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Soap is most affectionate with him when he's just come back from a long mission. It's not as if it's because he chooses not to be affectionate normally, it's just he knows Ghost doesn't bode well with being showered in compliments and soft touches, he knows him well enough that when he’s in the spotlight of Soap’s attention, he's more likely to revert back into his shell than be flattered.
it's just that when Ghost has been gone for that long, Johnny simply can't help himself.
Ghost allows it; mostly because he feels guilt and because he knows that when Johnny is called away from him and comes back in – more or less one – piece, he, himself, is definitely more clingy than usual: following him around the cafeteria, asking to spare or to spot him in the gym, inviting him back to his room and into his bed after hours. It's embarrassing and Ghost is sure he’s making a fool of himself, made fun of by the other recruits when he's not with them, not acting like much of an intimidating higher-up as he is his sergeant’s shadow. But even the chance of tarnishing his reputation isn't convincing enough to stop him, not when he stayed up countless nights thinking I could be sleeping whilst he’s bleeding out. I could be laying here whilst he’s dead.
I could lose him.
Ghost gets back late tonight, at 0300 hours. Because of the hour, he doesn't bother to drop by the sergeant’s room to exchange pleasantries like he had promised to before he had left.
“Come find me when you get back, yeah?” Johnny asked as he pushed himself off of the wall with crossed arms and bright eyes. Ghost nodded, reaching to stroke the side of his scratchy face with the back of his gloved fingers.
“Yeah.” He agreed quietly. They were alone, but not completely. On the tarmac there were technicians running around and of course, Price a few meters away, yelling at some poor sod over the phone. But as they stood, waiting for the helo to come, five minutes before Ghost’s scheduled departure.
Johnny took a breath, and lightly punched him in the chest, always covering up his fear with his brusqueness, “And bring yourself back whole.” He had tried to say playfully, but his voice was strained.
Ghost arched his eyebrow behind his mask and shook his head. “Don't hafta worry about me.”
Johnny just scoffed, swayed his body close and brought two hands up and squeezed Ghost’s arms up and down, memorizing the shape of them, smoothing his thumb over a scar he couldn’t see but knew was there under Ghost’s sleeve, “‘Am no.”
It was then that they heard the mechanical whirring of the helo approaching them, both men turned to watch as the soaring chopper sank lower and lower. As it landed, its rotor blade was still rotating at turbo speeds, it disrupted the wind, it made Ghost’s eyes watered, it caught on his shirt fabric and tugged. When Ghost turned back to look at Soap, his hair was pushed back and his eyes were so glossy, they shone.
Ghosts leaned down and brushed his balaclava against Johnny’s cheek, mimicking a kiss. “I’ll be thinking of you, Sergeant.” He said softly, the wind bullying at his back and felt Soap’s fingertips as they dug desperately into his arms.
Johnny softly bumped his head into Ghost’s chin. “Get the fuck out of here, sir,” His fingers loosened, “'fore I give ye a skelpit lug.”
Ghost leaned in harder despite Soap’s nonsense threats, though he was met with no resistance. Right under Soap’s ear, he muttered, “Is that Scot for a blowie?”
Johnny’s chest jumped under Ghost’s with a silent laugh, before he leaned back to look at him with a grin and a flushed face. “Ah, you wish. There’ll be no of that. Now bolt, ya rocket.” And Johnny finally pushed him away, his fingers twitching like he already wanted to touch him again. And with that, Ghost roughly ran his fingers through that greased back, wind-ruined mohawk – which Johnny allowed with a grimace – and spun on his heel to walk towards the chopper.
Ghost’s sleep deprived body allows a lazy smile as he replays the memory on the trudge back to his room. He’ll pay him a visit in the morning before Johnny wakes up so Johnny can jump on top of him in the privacy of his own quarters instead of in the public eye of the cafeteria. For now, He strips himself of his bloody gear and sweaty underwear.
What he wants is an hour long, hot, deep cleaning shower, but his head's barely on his shoulders; he settles for a lukewarm rinse. Chin on his chest as he watches the pink water run down his body until it runs clear, hardly able to lift his arms up to scrub himself down. Only meekly manages to raise his heavy arms to run his clean hands with dirty fingernails down his face. After he pats himself dry with a towel, he throws on a clean pair of boxers and climbs into his neatly made, cold, dusty bed, not bothering with the task of getting under the covers. He passes out face down on his stomach, his right leg hangs off the edge.
Ghost sleeps deeply and amply. The consequence of staying awake for 72 hours straight manifests itself by way of him sleeping all through the morning, though he usually wakes up at 0500 hours.
He dreams of bullets. Pretty par for the course for him. He dreams of tackling soldiers and cold blades before hot blood drips down his fingers and curves along the inside of his wrists. Then the dreams shift and swirl and suddenly he's tackling a man far too young to be in the midst of a war in his childhood backyard. The man and him fall with synchronized oomfps behind his father's old tool shed. There's a beat up tire swing his brother and him half heartedly put together as a distraction one day as their wasted father, yelling nonsensically at the television made the house too chaotic to risk stepping into. They stole the tire from their neighbors truck, it was a spare and not two days later, that same neighbor pounded at their door, demanding his stolen property back. Ghost's father refused, said he didn't know what the old bastard was talking about but later that night, Ghost went to bed with bruises all along his back, rocking himself to sleep to the sounds of Tommy's quiet sniffles and gasps.
Ghost chokes the soldier out without breaking a sweat and leaves his body in front of the shed. He gets to his feet and walks up to the swing, the air smells bittersweet and lonely. The muddy ground is rich with tarnished memories and heartbreak. The swing stretches and groans, inflating into an adult sized tire swing as he approaches it and when Ghost slips both legs into it, the branch the rope is tied to bends with his weight. As soon as Ghost leans back to swing, the dream blinks and Ghost is no longer on the swing, but on his back with warm lips kissing his chest.
Ghost looks down and it's Johnny. Of course it's Johnny. Ghost lets out a soft groan as he feels lips crawl up his skin, wet and soft. The dream gets hazing there and he drifts in and out of consciousness, but the lips stay constant. A steady presence. Ghost enjoys this, drifting comfortably on his bed, until a voice breaks him out of his half conscious state.
“Too busy to spare a minute to give me peace of mind. Have to come ‘ere and get it myself.” Johnny’s scoff echoes in his ears, pausing between kisses.
Ghost doesn't comprehend entirely what he says, but he smiles into his pillow. Oh, he's not on his back like he was in his dream, but still facing down in the same position he fell asleep in, the realization is a tad jarring, makes him feel like he was really flipped back onto his stomach but he suspects he was so exhausted that he’s been dead weight on his bed ever since he laid down in it. Now, in his bed with a heavy, near crushing weight on top of him. Ghost inhales deeply as the last dredges of sleep float away from him and he recognizes the familiar feeling of the hot line of Johnny’s body pressed right against his. Accepting that sleep is over, he stretches his arms over his head, his balled fists bump into the headboard.
“Ah, there he is.” Johnny grins against his nape, fingers skirting up his arms. “Welcome back, Lt.”
“Johnny.” He rumbles back, blinking his eyes lazily into his sheets and turns his head all the way to the side so he isn’t being smothered in his pillow.
Calloused hands fan out over his lower back, thumbs pressing into the dimples above his boxers band. “You must've been right knocked out if you didn't hear me come in.” Johnny’s voice is like velvet in his ear as he murmurs quietly.
Ghost rubs his eye and through his yawn responds, “Haven't slept in a minute.”
Johnny’s mouth migrates over to his cheek, his lips brushing his ear. “If you got back last night, why didn't I wake up with you?”
What a clingy little leach. Ghost rolls his eyes and wraps his arms underneath his pillow, with Johnny’s weight bearing down on him he doesn't feel that urgency to get up and get moving, that urgency that he usually feels in the morning, that urgency he distracts himself with so he can ignore the dread that lingers from the nightmares. Mornings are always the worst, it’s when Ghost honestly feels weak , like he wants to give up, wants to rot in a comfortable bed feeling sorry and begrieved forever. But it helps waking up with someone who’s smiling. Someone who has slept soundly through the night. Johnny helps.
“Didn't want to disturb.” Ghost half mumbles it into the pillow.
“Fucking lavvy heid.” Johnny harrumphs, like he really is disappointed in his lieutenant for prioritizing his sergeant’s sleep. Deft fingers pinch his ass through his boxers in playful reprimand.
Ghost hisses through his teeth but lets him touch him, too drowsy, too fucking pliant to do much more. And the worst part is how easy it is, how easy it is to let Johnny roam greedy hands all over, to let him kiss and nip at him until he's satisfied and until Ghost is all riled up, wanting more.
Johnny presses closer and kisses down the side of his neck. “Did medic check you?”
Ghost tilts his head up so his neck is open to Johnny’s lips, skin tingling from the feather light contact. “I’m solid.” He says, breathily.
It's been almost a week since he's had any contact, almost a week of pure celibacy and while that would’ve been Ghost’s normal a few months ago, since Johnny has successfully broken his brain and become the only thing that keeps Ghost sane these days, they’ve been fucking like rabbits: morning, noon and especially at night. Since having been deprived of that routine, he feels a hell of a lot more responsive than normal.
“‘S not what I asked.” His tone is light, sing-songy as he bites down on Ghost’s ear lobe and pulls until he hears a pleased hiss coming from the man underneath.
“They didn't and they won't. Don't worry about leaving marks.” The rasp of his early morning voice comes out harsher than intended.
He earns a chuckle for his hasty tone before the mattress dips on either side of Ghost’s waist where Johnny has planted his knees, “Turn ‘round for me, sir.” that grounding weight leaves him entirely, allowing him to maneuver around instead of staying pinned.
When Ghost flips over on his back, Johnny’s gorgeous, sun tanned face is grinning down at him. The fondness that rushes through him clenches hard in his chest like a stutter in the steady beat of his heart, whatever Johnny is, he’s definitely not good for him, even looking at him feels like nearly dying. But fuck, it feels too good to stop.
Ghost is not the only one happy to see the other’s face. Johnny’s wide eyes roam over Ghost’s unmasked face, letting out a low whistle, “Steaming Jesus.” He drags out each word, savoring them like how he savors Ghost’s face each moment he sees it. He tastes them, rolls them around between his tongue and soft palette.
Ghost dismisses the wolf whistle with a roll of his eyes, “Look like you've seen a ghost, Sergeant.”
Johnny snorts, leans down, brushes his lips against Ghost’s neck and hums. “Aye, a real stunner, that ghost.” He rumbles with his deep accent, rolling his hips onto Ghost’s thigh.Ghost’s eyes flutter close as he feels that drag of that soft cock behind Soap’s own boxers, and God, that voice teasing in his ear, the stubble scratching the vulnerable skin of his chest; Johnny knows how to get Ghost eager for it. He trails his hands down to Johnny’s hips, which roll in a steady, lazy grind against Ghost’s tensing thigh but as soon as Ghost gets a handle on him, fingers close around his wrists. His hands are lifted up and over shoulders and pinned to the pillow on either side of his head before Ghost gets the chance to complain.
Johnny leans in, face inches from his, hot breath ghosting his cheeks, Ghost can feel how it makes him flush. “Be good.” And then he's leaning in, kissing him deep and harsh.
Ghost moans, helpless and yearning into Johnny's mouth. If his hands weren't pinned, they'd be all over him. Johnny kisses unhurried, slowly and alternating between mean and tender, in a way that makes his head spin. Lips diverge from the pinned man’s mouth, giving kisses over Ghost’s crooked nose, his split brow, his slashed cheek, the jut of his cheekbone, over his forehead.
“John–Johnny,” Ghost tips his head away, but the lips follow to brush against his temple “Christ– what're you doing ?”
“Missed your ugly mug, sir.” Johnny says as he stretches over him, his curly, dark haired chest obscuring his view as wet lips brushes his fingers. “And these big hands.” He rumbles, his nimble, wet tongue slides in between his fingers, curls under his fingertips, laps at his palm.
“Maybe they missed you too, Johnny.” Ghost grunts as he flexes his wrists stubbornly.
Johnny laughs against his palm, where he nudged his loose fist open with his nose. “Wanna touch me?”
Again, Ghost flexes his arms, grits out a bitter, “Yeah.”
Johnny's face comes back into view, a sly smile on his lovely face. “Who’s my pretty boy?”
On instinct, Ghost makes a face. He shifts on the bed, shoulders rolling, his head turning to the side so he doesn’t have to keep looking at that goddamn grin.
“You talk to me like i'm a fucking mutt.” It’s a shame how shy he sounds. Maybe not outright bashful, his voice is still gruff, angry, but it's not angry enough . It shows Johnny caught him off guard, made him flinch. Johnny knows him too damn well to miss it and likes it too damn much to feign ignorance.
“Mm.” He sucks on Ghost’s ear lobe, releasing it with a wet pop that makes Ghost shiver . “And I can treat ye like one if ye like.”
The twist of arousal like a knife in his stomach makes Ghost grunt, a soft thing.
“Come on now, you want a treat don't you?” Johnny taunts, rutting his groin hard onto Ghost’s hip.
His morning wood throbs, neglected and trapped beneath fabric. He swallows his pride thickly. “Me.”
Johnny freezes, eyebrows raised. “Sorry?”
Ghost doesn't look at him when he says, “Your pretty boy. I am.” it's audibly gritted through his teeth, his jaw clenched so hard it clicks once like the popping of bubble wrap.
“Fucking right, you are.” Soap groans, swooping in and kissing him hard.
The mm! that goes muffled against Johnny’s mouth is grating to hear in his own ears and he tries twisting in Johnny’s hold, needing to touch him back – he needs to touch him back.
“ Stay .” Johnny orders, still devouring his lips, fucking starved, the lad acts. He presses down hard against his wrists, pinning him seriously now, Ghost isn't getting out of this. “I'm taking my fucking time with you.” Johnny declares, pressing their lips together quite violently.
“I'm not a fucking chew toy,” The complaint is muffled against hungry, selfish lips, “let me up. Bloody–!” Ghost swears as Johnny bites down on his lip until the skin gives and breaks under those fangs . “Bloody hell.” Ghost blows air out from his teeth as the metallic taste fills his mouth, drips down his chin. Soap’s tongue licks up the trail that the bead of blood rolls down, collecting it.
“You bring out something dark in me, Simon.” Johnny pulls away, licking his lips. “I don’t fucking understand it.”
Ghost stares at him, his lips are swollen already and tinged red from Ghost’s blood, a breathless laugh escapes him and he lets his head fall back. “Just as long as it’s for me, Johnny.” He tells the ceiling before dropping his chin to his chest, catching Johnny’s eye, “Nobody else, you don't get to chew up and put anybody else back together again, yeah?”
That seems to be something they can both agree on, Soap licks his bottom lip again, eyes drifting down Ghost’s prone body, “You’re just enough of a whore to let me do it to you isn’t that right?”
The abrupt cruelty in his tone provokes the stubborn side of Ghost, so he picks his hips up, trying to buck Johnny off of him and flip their positions but of course, in these… more intimate moments, Johnny is always a step ahead of his dazed lieutenant. He bares almost all his weight down on Ghost’s wrists as he folds his knees under himself and pins Ghost’s thighs beneath them. “Bad boy.” he taunts, openly pleased.
Ghost thrashes, indeed like a bad dog. “I’m no whore.”
Johnny tips his head at him, like he finds Ghost’s struggle cute . “Oh, pretty, Of course ye are.” ‘P retty’ rolls off his tongue in a soft purr, turning Ghost’s insides to liquid. Suddenly there’s pressure against the trapped tent of Ghost’s hard dick, he bucks his hips away from Johnny’s front and back into the sheets in surprise and moans, slacked jawed and shakily into the room.
“That’s right, whore.” Johnny’s voice is soft, so doting as he degrades him and presses against him once more. That’s what causes his dick to twitch wildly under the restrain of fabric, the sweet bullying of his words. He rolls his hips against Ghost. “Stay still or I’ll flip you ‘round, again, hm?” he threatens, knowing Ghost doesn’t want to lose the pressure on his dick or the hot breath fanning over his face. Ghost nods rapidly, mouth still slack, drooling as his hips weakly press forward, chasing friction.
“You want it? Want it rough? Want me to be nice; kiss you while you’re shaking and moaning fer me?” Johnny slows his hips, expecting an answer before he gives in to both their heady desires.
“Fucking speak. ” He orders with hard eyes when instead of a response, a reedy whimper bubbles past Ghost’s lips as he leaks over the inside of his boxers.
“Johnny,” Ghost mutters as he exhales, “like this, keep like this,” He thrusts his hips up to demonstrate, watching as Johnny swallows down a groan as their cocks bump together.
Maybe he shouldn't need this, to be held down, teased and taunted after a hard, long mission of barking orders at his own terrified and sleep deprived team. Or maybe he likes taking some of Johnny’s orders for a change.
“And…and kiss me.” Ghost requests weakly, craning his neck up towards the man’s face which hovers so, so close above him.
“There’s a pretty boy.” Johnny grins, swooping down to crush lips together. His hands loosen around Ghost’s wrists before they abandon them completely, dragging over his chest instead, plucking his pebbled nipples.
Ghost shivers and fists Johnny’s shirt with his newly freed hands, he hikes it up so the bare skin of their stomachs can touch, the lieutenant arches into it. He can feel himself shaking, length hardening against Johnny as they kiss, open mouth and sloppy, their tongues sliding against each other wetly. Fingernails dig into the soft flesh of Ghost’s hips, sneaking under the band of his boxers; boxers that need to come off, now. So, Ghost squirms underneath Johnny’s gyrating body as they rub fronts, the friction of the fabric against his cock is rubbing him raw and sensitive, with the only lubricant being his own pre-spend weakly dribbling out of his slit. He presses his fists, still balling Johnny’s shirt, against Johnny’s chest to push his sergeant off of him, the sergeant in question bears down harder with a disgruntled noise, curious eyes searching Ghost’s but Ghost just glares back.
Johnny just arches an eyebrow, like he doesn’t know exactly what Ghost was going to do.
“Stay . ” He commands again, and Ghost tries not to cry as his boxers rub uncomfortably against him. It hurts but feels too good to stop. Ghost throws his head back in equal parts frustration and bliss. He doesn’t beg, he figures he’s done enough of that, if Johnny wants to see him in pain, his eyes well up with tears, his bottom lip tremble – well, he won’t give him the satisfaction.
But apparently, great minds think alike, because soon enough, Johnny is reaching down to free himself from the confines of his own underwear. Ghost watches his cock spring free enviously, only just managing not to whine. His cock has a flushed head already, the shaft is darker than the rest of his skin tone. He’s thick, fucking heavy, his dark hair curls around his base and around his balls, which are already drawn up from their rutting. Ghost stares at it, hard and heavy for him and licks his lips, spreading his legs wide in invitation.
Johnny tips his head at him, smiling coyly as Ghost eyes his cock with lust, slapping the head a few times against Ghost’s thigh. “Want something, huh?”
Ghost whines, toes curling into the bedsheets , arching his back and bringing his hand down to palm over the wet head of his cock where it’s staining his gray boxers dark, squeezing at it until his eyes roll back into his head.
He’s enjoying himself quite thoroughly before a harsh slap stings the right side of his face and he gasps, electricity shooting down his spine. A hand wraps around his rotating wrist, he looks up to find Johnny’s narrow eyes. “ Speak.”
Ghost works his jaw silently a couple times. They’ve hit each other before – outside of the bedroom more than in, but it never fails to surprise him each and every time. Maybe that's why Johnny loves doing it to him, just to see that shocked, turned on look on his face.
“I want that cock, Johnny, so you better fucking give it to me.”
Another slap of that heavy cock on his thigh, but this time, Johnny leaves it there, so hot it almost burns. “Is that right?” is the purr he receives.
Ghost just looks him in the eye as he fights against the grip around his wrist to keep grinding his cock, moving his hips lazily into his hand. He presses his lips together as he feels his calluses through the fabric as they drag along his shaft. “ Mm.” He moans instead of answering.
Johnny chuckles, eyes suddenly softening as he watches Ghost, “Am I bein’ too mean? My boy just wants to feel good, aye?”
The larger man nods, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as his hips start rolling faster, picking up pace, he nods once.
“Hand off, love,” Johnny says, hands running up and down his arms. “I’m gonna take care o’ ye.”
Obeying, Ghost’s hand goes slack as he lets Johnny guide his hand to the pillow as he straddles his thighs with his legs spread wide. Johnny lowers his pelvis against Ghost, his bare skin making contact with Ghost’s wet underwear, just then the heat and pressure he feels is perfect, Ghost’s mouth drops in a silent moan, his hips frantically moving back against Johnny, immediately addicted to the pleasure. Ghost’s half-lidded eyes catch Johnny staring down at him with glazed-over eyes, glued to his relaxed face.
“Move that body, that's right, that's fucking right.” Johnny bites out his praise, his hand slapping down on his lieutenant’s flank, causing him to gasp and shudder against the sheets that are dampening with his sweat.
They stay like that, breathing the same air, rolling their hips together, grinding their leaky, throbbing cocks together. The friction is sloppy as their dicks lazily rub together and the pressure soon proves to be not quite enough so Ghost grabs Johnny’s ass in an act of desperation to pull him closer, to fuck against him harder. Ghost bites his tongue, trying to swallow down the noises beginning to bubble up. Sweat is cooling on his forehead and his cheeks feel like they’re on fire, stomach swooping every time he and Johnny hold eye contact. He feels an arm snake under his neck, wrapping around his shoulders, cradling him almost, as a big hand brushes his hard cock. That forces out a whimper from his lips as his hand wraps around his bulge– Ghost grimaces at the noise of his own pleasure as he rings in his own ears but Johnny’s only reaction to it is an answering grin and his precum spurting onto Ghost’s trapped cock to make the slide wetter. That hand presses down hard onto the tent in the fabric and drags up and down, up and down. Ghost feels his eyelids fall shut, the pressure is suddenly fucking perfect and his back threatens to arch entirely off the mattress, the inside of his boxers are just slick enough that the boxers are smoothly gliding along his dick, no longer painful. Johnny begins to thrust his cock along the crease of Ghost’s hip, marking up his skin with his slick arousal.
“You’re home.” Johnny breathes out, Ghost feels a nose nudge his jaw before Johnny shoves his face into the crook of his neck. “You’re home.” His voice is weak, shaky, Ghost can’t tell if that’s from the pleasure or from the relief of being able to hold each other again after having accepted the fact that they may never again.
Ghost’s eyes blink open for a moment, a wave of emotion; gratitude and guilt wash over him. Gratitude that he’s here again, that by some grace of God, he made it back, is here underneath the most beautiful man he’ll ever know, he’s even seen. Even if this moment is undeserved, even if he has no idea why he’s been pitied by some higher power to get him this far. But guilt because he should put a stop to this, he should distance himself from Johnny, be a fucking man about it and tell him whatever cruel thing he needs to so that Soap won't want him anymore, so that when he does die on the job it won’t ruin his Johnny. Instead, Ghost lays his hand over the nape of Johnny’s neck, sliding it up to tangle his fingers through Johnny’s mohawk.
“That’s right, love.” He affirms, letting the pet name slip in. Usually he sticks to ‘Johnny’ in public and private but in these moments, when it feels like it’s just the two of them in the whole world, it's ‘love’. And while this shitty, military issued room and in his rickety cot can hardly be labeled as “home”, Ghost – Simon understands. He’s under Johnny’s weight, pressed skin to skin; he’s “home”.
A low rumble from Johnny’s chest vibrates against Ghost’s own and Ghost bites down too hard on the inside of his cheek as the pace of their rolling hips quickens with little preamble. The front of his boxers are dripping with mixed precum and sweat. It aches, the length of him pressed up against the barrier of fabric but Johnny clearly doesn't want him to take these off, he wants to watch him squirm. And unfortunately, it's absolutely working.
“I’m getting there.” Soap tells him in a hushed murmur, lips against the hinge of his jaw, Ghost nods sharply in acknowledgement, eyes fluttering shut, hips tipping off the bed to roll even faster.
“Easy this morning, are we?” Ghost finally has the mind to say, finally teasing back.
“Ha,” Johnny breathes, teeth scraping along Ghost’s jaw. “Careful,” His voice is whiskey deep, roughly Scottish. “Don't think I won’t be taking my time with this bonnie body tonight.. mm .” As if to prove his point, hands grasp at his clothed arse.
Ghost inhales sharply. “Animal.”
“Pet.” Johnny rebuttals breathily, teeth bared in a smug snarl, catching Ghost’s lips again.
There’s a jarring twitch against Ghost’s hip and then heat hits stomach, his chest and his right shoulder.
“ Fuck , Johnny.” Ghost gasps through bared teeth and he’s gone as well, tremors shooting through his body as he drops his hips back on the bed, cumming awkwardly all over himself and his boxers. He can’t be entirely sure how he sounds, it might be desperate; whining, crying Johnny’s name with a trembling lip, maybe some broken mewls to go along with it. It might be feral; groaning hard with his head thrown back, shouting moans, flailing his body out as he struggles to handle the onslaught of pleasure at his very core.
In any case, he refuses to be held responsible for any of it.
When he comes to, none of that matters, because Johnny is kissing his neck, his shoulders, his collarbones. Ghost takes a deep breath in, and slowly lets it out, trying to catch his labored breaths. Ghost’s eyebrow arches as he feels Johnny’s lips on his stomach, then on his hips. He wriggles on the bed, tries to shake him off, it’s too sensitive, too ticklish. In response, he’s bitten on his thigh, before snapped on his hip with the band of his boxers. Johnny pulls them off his body, revealing the slick, cum stains, and the mess on his tip.
Ghost grunts as the cool air finally hits his flushed cock.
He practically jackknifes off the bed when Johnny tongue laps out his tip, letting it slip inside his mouth, sucking softly, letting it poke the inside of his cheek, creating an obscene bulge. Ghost won’t deny Johnny looks good like that, mouth stuffed, eyes wide as they look up at him for approval, but it's just too much, too soon.
“Soap I’m not going to–” Then Ghost pops out of his mouth and Johnny’s tongue diverts, instead lapping at the inside of his boxers which are still around his thighs, licking up the sprays of white. “God.”
“Best if we leave him out of this.” Johnny grins, biting the inside of Ghost’s thigh.
Ghost places his hand over the top of Johnny’s head and pushes him away. “Shut up for a moment.”
“Nice to know I can still surprise you.” Johnny winks, shimmying Ghost’s boxers back over his hips, getting up and patting his stomach before he stands to stretch his hands over his head until his back pops.
Ghost snorts, leaning against the pillows, watching the muscles in his body contort. “You know how to keep things interesting.”
Johnny turns around, raising his eyebrows, “Price is gonna kill you, you know.”
Ghost narrows his eyes, the solace and afterglow of his orgasm fading, “I don’t know, actually.”
Soap crosses his arms, looks at him. “You’ve been in bed all morning without attending your briefing for that hundred and fifty hour mission. You’re in for it.”
A long, exhausted sigh escapes from him, his hands fan over his face and he slumps in the cot. “Oh fucking shoot me.”
When Ghost peers through the gaps in his fingers, Soap is sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “Well, to be fair… Price did send me in here to get you...for the briefing”
Now it’s Ghost’s turn to look at him. “How do you suppose I’ll explain to him how it took you nearly an hour to get me up?”
Soap shrugs, bends down to pick up his shirt he must’ve shed on the floor before crawling onto the cot, “I’ll just tell him you were a wee bit grumpy.” Soap’s eyes are on his shirt, grimacing even as he says the words.
Ghost springs up out of his bed, grabs Soap’s shirt from his grasp, tosses it back to the floor. He spins Johnny around by the waist and throws him down onto the bed, following suit, caging him against the damp sheets as Johnny laughs up at him. Simon shuts him up with a single, soft, parting kiss. “Idiot.”
Soap grins so giddy it looks like he might actually giggle. “Round two?”
“Hm, you wish. We can have celebration sex if my late briefing with Price doesn’t get me sent to Medic.”
Johnny smiles sweetly up at him, draping a hand over the nape of his neck, “Well,” A chaste peck on his lips, “I’ll be here, darling.”