Ghost throbbed. His own cock ached to be inside of Soap, to feel that heat.

Selfishly, he couldn’t give this up just yet. “Soon,” Ghost promised. Because Soap was loosening up so prettily right now. It’d be a shame to interrupt.

When was the last time he’d fucked Soap wordless? Ages, but they wouldn’t be able to say that in an hour’s time. Ghost wondered if he even knew where he was. If he understood that anyone could walk in on them like this, anyone. That he was out here with the most dangerous man in this whole war, even without the knife and gun.

Ghost felt like he couldn’t breathe for how he was fucking into Soap’s ass. Meanwhile, Soap was sucking in heaving breaths. Couldn’t formulate words anymore but was begging for it in the little ways he fucked his hips back onto Ghost’s tongue. Fuck, the taste of him, the smell. Earthy and musky and Soap. Ghost seared its memory into his mind, desperate to hold onto it forever. Knowing it would be gone before he was ready.

But there was a timer on their last moment together, Ghost knew. Regretfully he pulled back, planting a kiss to one of Soap’s cheeks as he took over his grip there.

Soap let out a sound of relief. Ghost could tell he was exhausted, despite not even having come yet, despite Ghost doing all the work.

“Fuck,” Soap croaked out, voice wrecked, chest working furiously between them. His limbs were loose, boneless at his sides. It took Ghost helping to get him onto his back, moving them up a little so Soap wouldn’t need to contend with the water levels. “Steaming Jesus,” he breathed. “What was that?”

“Best not bring him into this,” Ghost said drily, earning a smack on the chest.

“Bastard,” Soap huffed. “Reach into my pocket, will you?”

Ghost couldn’t help but to feel smug at Soap’s breathlessness as he stretched up, fumbling around in the heap of clothing until he found a small pack of petroleum jelly. But when he slipped back down between Soap’s knees, he found the man’s gaze a little dazed, head lulled to the side, eyes barely focused on something out in the distance.

Gently, Ghost took Soap’s chin, guiding him back to front. His face was flushed, but Ghost thought that was more from exertion than embarrassment, neck and chest reddened as well. Still, he wanted to make sure Soap wasn’t pushed past his limits, even now. “Eyes on me, Soap,” he said. “I want to make sure nothing hurts.”

Soap’s expression softened a little at that, eyes sharpening onto Ghost’s face once more.

Ghost ripped open the packet, squeezing out half into his palm. “I know you enjoy being watched,” he said casually, trying to distract Soap from the burn that was to come. Because no matter how well he’d prepared himself, there was always a little bit of a stretch. “Just us and the birds. Next time I’ll bring a whole squad out to watch you get railed—know you like that.”

Soap let out something of a huff as Ghost worked two fingers back in. He tried to be thorough without going too fast, impatience threatening. It didn’t take long. Soon Ghost was pushing out the last of the lube, groaning non too quietly as he finally took himself in hand. But if Ghost had thought himself impatient, that was nothing compared to Soap. “Soon,” Ghost reassured. And fuck did it feel good to touch himself like this. Soap’s own cock was so hard, so neglected. It didn’t look like it would take much to get him off, would need to be so careful handling him.

Unable to resist the opportunity to torture Soap, Ghost paused, considering. He slowed his strokes, really looking at the man below him. “Y’know,” he said. “Think I can get myself off just like this.”

Soap’s response was instantaneous. “No,” he breathed, back arching a little in anticipation. He drew his knees up, nudging along Ghost’s side. “Please.”

“You don’t seem too interested,” Ghost said. Unfair, the words weren’t true and they both knew it. But Ghost wasn’t aiming for real or fair. He wanted that sharp look in Soap’s eye back, on him and him only. Wanted to remember it for the long, lonely days to come.

“I am,” Soap said. A hand pawed at Ghost’s hip insistently, ready to do whatever Ghost asked.

Ghost played at considering. But even he couldn’t wait much longer. “Eyes on me, Soap.”

An immediate nod, like Soap would have done anything for him in this moment. Eyes raked hungrily over his face, to the parts of him Ghost had all but forgotten were still exposed. He pointedly held Soap’s gaze as he settled his hips down a little lower, laying his cock flat over Soap’s hole. He tapped himself there once, then twice, watching as Soap swallowed, trying very hard to keep still. A hand slid up Ghost’s chest, while the other fisted into the silt of the riverbed below.

“Good boy,” Ghost whispered appraisingly.

Soap didn’t even have time to let out whatever smart reply was sure to follow before Ghost was pushing in, smooth and steady, rewarded for all his careful preparation today.

A groan ripped itself from Soap’s throat as Ghost slid inside, legs circling around Ghost’s waist. It had Ghost tipping forwards, loving the way Soap shuddered at their proximity when he let himself fall. These weren’t the actions of a man who simply tolerated him. Soap reached for him, arched up into him. Moved and searched for him, demanded more. Folded Ghost in against him until they were chest to chest, forehead to forehead. Until their hearts beat against one another.

But a hissed out curse had Ghost drawing back a little, watching as Soap unclenched his hand from the soil, holding it up. Together they watched as red streaked down his finger, beading off into the water below.

The sight of Soap’s blood had Ghost fucking unstable. He didn’t remember making the conscious decision to open his mouth, but Soap’s pupils dilated when he did. They were the same, the two of them, the same brand of broken and fucked up. He didn’t even hesitate when Ghost’s lips parted, spit already gathering in anticipation, just slid his wounded index and middle finger into Ghost’s mouth.

Fuck, that was good. The salty, tangy taste of his flesh. The iron of his blood, metallic and sharp. Ghost took them deeper, letting them settle against his tongue heavily. He worked them like they were a cock, eyes closing as he did. He licked Soap’s fingers open demandingly, sucking every ounce of blood off them, not caring if he was making it better or worse. Just knew that he wanted more, wanted Soap inside of him.

And when Soap clenched around him, so turned on just from watching, Ghost growled, the sounds vibrating along Soap’s skin. The tightness was good, had Ghost rocking forwards, earning a high-pitched whine. Ghost leveraged himself onto his forearm. No longer able to help himself, Ghost lost himself to his baser needs. Finally rocked down in steady, long motions that had Soap preening beneath him. Kept up his careful ministration of Soap’s wounds, not trying to fool himself out of a reality where Soap was finger-fucking his mouth.

But all the while, Soap behaved, eyes on him even as he began to struggle. “Touch me,” he breathed. Was good, cock impossibly flushed and completely neglected along his stomach, just how Ghost wanted him.

He knew his returning look was enough of an answer when Soap let out a pathetic whine. “Please,” he begged.

Not a fucking chance. He had plenty of time, he knew. Despite all of his best efforts, Soap had never come from this alone. That meant Ghost could use him as he needed, could really stretch this out and make them both feel good, so long as he didn’t touch that pretty cock of his. Because when Soap was long gone, this was the moment he would cling too.

Ghost pulled back, easing Soap’s fingers from his mouth. Spit smeared down his chin, made worse when Soap cupped his jaw, just holding him.

“So fucking good,” Ghost whispered. He focused on deepening his thrusts, knowing he was doing something right when Soap began making these punched out little sounds. Was squirming desperately below him, clinging.

“Please,” Soap gasped out, was about all he could say.

“So close, Soap,” Ghost reassured him. Needed to feel Soap needing him just a moment longer, knowing he was about to be without it.

Another sound, this time closer to a sob.

A growl. Ghost wanted more, more. But he knew he couldn’t have it at the expense of Soap being pushed past his limits. He reached down, running a finger over and around Soap’s slit, feeling the way he twitched under his touch. He ducked his head, sucking Soap’s earlobe into his mouth to tug at it gently. “That’s perfect,” he whispered, letting it go. Took in the nonsensical words Soap was uttering beneath him, desperately ready.

This was it, Ghost knew. “You’re such a sweet boy,” he said, sensing he could play this game no longer. Ground his hips in deeper, feeling the way Soap tightened. “Always so fucking good for me.”

A sound, near pained.

“I’ve got you, Soap. You did so well, feel so fucking perfect. Going to give you what you need,” Ghost said, reaching for his cock as he pumped his hips in quicker, deep motions that had Soap crying out until—

“Holy fuck,” Ghost gasped, scrambling to get a hand around Soap.

Because the man was tightening around him—a fucking vice—so sweet and perfect and coming on Ghost’s cock alone.

A moan, long and loud as Ghost followed, stroking Soap off as he trembled through his orgasm, the sounds coming off him whiny and loud. Surprised and weak, embarrassment dripping off him. Ghost could do nothing more than keep up a steady stream of reassurances. About how fucking good he was, how perfect. Couldn’t have planned this better if he’d tried, hadn’t been able to bully him into coming like this, but sweet words? Gentle reassurances?

It ripped Ghost open, raw and vulnerable.

They collapsed into each other, the water sloshing loudly around them. Chests heaved as they worked to recover, both of them struggling. Ghost felt like his whole world had been ripped apart. Thought he could have everything, didn’t he? A quick, last fuck before saying goodbye. Didn’t realize it would leave him feeling like this. Dependant. Desperate. Attached.

Nothing he would be comfortable experiencing with another person for as long as he breathed.

And Soap was so loose under him, so innocent. Ghost shushed the whimper that bubbled up, the disappointment as he eased out so gently.

Soap’s eyes shut, a laugh Ghost couldn’t understand bubbling up there. Fucked out and satiated, laying boneless on the riverbed. Beautiful—the most beautiful thing Ghost had ever seen. Soon to be gone from his life.

Ghost could feel it, the noose that was their dwindling time together. Still he took his time, washing off the last of the dirt from Soap’s skin. To free him so wholly, removing every ounce of himself from the man’s body. He knew he was just stalling. And every borrowed moment together was repaid with a deepening sense of dread, of anxiety. He fought it tooth and nail, desperate to find the space they’d both occupied minutes before. That peace, that euphoria.

It was getting further and further from reach.

Their time was up.

Reverently, he ran his palms over each part of Soap, saying his last farewells. Over his hips and stomach, over his arms and down to his fingertips. Worked at the muscles of his chest and neck, hands glancing over the sharp edges of the collar there. Memorizing whatever he could, keeping his eyes on Soap all the while. Didn’t need to be asked this time to have Soap hold his gaze, something deep and indiscernible in his expression as he stared right back.

He paused as Soap reached up to circle his fingers around Ghost’s wrist, stopping him. It had a lump forming in Ghost’s chest.

Tension filled the air, thick and palpable. Ghost’s knees ached, abused from being in this position for so long. It was more than he deserved. They stared at each other, waiting to see who would speak first.

Of course it was Soap. “I love seeing your face,” he all but whispered, voice hoarse. He lifted a hand, uncoordinated and a little clumsy, raising it to cup at Ghost’s jaw. A wobbly thumb padded over the scar on Ghost’s mouth, running gently up it.

Ghost wanted to turn. To hide what he knew could only be his own guilt, laid bare across his expression at Soap’s little kindnesses. He wouldn’t disrespect Soap like that, though. He would look him in the eye when he did what needed to be done.

He placed a responding hand on Soap’s chest, the coarse bristle of his chest hair meeting him. Fingers splaying out over his collarbone, rubbing.

Soap’s eyes were unfairly trusting, so patient. A thumb ran reassuringly over Ghost’s pulse point. Did he feel the way Ghost’s heart was pounding right now? Did he know it was from something other than the moment they’d just shared? “It almost feels like you’re saying goodbye,” he mused, making Ghost’s chest ache. But he laughed, like he couldn’t even take himself seriously.

Ghost swallowed, the pain worsening. He needed to do this now. Soap should go out having not seen this coming. Should leave with a memory of that smile still on his lips, that laugh still ringing in his ears.

And Ghost needed to begin to move on, to return to the person who had been here before this retched war had started. For too long he’d let his walls be wedged down, kicked and beaten at. He’d been so stupid, but no longer.

It was time to lay this to rest.

Soap didn’t even notice it when Ghost’s hand slid up. Just more of that same trusting expression, eyes soft for him. Didn’t find it odd when Ghost slid his palm over his throat, feeling Soap’s Adam’s apple bobbing against his palm.

“Do you think…” Soap started, voice rough. A smile curled up at the corners of his lips, head cocking a little to—of all things—make room for Ghost’s hand. “We would have gotten on? In another world, I mean.”

The question clawed its way into Ghost’s heart, into his brain. Guilt gripped at him but he couldn’t give up now. He could feel Soap’s pulse pounding in against his thumb, but it wasn’t in anxiety. It was more like…hope.

Ghost wasn’t as gullible.

“Yeah,” he said, words coming out rough, hoarse. “I think we would have.”

That drew a real smile out of Soap now. Slow and beautiful. Tragic.

It was time.

Ghost steeled himself, drawing in a deep breath. He could do this. It wouldn’t take long. In another life he would be stronger. Never again would he let himself be this weak. He had to do it, for the sake of his—

The sound of a gun cocking had them both freezing.

Ghost’s eyes stayed locked onto Soap, who wore the oddest expression of perplexity.

But that expression slowly turned to something akin to panic, kicking Ghost into gear. Before he could rise, Soap was up and between him and the gun holder, arms sliding around to clamp Ghost in against his body, fingers splayed out across the back of his head.

“Don’t shoot!” he yelled, words painful in Ghost’s ear.

But they didn’t make sense. Why would Soap be saying that right now?

A hand reached up, smoothing down the lines of Ghost’s mask, carefully putting him back together. “Soap?” Ghost found himself asking, sluggish confusion slowing his thoughts.

Soap only shushed him, the sound urgent.

The pounding of footsteps, matching the pounding of Ghost’s heart.

“Don’t shoot,” Soap said again, pulling Ghost in tight. Protecting him, taking away any good shot they could get. Ghost watched as four other hostiles poured into the clearing to join this one, each with a gun levelled to his head.

“Christ, Tav,” came a voice. A man, a little to the left. “Couldn’t have made this any bloody easier on us, could you, mate?”

A relieved breath ripped itself out from between Soap’s lips, shuddering between them. “Gaz,” he said, voice thick with emotion. But when Soap tried to pull back, Ghost’s hands shot up, pulling Soap back in against him.

Outraged cries erupted around them, everyone shouting at once.

“Let him go—”

“Step away—”

“I’ll fucking shoot—!”

So many voices that they all blended together.

But Soap was there, speaking for him, a command in his voice. “I told you to stand down,” he ordered, authority Ghost had never heard before lacing his words. Then he leaned down slowly to Ghost’s ear, voice gentle once more. “I’ve got you,” he said, more kindly than Ghost deserved. “It’s time to let go.”

For a second, Ghost did nothing. He could hear the nervous shifting of the men surrounding them, their hatred palpable. Guns trained on him, would only take a single act of insubordination to end his life. Hell, maybe Soap actually did want him alive. Would bring him back to camp to be executed before his men, would draw it out nice and slow.

But when he looked up at Soap, he knew none of those things were going to happen.

One by one he forced his fingers free, unclamping them from his hold on Soap.

Despite his nudity Soap stood, somehow managing to look dignified as he did. The first step he took was testing, careful. But when Ghost did nothing to keep him from leaving, a smile broke out across his face as he turned, picking his way across the slippery bank towards his friend.

Feeling exposed, Ghost slowly slid back into the water until it cover his lap, that same numbness from earlier creeping back in. Got to watch as Soap ran to someone he obviously cared about, handsome and tall with dark skin. Looked to be about Soap’s age, but the expression of concern painted on his face aged him. There was no denying it, this was the man from the sketchbook.

A flare of jealousy surged through him, a feeling even now he couldn’t escape. To see Soap in someone else’s arms, grinning up at him like a loon.

“Christ, Soap—didn’t want to put some clothes on first?” the man—Gaz—said. Despite this, he pulled Soap closer, arms crushing. A hand slid up to Soap’s nape, fingers finding the tapered end of Soap’s mohawk. “Finally learned to do the back, did you?” he asked, as he pulled back, holding Soap at an arm’s length to look him over carefully.

“Something like that,” Soap said doggedly, eyes carefully off Ghost, brushing Gaz’s hand off.

This is what Soap deserved. Someone who cared for him, someone who touched him easily, who brought him peace. Ghost could feel the safety of his walls rising once more, a welcome comfort against all of his failures, all of his shortcomings. Against what might be to come.

“Get fucking dressed then. Can’t have you standing here ass to the wind all day. Undignified of our leader, isn’t it?”

Soap froze. Ghost did too, watched carefully as a couple different emotions flickered across his face, as Soap was forced to process out here in the open. In front of the men he was meant to lead. He swallowed it all down, schooling his face into an expression of neutrality. “Sheppard finally kicked it, then?”

Gaz nodded solemnly. “’Bout ten days ago,” he confirmed.

Same time as the break ins started, Ghost thought grimly. It coincided perfectly.

“Thought you woulda replaced me by now,” Soap said, pulling his shorts from the pile, dragging them on roughly.

“They tried to,” Gaz said, expression turning grim. “Graves was the top choice. Couldn’t let that happen.”

The name had Soap freezing in place. It tickled something at the back of Ghost’s head too. A higher up in their ranks who was particularly known for his ruthlessness.

“Fucking foreigners,” Soap cursed, continuing to dress. “Wouldn’t have surrendered, that one. Would have seen us all dead.”

A grim look from Gaz. “Happily, too. Already talking about making a final stand. Knows we don’t have a chance. They gave me until today to find you. This was our last shot. Saw the two of you coming out of the camp earlier, pure coincidence,” he said. And for the first time, his eyes swung towards Ghost, poison in his gaze.

And for his part, Ghost did absolutely nothing. Didn’t move, didn’t apologize, didn’t even lift his hands in surrender. If not for Soap, he was certain these men would have killed him by now.

But the time had finally come for them to make their decision.

“No witnesses, that’s what’s best,” one of the men said.

Better that way, Ghost supposed. He swore he’d never let himself be taken alive again, would rather be shot like a dog then have to endure a second round of captivity. Would rather go out now than turn Soap into someone like them, like those people in Mexico.

Ghost kept his gaze on Soap, waiting. This wasn’t the Soap Ghost had known for the past short few weeks. This man was a leader. He wasn’t thinking of the way Ghost had so gently put him back together. He wasn’t weighing in the vulnerable way they’d held each other the night before. No, this was a man whose only consideration was his own people.

Ghost could respect that.

“This that scary fucker we’ve been hearing about? Ghost?” someone asked.

“Look at the bloody mask, who else would it be?” another snapped.

So they had heard of him. Not only that, they were scared of him too.

But much as Soap’s men were frightened, there was awe in their eyes as well, respect. It was like Ghost had said. To them, Soap had done it. He had been captured by the scariest man on the whole fucking battlefield and survived. And now he’d made it back to lead them home.

“He held you for two weeks, Soap,” Gaz said. Ghost could tell why Soap liked him. He was solid, had a good head about him. “Just give the word and we can let the river take him.”

Ghost straightened, waiting for it. For Soap to give the order.

A pause, all of them collectively holding their breath.

Soap cocked his head. “Let him go.”

Another pause before outrage erupted around them. Men were shouting, weapons clicking and jostling.

“Let him go?” Gaz said loud enough for Ghost to hear. He turned, facing Soap head on.

To his credit, Soap stood his ground, looking every bit a commander. Posture rigid, gaze even, expression level. “You fucking heard me,” he said, voice low, razor sharp.

Gaz hesitated. The anger in his eyes wasn’t towards Soap, it was for Ghost. This was a man who’d been captured before. Someone who understood the cruelty of their system. “Yes, sir,” he said, words clipped.

“I hate hearing you call me that,” Soap said, softening. His shoulders relaxed just a little as his men settled as well, wary as they were. “But it’s why you came to find me, isn’t it? To find a leader. Now let me lead.”

Gaz calmed at that. “Would have come for you regardless,” he said weakly, a promise. Despite their differences, these men were brothers, that much was apparent.

“I know,” Soap said, voice gentling. Then he turned to the men around him, the commander back. “We need him alive,” he said, taking a long moment to look each of them in the eyes. Then, he turned to Ghost. “He needs to deliver a message for us.”

Interesting. Ghost cocked his head, listening.

“Tell Price we’ll meet with him at sunrise by the gates. We wish to discuss a surrender.”

Together, the group relaxed as one. Proof that Soap was of sane mind, not so altered from his captivity that he couldn’t still provide solid judgement.

Ghost nodded.

Soap’s look was grave as he turned, voice low as he dolled out instructions. A gun was handed over, tucked securely into the back of his waistband. The conversation was short. By the end of it, Soap wasn’t the only one looking unhappy. Slowly his men began to file out, each more reluctant than the last. Gaz was last to leave, not eager to let his newly returned friend out of eyesight. He levelled one last threatening look at Ghost before turning, ducking out after the rest.

Silence followed, heavy and thick.

Footsteps shuffled off a little ways, not so far that they couldn’t be called back in a pinch, but certainly out of earshot.

A moment passed, then another.

“Price thinks you’re dead,” Ghost said finally, breaking the silence. “Don’t make a liar out of me.”

A pause, loud and thunderous in Ghost’s ears. Then, finally, Soap let out a sharp laugh. “Because you brought me out here to kill me?” he asked.

Ghost said nothing, just waited.

Soap sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Fine. I think I can come up with something,” he said, smiling to himself at an inside joke Ghost wasn’t privy to.

Unable to stomach the distance, Ghost stood, water dripping off him loudly.

Soap tensed, eyes on him. But the tables were reversed now. He was the one armed and Ghost wasn’t. Maybe that was why he stayed put when Ghost crossed the space between them. No, Soap had always been bold. He stood unflinchingly as Ghost put himself chest to chest with the man, tension thick.

Ghost bent down, watching with amusement as Soap tensed but held his ground. But Ghost only grabbed his briefs and dog tags, tugging the former on.

Soap’s eyes held a question Ghost knew he was forcing himself not to ask. The chain hanging between Ghost’s fingers as he contemplated, then motioned Soap a little closer.

Ever the good boy, Soap came.

From out between his tags slid a little key, never before used. The one to Soap’s collar.

Soap swallowed at that, looking up at Ghost. Something almost like hope in his eye, but the man knew not to get ahead of himself.

Ghost motioned for him to turn.

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation. Soap did.

A hand on the back of Soap’s neck, heavy and firm. A second, one last touch of his skin. Then, to business. The key slid in easily, lock clicking loose. Ghost unhooked it before sliding the collar off.

And with that, Soap was finally free.

For a moment, Soap didn’t move. Then, slowly, he lifted a hand to his neck, feeling the skin there. Ghost leaned over as Soap turned, grabbing one last thing off his pile of clothing.

The knife.

Soap’s expression turned apprehensive but they’d come this far. He stayed very still as Ghost got in close, barely flinching when the holster was laid flat against his thigh. Watched silently as Ghost crouched to tighten the straps, meticulously modifying it to fit perfectly. Once satisfied, Ghost rose.

More of that silence. Ghost hated it.

“Is that it then?” Soap asked. There was something in his voice. Mourning? No, Ghost didn’t dare believe that was possible, especially now.

He nodded.

Soap looked up at him searchingly. There was something left unsaid in his eyes, something eating at him. His finger curled loosely around the handle of his new knife as he contemplated. Curiosity winning him over, Soap swallowed. “Did you know they were there?” he asked.

Unfortunately, he’d asked the only question Ghost could never answer. Instead of responding he reached up, keeping his movements slow, still apprehensive of Soap’s men lingering on the sidelines. Fingers gently ran along the lines of his jaw, just feeling. He leaned down, resting his forehead very, very carefully against Soap’s.

Soap’s breath caught as he froze. Maybe this was the step too far. Maybe this was what would finally earn Ghost that knife in his throat. But he only relaxed, shifting closer.

When their noses brushed, neither of them dared to breathe. The air between them was tight, sparse. A hand curled loosely around the nape of his neck, thumb stroking.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Soap asked.

Stupid, reckless and dangerous hope bloomed in his chest. Not trusting his voice, he nodded.

The hand on the back of his neck tightened, dragging him down.

Their lips crashed together, purposeful and connecting this time. Even through the mask, Ghost could feel the heat of him, lips parting and tongues meeting. There was something desperate and devastating about the way Soap was trying to lick up into his mouth, biting at his bottom lip.

A groan, either his or Soap’s, he didn’t know. He thought he had tasted of Soap’s skin earlier but this, oh fuck, this…

Another moan, louder this time, followed by an indignant nip. Ghost opened his mouth, ready to give it to him when someone called out off in the distance.

“John!”

Soap jerked his head back with a sudden motion, turning. Not before Ghost could catch the way he ran a thumb over his bottom lip, feeling where Ghost had just been on his skin.

A choice he’d made as a free man.

“Coming!” he called back.

There was a pause as Soap collected himself, taking a moment. It did little to help the embarrassment that stained his cheeks. Still, he turned, meeting Ghost’s gaze, such a pretty picture.

“Tomorrow at sun up,” he said, voice rough.

Ghost’s chest ached. “Until then, Johnny,” he said back quietly.

Another pause, longer this time. A voice called out in the distance, but neither of them acknowledged it.

They didn’t say goodbye. When Soap had looked his fill, he simply turned. Ghost kept his eyes steadily on Soap’s back as his figure slowly slipped from view. Until he got smaller and smaller, making his way back to his men. Then, as one, the newly completed unit made off together, heading deeper into the forest.

It wouldn’t be easy, Ghost knew. Soap would have many battles to face before sun up. Despite them, Ghost knew he would be there. At the gates, first thing tomorrow morning.

Neither of them would be sleeping tonight.

Sighing, Ghost began to redress. It was silent, eerily so. Gone were the birds and the critters. Even the very river had muted itself. He took stock of himself physically and mentally.

Ah, there they were. The careful constructs of his mental walls, back in place. Safe and high, made of the strongest obsidian. As it should be, returned once more. He expected the coldness to creep back in, the numbness. That’s how it should be, shouldn’t it? Alone again, free to return to status quo. Yet, he felt none of its weight.

Curious.

He looked around.

Coming from one of his barricades was a crack. He took a mental step towards it. Buried in the very centre was a knife, a spitting replica of the one he’d just sent off with Soap. Light crept in around the edges, splitting wider and wider by the second. Cracks splintered off like lightening from around the blade. Ghost didn’t move as the walls groaned in protest. Instead he held out his bare hand, watching as a beam of light cut across his palm.

It was warm.

He paused, waiting for the panic to settle, a response to his failing defences.

Instead, his lips tingled.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Ghost didn’t feel fear at the sight of his crumbling walls. Instead, he found himself looking forward to tomorrow.

[end.]

Chapter Text

Day 1: Nineteen Days until the Deadline to Surrender
Soap’s POV
…

Gaz had always told him that if he got captured, he needed to find a way into someone’s personal care. “Won’t be hard. What, with a face like yours?” Gaz had told him.

Back then, it’d been funny. Now, hands tied behind his back and knees aching, he couldn’t find it in him to conjure up that same easy smile.

Gaz had done a short stint in a territory to the east. Stuck being passed around for a week, the bastards had used him every which way. He was quick to joke about it but the limp in his step went away faster than the distant look that haunted his gaze whenever he thought no one was looking.

“The guys who return from private use come back happier. Less…worn down.”

Of course, Gaz probably hadn’t been picturing this when he’d said those words.

Anxiety thumped painfully through his chest as a hand fisted roughly into his hair, wrenching his head back. White flashed in front of his vision—a skull, he corrected himself—and the first thought to flick through Soap’s mind was that he must be dead.

No, certainly not. It had been a fucking close call, but being alive was all he had going for him at the moment. That, and Gaz’s freedom. So who was standing here now?

Blood stung at his eyes from a cut unseen and he blinked it back, trying to understand. The skull remained. He blinked again, confusion thickening. That was to be expected, he supposed. He hadn’t gone down easy, taking a solid knock to the head in the process. Maybe he was concussed. Maybe he was seeing things. Or maybe it was like his Nan had said and this really was the reaper, come to take his soul.

Another painful jerk brought him back to present. His vision sharpened and he found that the skull was attached to something. Or someone, rather, but the differentiation hardly mattered. Because this man was decidedly not the person who had checked him out earlier.

Apprehension had him stiffening. The older man from before had looked kindly enough. With a thick beard and a stupid hat, cigar fat between his fingers. The smell would have been intolerable, but his touch was gentle and that had to count for something. With a little time and luck, Soap could have won him over, wouldn’t have taken much to overpower him and escape.

But this?

No, this was definitely not what Gaz had in mind.

A grunt from the man above him. It sounded human enough, Soap thought. Didn’t look it between the way he towered above him while being in a crouch and the width of his shoulders.

The hand in his hair disappeared. Soap braced himself, expecting to be struck. He’d heard tales, veterans who’d done time. A little show of power would get him in line early, have him complying faster. If this big fucker thought that would be enough to break him, he was in for a treat. But to his surprise, the stranger only hooked a finger under the rough constraints of his gag, gentling it out of his mouth.

Soap fought back a twinge of embarrassment as spit stuck to the fabric, but he kept his face neutral, impassive. They wanted him scared, he reminded himself. That’s why this man was wearing the skull mask, wasn’t it? Soap wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

Quiet settled between them as the fabric was untied, tossed thoughtlessly to the side. Fingers curled around his jaw, forcing his face upwards.

Best to comply when possible, Gaz had told him. Listen, don’t make eye contact. Keep quiet and to yourself. Not your strong suits, I’m afraid.

He wasn’t wrong and they both knew it. Even now he found himself staring right up at that masked face. But it wasn’t defiance that prompted it. There was something about the man that made it hard to look away.

It was the mask, he decided. It tugged forward one of Soap’s memories, but he forced it down, wanting to keep it for himself.

Fingers forced his face to the side, inspecting. Soap had to physically stop himself from snorting. The gesture was so much like a man appraising a piece he meant to buy. But when a thumb ran over his cheek, right along where the fabric had dug into the skin there, he was at a loss once more.

Slow, careful circles were massaged into his skin, rubbing away the ache from his bondages. Soap swallowed. What fucking game was he playing at? He couldn’t deny it felt good, but he kept on expecting violence, anger. Self-righteousness even, from a battle won. This was closer to a gesture you’d show someone close to you.

“Do you have a name?” the man rumbled, startling Soap. He’d gotten so lost in the narrative that this man wasn’t human that it’d surprised him to learn he had a voice. But he supposed if he were to give a voice to Death, it would sound a little like this. Deep. Low and rough. Quiet, but still powerful. This wasn’t a man who needed to yell to prove his stature.

It chaffed against Soap’s pride. Under any other circumstance, he would have made himself a menace. Gaz’s words came back to him, whispered from the back of his head.

Sit tight, he’d said. As long as you do that, I can find you. Just need to stay put.

And unfortunately, giving up his identity would not help him reach his objective. Soap’s eyes flicked down to the patches on the man’s chest.

Lieutenant, Soap noted. Definitely a lower station than him. He knew identifying himself would only see him tossed into a secure location, making himself unreachable to Gaz.

Soap straightened his spine, letting out a long breath. He knew this camp would have some intel on them. Even just speaking could put himself at risk. Sure his accent wasn’t unheard of in this region, but it was rare. Keeping quiet was the only way to truly ensure his safety.

All of the worst scenarios passed through his mind. Surely this monster of a person would beat him for his insolence. He steeled himself against being struck. He expected to get shoved over and fucked rough. And somehow, when the man smiled—the lines of the mask pulling just so, a pleased look passing through his eyes—it was so, so much more terrifying.

Fingers released his face and Soap couldn’t fight back the apprehension that followed.

“Gunna clean you up,” the man said. “Then we’ll get some water in you. Maybe you’ll feel like talking after that.”

Fat chance, Soap thought sulkily. He’d been trained to resist interrogation of all types. It would take more than a spooky fucking mask to get him to break.

But the sound of metal sliding from its sheath had him stiffening. Was this territory known for its cruelty? He hadn’t thought so. Regardless he kept very still as the man leaned forwards, waiting.

The tent filled with the sounds of cutting rope. The restraints around his ankles loosened, falling away altogether as it was severed. That was better. He could shift around like this. His knees had long since gone numb, but his back and shoulders pained him. It seemed this was as lucky as he was going to get. His hands stayed bound. Worse yet, he didn’t think the fucking collar around his neck was going to be removed anytime soon.

The knife turned back to Soap, but instead of fear, Soap only felt cool exasperation.

Supposed to cut away from someone, no? he thought drily as the knife slid up his shirt, splitting it open as easy as butter. Maybe it was for the best he wasn’t allowed to speak. He had a knack for getting under people’s skin and he wanted desperately to be an annoyance, even now. Something told him doing so would get him absolutely nowhere.

A hand smoothed over the lines of Soap’s stomach. Like what you see? he thought, making a game of thinking all the things he wanted to say. He was no stranger to being used for his body. In addition to the brutal way his camp worked him out on the battlefield, he had a steady stream of men who sought him out on the side. Quick fucks in dark corners. Hushed words against warm skin. Men who wanted to let go, if only for just a little bit. And Soap, so tired but wanting to do right by his men, complying. Putting his all into making them feel good, into being a leader for them.

He could do that now, he knew. If it was for his safety and for his camp, he could survive whatever this man would take from him.

The stranger stood. It was almost insulting, the way he turned his back on Soap. As if he were no more threatening than the chair or the table that sat close by. He supposed that was to be expected. Maybe he could get himself onto his feet, but then what? Would he head-butt this giant to death?

But he perked up a little when the man turned, a bottle of water in hand. His parched throat had settled into a dull afterthought but the cracking of the seal had Soap swallowing on instinct, pain roaring back to life. He tried not to look too eager, the last thing he needed was to let his man in on how badly he needed this, to have something to withhold to his advantage.

The crunching of gravel rang in his ears as that skull approached, considering. He brought the bottle to his mouth, taking in a sip. Soap half expected him to down the entire thing, to torture him. Instead, he swallowed down a meagre amount before lowering the bottle, offering it.

He didn’t hesitate, just parted his lips. So much for not giving himself away. His eyes slipped closed on their own accord as he drank, long and deep. It wasn’t cold, but it would do, the room temperature water a balm. He wanted it so, so badly. Trying not to appear overly desperate, he pulled back. Too little, too late. He’d practically consumed the whole thing.

“Good?” the man asked.

Soap said nothing, only watched as the bottle was capped and tossed to the side. Regret prickled hot in his spine. He should have finished the whole thing. Not like he could ask now.

Footsteps as the man rounded him. Appraising him for all his worth, and Soap was repaying the favour in kind.

Despite the heat, the man was clothed head to toe. No, that wasn’t true. His hands were bare and Soap let his eyes fall there now. Scarred, burned. Battle hardened. Soap considered himself a veteran—maybe not as much as his discarded rank would suggest—but it was nothing compared to what this man had endured. No one got wounds like that unless they’d seen many, many years in the field. It was experience like this that would make him a danger.

But idly, Soap wondered what kind of freak hid away inside of a costume like this. Pieces were coming together though, and he had a rough idea. There were whispers from his men. A devil incarnate, a demon in battle. The name his subordinates had assigned the man escaped him, but Soap was becoming more and more certain by the second this had to be him. Who else would leave half an impression as this?

He was too caught up in his thoughts to feel it when the man paused behind him. A hand fisted into the back of his shirt, jerking him back.

Soap went easily, confused.

“Soap.”

He couldn’t help himself, he flinched.

Fucking hell. What a fucking idiot he was. He’d all but forgotten about the time he and Gaz had labelled all their shit, tired of losing what few shirts they had.

“S’not a name, but it’s English. That’s good,” the man said, letting go of the garment. Soap tried to tamp down his panic. Just a call sign, he reminded himself. One that was lesser known to boot. “Just means you can understand me,” he finished.

Soap wanted to scoff. Just because he could understand the man didn’t mean he was going to answer. But his confidence flagged when the man turned, leaving him once more to grab the chair from the other side of the tent.

If he wanted to kill you, he would have done so already, Soap reminded himself. There was a reason he was still breathing.

The chair scrapped against the dirt, an awful sound that raked against his eardrums.

“Do you know why you’re here, Soap?” the man said slowly, carefully.

Soap swallowed. It seemed the time for pleasantries and introductions had ended. Bitterly he reminded himself that if he’d been in free use, he would have been run through thrice over by now. Not one to play the innocent, he nodded.

Another smile, no less terrifying.

“Good,” he said, sitting. Soap tried to hide his revulsion as those knees spread, making room for him, not being subtle about his intentions. “We’re going to keep you and the rest of your squad until your boss calls us, until he surrenders. Then you can all go home to your family, is that understood?”

Like that would happen anytime soon, Soap thought bitterly.

He was the boss. Well, second in command technically, not that it mattered. He had little disillusion about exactly where his territory stood on surrendering. Shepherd, their commander, may have named Soap his right hand man, but he had another dog to whisper in his ear.

Despite Soap’s every efforts, Graves was the real puppet master. The man was ambitious, cunning and vicious. When Soap preached empathy, Graves pushed for violence. When Soap called to hang back, Graves demanded they moved onwards. And worst of all, the man had Shepherd’s fullest attention. The two of them had created something of a feedback loop. They’d convinced themselves that the only way forwards was through, and the two were unlikely to give in anytime soon. Soap loved his men but without being there to advocate for their surrender, he knew it was highly unlikely. Right now, Gaz was the only one he could rely on to get out of this mess.

“In the meantime, we’re going to put you to work.”

Soap bit down his disgust as the man’s belt jingled free. Every instinct in him demanded he fight, affronted that this was his reality. He also knew the sooner he earned the stranger’s trust, the sooner he could work out how to escape. Right now the man expected him to fight, was ready for it. It would only be when he was comfortable that Soap would get his chance. That’s when he would strike.

Hatred burned in his chest as the man reached for his fly, his look sharp and superior. Soap supposed he would be acting the same way if he’d actually won the battle this morning. “Use any teeth and I’ll knock them out, understood?” the stranger condescended.

Soap closed his eyes against the sharp reply that begged to be let out. That he could do far too much damage before the man got the chance. More words better left unsaid.

A zipper pierced his ear and he opened his eyes once more, nodding when he saw that waiting gaze.

Let’s get this over with, he thought grimly as he shuffled forwards, eager to see this over and done with.

The man had barely pulled himself out, the prick. A smattering of blonde pubes framed—holy fuck. He supposed it stood to reason that if this man was big, his cock would be as well. He just hadn’t bothered to think of just how big. No wonder he was a smug fucker. Wide as well as long, by far the biggest Soap had ever come face to face with. It had been a while since he’d bottomed—not intentionally, mind you, it was just that the needs of his men came first—and internally he was already flinching against the thought of what it would feel like to have that inside of him. Hopefully they had similar rules to Soap’s camp, that he would need to put some effort into prepping him. Soap tried not to get his hopes up. It was best he set realistic expectations early.

But the man was gentle enough, giving his mostly soft cock a stroke as he murmured out a low “that’s good.”

Soap wanted to snap that he didn’t need the guidance, the validation. There was something sick about being cooed at while being forced into this. Captured and held against his will, at the mercy of a fucking lunatic wearing a mask.

Just his fucking luck.

Eager to keep his teeth, Soap leaned forwards as a hand curled around his chin, lips parting. Do this on your own terms, he thought. He wouldn’t like it but whatever control he could muster would make this all easier. A wave of nausea rolled through him as his lips wrapped around its girth, cock sliding over his tongue.

A hand settled on the back of his neck and he tried not to flinch when the collar—unfamiliar and humiliating—dug into the skin there. Soap shut his eyes, trying to find a place where all of this could become somewhat bearable. Usually he liked sucking cock, was good at it even. But the smell of sweat and dirt filled his nostrils. It was overpowering in a musky way that burned a little. He knew he was no better, but the difference wasn’t lost on him that this man wasn’t nose-deep in his crotch. Being so fucking generous when he shifted his hips, so Soap could get closer of all things.

A miserable feeling rolled through him. That at his camp, he was a leader. Maybe not the person his rank demanded he be, but close enough. Here, he would become nothing more than a kept whore, a hole to fill when needed and nothing more.

He cursed. If only Shepherd had listened to him, but he wasn’t blind to the real reason he’d been promoted.

Deep down, he knew his commander could see that this was a losing battle just as well as the rest of them. They weren’t even supposed to be in this territory, let alone engaging in a fight over land. Soap had worked himself hoarse trying to talk Shepherd out of this, but the man was stubborn. Too caught up in what could be, in the lies that moron Graves kept feeding to him.

Over the past few months, the climate of the camp had changed dramatically. Morale flagged, dangerously so. Promoting Soap had been so carefully strategic. He was well liked and it wasn’t lost on him that when he spoke, people turned to listen, something Shepherd had taken notice of.

So Soap had gotten a shiny new rank with none of the sway that came with it, judging by the position he’d found himself in now. Even this fucking grunt had more autonomy than him.

“Deeper,” a voice warned, drawing his attention. Fingers tightened in his hair, pushing down just a little.

Unthinkingly, Soap shot a glare up at the man. What did he fucking want? For him to fuck himself down, moaning enthusiastically? His pride may be in tatters, but there were certain lines he had to draw.

At his annoyance, the man only snorted. “It’s in your best interest,” he said, voice casual. As if discussing the weather and not how he was forcing himself onto a total stranger. “If I get bored, I’m just going to fuck your throat.”

That had Soap stiffening. He was already struggling with what he was taking, lips stretched and jaw pinched. He wanted to snap at the man to untie his wrists. That way he could at least jerk off what he couldn’t take. Unfortunately, the stranger didn’t seem keen on giving him the chance.

Soap let out a huff through his nose. He knew he should keep his attitude in check but for the moment the man didn’t seem to mind his silent complaints. There was something casual about his body language, comfortable, as if he’d done this before.

He certainly looked the part, Soap thought as he hollowed his cheeks, putting a little more effort into it. Soap may outrank him but he constantly felt like he was keeping up a front. Always trying to prove himself, putting in double the effort for half the praise. This man simply leaned back in his fucking chair and exuded control, made simple comments sound like commands to be followed at any cost.

But the cock in his mouth was finally starting to fill out, like maybe Soap was beginning to do something right. And the sound he let out…Soap peeked up, part perplexed, part intrigued. Because the hand on the back of his head was almost…encouraging?

Interested, Soap made himself focus. Past the sharp smell of their battle worn bodies and the sweat. Past the ache in his shoulders and the numbness in his knees.

It was an experiment, he told himself. The better he could make this man feel, the sooner they would be done. Maybe a little over ambitious, because the second the man’s cock hit the back of his throat, he coughed wetly, eyes shutting.

No, he could do this. The second time he worked himself down, he fought past his gag reflex and held it. Oh, the man liked that. He ground up into Soap’s mouth painfully, but the fingers in his hair were oddly rewarding. And the fucking sounds he was making…that confused Soap the most. He was used to the hurried, quick bouts in the dark back at his camp. Men who pushed him down to climb into his lap or stretched out in front of him, begging for it. Fingers that clamped tightly across parted lips, silencing any sounds of pleasure, but this…this was different.

The man’s head tipped back each time Soap forced himself just a little further, taking him a little deeper. Each of Soap’s efforts had him moaning openly in appreciation, the sound of which had his traitorous cock twitching, if only a little. Another deep drive forwards, nose almost buried into the mound of his pubes. Another moan.

It was oddly gratifying.

No, that wasn’t right, Soap chastised himself sharply. But when nails raked across his scalp, he couldn’t help the sound he let out despite his embarrassment.

It didn’t go unnoticed. “Like that?” his captor asked, sounding altogether too smug for Soap’s liking. Of course he fucking didn’t, he thought indignantly. Risking punishment, he jerked back defiantly, taking a risk at freeing himself.

It worked, only at the man’s permission, he knew. Air filled his lungs as he heaved, finally able to take in full breaths.

The man let him, leaning back to access his pocket. A lick of fear worked its way up Soap’s spine at the thought of what might come next. Another sick twist. A knife, maybe. But the man only produced a pack of cigarettes.

That had Soap interested again. There didn’t seem to be any holes in the mask. He wondered what its true purpose was, to what extent he wore it. A hand lifted, catching the hem. Soap wasn’t sure if he should look away or not. Surely if he didn’t want that, he would have blindfolded or snapped at him. So far, he’d done neither. In an odd way, Soap trusted the stranger. Despite their position, he’d only been straightforward. After a moment of hesitation, Soap let himself look.

Christ. Maybe the mask wasn’t to intimidate him. If Soap had thought the man’s hands were bad, this was far worse. Jesus. His face, his neck, nothing had been spared. A thick scar cut up dangerously close to a tendon and across his cleanly shaven jaw, heading in the direction of his ear. Another one split across both lips.

He watched as the man tucked the cigarette between them, wanting to see how deep the damage went. The man noticed his watching, ducking a little to light the fag. He took a drag and exhaled, the smoke filling the space between them. The smell had an almost comforting quality to it. It was the scent of men at leisure. It was the smell of relief against the mountain of stress they faced everyday.

This man certainly looked at ease, jerking himself off lazily as he smoked. Soap wished he could say the same. Eyes skimmed over his face, and again, Soap thought that maybe there was something appreciative in his gaze.

Heat warmed his gut, his body clearly not getting the message that this was wrong, so very wrong. That he were a captive here, not a willing guest. He tried to fight back the feeling of shame. His captor was doing this on purpose, keeping him confused and on edge as a ploy.

Even as he thought that, the man lowered the cigarette, another offering he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t resist, though. It couldn’t hurt. Just a drag to get the heady taste out of his mouth, to take the edge off a bit.

More of that wet sound of the man jerking off above, feeding into the heat in his gut. Stupid, he told himself. He needed to keep his head clear, focused. But it reminded him of walking past tents in his own camp, hearing the muted sounds of fucking. Men trying to be quiet and failing. The sound of people in the barracks, thinking no one would notice. Or maybe just uncaring, who knew.

This man certainly didn’t care. Eager to get back to it, the cigarette was pulled from between his lips and snubbed out. Soap was too caught up in its loss, startling when the man stood, chair nearly clattering back. Soap flinched, looking up.

He’d expected them to return to what they’d been doing before. Sure, Soap hadn’t liked it, but he’d found something of a rhythm. It would take a bit of time, but he was certain he could get the man to come. Something had shifted, though. He hissed as a hand fisted in the short hair of his mohawk, niceties forgotten. “You’re not going to like this bit,” the man warned. “Unfortunately, it’s gonna take a bit more.”

Fuck. That monstrous cock was back, pushing against the seams of his lips. Soap had no reservations about what was about to happen. He couldn’t fool himself when the man had been so eager in testing him earlier.

There was no putting this off, Soap thought sourly. The stranger didn’t waste any time. The second Soap parted his lips, the man shoved his cock in roughly, all the pleasantries and finesse of earlier dropped. Soap gagged as the head hit the back of his throat, jaw clenching on instinct as his airway was all but cut off. He thought maybe the man had barked something out, but the words washed over him. On instinct, he tried wrenching his hands free to brace himself and push away, only to jar his shoulders painfully as he tugged against his restraints.

Fuck, he couldn’t breath. His eyes watered painfully and he tried to blink them clear. His lung burned as he fought for a breath, managing something close as the man pulled out momentarily, only to thrust back in. Breathe through your nose, he told himself. Easier said than fucking done when someone was abusing your gag reflex. He coughed, but the man liked the constricting walls of his throat, pushed in deeper.

Christ, was he dying?

This is what the man must have wanted. To keep him alive only long enough to tease him, to play little games before choking him on his cock. Bile burned at his throat as he gagged again, his struggles going unacknowledged.

What did he gain in killing Soap? Was this what this territory did? Toyed with them until they bit it? The killing only half the fun, their bodies kept and used long after they were cold? His thoughts were irrational, he knew, but panic was flooding his veins. He looked up. To hell with keeping quiet. He wanted to scream at the man to stop. Couldn’t, not when he was stuffed full like this.

Another gag. Then, he did it. A short breath through his nose brought a wave of relief, short and sweet. Then, a second. The tight feeling in his chest lessened a little as he finally managed tiny, stunted breaths.

The man seemed to know it too. His hand had turned gentle once more, finally giving him a moment to adjust.

Prick, Soap thought. Fucking bastard. Words he couldn’t say aloud but gave him such pleasure to hurl in his head. Another quick couple of deep fucks stripped him of that smugness.

“That’s it,” came the voice from above. More of those deep, grinding thrusts that had Soap’s throat constricting as he fought for air.

He looked up at the man, begging, pleading with his eyes. To tell him he was suffering, that the man was killing him.

A look, exasperated. As if the lack of air Soap was getting was inconvenient to him.

Soap hated him.

Air ripped painfully through his lungs as he was finally freed. The man hadn’t come yet, he knew, and he was terrified of the moment it would start all over again. He dragged in another quick couple of breaths, shooting a poisonous look upwards.

Just more of that same, even expression. Like Soap was mildly interesting, the same way a new pet was amusing. A toy, only passingly satisfying.

Soap was going to kill him.

That was, if this man didn’t kill him first.

A hand clamped down flat against either side of his face, fingers digging painfully into the back of his skull. This was what it meant to be violated. No one had ever forced themselves on him like this and he felt sick, his stomach turning. All he knew was that the cock that pushed eagerly against his lips was flushed red, angry. It wouldn’t wait.

He needed to survive this. Once more his lips parted, and he tried his hardest to relax. It made it all easier when he just gave in. It didn’t have to be for a long time, just right now. The second this was over he would fight again, would scheme. For the moment he only loosened his limbs as the man pushed himself back inside.

That was the trick, to keep himself pliant. To allow his body to be maneuvered just how the man liked it. His thighs spread, pants accidentally tightening up against his cock.

Shock tickled up his spine as genuine pleasure rolled through his body. Fuck, that had felt good. It was just the friction, he told himself. Just the friction. But each small shifting of his hips sent more flashes of pleasure shooting through him, coaxing him onwards despite the wrongness of it. That he should be allowed to feel so good when being degraded like this.

The man didn’t even notice his internal struggle, only fucked him faster and harder, moaning as he went. Moaning because of Soap, because of how good he was making him feel.

Fuck, he must have really hit his head if that’s what he thought. The man would probably get the same amount of pleasure from fucking his fist, but after being made to feel so low, the validation was intoxicating. He hated that he needed it, that he couldn’t stop getting himself off to the constant reminder that he was just a fucking toy.

Soap barely felt it when those thrusts had become erratic and uneven. It was only when hips snapped painfully in against him that he blinked back into reality. His throat burned and lungs screamed but at least the man had the common curtsey to grunt out a warning before he came undone. Come hit the back of his throat and he felt dirty, swallowing it down. Just another disrespect on the long list of injustices that had been done today.

The first of what he expected to be many.

He coughed as the man finally pulled out, sides working as he heaved in long breaths. Fuck, he thought. He’d done it. He’d survived. He took stock of himself as the man cleaned himself off, tucking his cock away. Nothing hurt too much more than it had prior to the working over he’d just gotten. His throat fucking hurt and he suspected that even if he’d wanted to speak, he wouldn’t be able to manage it just yet. But he was alive, and it seemed this man wanted to keep him that way.

He could work with this.

But as the panic and the pain dulled, something else began to become apparent. Kneeling at the feet of the man who had just violated him, a heat curled low in his stomach. He took stock of himself, certain he’d misunderstood. No, there it was. His cock, sweat slicken and trapped within the confines of his trousers, was hard.

Mortified with himself, he flushed.

Christ, he knew he’d been teasing himself, but to be fully worked up like this? Fucking disgusting, a betrayal.

Another, more traitorous voice disagreed.

It had felt good, he supposed, to be forced onto his knees. Everyone back at his camp expected so much of him all the time but this man… Fuck, the hand in his hair, the moans he let out when Soap had done a good job?

Impossible. No fucking way. Too much air loss, his mind playing tricks on him.

His confliction didn’t go unnoticed. The man placed a hand on his shoulder, nudging him back. It gave him space to look down the line of Soap’s body, right to where he was giving himself away, the front of his pants tenting.

And of all things, the man laughed in his face. “Think you deserve a reward for that,” he said, pulling his mask back down. Confusion trickled into Soap’s addled and exhausted mind, the meaning of those words escaping him. Only when the man shoved his leg in between Soap’s spread knees did it finally click.

He humiliated himself by moaning of all fucking things. He was exhausted, so fucking tired, body listing forwards without his permission. It felt good to bury his face in against the stranger’s thigh, to finally have a place to hide his open embarrassment from today’s failures. At his failed attempt at dissuading Shepherd from reconsidering the battle this morning. At not being strong enough on the field today. At almost getting Gaz killed—Christ, he fucking hoped the bastard got away, he had to believe in him. And now, for letting himself get hard after blowing his sworn enemy.

“Not gunna force you,” came the man’s voice as a hand settled on the back of his head. As if he was comforting a child, like he knew what Soap was battling against. “But you’re going to be here for a couple of days. Might be worth it to get what you can from your time.”

More of that confusion. Why wouldn’t the man force him? It’s all he’d already done, wasn’t it? Taken him from his friends and family, put him on his knees, taken the air from his lungs. Why wouldn’t he hold Soap down as well, just put him out of his misery?

He hadn’t realized he’d been clenching his teeth until they let out a squeak of protest, his jaw pinching painfully. The only thing that ached worse was his cock.

He thought back on today. To the high of fighting alongside Gaz. How scared they’d both been when their squad had been overwhelmed, just the two of them remaining. Then, just him. Soap, standing against a fleet of men, screaming at Gaz to run. Taking off in the other direction, leading them all away from his friend, tearing off all identifying patches from his uniform as he went. About the bitterness of being left behind, despite knowing it was the right thing to do. If he couldn’t have stopped this battle to begin with, at least he could give himself up so that Gaz could escape.

He’d been so strong for so long. He could have this, just a moment to fall apart. To forget, to feel something other than pain and exhaustion.

Slowly, he gave a teasing, testing roll of his hips. Fuck that had felt good. It stole a gasp from him, quiet but not so low as to go unnoticed.

“Good,” the man encouraged. As if he wanted this for Soap, this release.

It had him looking up, confused once more. He couldn’t get a read on this man. Why would he want Soap to have his pleasure? Why not tie him down and use him, wouldn’t it be so much easier that way? But sure enough, when he gave another testing roll of his hips, the man was encouraging once more. “Put your weight into it, there you go.”

Fuck, he could no longer deny it; it felt good. He leaned in more heavily, trusting the man to take it. He was so big after all, had to be worth something. It was the air deprivation, he knew, that kept him grinding his clothed cock against the man’s leg. It had to be. The musky smell of them filled his head and he ducked, panting out hotly against the man’s leg. He wanted to sink into whatever this was, the thick cloud that tugged at his consciousness. He was so tired, so ready to go down. He’d been fighting for so long but something about this man beckoned him to submit. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t.

But the man was right.

He would be here for a while. Having a clear head would keep him alive and safe until help arrived. Whatever he needed to do to get himself home, he would do it. He was a fighter, and if this is what earned the man’s trust, he could debase himself to accomplish it.

He ground his hips down again and again, chasing his release. Told himself it was survival, not desperation that had him on a razor’s edge. That he was trying to get this over with, nothing more.

“Just a fucking mutt is what you are, aren’t you? You’d take anything I offered.”

The humiliation stung, but stupidly it made him even harder.

He was so, so lost. He closed his eyes, hiding from whatever feeling those words brought him.

The hand tightened against his skull, drawing his attention upwards. “Can hide if you want to, but I’ve got a condition to this generosity,” said the man.

Fuck, what more could he take from Soap? He’d already stripped him of so much.

“Going to let you come, but after that I get to hear your pretty voice thanking me. Is that understood?”

Of fucking course. Soap was a fool to believe this could come for free. He’d let himself get so close to the edge, how could he give this up now? The friction that pushed in against his cock. The heat that was too much, building and building, so stupidly good.
“You hear me?” he asked, danger in his tone. This was a man who would not be denied. He could be pushed, Soap knew. Had tolerated enough of Soap’s sharp looks and small defiances, but he would not be told no.

What was just one person who knew his secret? Didn’t even need to be his biggest one—just a single person to hear the accent that laced his voice.

Slowly, he nodded.

There it was again. That smile. Soap had already grown to hate it. But a leg pushed in against him, giving him just what he needed. And the hate only added to his high, making his blood pump harder, faster. Made his chest feel tighter, heart beat quickening. His hatred would carry him through this.

“Leave me hanging and I’ll hold you down and edge you until you’re begging me to stop,” he was warned. “Going to hear you one way or another.”

Soap didn’t doubt him for a single second.

He worked his hips forwards once, twice more before an overwhelming weight snapped into place, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. He gasped, writhing and fucking himself in against this man—his enemy—not daring to think of what he must look like. Pathetic, still bound. Sweaty and ruined, if the growing wetness was anything to go by.

It must not have been too bad, because the man let him fall heavily in against him, chest heaving. The pleasant afterglow was tainted by shame, but his exhaustion was what settled most heavily. Like a blanket, weighing him down. Tugging at him, begging him to sleep. That today, he had fought so hard. That he would only have to fight harder tomorrow.

But the man wouldn’t let him, a payment owed. “Have you decided?” he asked.

In his losing battled, Soap slumped down more heavily. A little bit longer and he could rest. He looked up at the man, trying to remember what had been asked of him.

Of course. To commit one last betrayal of himself. A price for the thing Soap had so selfishly sought.

He knew when he’d reached his breaking point. Shoving aside the remaining scraps of his dignity, he swallowed, glancing up. “Thank you,” he breathed. It couldn’t have been more than a whispered, but it was all he could manage around the battering his throat had taken.

He expected to be reprimanded, to be asked to do it again, louder. The man only squeezed the back of his neck in acknowledgement. And in his exhausted state, he let himself be warmed by the gesture.

Tomorrow he would be stronger, he told himself.

“Gonna give you a choice,” the man said. “Can stay with me until you’re all released, or I can pass you around to the rest of the camp with the others. You decide.”

That had Soap pausing. He hadn’t realized he’d have a choice in all this. It certainly hadn’t felt that way when he’d been choked out by that cock in his throat. But there was something sincere in the man’s eyes, like he wanted Soap to understand the depth of what he was asking.

Soap paused, the wheels in his head turning. Gaz had told him to keep put. Find a way into private use and stay. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that his friend would come for him. They were brothers in every sense that mattered. Had joined together, grown together. Fought together and now, fought for each other.

And Soap didn’t know this territory. If he asked to get put into free use, would he be stuck there? Or would someone else, like that older man from earlier, come find him? He just didn’t know. He considered. The man had been brutal, so fucking rough with him. But Soap was breathing, if just. There had been a hand in his hair and consideration for his pleasure. This man was fucking terrifying but…

“You gunna shove that massive thing down my throat every night?” he asked, the snarky attitude he’d been fighting back since his arrival finally free. It felt good.

Soap steeled himself for a quick backhand for his insolence, maybe a curt word. The man only snorted out a laugh. Maybe there was a chance at survival in this man’s care. “Might split you open on it instead. Just for variety.”

“Here,” he said decidedly. No one had fucked him in ages, but he’d adapt. Wouldn’t be worse then he’d suffered today and would by far be better than anything he’d endure in free use. Better to play nice and earn this man’s trust, maybe work his way up into better treatment for it. Might even come once or twice while he was here. Then, when the time was right, Gaz would come for him. And with a little luck, maybe he would even escape.

A pat on the cheek, the gesture dripping with condescension. “Good boy,” the man said. “As long as you don’t pull a knife on me, we’ll get along just fine.”

Now that was an idea. “Might do it once,” he quipped. Pushing, only to see what he could and couldn’t get away with. “Just as foreplay, though.”

The man hummed. Oddly, Soap thought it sounded somewhat approving. “Get up, then. Can start on the cot. Won’t sleep there, but you’ll have an hour or so as I get some paperwork done.”

Soap was too tired to be surprised by the offer. He looked around, finding no bedroll set out for him. As if the man hadn’t planned on taking anyone into his care.

Not one to turn down an offer like this, he stood. It took help getting onto his feet, but Soap was too tired to be humiliated by the way his legs nearly buckled on him. Pain shot through his knees as the numbness began to fade. Eventually though, the exhaustion won out.

Curling up on the end of the bed, the fullness of the day came crashing down over him. Surprisingly, it wasn’t despair and shame that flooded him. It was hope. He had a plan. This stranger was a mystery, but Soap would figure him out. He’d always been good at reading people. Hiding behind that mask wouldn’t be enough to keep his secrets from Soap. And the second he found them, he’d use them to his advantage.

When sleep tugged at his consciousness, Soap didn’t fight it. The cloud of darkness that seeped into his brain was pleasant, warm, and Soap needed all the rest and energy he could get.

Worn to his limits, Soap let himself sink down into unconsciousness.

* * * *

That night, Soap dreamt he was back at camp. Gaz was with him, rubbing circles into his aching shoulders, the first clue that this was, in fact, a dream. Gaz never did shit like this, even on their worst days. The man joked and pushed and ribbed, but regardless of how much Soap begged and bitched, he never gave into Soap’s physical neediness.

Which led him to his second clue—the silence. They were never this quiet. And in the darkness, warm arms wrapped around him. Not to hold him, but to pick him up like he weight nothing. He wanted to tell Gaz off, to let him rest. Maybe he did, but the words must have come out unintelligible because he was only met with a rumbling laugh that shook through their connected bodies.

Pressure against his ass and back as he was set down. He wanted to complain but there was something soft under him. A coldness seeped in and he turned onto his side, pulling his legs up. Another rumble. Then, warmth draped itself across his middle and shoulders.

For once in his life, Gaz was sharing with him. A blanket, it had to be. As the world levelled back out, he blinked himself into a sluggish, slow alertness, curious.

In the darkness, something looked back at him, close enough to touch.

A skull.

Odd, Soap knew, but he wasn’t one to question dreams. Gaz must have been wearing his mask. The man knew where it was, of course. He’d given it to Soap after all. A dark joke after a particularly bloody battle. Only thing was, Soap’s mask was red. The one staring back at him was white, practically glowing in the darkness.

The mask began to blur once more as the dream faded. Soap was all too happy to let himself be pulled back into the night, memories of his friend going with him.

Time trickled by.

Seconds or minutes, Soap didn’t know.

He remembered rolling over, but something encircling his wrist didn’t let him go far.

Another dream.

Soap frowned. It was a rare enough occurrence and now he was having two in one night?

This time, Soap’s mind conjured up an image of a man he didn’t know. This man was massive, huge and hulking. Soap could only make out the back of him, big shoulders stretching out a t-shirt. Light blonde hair just long enough to curl glowed out at him from the darkness and tattoos decorated the length of one arm.

A stranger. Soap didn’t like outsiders, but his posture screamed of protection, not danger. Oddly enough, the sight of him had Soap relaxing.

A noise, fast and sharp and to the left.

The man turned quickly, tracking it.

As he did, his face came into profile. A scar twisted up from his neck and over his jaw, curling towards his ear. Another one split across his lips, short and angry.

This man had suffered. Just like Soap had suffered. How, he couldn’t remember. Thoughts came and went in wisps. Memories he wasn’t mean to hold onto right now. It didn’t scare him. There was something calm and measured about each of the stranger’s movements, something that had a sense of ease spreading through Soap’s chest.

A sigh, almost indiscernible in the space of the tent. Then, the man turned towards him.

Soap didn’t know why, but he shut his eyes, gut telling him not to be caught watching. But in the darkness, he’d seen just enough. Soft, brown eyes. The severe lines of a face, a strong jaw. More scars. Despite them, he was beautiful.

A man, brought to Soap in his dreams to comfort him.

More shuffling. Soap waited, eyes closed. He could feel his dream leaving him once more. Disappointment tugged at his chest but he let it fade. Rest, his body urged. He would listen. The darkness tugged him under, but something in him begged to remember.

Maybe tomorrow he would ask for a notebook. A place to log and record bits of his experience here. Where he could keep for himself the face he’d just seen.

A fantasy to give him strength in the coming days.

[the very, very end]