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It starts with the dreams.
At first, Ghost doesn’t even remember what they were about, all he knows is that when he wakes up he’s sweaty, rock hard and feeling strangely empty. It’s a bit unusual, the intensity of it all. He’s used to waking up hard, it’s normal after all, even more so for an alpha only just barely past his prime. What’s new is this odd feeling of something missing, like he’s craving something he doesn’t know.
He ignores it at first, just goes about his life, but then it happens again, and again, and eventually, he starts waking up with hazy memories of his dreams. A flash of tan skin, brown hair styled in a mohawk, bright blue eyes. It’s Soap, there’s no doubt about it. And not even that is unusual, Ghost had been messing around with the other alpha for months at this point.
It began with them just blowing off steam after missions. Giving the other a hand because it just felt so much better when it wasn’t your own. Then Soap had asked to suck him off and who was Ghost to deny him.
It became a semi-regular thing for them returning after ops, haphazard handjobs, a blowjob here and there. Sometimes they just rutted against each other like horny teenagers, too pent up to do much more about it, too lost in sensations, until they came against the other’s thigh.
So no, dreaming about Soap in a sexual context isn’t strange at all.
It’s a few weeks later when Ghost wakes up, and he knows instantly that something’s changed. He’s had another of his dreams, Soap featured prominently in it, but this time he can remember almost everything about it in stark detail.
They’d been in a non-descript location, on a bed, Ghost on his hands and knees, looking back at Soap over his shoulder. Ghost feels his entire body flush hot with the memory. He knows exactly what he did, can recall the way his dream-self had begged Soap to fuck him, to take him hard. And to knot him.
He swallows hard, shoves a hand beneath the sheets to fist his leaking cock. He’s so hard he feels like he’s seconds from coming. His mind replays the way Soap had opened him up in his dream, how he got him ready for his cock, until he eventually pushed in, splitting Ghost open.
Ghost digs his teeth in his bottom lip. He twists to the side, pulls a leg up and reaches his free hand down to press against his hole. He grunts, cock jumping in his grasp and leaking more precome.
Dream-Soap had fucked him hard and fast, no finesse, both too caught up to care and with none of the real world repercussion to face. Ghost remembers how he’d felt Soap’s knot starting to build, pressing up against his hole with every thrust, until he’d eventually slipped it in.
In the now, Ghost squeezes his hand around his cock, his fingertips still only resting against his hole. He can already feel his balls tightening up, so close already.
Dream-Soap’s knot had locked them together and then he’d come, filling Ghost up with rope after rope, orgasm seemingly lasting for minutes.
Ghost twists his head against the pillow, bites into it to muffle his moans. It only takes one of his fingertips pushed past the rim for him to come. Hard.
Over the next few days Ghost tries to rationalise it. It was just dreams after all, no reason to get worked up about it.
But when, the next time he falls into bed with Soap, the incessant urge to present for him, to push his arse up against his crotch, overcomes him and is so hard to ignore that even Soap, in his hazy, lust-addled state, catches on that something is off about him, Ghost worries a bit.
For the moment he manages to distract Soap by sucking his cock, but when he’s by himself under the shower later, two fingers buried in his arse to the hilt, wishing it was Johnny instead, Ghost wonders if maybe, he should talk to him about it.
“I want you to fuck me.” The words are gasped out against Soap’s skin a few days later. At that point, Ghost feels like he’s about to go mad if he doesn’t get the other alpha’s cock inside of him. He still has no idea why, but right now, Ghost doesn't care.
“What?” Soap asks, pressing kisses along Ghost’s neck. When he brushes his lips over Ghost’s scent glands, he shivers.
“Please,” Ghost whines, grabs Soap’s hand and tugs it down to his arse.
Soap leans back a bit, looks at him with blown-wide pupils. “You’re serious.”
Ghost swallow, nods.
“Fuck, Simon! Yeah, yeah okay.”
Soap grabs the lube, slicks up two fingers and starts probing at Ghost’s hole. At first he’s hesitant, but this close to getting what he’s been craving for weeks now, Ghost is impatient and presses back against him.
When the first finger pushes in, Ghost shudders. He squeezes his eyes shut, tightens his fist around his cock.
“More, please.”
Soap curses and starts working him open, adds a second finger, and then a third.
Ghost is ripping at the sheets, legs splayed wide, torn between pushing back and rutting against the mattress.
“Come on, do it already!”
Soap withdraws his fingers, lines himself up and then, torturously slowly, he’s pushing in.
Soap bottoms out and Ghost feels like he can’t breathe. He’s never felt so filled in his life, so completely claimed by someone else.
It barely takes a few shallow thrust from Soap until Ghost is coming, spilling over his hand, Johnny’s name on his lips.
Soap pulls out before his climax hits him, and Ghost is fast enough to catch him squeeze the base of his cock hard, fist around his knot, before he grunts and come splatters all across Ghost’s back.
Ghost wishes he’d come inside.
It continues on like this for a while. Soap fucks Ghost, makes him come in record time, and always pulls out before he can spill inside him. They don’t talk about it, but the looks Soap keeps sending him leave Ghost feeling exposed, x-rayed, and stripped bare.
It’s a few weeks later when Soap stops Ghost before they’ve even started anything.
“Ghost, what is this?”
Ghost feels his face flush, thankful he’s still wearing his mask.
He swallows, averts his eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Hey,” Soap says gently, a hand suddenly framing his face. “Look at me.”
Ghost does, then hesitantly starts to explain about the dreams.
“And now, all I can think about is how much I want you to—how I need you to—” Ghost tears his eyes away again.
“Hey, no need for that.” Soap has pulled him a little closer. “Can I…?” He has his fingers resting against the hem of the mask.
Ghost nods, and Soap pulls the balaclava off his head.
“It’s not unheard of. No need to be ashamed.”
“‘M not ashamed. It’s just… overwhelming.”
“I can tell,” Soap says, voice still gentle. “It’s also really fuckin’ hot, Lt. Do you… do you really want me to knot you?”
Ghost nods before he’s even really thought about it, like his body made the decision for him.
“Okay,” Soap breathes out. “Okay.” And then he pulls Ghost into a kiss.
They’ve kissed before, but never like this. Before, it had always been a heat of the moment sort of thing. During sex, lips slipping across each other almost by accident. But this is a proper, almost chaste kiss.
Ghost can’t get enough.
When they eventually make it to bed, Soap doesn’t pull out when he feels his orgasm approaching. Ghost has his head buried in the pillow once again and when Soap’s building knot finally catches and then slips in, he almost sobs in relief.
Predictably, neither of them last long after that and when Soap eventually comes, sheathed deep inside, Ghost can feel him spill rope after rope of come.
He feels like he’s floating.
They’re locked together for a while after that, and it’s literally like Ghost’s dreams have come true. Only when Soap eventually pulls out, knot having subsided enough, and Ghost still feels like he could go again right away, hole wet and gaping, wetter than it should be from just a bit of lube and Soap’s come, does he halt.
His breath catches in his throat.
Ghost reaches down to where he’s again hard and leaking, wraps his hand around the base of his cock, tightens his hold where the tissue of his knot should be clearly palpable—
He freezes.
There’s no trace of thicker, firmer tissue, only more velvety soft skin.
He no longer has a knot.
He’s no longer an alpha.
—
He doesn’t tell Soap. Ghost isn’t even really sure why, but he doesn’t. He expects him to have noticed something change, but Ghost is also fairly sure that even if he’s not an alpha anymore, the pheromones might still be lingering, and so he seems to get away with it. At least for the time being.
Every once in a while he catches Soap’s curious glances and though he tries to play it off casually, Ghost knows he doesn’t quite succeed.
Of course, it doesn’t work out like this forever, and eventually, Soap corners Ghost in the armoury after a mission. They’re among the last soldiers still there and Ghost watches with dread as the third last man leaves, banging the heavy door shut behind him and leaving the two of them alone.
“What’s gotten into you?” Soap hisses at him, arm braced against a shelf next to Ghost’s shoulder, effectively blocking his way out.
Ghost glances away. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Sergeant.” It hurts, being this cold with Soap, but he doesn’t even know what’s going on himself. All he knows is that his fucking knot is gone and that, whenever he fingers himself now, he barely even needs any lube anymore because he gets so fucking wet. Sometimes he doesn’t even get that far, sometimes, thinking about Soap for too long doesn’t only leave him hard, but also dangerously close to soaking through his fatigues.
“Oh, don’t give me that horseshite, Lt.!” Soap spits, accent heavy with anger and—Ghost realises with a heavy heart—hurt. “A few weeks ago we fucked after every mission, sometimes in between. We had fun! And then you tell me to,” Soap lowers his voice, “to knot you and I do and after that you’re just…” He shrugs helplessly. “And don’t try to tell me you weren’t avoiding me.”
Soap looks at Ghost, catches his eyes. He looks fucking crestfallen, eyes wide and so, so sad. “Did I do something? Did I hurt you in any way?”
Ghost is quick to shake his head. “No, never.”
“Then what is it? Simon?” Soap’s tone has shifted away from the anger, is close to begging now. “Are you ashamed? Because I can assure you there are plenty of alphas who are into getting knotted.”
Ghost swallows hard, turns his head to get away from Soap’s piercing gaze. So Soap didn’t realise after all…
“That’s not it.”
Soap raises a tentative hand then, puts it on the side of Ghost’s masked face.
“Please, I’m just trying to understand. If you want to stop whatever we’ve been doing, that’s fine, too. Just talk to me, please. I miss you.”
Ghost shakes his head. He tries to form a sentence, but he doesn’t even know how to explain himself or the things he’s feeling. Even just these past few minutes, the close proximity to Soap, make Ghost feel like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He keeps his breathing deliberately shallow, but he knows, if only he took one big inhale of Soap’s alpha scent, he’d be entirely gone.
In the end, Ghost does the only thing he can think of. He raises a hand (and doesn’t miss the way Soap follows the movement with his eyes, probably expecting Ghost to push him away) and pulls off his balaclava. Then he reaches below the collar of his shirt and rips off the two extra-strength, military-grade scent blocker patches he preemptively started wearing about a week ago. He drops them to the floor carelessly and lowers his head.
“My neck… smell it.”
Ghost doesn’t need to see Soap to know he’s frowning.
“Why—”
“Just do it, Soap.” Ghost tips his head forward a bit, pulls his shirt collar down even lower to expose his scent glands.
Soap returns his hand to a spot on Ghost’s upper arm and leans in, hesitantly at first, but when he seems to realise that yes, this is actually what he’s been asked to do, he doesn’t stop until Ghost can feel his breath on his neck.
He shudders.
Soap stays like this for a moment. Ghost can feel the way he inhales, feels the exact second it clicks and Soap realises what must have happened to Ghost. He suddenly pushes closer, outright buries his face in the crook of Ghost’s neck for a second, before he comes to his senses and jerks back abruptly.
Ghost feels the loss keenly. His mouth is dry and he blows out a measured breath, tries to keep his composure.
“Ghost?” Soap asks, hand still on Ghost’s upper arm, his fingertips digging into the muscles there. He’s looking a bit off to the side, almost staring blankly, thoughts probably racing. Ghost can see his jaw working. “Ghost, why do you smell like an omega?”
Ghost swallows thickly.
“I don’t know,” he rasps.
He watches Soap take a measured breath before he asks, “Is it just—or do you also—”
Even though Soap isn’t outright saying it, Ghost knows what he means. Does he just somehow smell like an omega now, or does he feel like one, too, experience everything that comes with it.
“Everything.”
“Bleedin’ Christ, how…” Soap trails off. His pupils are blown wide and he’s still sort of staring into space, but Ghost can see the tick in his jaw, how he shifts on his feet.
Suddenly, something crashes to the floor a few shelves over, probably a misplaced helmet or rifle, either way, the sound is so jarring it startles Ghost into sucking in a sharp breath. With Soap still this close, his hand never having left his upper arm, the effect is instant. Ghost gets a lungful of Soap’s alpha scent and it very nearly makes his eyes roll back in his skull. An involuntary whine slips past his lips when his knees buckle and he can feel the dampness between his cheeks grow slicker.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. When he opens them again, Soap is looking at him with single-minded focus.
“Ghost…” Soap’s tone of voice alone is enough to carry across the unspoken question. Should Soap leave, pretend this never happened, that his knot didn’t magically transform Ghost from an alpha to an omega – or should he stay, allow whatever would happen to happen, and go from there.
Ghost watches the way Soap’s pulse thrums in his neck. He’s still wearing the band from his throat mic, the pressure it puts on his skin only accentuating the pulsing beat. Ghost wants to surge forward and taste him.
“Please…”
The word has barely left Ghost’s lips, before Soap is already pushed up against him. It’s like the mere hint that Ghost wanted this as well was enough for him to throw all caution to the wind and really, Ghost can’t blame him.
The force of Soap’s body pressing up against him pushes Ghost back against the shelves and he reaches up to pull his balaclava off his head entirely, exposing his neck for Soap to kiss, lick and nibble over his scent glands. The first contact of Soap’s tongue on his skin has Ghost seeing stars and he moans, unable to stop the sound from escaping his lips.
Soap grunts and shoves a muscular thigh between Ghost’s legs, who is welcoming the additional support because really, he feels like his legs might give out any moment. The bulge of Soap’s hard-on is unmistakable even through their layers of gear, and when he ruts up against Ghost, he can feel himself leaking more slick.
Soap’s teeth are scraping over the back of Ghost’s neck and god, he wants to tell Soap to claim him, to bite down and mark him as his. Ghost has been Soap’s from the start anyway. But he doesn’t dare, no matter how much he wants it.
Instead, he turns around, braces one arm against the metal shelf while undoing the front of his trousers to push them down his arse far enough along with his pants. They get stuck just barely past his cheeks, bunching over the straps of his thigh holsters, but it’ll have to do.
Soap’s mouth is back on Ghost’s neck, he is panting hot breaths over his skin and one of his hands is possessively splayed across Ghost’s chest. The other finds its way to his arse, fingers slipping between his cheeks, gathering moisture before probing gently against his hole.
“Holy fuck, Lt., you’re so wet…”
Heat burns across the bridge of Ghost’s nose, a swooping sensation in his stomach, and he trembles as Soap pushes a finger inside. His neglected cock is straining up against his stomach and he already feels impossibly close.
Soap shifts behind him then, his lips leave their place on Ghost’s neck and he’s about to protest when he feels Soap sink to his knees, trailing his hand down Ghost’s spine as he goes. The implications are clear and it’s only moments later that Soap spreads him open, both hands on his cheeks now, and the previous finger is replaced with his hot, wet tongue.
All breath leaves Ghost in a drawn-out moan he couldn’t have suppressed if he wanted to. His cock jumps, leaking precome, and he reaches one hand behind himself, blindly searching for Soap until he finds him and tangles his fingers into his mohawk.
“F-Fuck, Johnny!”
Soap hums and only pushes in closer, spearing Ghost on his tongue, pushing it in deep before withdrawing and lapping a broad stripe across his hole.
Ghost feels like he’s losing his mind, not only because of Soap’s tongue up his arse, but also because his potent alpha smell is all around him. It’s in every breath he takes, feels so thick Ghost is almost sure he can actually taste it on his tongue. It skyrockets his arousal, he hasn’t even touched his own cock and yet he’s sure he’s mere moments from coming. The fact that they’re in public, that someone could walk in any second and would only have to get past a few shelves to see them, not to mention hear them right away anyway, only seems to add to it.
His prediction turns out to be right when a minute later, Soap hooks a thumb over his rim and pushes it in alongside his tongue. Ghost comes, untouched, with a startled yelp, spilling over a handful of spare grenades and the floor.
Soap moves off his arse then, gets back up on his feet, groaning as he does. Through his post-orgasmic haze Ghost vaguely thinks about what hell that must have been on his knees.
Soap drapes himself over Ghost’s back then, lips close to his ear as he mumbles, “You have no idea how fucking good you taste, Lt. Could come just from eating you out.”
To drive his point home, Soap rubs his still-clothed erection against Ghost’s hip.
“Please,” Ghost gasps, turns halfway around to try and capture Soap’s lips. “Need you. Inside. Your knot.”
His words make Soap curse colourfully, his hips buck up against him once more and then he lifts a hand to drag Ghost into a breathy kiss. There’s no finesse involved, neither of them have enough air in their lungs for a proper kiss and so they part again and again, just to meet once more.
Eventually, Soap starts fumbling with his belt, pushes his jeans and pants down in one go. He makes Ghost turn back towards the shelves, then deftly grabs him by the hips and manhandles him into position, arse pushed out, to get better access.
Ghost would be lying if he said the treatment doesn’t send hot spikes of desire all through his body.
“You solid?”
Ghost almost laughs. If Soap wasn’t holding him up by sheer circumstance of their position, he feels like he’d be in a heap on the floor; he feels so utterly boneless.
He gets what Soap is asking though and so he nods. “Affirm.”
Soap pushes one hand between his cheeks again, pulls them apart more before lining himself up.
Ghost’s eyes roll back in his skull when the blunt head of Soap’s cock finally nudges up against his hole and then slowly pushes in. God, how he’s craved this.
Ghost bows his head, presses it against his upper arms braced against the shelf, fingers of both hands digging into the opposite arm. He bares his neck, willing Soap to bury his face against the crook of it and as if reading his mind, Soap does exactly that as he bottoms out.
“More, please,” Ghost gasps, pushing his arse back more, urging Soap to move, to go deeper and Soap doesn’t need to be told twice. He ups his pace, goes back to sucking bruises into Ghost’s neck, licking over them soothingly and Ghost feels like he’s going insane with it. His entire body is burning with need for Soap, uncaring that he’s already come once, wants to be claimed, wants to be his, to be knotted and bitten.
“Please,” Ghost begs, shudders as Soap hits his prostate dead on, “make me yours.”
It’s insanity. Even in his current state there is a part of Ghost that tells him that he can’t possibly request this of Soap. That he shouldn’t, not while they’re both high on pheromones, barely thinking straight. But then again, it’s only ever been Soap for Ghost, and he knows it won’t change. Not for him.
Behind him, Soap moans. Ghost can feel the way he presses his forehead against his shoulder blade.
“You don’t know what you’re saying, Simon. I can’t—you can’t possibly—not like this.”
But Ghost is already shaking his head. “Don’ fuckin’ care. ‘S only ever been you, Johnny. Won’t change my mind.”
A noise unlike anything Ghost has ever heard escapes Soap and then he’s fucking back into Ghost, rhythm unsteady and frantic, like he can barely control himself now. It’s not long until Ghost can feel the ring of Soap’s slowly building knot catching against his rim and when he arches his back and pushes back on Soap’s next thrust, it finally slips in. They groan in unison.
For a brief moment, Ghost feels like he can’t breathe. The sensation is somehow even more intense than the first time he took Soap’s knot, but then he adjusts. He clenches his muscles and Soap, trembling with the effort of holding back and giving Ghost time to get used to the feeling, whines, lips pressed against the back of Ghost’s neck.
“Please,” Ghost chokes out again, he blindly reaches for Soap’s hand, finds it and interlaces their fingers. “I’m yours if you want me to be.”
It breaks the last of Soap’s restraint. With one final roll of his hips he’s coming, and a second later, Ghost feels sharp teeth breaking the skin on the back of his neck. It’s all he needs to tumble into another orgasm.
“You’re sure you wanted this?” Soap asks, voice carefully guarded.
They’re in a heap on the floor, tucked away in a corner of the armoury, still locked together. Soap is wrapped around Simon, holding him, almost painfully gentle.
“Never been more sure of anything in my life,” Ghost says, heart in his throat. “More importantly, though, did you?”
Soap chuckles. “Wasn’t that obvious?”
“Just makin’ sure.”
They kiss then, properly and deeply, and when Soap’s hand slips possessively over the mating bite mark on Ghost’s neck, there is no doubt in either of their hearts.