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Seven days into this fucking awful mission and Ghost has had it up to his back teeth with whatever powers out there are trying his already tenuous grip on his patience.
They’ve spent a full week in the heat of a rural Spanish town, mapping out the interiors of what was supposedly a cartel making some ruckus in the area. Writing down and memorising their guard rotations, the deliveries coming in and going out. Nothing really out of the ordinary for any SAS team members, honestly Ghost thinks it’s all a bit beneath him.
The intel he and Soap had found mere hours ago seemed to be well worth the time spent in the blistering heat, their mission a success on every level . Well, except that Ghost has never been more agitated or more turned on in his life, honestly any more time out here might kill him.
Ghost is a landmine and he damned well knows it, just his luck that it seems like Soap is starting to notice. He’s started censoring himself, winding his neck in and drawing back in the face of Ghost’s new aversion to touch. Their relationship is falling back to those first tentative weeks where they were still finding their feet and Ghost fucking hates it.
He’s not said anything, they both know he won’t, not unless Ghost does first and that’s not bloody likely. The anger Ghost is feeling about it is entirely unfair, he knows that, but that’s never stopped him before and it’s hardly likely to stop him now. Soap is taking all of it in stride, adjusting and rolling with the punches like nothing Ghost ever does will phase him, and while it pisses him off, the easy acceptance and trust Soap shows him is also frustratingly hot.
Even with the heat scorching down on them, making their tactical gear almost unbearable, their little barebones safehouse is trapping the heat in like a London semi in a heatwave. No amount of physical discomfort could compare to the way Johnny has been making him feel these last couple of days.
Ghost can’t think of another time he has ever been this horny in his life.
Ghost has watched from under the mask, this last week, as Soap has peered tentatively through the blinds, the smallest nod of his head the indicator that the coast is clear. If he’d hoped clearing the houses would be a distraction from what’s going on, he was sorely mistaken, it’s just that Soap is so bloody competent , damned good at his job in the way that Ghost has always found artlessly sexy. He nods back and stands firm in his position awaiting further reports, trying desperately not to think about how he’s going to make it back to base without losing the last of his usually iron control.
He’s The Ghost, human weapon of the SAS, famed for his self control both on and off the field. It genuinely annoys him that all it’s taken to throw that into question is a mouthy Sergeant with the stupidest bloody haircut he’s ever seen in his life. This little infatuation had been negligible when it began a year ago, but his choice to ignore it completely seems to have backfired since, while his back was turned, it seems to have developed into a fully fledged crush. Disgusting.
Soap has done well on this mission. Wonderfully, even. Ghost has even praised him for it, to his own detriment frankly, since it had made Soap’s eyes light up, demeanour changing from knackered to puppy dog in an instant. God it had made something primal stir in Ghost’s abdomen, eyes following Soap with renewed fervour on the way back to the safehouse.
That was just the tip of the iceberg really. Soap has been infuriatingly alluring all week, bending delectably this way and that, shooting Ghost those almost feral looking grins in their downtime between shifts. Ghost had nearly lost it a few days ago, Soap giving his arm a solid squeeze as he presented Ghost with a hot meal and a cheeky grin.
“Made ye some mash. S’bout time you get yer belly full and some good shut eye, aye?”
If Soap could feel the heated stare at his back while Ghost ate, he didn’t make it known.
So here they are, days later and no better off, Soap still being irritatingly tempting.
They’d got back from clearing houses and Soap had immediately set about busy work, as per. This time he’s decided to strip down to a t-shirt and clean his guns, biceps glowing with a sheen of sweat as he cleans the rifle’s barrel. Ghost has stayed in full gear in the vague hope that leaving more of a physical barrier might help him control himself. It doesn’t seem to be working.
Ghost shifts a bit against the wall, the fabric of his cargos suddenly feeling way too tight and itchy, the seam giving too much friction . Something about it catches Soap’s attention, his gaze now fixing on Ghost. “You alright there, LT?”
Ghost feels set ablaze under his stare. Bright blues boring into Ghost’s very soul and casting a spotlight on all the little things about himself no one else notices. He always has been too observant for his own good. The scottish fucker has been worming his way under Ghost’s many masks for a long while. Unknowingly lodged himself right beneath his ribcage, refusing to leave.
“Just peachy over ‘ere, Johnny. Sweatin’ my balls off though.” Ghost huffs, meeting Soap’s stare head on, refusing to bow down to his body’s increasing arousal.
“Aye, you can say tha’ again.” Soap lifts the neckline of his shirt to wipe away the sweat on his forehead and Ghost’s eyes dart to the slightly exposed area of soap’s stomach, thoughts once again reeling at the sight of the thick brown hair coiling its way up.
“Cannae wait to get home ‘nd have a proper shower.” Soap continues as he drops his shirt, thankfully not seeming to notice Ghost’s little hitched breath or his eyes snapping back up to meet his own. “Think Price’d get us a safehouse with a bath next time if I ask really nice? I’d kill for a proper soak.” His cheeky grin is back in place as he leans against the back of the sofa, one of the very few items around here that doesn’t look like it came from a catalogue of ‘abandoned apartments weekly’.
A fresh jolt of heat burns through Ghost’s gut at the image, snakes down and coils low in his belly. Soap, fully naked in the bath, skin flushed pink from the heat of the water. In his mind Soap’s hand massages suds into the hair on his chest before smoothing its way down, down, eyes locked with Ghost’s as he takes himself firmly in hand. ‘Ghost-’ he’d moan, that breathy tone he gets after going a couple of rounds on the matts ‘Simon,’-
Shit.
Ghost blinks himself out of it just a little too late. His breath is thready and Soap’s eyes are fixed on his face in a worried frown. If he hated himself any more than he already does Ghost might let himself think that it looks cute.
“LT, if I’ve done something wrong, I trust you to tell me, aye?” Ghost stares at him incredulously, shaken out of his thoughts. He can’t fathom what kind of look he’s been giving Soap to make him so worried, and for him to think he’s done something wrong.
“What makes you think that?”
“You’ve been starin’ me down all week, now yer all quiet and fidgety. Somethin’s up and ah can’t help feelin’ I’m the problem somehow.” Soap’s gaze wavers only slightly, clearly feeling hurt, but remaining resolute as he crosses his arms in front of him, chin lifting in defiance even as his eyes scream concern.
Always contrary, his Johnny.
Letting out a dramatic sigh, Ghost pushes himself off the wall, pulling his rifle off and placing it gently on a nearby table. “There’s nothing wrong, Soap, as I said s’just the heat. You’re the one who always accuses me of being a pasty bastard.”
“Soap, now, aye? Confirms my suspicion then.” Ghost eyes snap back to Johnny’s, eyes narrowing.
“Your what?”
“These days ye only call me ‘Soap’ when you've got something up yer arse. If you’ve got anything to say, say it. I’m a big boy, LT. I can handle whatever you’ve got.”
Ghost feels the last of his control snap, there’s no way Soap isn’t encouraging him on purpose, right? He’s probably seen through Ghost this entire time and been toying with him.
It makes sense with the way he’s been acting during their week alone together. Soap’s always been touchy but never this much. He’s always so attentive to Ghost’s changing mood, always adapting to whatever Ghost dishes out, but this week he has wormed his way under Ghost’s skin to the point where he might as well be a part of him.
“Fine. You wanna know what’s wrong, yeah?” Ghost asks, voice laced with simmering anger as he stalks over to Soap, watching the other man brace himself for whatever Ghost is about to say.
Stepping into Soap’s personal space, pointing a finger right in his face, feeling his body almost shake with unbridled fury and stupid arousal over his worry.
“You piss me off.” Soap’s eyes twitches, still keeping himself resolute. “You’ve been infuriating me all week .”
“I’ve tried to keep my cool, tried to keep us on mission and keep work as my first priority but you just wouldn’t let me do that, would you? You just had to cut about the joint in these ridiculous too-small t-shirts, yapping on in that Scottish gibberish , fucking touching me as if it’s your God given right.” Soap makes the mistake of opening his mouth, obvious shock and frustration playing over his expression, but frankly Ghost doesn’t want to hear it. He gets a gloved hand on Soap’s face, thumb and fingers digging into his cheeks as his palm covers Soap’s mouth. “Shut. Up. Now, I have put up with your cheek, your insubordination, but it turns out they were right, if you give a dog an inch, they’ll take a mile.”
Leaning in closer, Ghost squeezes Soap’s cheeks a little tighter, keeping their eyes locked.
“Now, lie down, and take your fuckin’ cock out.”
Ghost doesn’t miss the little hitch in Soap’s breath as they stare each other down, a few moments passing by in silence as Soap’s eyes grow increasingly confused.
“What?” he croaks out between Ghost's firm hold on his cheeks, the tension in the air between them now thick enough to cut with a knife.
Leaning in even closer, Ghost’s eyes are heavy lidded, heat evident. “I’ll not repeat myself, Johnny .”
Ghost’s eyes crinkle in mirth as Johnny’s flutter, pupils dilating ever so slightly as red creeps in to tint the tops of his cheekbones.
With a final little squeeze to Johnny’s cheeks, Ghost takes a step back, giving Soap a look from head to toe before crossing his arms, waiting. He knows exactly what he looks like in full gear, he’s been asked for exactly this by lesser men often enough. Ghost’s never said yes before, none of them were worthy.
Soap only seems to hesitate for a second, eyeing Ghost like he’s out of his bloody mind. He might even be right. The simmering heat in his gut grows to a full boil as Soap sinks to his knees in front of him, movements unsure but still following orders. Just like a well trained dog.
Having laid down fully, Soap’s eyes look up at Ghost expectantly, hands slow and deliberate as they travel to his belt, undoing it almost agonisingly slowly, too slow for Ghost’s liking anyway. To help him get the picture, he places his boot right on the slight bulge of Johnny’s cargos, earning him a gasp and a strangled grunt.
“Even my patience has limits, Johnny.” Ghost says, voice heady with arousal as he grinds his boot down once more. Johnny’s eyes widen, a moan escaping his lips, and hands coming up to grab Ghost’s ankle. Not pushing him away, thank God, just holding on.
“Fuck, LT.” Soap’s breath hitches at another grind of Ghost’s boot, finally managing to get his belt buckle opened.
Ghost pulls his foot back, sets his boot on the ground with a soft thud. His head tilts as he watches Soap’s usually steady hands clumsily fumble at his zip. As he gets it down his hand sneaks inside, beneath his underwear to give a firm squeeze. Ghost growls in dissatisfaction and Soap’s eyes snap to his.
His expression is one of raw open want, pupils blown wide and lips parted, breaths coming in short pants. God it almost matches how Ghost feels, slick dripping from him as he looks over Soap’s body. His gaze lands on the bulge of Soap’s crotch and he rumbles in satisfaction, Soap is clearly big and that’s still trapped in the confines of his pants, he’s going to be perfect when Ghost rides him, he can already tell.
“You look good like this, Johnny, beneath me.” Ghost’s voice is so gravelly he barely recognises it, arousal lending it an edge. He brings his hands to his own belt, deftly undoing the buckle. “Look at you, behaving like the good dog you are, following orders for once. For me.”
Soap whines, high and at the back of his throat, he clearly hadn’t meant to if the look on his face is anything to go by. His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, desperate to touch himself but knowing he’s not allowed. Christ, Ghost wants to taste him, but he knows his priorities.
Ghost slides down his zip without fuss, pushes his cargos along with his underwear down to mid thigh. There’s a strand of slick that clings to the fabric, stretches as he pushes them down and breaks only when Ghost swipes his finger through it, traces it upwards to meet his cunt. Ghost grunts at the contact, rough fabric of his glove providing just the right amount of friction as he immediately presses two fingers in, just barely dipping into his hole before he slides them away to trace over his cock.
Soap whines again, mouth hanging open now, eyes fixed on Ghost’s cunt, the slick covered fingers Ghost is using to touch himself. His fingers are white knuckled at his sides and he’s trembling, like the force of holding himself back is costing him something.
“You’ve been a - ah - fucking tease all week, you know that?” Ghost gasps, slides his fingers back between his folds to gather up more slick. The palm of his hand rubs up against his cock as he does and has his eyelids fluttering closed in pleasure. More slick slides from him and begins to trail down his thigh. His cock throbs again at the expression on Soap’s face, pure desire as his gaze remains glued jealously to Ghost’s fingers.
“Way you’ve been behaving all week, honestly,” His fingers are making slick noises now, the sound of his arousal loud in the room. “Look at what you’ve done, Johnny.” Ghost pulls his hand away and uses his ruined glove to point down at Soap, a strand of slick dripping down off his fingers and landing on Soap’s underwear, right over his cock. “Now, you’re gonna keep your hands to yourself and let me ride that little cock of yours, yeah?”
Soap nods so hard Ghost vaguely thinks he should check him for whiplash, later.
“Good pup.” Ghost pulls out a knife and flips it in his hand, notes the way Soap’s eyes nearly roll back into his head. He brings the knife down and in one swift move cuts along the seam of his trousers and underwear. He has spares and this is more than worth the loss, can’t be arsed to spend the time undoing all his buckles and straps.
Stepping forwards until his boots are either side of Soap’s thighs, he sinks to his knees.
He doesn’t waste any time, fishes Soap’s cock out of his underwear, he’s just as huge as Ghost had hoped he’d be, and raises up on his knees. He’s sinking down before he can second guess himself, Soap’s cock pushing inside and filling him up so perfectly.
“Now,” Ghost says, eyes hooded and breath coming slightly ragged. “You’re gonna be a good boy for me, aren’t you Johnny. You’re gonna keep your hands to yourself, and let me ride you until I say we’re done, alright?” Soaps cock twitches inside him and Ghost bites his lip under the mask, eyes glazing over slightly as he feels soap’s hips jerk, knows Soap is drooling precome inside him. “That’s it, knew you’d be a big lad,” Ghost grinds down a few times, taking Soap to the hilt, seating himself comfortably on his hips.
“You like being talked down to that much, huh? I already know you like the praise, preening like a lovesick pup every time I throw you a compliment. Fuckin’hell, I can’t believe you havent jumped my bones already as desperate as you are.”
Soap nods helplessly, apparently rendered speechless by arousal. He’s holding himself so still, so tense, obeying every order.
“I changed my mind.” Ghost announces and that gets Soap’s attention, he keens desperately, looks at Ghost with something close to fear, like Ghost could ever just stand up and walk away now. “Shhh, it’s alright pup, you’ve just been such a good boy that I think you deserve a reward. You can hold onto my straps, okay?”
Soap nods eagerly, hands immediately flying up to fist in the thigh straps of Ghost’s harness, knuckles pressing hard into his muscle. Ghost catches a flash of small crescent moon marks pressed into the palms of his hands from where his fists have clenched with the exertion of his self control.
“Thank you.” Soap says. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Ghost coos “Now, lie back and think of England, yeah?” Soap nods again, head knocking lightly into the floor beneath him as Ghost begins to move his hips, rolling and grinding, barely lifting up at all and just keeping Soap buried deep inside him. The grinding scrapes his swollen clit across the fabric of Soap’s trousers and provides a friction that has his eyes rolling back.
Soap’s grip on his straps adds extra support, his arms trying to move him as he likes and since Ghost is feeling particularly indulgent, he lets him. He brings his hands to the hem of Soap’s shirt, tugs at the hem until he can pull it up and bunch it beneath his arms, finally get at all that skin.
He gives a rough pinch to Soap’s nipples and grins when it has him whining, hips bucking up hard enough that they must leave the floor for a moment; Ghost has seen Soap do hip thrusts at the gym so he’s hardly surprised he’s capable of it. The movement has Soap’s cock grinding hard against Ghost’s cervix, the aching pleasure enough to have him slumping forward, bracing himself with the hands on Soap’s chest.
His thumbs keep working, keep teasing against Soap’s nipples as they stiffen beneath his ministrations. When he lifts his gaze to Soap’s face there are tears in his eyes, his hips thrusting up again as he whimpers.
“ Ah- Good fucking boy.” Ghost keens as Soap begins thrusting over and over, the praise seems to go straight to his head, his mouth dropping open as his eyes fix on where he’s driving up into Ghost’s cunt. There’s slick spread between them, strands connecting their bodies each time he pulls out.
Ghost slides his hand further up Soap’s chest, over his throat, squeezing firmly once as he does, just to see if Soap will stop him.
He doesn’t, of course.
He trails his hand up further, uses two fingers to trace over that damned pouty bottom lip that he has thought about biting since day one. Soap’s tongue darts out to stroke over the fabric, another high whine escaping him when he realises these are the fingers Ghost had pressed inside himself, that he can still taste Ghost on them. He strains his head forward to wrap his lips around them, sucking them into the back of his throat and keening when Ghost presses down on his tongue.
Ghost pulls down, down, forces Soap to open his mouth properly so that he can hear every sound that escapes him, every whine and moan echoing through the room. The sounds of pleasure are all it takes to have Ghost hurtling into his first orgasm, cunt clenching almost painfully around Soap’s cock as he rides it out, the scrape on his cock almost more than he can bear, except it would take more than wild horses to drag him away now.
He pants his way through the aftershocks, watches Soap watch him come, the way his eyes water with the stimulation of Ghost fluttering around his cock, the intimacy of the eye contact.
“Easy now, love, you hold still for me and I’ll make you feel so good, yeah?” Soap nods and there’s a tear running down his cheek that Ghost wipes away with his other thumb. “I’m nowhere near done with you.” and the look in Soap’s eye is nothing but relief.
Soap’s hips still, his fingers adjusting their grip on the straps around Ghost’s thighs as Ghost gets his feet under him, gets his hands into position, and begins to bounce. He clenches the best he can on each upward thrust, can feel the way Soap’s hands are trembling against his legs with the effort of holding himself back.
“Please, oh- please-” Soap is sobbing but Ghost brings a hand up to his jaw and turns his head to look at him, naked desperation laid out so plainly on his face it’s almost hard to look at him.
“Do not come.” Ghost orders “Not until I say so.” more tears roll from the corners of Soap’s eyes but he nods.
Ghost is relentless, continues to take and take as he rides Soap’s cock. Soap’s arms bulge as he helps lift Ghost on each upwards thrust, the straps on Ghost’s thighs sure to bruise.
“Touch my cock.” Ghost commands and instantly one of Soap’s hands leaves his leg to slide up to his front, thumb immediately finding Ghost’s swollen clit and grinding hard against it, rubbing rhythmic circles over it as he brings Ghost closer to the edge.
“Wait, stop-” Soap gasps out and Ghost does, instantly, tries to pull himself up and off except Soap won’t let him move, his grip on Ghost’s gear not wavering and his thumb still stroking. “No, you just, you told me I couldn’t come.”
Good fucking boy.
“Good job.” Ghost murmurs, smooths a gloved hand across Soap’s brow and over his hair.
“Didn’t want to ruin it.” Soap mutters, as if he could, as if Ghost told him not to come for any reason other than not wanting this to be over. The fear that they could go back to what they had been, colleagues and nothing (everything) more.
Soap shifts his hand, swaps his thumb for two fingers and begins to stroke Ghost off in short, sharp motions. He sends him over the edge in moments. This orgasm is different from the first, longer, more drawn out but still achingly good.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, Soap watching Ghost as he comes down from his high, both of their chest’s heaving and Soap’s cock still stretching Ghost wide. Ghost looks him over appraisingly, the bright flush of his skin, the sheen of sweat across his body, the dark flutter of his eyelashes and the blown out, fuck drunk pupils.
Ghost stands, ignoring the burn in his thighs, ignoring the lewd slick sound of Soap sliding out of him, the miserable whine of loss Soap gives. Instead he flops back onto the sofa behind him, kicks one of his legs over the arm of the couch and spreads the other wide. Serves himself up as an offering for Soap, fully on display.
“Hungry?” He asks, but Soap is already moving, pressing in between his legs until Ghost can feel the heat of his breath against his cunt.
“Aye.” Soap presses a tender kiss to his inner thigh, another to the crease of his thigh, the last directly against his clit. “Starved.” and he begins to eat. Ghost drops his head back as Soap takes him in his mouth, burning hot tongue sliding up between his folds to reach his cock, lips closing around it as he teases the head with the tip of his tongue.
Ghost is oversensitive, feels stupid with it and yet still so desperate, so needy as Soap eats him out like he’s a professional. A finger traces up Ghost’s thigh, presses gently against his hole and slides in, immediately curling to press at his pleasure point, turning everything molten hot with ecstasy. Soap’s tongue slides down to join his finger, pushing in alongside it and wiggling . The comparatively cool air against his cock is almost painful in its sensation, until Soap’s other hand comes up to play with it, keeping it warm while Soap’s mouth is occupied elsewhere.
“I’ve fucking dreamed of this pussy sir, what ye’d taste like, feel like.” The words are garbled, barely comprehensible since Soap never draws back, mouth still working against him as Soap draws back up, scrapes teeth lightly against Ghost’s clit at the same time he pushes another finger into Ghost’s hole and presses .
Ghost hasn’t squirted in years, long enough he’d almost forgotten he was capable, until Soap is moaning, long and loud as Ghost comes across his face, cunt pulsing around his fingers. Soap doesn’t stop, keeps going until Ghost is whimpering below him, finally having to pull him away by his hair. His t-shirt is ruined, soaking wet across the front as Soap grins at him stupidly.
“Time for y’r reward.” Ghost slurs, tugging Soap’s hair again and drawing him up, “Want you to come inside.” and he doesn’t need to ask twice, Soap already has a hand between them, lining them up and pushing inside immediately, both of them grunting as he slides home. Soap buries his face into Ghost’s neck and trembles as he begins to thrust, the clumsy, hard thrusts of a desperate man.
It’s barely two minutes before Soap is whining, whimpering into Ghost’s ear as his hips press close, close, tip pressed snug against Ghost cervix as he feels him begin to pulse inside him, imagines he can feel the liquid heat he knows is flooding into him. Soap’s hips move in tiny abortive thrusts, trying to get closer, closer as he rides out his orgasm. Ghost turns his head to press a masked kiss to Soap’s ear, his temples, everywhere he can reach as he rides out his orgasm.
Soap slumps forward still buried inside Ghost, still kneeling on the floor, still mostly clothed. Ghost isn’t historically a one for cuddling after sex, doesn’t really care for the intimacy of it, and yet it never occurs to him he could push Soap off, away. Instead he simply holds him close until their breathing aligns.
Inhale together
Exhale together
“Well,” Because of course it’s Soap who breaks the fragile peace between them “I wasnae expecting that.”
“Fucking hell.” Ghost groans, and he doesn’t mean it as a slight really, it isn’t even actually directed at Soap at all, it’s just that this ridiculous proclamation in that ridiculous Scottish accent is what has suddenly made it occur to him that his disgusting crush on his sergeant has in fact, entirely against his own will, developed into disgusting feelings for his sergeant. Which is, of course, decidedly worse.
“Oh, no post-sex chit-chat then sir, got it.” Soap mumbles, sounding a little dejected, and he tries to pull away. Pull out .
Ghost’ll have absolutely none of that, thank you, after all if this week has taught him anything it’s that trying to ignore his feelings for his sergeant is going to get him nowhere fast.
He wraps his legs around Soap’s hips snugly, pulls him close. One hand wraps itself into the front of Soap’s t-shirt (which is disgustingly damp, actually) and the other reaches up to slowly but surely undo his helmet, drop it to the floor and pull off the mask. They aren’t Lieutenant and Sergeant here, haven’t been since the moment Ghost started shouting, Jesus Christ he hopes Soap knows that.
“Didnae ken they let pretty boys into the SAS, Si.” Soap says, but he’s grinning, a little roguish, a lot relieved.
“They let you in, didn’t they?” and that has Soap snorting.
“Aye, ye got me there.”
“D’ya reckon the army could, uh,” Ghost knows he’s bright red, can feel the burn in his cheeks that only grows hotter as Soap stares at him “could handle our pretty if we, um, combined forces?” He winces, that was shite and he knows it, if Soap had in fact had any interest in him before he probably doesn’t now, fuck.
“C’mon Si, I’m a harder win than that, yer gonna have to spell it out for me.” Given what Ghost has put him through today? He figures he owes him that much. He can’t look at him while he does though, instead he drops his head back to rest on the back of the couch, eyes fixed on a grubby bit of tile.
“I’ve had…feelings, for you for a while. I’m not. Well, I’m not good at this, not practised at it, don’t rightly know what to do about it. Thought maybe you felt the same, knew that you found me hot, thought at least we could fuck it out our systems and you obviously weren’t gonna do shit about it so. Here we are.”
“But ye want more? Than sex?”
“Yeah.”
“Well thank fuck for that.” Soap laughs “I was starting to worry maybe I’d made this all so much worse for myself by knowing what I’d be missing out on.”
“Good.”
“Gone all monosyllabic, Ghost, you had a lot more to say about me earlier, didn’t ye?”
“Oh fuck off.” Ghost groans and throws a hand over his eyes, though he can’t help a small laugh “I told you I wasn’t good at any of this. Did get us here though, dinnit?”
“Aye.” Soap laughs too, loud and happy, “Aye it did.”
Soap’s laughter has the added interesting effect of reminding Ghost of the very specific way in which they’re still connected. It also demonstrates, thanks to the way the laughter moves Soap’s body, that he is (somehow) hard again.
Well. Ghost supposes they are celebrating after all.
He looks up to catch Soap’s eye, quirks an eyebrow and revels in the way Soap’s cheeks pinken even as his eyelids hood.
“Yeah?”
“Hop to it sergeant, we’ve still got hours until exfil afterall.”
They have longer than that, Ghost thinks privately. They’ve got the foreseeable future, and in their line of work?
Well, that might as well be forever.