Work Text:
Soap is more wolf than human when they reach the safe house. Ghost is heavy where Soap’s got a hold on him around his waist and an arm over his shoulder, and his black blood is dripping from just about every gunshot wound that won’t heal even in the amount of time it's been since the fight ended. Soap struggles to place Ghost down gently on the lumpy couch resting against the wall stumbling away from him just as his vertebrae begin to snap out of place.
“Soap.” Ghost rasps. He’s got a hand dangling off the couch, and the bullet that’d gone through his forearm leaks a puddle of black onto the wooden panel flooring.
Soap shakes his head like a dog, trying to get control of his breathing. He can still hear the gunfire from the fight, the explosions that rocked the perimeter by C4 he hadn’t clocked due to the enemy masking its scent with blockers. He snarls outwardly, falls to his knees, and carves lines into the wood beneath him with claws he’s had out since finding Ghost across the field and bleeding to death.
“Soap.”
His ribs crack, hips shifting in tune with his breaking spine, and he growls into a shout. “Fuck!”
“Soap.” And Ghost is spitting out his blood now, the front of his mask darkened and dribbling out like a sieve. “Job’s not done.”
Soap whines, bucking against himself. His wolf is ripping through the seams, howling for release. It wants to kill, to go back to the fight and finish what the enemy started for hurting his pack. It wants to tear the enemy apart.
They tried to take him from us. Tried to take what’s ours. He is pack. We must kill them all. We must. For pack. For him.
Soap shakes his head again, so violently that his vision blurs.
“Soap.” Ghost splutters. Repeats as solidly as he can. “Job’s not done. You got me out, now you gotta patch me up.”
Soap growls at his wolf and tampers down the rage in his chest for another whine, pleading and desperate.
Ghost needs us. Needs us here. Needs us to take care of him. Pack is hurt, bleeding. We must stay. We must. For pack. For him.
His wolf writhes at the shackles of control that are slipping from Soap’s grip, but he stares at Ghost staring back at him and whines once more to get his wolf’s attention.
Please. He needs us.
“C’mon,” Ghost breathes shallowly. “C’mere, Soap.”
His wolf quiets, attention on Ghost where he’s reaching out with a bloody hand. Soap’s vertebrae snap back into place like magnets. His claws retract where Soap had dug them into the floor. He inhales and doesn’t smell gunpowder or smoke but instead Ghost’s black blood, and underneath it, Ghost’s signature scent that Soap will always know to be pack.
“Fuck.” He gets out through stunted breaths. “Fuck, Ghost.”
“Back with me?” Ghost asks, and another dribble of blood passes through his mask.
“Yes, sir.” Soap answers and rips himself out of his plate carrier. Ghost’s eyes are hazy, blinking like he can’t keep them open, and Soap pulls at the pocket he knows will be holding his medkit. He comes up to Ghost’s side with multiple packs of hemostatic gauze, tearing them open with his teeth before getting at Ghost’s gear despite his pained protests. “Why aren’t you fucking healing?”
Ghost buckles when Soap puts pressure on the worst gunshot wound at his upper torso. The black seeps through the white gauze, and he searches for anything else until he realizes Ghost never answered him.
“Ghost.” Soap says. Ghost’s eyes are closed, and although he’s still breathing Soap can hear his heart giving out. “L.t., you gotta stay with me.”
Ghost’s eyelids flutter but there’s no true response, and Soap grimaces with an unsaid apology before he digs into another gunshot wound at Ghost’s thigh. It does the job, wakes Ghost up with a terrible shout that Soap will hear in his nightmares.
“You need to heal,” Soap demands, and Ghost lifts his head with a wheeze. “Why aren’t you healing?”
“Hav’n,” Ghost tries through a slur. “Hav’n fed.”
Soap blanches. He puts a knee on the couch next to Ghost’s side and sure enough, Ghost’s eyes are whiter than normal, the black of his irises opaque like someone’s put a sheer curtain over them.
“How long,” He says, and realizes that there’s not even a fucking point of the gauze if there’s no blood in Ghost’s system that his body can use to restore itself. It’ll just keep leaking out until Ghost wastes away. “Ghost, how fucking long’s it been since you last fed?”
“Weeks.” Ghost confesses weakly through a round of terrible coughing.
And Soap would curse the fucker out if he didn’t know how it worked for Ghost when it came to blood. He wasn’t like Gaz or Price, the lucky bastards. He couldn’t just take off any blood type from any species, and it takes great care to order exactly what he needs from universal blood blanks. There must have been a shortage, a mix-up, something. Ghost always ensures his body is well fed otherwise.
“You’ll die.” Soap whispers, but it’s to himself. “You’re going to die.”
Ghost says nothing. His eyes look like they’ve somehow gotten more opaque in the seconds Soap looked away from them.
“I’ll go back.” Soap says around a swallow. “I’ll – I’ll find someone. Someone that’s your type, someone you can feed on.”
Ghost’s hand encloses Soap’s wrist, but it’s so feeble that all Soap would have to do is move an inch to get him off. His words, however, are strong. “I’ll be dead by – by the time you come back.”
“No,” Soap growls, and moves his hand before his claws can slice into the couch. “No. I’ll find someone. I’ll find – I’ll find someone. You just gotta tell me what’s your type, L.t. That’s all.”
Ghost’s eyes crinkle behind his mask. “Should we r’lly be talk’n ‘bout that right now, S’rgeant?”
Soap growls again, this time down at Ghost. “Quit fucking around, Ghost.”
Ghost turns his head away from Soap, breathes in raggedly. “It’d be ‘mpossible.”
“Ghost – “
“O-pos,” Ghost says, and Soap’s about to open his mouth about how common that blood type is – I mean, fuck, he himself is o-positive, when Ghost adds. “Pure. Quadruped.”
Purebred o-fucking-positive blood off a quadruped species. Who the fuck is even purebred this day and age, and how much money does Price have to spend getting that shit imported to base?
Soap scoffs, but his eyes are warming with tears. “We saw at least three quadrupeds out there in the field.”
“You bring one here,” Ghost says, firm though the hand he’s still got around Soap’s wrist is trembling. “And I feed, and it’s not right – it’ll just kill me faster.”
Soap knows. He knows because he’s seen Ghost get sick before on the wrong blood type. How long it takes him out of commision. He puts his palm to his face, drags down.
“I’m o-pos.”
Ghost coughs out a singular chuckle. “I know. You’ve got – got it plas’rted to your carrier.”
“I’m o-pos,” Soap repeats anyway. Ghost’s chest is shaking now. “I’m a quadruped.”
“Pure-bred?” Ghost asks, and moves his head from one side to another. “Nah. Not a – a mutt like you.”
“Fuck you.” Soap spits, but it holds no anger. Just frustration and absolute fucking grief. “We could still try.”
“Try.” Ghost repeats, and the slurring is so bad that Soap has to strain his already trained ear to understand him. “Th’ts breakin’ regul’tions.”
“Fuck regulations,” Soap barks. It breaks a whole lot more than just a few regulations. It could get Soap kicked off their unit and transferred to another base if not get him dishonorably discharged. “You’re dying, Ghost.”
“L’mme die ‘n go.”
“No.”
“Soap.”
“No.” Soap repeats, steady and sure. He wipes at his face and lets his hand drag to his neck where his carotid artery is pulsing. “If you’re going to die anyway, then there’s no harm in trying.”
“Y’d see me s’ffer?” Ghost asks, but he’s smiling beneath his mask. Soap can tell, he always can.
“Not if it takes.” Soap whispers.
Ghost uses what seems like the last of his strength to stare at Soap. He looks like he’s considering it, and the glance he takes to the hand that Soap’s covering his neck with all but seals his decision.
“W’nt take from y’r neck.” Ghost utters. He yanks at Soap’s wrist, still holding onto it, and Soap goes willingly. “Cn’t trust that I won’t kill – kill you.”
“You won’t.” Soap says, and doesn’t know if his heart is playing tricks on him with how fast its beating. “I’d stop you.”
“Pr’mise me.”
Soap watches Ghost bring his wrist up towards his masked mouth. He helps keep his arm in position because it looks like Ghost might pass out any second now.
“Soap,” Ghost says, and weakly drags up his mask with his other trembling hand. He closes his mouth, seemingly steeling himself. “Pr’mise – promise me.”
Soap stares at Ghost’s blood stained teeth, the canines on either side that double what he normally has when he isn’t getting ready to feed. “I promise.”
Ghost nods, but it's janky. He moves Soap’s wrist closer to his mouth, lips enclosing the skin where his veins are at their most visible, and Soap braces himself with his free hand against the back of the couch.
“Just do it already.” Soap snaps, and Ghost’s eyes catch his right before he sinks his teeth in.
Soap gasps, holding back a hiss as Ghost’s teeth just keep going. It’s no worse than being pricked by a needle for a yearly vaccine, but Ghost’s venom leaks from his gums and makes it burn. He jolts at the feeling, and that rips Ghost’s teeth to the side like a serrated knife against a piece of steak. Bright, red blood streams out of the side of Ghost’s mouth, and Soap wills himself to look away until Ghost unlatches from the bite to lick up the mess before reattaching to the four deep holes he’s left behind.
“Ghost,” He says, and tries not to move a muscle. “Please, tell me it’s working.” Because Ghost has given no indication otherwise. His body is obviously starving for blood, but it’s still immobile, and the hand holding Soap’s wrist is still trembling. “Ghost.”
He looks up to Ghost’s eyes again. That opaque curtain of white has retracted to the normal hue of Ghost’s black eyes, and then they start to turn red, dark like wine. He’s only seen Ghost’s eyes that color when he’s come out of a feeding session at base. And it usually lasts a day, or at least until Ghost’s body processes the blood.
“It’s working,” Soap says, astonished. He laughs a little, feeling insane. “Your body’s taking it.”
Ghost doesn’t answer, still glued to Soap’s wrist. He’s letting the blood flow freely into his mouth from the puncture of his sharp teeth, but soon Soap starts to feel him suck. The feeling is unnatural to him, and Soap bucks against it without conscious thought until Ghost’s hold on his wrist tightens.
“Ghost,” Soap says, slightly alarmed. “I’ll heal no matter how much you take, but – “
And Ghost pulls.
Soap’s too surprised by the display of strength to stop himself from crashing into Ghost’s body, but with his vampiric speed Ghost rearranges them easily. He’s sitting up now, and the whiplash is hard on Soap’s head until he realizes he’s in Ghost’s lap with his wrist still up against Ghost’s lips. He tries to prop himself up on his knees so he can’t feel the heat of Ghost beneath him, but Ghost gets an arm around his lower back and makes him sink down until they’re connected from pelvis to chest.
“Ghost.” Soap tries, and gasps loudly as Ghost pulls away from his wrist. His mouth is dripping in Soap’s blood, his teeth stained red instead of black, and he licks over his canines with a pink tongue, panting.
“Tell me to stop.” Ghost says in the small space left between them. He’s still holding Soap’s wrist, but his eyes keep darting from Soap’s chest to his neck.
Soap shivers, feels his body work overtime to replenish the blood he’s just lost. “Are you still – ?”
Ghost doesn’t answer, but he swallows thickly, thumbing at the bite mark already healing on Soap’s wrist.
“You can have more,” Soap whispers, and feels his body settle on top of Ghost’s thighs. “I can take it.”
“I can’t,” Ghost cuts himself off. He looks away sharply, anywhere but Soap. “I won’t stop.”
“You will,” Soap assures. He lifts a hesitant hand to the back of Ghost’s head, making sure to settle it where Ghost’s mask is still covering just above his neck. “You will, Ghost, but let your body have this.”
He puts gentle pressure, bringing Ghost’s face towards his, then turns his chin upwards so his throat is on display.
“Johnny.” Ghost murmurs, but like a rubber band snapped, he’s biting in Soap’s neck.
Soap closes his mouth on a whimper, and Ghost responds with a groan, sucking like he won’t ever be able to get enough. Soap writhes against the venom that seeps in, but Ghost’s palm cups his head as his other arm tightens around his waist, effectively keeping him still in Ghost’s lap. He whines when Ghost’s fingers take to his hair, curling tightly, before pulling his head back to give Ghost more access.
“Fuck,” Soap gasps, and Ghost’s hold on him loosens until Soap shakes his head as best he can and winds his arms around Ghost’s shoulders. “Don’t stop. I said I could take it.”
Ghost pauses, like he’s not sure if Soap’s telling him the truth. Soap opens his mouth, ready to assure him once more, but then Ghost’s using that speed Soap will never understand to flip them. Soap’s back lands against the couch cushions, and Ghost covers him completely, lying between Soap’s legs all the while never unlatching from Soap’s throat.
He rocks against Soap, getting impossibly closer, and Soap holds on tightly like Ghost’ll disappear if he lets go. His wolf is singing with the pleasure of being able to help Ghost, of being able to give his body, his blood, and let it be the thing to revive Ghost from near death. His wolf makes his claws come out, lengthens his canines, and Soap can’t stop himself like he did earlier before he’s digging into Ghost’s back.
Ghost’s groan is muffled as Soap streaks deep into his skin. His wolf is trying hard to keep Ghost on top of him, keep him feeding, keep him alive, and Soap isn’t able to get an apology out with how badly his gums hurt with the need to bite Ghost in return.
He trusts Ghost to stop, to pull back if he was going to suck Soap dry, but can he even trust himself?
“Ghost,” He warns, and tries to lift his claws out of Ghost’s ruined gear, his skin. “Fuck, Ghost.”
But Ghost, the daft bastard, lets his body follow Soap’s hands, shoulders trying to mould back with Soap’s palms. He lifts his mouth off of the bite, and Soap feels how wet his throat is with venom and blood and saliva, before Ghost licks up his neck and jaw.
“Don’t,” Ghost says, and he sounds crazed. In a frenzy. “Keeps me grounded, the pain.”
“I’m fucking clawing into you.” Soap curses, but Ghost is shaking his head.
“It helps,” Ghost says. He licks up Soap’s throat again, and Soap can’t stop the full body shiver that runs over his skin. His wolf howls with the need to bite. “Fuck, it helps.”
“I lied,” Soap suddenly says. Ghost freezes, but doesn’t get off of him. “I can’t take it, my wolf will – “
“Will what.”
Soap closes his mouth. He’s not sure what his wolf even wants. Just to bite, to claim Ghost as part of his pack, or something else entirely.
“Johnny,” Ghost coaxes, and he starts lapping at the blood leaking out of the bite. It feels so warm that Soap could melt into the couch. “What does your wolf want?”
“I don’t know.” And it’s not a lie.
Ghost keeps tonguing at the bite, and it makes Soap groan loudly, another shiver racking through him. “What does it want, Johnny?”
Pack, his wolf is repeating over and over again. Pack. Pack. Pack. Pack. Pack. Then Ghost sinks into his throat, makes another bite mark just above his first. Soap bites his lip, tries to throw away the thought of biting Ghost back where his scent gland lies. Mate. His wolf starts to say, and Ghost starts sucking so hard Soap mewls. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate.
“What does it want, Johnny?” Ghost repeats, and Soap’s blood is on the white plate of his mask when he lifts his head to look at him straight on.
“You.” Soap finally says, and Ghost doesn’t hesitate after that.
He pulls his mask the rest of the way off, and Soap only gets sight of ruffled blond hair before Ghost has got his teeth in the junction between his neck and shoulder. It sets him off, hips bucking upwards, and Ghost responds with a heated groan, grinding down to meet him halfway. He bites, rough and quick, then lifts off to bite somewhere else. Soap heals as he goes, dizzy with the pleasure of Ghost’s body against him, before Ghost’s lips land on his.
He tastes blood, his blood, and then it’s all Ghost. He opens for him easily, lets Ghost in and moans in the back of his throat at the wet glide of Ghost’s tongue against his canines and the roof of his mouth. It feels like Ghost is trying to eat him alive as their teeth click and noses smash together, but he doesn’t try to push Ghost away. He only pulls him closer.
He can feel how hard Ghost with every rock of his hips into Soap’s, and it’s fucking painful the way his own cock rubs against his fatigues. He shoves one hand between them, desperate to free them, and moves his lips from Ghost’s to get to his neck. Ghost lets him have at it with no complaint, helping Soap remove belts and roll down zippers before Soap gets a hand around them both.
“Fucking hell.” Ghost grunts, and fucks into Soap’s hand steadily. It feels like fucking heaven, and Soap sucks and licks and bites into Ghost’s throat as Ghost did to him, right over his scent gland, and feels the claim wash over him.
“Mine,” He whispers, and Ghost’s hips stutter. “You’re mine.”
Ghost’s cock jumps, and precome beads over the head as Soap’s hand tightens to give them both better friction. “Yeah, Johnny. Yours.”
But his wolf isn’t satisfied.
“Let me do it proper,” He pleads, and nips at Ghost’s jaw. “Let me fuck you, Ghost.”
“Jesus,” Ghost rasps, but he’s lifting off of Soap to settle in his lap in a perfect mimic of what they’d done earlier. He shoves at his fatigues, but Soap’s wolf is so impatient he’s got a clawed hand at Ghost’s crotch, ripping at the fabric. “You fucking – “
“Need it,” Soap pants, and tears them further so Ghost is just exposed enough that he can sink into him. “Need you, Ghost. Please.”
Ghost nods jerkily, like he can’t fathom the thought of waiting any longer either, and pulls off a glove with a soft scoff. His pale fingers go to Soap’s mouth, and Soap opens before needing to be asked, slobbering over Ghost’s digits when they push onto his tongue. His hand finds Ghost’s cock again as Ghost preps himself, eyelids fluttering with steady groans. His own cock, so hard he feels like one touch and it’ll be over, twitches at the sight of Ghost fucking himself on one, two, and then three of his fingers.
Soap feels a guttural growl release from deep in his chest, and takes the back of Ghost’s head in one hand, pulling him down. Ghost goes easily, teeth cutting into Soap’s bottom lip when he captures it, sucking the blood right from the punctures even as it heals right over. The kiss is just as messy as the first, and Soap whines into Ghost’s mouth when he feels Ghost's slick fingers grasp his cock just right.
“Not gonna last.” Soap confesses through a groan. Not when it feels this good, this right. God, he needs Ghost so bad.
Ghost shakes his head, panting into Soap’s mouth. “That’s alright, Johnny. I’ll take what I need anyway.”
He positions himself right over Soap’s cock, and Soap feels the absolute heat of his hole before his cock sinks through with too much friction to be pleasure. He’s so tight, like a vice around Soap’s cock, and Soap’s head flings back against the couch, eyes closing. “Fuck – fucking christ, Ghost.”
“Feels good, Johnny.” Ghost rumbles, and he slowly takes Soap in, inch by inch, until he’s seated in Soap’s lap with Soap so deep inside him, he’s shuddering. “You feel so good.”
Soap’s wolf howls with the need to lift and buck up, to fuck Ghost until he’s leaking with Soap’s cum and the promise of a litter. It wouldn’t happen, not biologically possible, but Soap’s wolf is a manipulative piece of shit that puts the obsessive thought in Soap’s head anyway. And once it’s there, it's like a damn mantra.
“Can’t, Ghost.” Soap gets out, and it's through another mewl of pleasure. “Move, please.”
Ghost rocks his hips, getting used to having Soap inside of him, but it’s not enough. Soap places his hands on Ghost’s hips, trying his hardest not to claw into the plush of Ghost’s skin where his shirt has ridden up. It helps to ground him, keep him human, but then his wolf is snarling to take over. To take Ghost until he can’t take it at all anymore.
“You’re so deep like this,” Ghost groans, so honest that Soap all but moans with the words. He places his hands on Soap’s forearms, using it as a means of grinding forwards and back with harsh intent. “But I wanna feel you, Johnny.”
“Ghost.” Soap says, a warning because he’s not sure he can get his wolf to stop, can get himself to stop. Everything inside of him is blurred with pleasure and the need to claim. He’s not sure who’s in control inside of him, but he’s damn sure it's not entirely him.
“I wanna feel you.” Ghost repeats, and it sounds like an order. One that Soap’s wolf wants to comply with as soon as he’s heard it. Ghost’s grip on his forearms turns into a tug, like he’s inviting Soap in on the idea of fucking up into him.
Soap’s leg drops off the couch, boot firm against the floor. His hands go so tight around Ghost’s hips he can see the bruising he’s leaving behind, healing just as fast as Soap’s bites, and he lifts Ghost up at the same time he drops his hips down, cock sliding out until the head catches on Ghost’s hole.
He’d been so wet for Ghost that the friction from before went nonexistent when Ghost took him all the way in, and his cock is red with the need for release when he takes a second to just admire Ghost on top of him. How he had ignored this urge for so long he doesn’t know, but he’ll never be able to stop now.
“Johnny.” Ghost warns, and Soap growls in tune with his wolf, obeying.
He snaps his hips, pulls Ghost down so hard it fucking hurts, and revels in the full body jerk Ghost does with a sharp gasp. It makes his senses go into overdrive, realizing he must have hit Ghost’s prostate, and he doesn’t stop, repeating the action until he’s slamming into Ghost with everything he has. Ghost’s hands go to his biceps, bracing against the force of Soap’s brutal fucking, and every time Soap’s cock sinks all the way inside he’s huffing out breathy moans.
“Feels perfect,” Soap snarls, and moves one hand to the back of Ghost’s head again, dragging him down until he’s hugging Ghost to his chest, cock moving steadily at such a pace that Ghost can’t do anything except take it. “You feel so fuckin’ perfect.”
Ghost groans, fits his face into Soap’s neck and bites. The pain mixes so beautifully with the pleasure that Soap feels lightheaded, only knowing one thing and that’s Ghost, Ghost, Ghost. His hips shove up harder, hold on Ghost so rough he can only hope Ghost will remember this forever and never have the need to go searching for someone else.
“Come on. Thought you weren’t gonna last.” Ghost says, and licks inside Soap’s wet mouth with Soap’s blood all over his tongue. It only makes Soap fuck him more viciously and Ghost moans out lowly, taking the long strands of Soap’s hair and tugging. “Wanna feel it, Johnny.”
Like wood to a fire, the words set Soap alight, and those obsessive thoughts come back in full, taking over his thoughts to try and make this the best that Ghost has ever had. “Inside?” He asks, panting like the damn dog he is.
Ghost lifts up so Soap can see his face and nods once, sharp like he wants Soap to know how sure he is about it. Soap nods back, but it’s desperate confirmation that he’d do anything Ghost would ask of him and not just the privilege that this is.
“Gonna cum,” He announces, unable to stop it. And he feels panic surge through him, not wanting this to end until Ghost’s red eyes meet his and roam over his face, like he wants to watch Soap go over the deep end. “Fuck, Ghost.”
Soap’s thrusts get faster, erratic, and he feels the tight coil in his chest where his wolf wants to bite to break skin at the scent gland waiting to be taken underneath Ghost’s jaw. He doesn’t ask, can’t anymore with how fucking good Ghost feels and raises his head up at the same time he hugs Ghost into his chest again. His canines ache, cock jumping inside of Ghost until he’s pulsing out cum, and he buries his teeth into Ghost’s scent gland with a bite so furious it’ll take more than a few seconds for Ghost’s body to heal it.
And Ghost jolts beneath him, caught and unable to move. His fingers go limp in Soap’s hair, chest heaving, and then he’s shuddering with his own release. Soap feels the splatter of cum that’s made a mess between them, Ghost’s cock untouched and yet so stimulated by Soap’s cock deep inside of him that he came anyway.
Soap’s wolf mourns the loss of Ghost’s skin when he pulls away from the bite he’d given, and to his satisfaction Ghost’s body is struggling to close the wound. He lets go of Ghost, unknowing that his grip around Ghost’s midsection had gone so tight he’d been bleeding lines horizontally across Ghost’s back and ruining his shirt.
But Ghost doesn’t move. He stays, laying there on top of Soap, breathing heavily with his head resting aside Soap’s ear. And if Soap focused in he could hear the fast-paced beating of Ghost’s heart, alive and well.
“Did you know you were purebred?” Is Ghost’s first question, and Soap winces when Ghost jostles where they’re still connected, sending spikes of overstimulation across his spent cock.
“No,” Soap answers truthfully. He settles his hands across Ghost’s back when Ghost makes no action to get up and forget this ever happened. “Shot in the dark.”
Ghost hums, broken as he still tries to catch his breath. “Could have killed me.”
Soap stares up at the ceiling of the safe house, feeling how settled his wolf is inside of him. “Thought we established that.”
“Established a lot more than that, Johnny.” Ghost says, shifting again but not to get off. It’s more like he’s getting comfortable. Soap’s wolf is practically preening at the sight. “You said your wolf wanted me.”
Soap nods. “I did.” His hands search underneath Ghost's shirt to rub up and down his back. If he let his wolf take over, he’s sure it’d be purring.
“That change things for you?” Ghost asks, and he says it in a diplomatic way. Like he’s ready to give Soap an out and in turn, himself.
“What my wolf wants is what I want.” Soap says without missing a beat, and realizes he sounds like he’s ready to argue the idea if Ghost doesn’t believe him. “We’re one being”
Ghost pops a brow. “Doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.”
“You drink blood to live,” Soap says, matter of factly. “I can’t imagine you’d know what it’s like no more than I could understand what it's like for you.”
“You just saw it firsthand. Felt it.” Ghost grunts. “Does that change things for you?”
“Think I’m repulsed at your need to feed to live?” Soap asks, feeling a little incredulous. Ghost looks away and Soap feels his face screw up. “My wolf wouldn’t quiet – wouldn’t settle until it knew you’d be fine, whether that was on someone else’s blood or my own, and based on today’s events I think we’re passed thinking I could be repulsed by you.”
Ghost says nothing, and that in itself it’s his own response.
“You’re pack,” Soap says, feeling a rumble of pride at being able to provide for Ghost in more ways than one. “I’d do more than let you feed on me if that’s what it took to keep you alive and safe, and happy.”
“Pack,” Ghost says, the word clearly unfamiliar to him in the way he sounds it out. “That’s – what Price is. What Gaz is.”
Mate. His wolf corrects, and Soap tries to blink the thoughts away. It doesn’t work. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate.
“If,” He says, and his tongue feels stuck inside his mouth. “If this were a different time. Not life and death. Not an assignment. If my wolf was running on more than trying to keep you alive – what we just did would have signified you as more than pack, that bite to your scent gland would have made you mine.”
“Even if I’m not,” Ghost stops himself, hesitating with a long inhale. “A wolf?”
“Even then,” Soap says, and smiles. “My wolf sees your teeth, your strength, your will. Admires them, even the different hunger you hunt after, and wants to follow you. Wants you.”
“Johnny,” Ghost says, the grit of his voice so thick that Soap wants to hear it over and over again. “We get back to base, I want you to finish it.”
Soap blanks. “Ghost – “
“When it’s time,” Ghost says, and brings a hand to stroke across the top of Soap’s hair, fixing the mess that's been made of it. “When it’s no longer life and death and we’re free of any assignments, your wolf can finish the job.”
Soap mouth opens, but Ghost moves to rest his forehead against Soap’s, silencing him. “Claim me,” Ghost says, and kisses Soap so openly that Soap can do nothing except give in. “Make me yours.”
“Anything you want.” Soap promises, and knows that to the ends of the earth, paws scraped and bleeding, he’d go where Ghost goes.