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Biology is a familiar topic in Ghost's life. Comforting, almost, or as much as any obstacle can be when you've spent over three decades figuring it out.
Ghost's got it sorted though. Takes his hormones regularly, hits the gym most days. Swims until his arms go numb and each step feels like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders. He's earned everything he's ever achieved, from his body to his position as lieutenant of Taskforce 1-FIN-1.
Only Ghost would be mad enough to become a human officer for a merfolk-only (now merfolk-majority) taskforce. Plenty told him so, not that he's ever let it stop him. If anything, it's as good a sign as any to keep going. And there are some advantages to being the only land-based soldier on an op.
They break the surface of the moon pool silently. The ship around them groans, the hum of machinery more felt than heard. Ghost waits for the signal before hauling himself up the ladder and on to the deck. Looking back, Soap offers him a shark-grin. "Good hunting up there, LT."
The sergeant dives back down, to set the charges along the hull. Gaz is providing support for him and for the exfil, with Price and Roach at the ship's stern. Price will have found himself the highest point to provide overwatch while Roach kept the deck clear. If a hostile didn't get a knife to the gut, Roach tossed them overboard for Gaz to deal with. It's an operating procedure they've carried out dozens of times. Rarely goes wrong and the taskforce is flexible enough to handle it when it does.
First time for everything, Ghost supposes.
The HVT is in his room, just as the intel suggested. Easily taken down, cuffed and gagged, and hauled over Ghost's shoulder for exfil. Price marks every hostile he and Roach down over the comms, Ghost keeping count in the back of his mind. The odds of someone crossing his path on the way back to the moon pool is low—not zero, not while the ship was still floating, but they were working on that part.
If Soap had been above-water, he'd be in Ghost's ear, no doubt. Flirting without pause or any encouragement from Ghost. More often than not he takes Ghost's silence as the encouragement it is. It's all unspoken, for now. Price only just stopped sending Ghost loaded glances every time Soap swam past and flashed him another sharp-toothed grin. Must have realised that his censure was only encouraging the worst in both of them, but he hadn't recruited them for their well-exercised sense of restraint or caution.
There's a thrill to it, grabbing hold of what everyone thinks is out of reach for him.
Back above the moon pool, Ghost clicks his comm on. "Heads, Garrick." Gets two clicks back in confirmation—one short, one long—and tosses the HVT in. The water churns, Ghost sees blue and black stripes, and the man disappears from view.
Ghost intends to follow him back into the ocean. Back to the exfil boat to watch Soap's work from out of danger-close range, or at least pretend to watch. His eyes have a way of always straying to Johnny, who'd be enraptured by his own destruction. The kind of breathless amazement writ large on his face that made Ghost want to bite down until he tasted blood.
"D'you hear a splash?"
"Are you stupid? Stop wasting time asking fuckin' questions and help me with this."
A pair of men approach the moon pool, hefting a metal barrel between them. Ghost watches from his cover behind a shipping container as they open up the lid, still bickering, and one tugs a mask into place over his face as the other kicks the barrel over with an echoing thud. Whatever was in the barrel rushes out, splashing into the water of the moon pool below.
"Be advised, got two hostiles emptying an unknown substance into the moon pool," he murmurs into his comm. The men have retreated to the far side of the bay, away from the barrel and its contents. "Looks like a clear liquid."
"Petrol? Why would they be dumping fuel into the ocean?" Price is quick to ask.
"Don't think so. It smells-" Simon pauses, nose wrinkling "-fuckin' hell. Smells like sugar syrup."
"Fuck's sake," Price growls, and Ghost agrees with that summation. Intel made no mention of mystery substances—this was supposed to be a shipment of illegal arms, nothing more. This complicates things.
"Let's hope it's not flammable, would hate to lose my eyebrows. Brings my face together."
"Hold fast, Simon. How're we looking on those charges, Soap?" Price asks and get Soap's response in quick-fire clicks, the only way he has of communicating underwater.
Ghost tries to keep up, he really does. Should be figuring out a way off this boat that doesn't bring him into contact with the substance, or require him to make his way up to the deck. Dangerous, and they can't afford the delay. Ghost can't afford a delay. Every breath he pulls in is sickly sweet and his face is starting to burn up, like standing in front of a fire in a sugar mill. Pulling on his rebreather would help but not without alerting the two hostiles.
He licks his lips, tasting salt and burnt caramel. "Price, I'm gonna have to chance it," Ghost says, voice thicker than it was a moment ago.
"Ghost, do not submerge yourself in unknown substances until we have figured out a plan-"
"Negative, sir." Another deep breath, burning hot and sweet inside his chest. "I'm compromised."
"Captain, I've set the charges," Soap grunts, sounding oddly out of breath. Ghost knew that was strange but couldn't remember why in that moment. Something about biology? "Think we light the fuse on this bitch 'n get Ghost out now."
"Don't have much choice now, do we? Keep it quick and clean, sergeant."
"Always do. Ghost-"
"Soap."
"Get ready on my mark."
The seconds before Soap calls it feel longer than hours and also mere moments. Ghost steadies himself against the urge to open-mouth pant or moan, syrup dripping down the back of his throat to sit hot in his stomach. Hot between his thighs, and throbbing-
"Mark."
The whole world tilts sideways and the ship groans like an animal in pain. Even with his thoughts slowed and sticky, Ghost knows what that means. Knows things are about to get loud and exciting—and him without his dance shoes. Time to make that exit expeditiously.
He breaks for the moon pool while the hostiles panic, yelling at each other. Jumps the barrel that rolls his way and catches a stray splash across his shins of whatever the fuck they'd been dumping into the water. It doesn't burn—doesn't feel like much of anything. Ghost doesn't dwell on it, can't, he's falling into the moon pool.
There's cold, and salt, and sweet. And then there's a pair of blue eyes in a handsome face, creased with worry, and strong hands grabbing Ghost by his wetsuit. And then there's not much of anything at all.
---
The medbay in the 1-FIN-1's base had been built with more aquatic patients in mind. When Ghost had joined the taskforce, some adjustments had needed to be made—keeping within the limited space and the limited resources they had. He still tries to avoid the place as much as possible. Given he'd been dunked in some unknown substance that had damn near cooked his brains just from inhaling the fumes, it's expected he'd wake up here.
Still fuckin' irritating. As soon as Ghost swims back to consciousness to the sight of water-stained ceiling tiles, the sting of brine and antiseptic in his nose, he's ready to leave. Already knows the bed he's in has been shoved into the furthest corner of the medbay. For privacy, ostensibly. Out of the way of the filters, more correctly.
Out of sight of the individual tanks where Ghost could see his other taskforce members, most annoyingly. At least they'd left him in a soft balaclava this time.
Ghost shuffles around, trying to get his elbow under him. "Easy, lieutenant," Price orders, a firm hand pressing down on Ghost's sternum before he can get any further.
He resists for a moment before letting Price push him back down to the bed, sighing heavily through his nose. "Price," Ghost says through gritted teeth.
"Welcome back, Simon. How're you feeling?" Price says coolly, never been one to be phased by Simon's shitty attitude.
A beat. "Fine." Doesn't look like Price believes him, but Ghost knows himself. Knows his own body. A hot meal, a long shower, and a power nap (order negotiable) is all he needs. "How long-?"
"A little under six hours." Price takes his hand back and rubs at his moustache. Looks tired, like he's been sat waiting for Ghost the whole time. That's less surprising than the fact that he's alone. "Let the nurse look you over, son, before you disappear."
"Rog. Where's Soap?" Ghost asks after a moment.
Price's whiskers twitch tellingly. His sealskin is draped around his shoulders—technically, he's fully human at present, but Ghost has always had his doubts. If the captain knows his team uses the twitches of his mutton chops as a barometer for his mood, he's never let on. "Confined to quarters. Medical first," he says in a tone that brokers no argument. The nurse takes that as her moment to appear from around the edge of the curtain.
The nurse—one for humans, not one with a degree in marine biology—listens to his heart and lungs, measures his blood pressure. Even shines her light into his eyes, though Ghost doesn't remember taking a knock to the head. It's fuzzy, after he'd dived (or fallen) back into the water, but things had been going strange before that. Remembers heat, and sticky sweetness, and Soap's voice in his ear.
Remembers how he'd gotten chubbed up in his wetsuit while his cunt throbbed and ached.
"What the fuck was that stuff they were dumping?" Ghost asks once the nurse is out of his face and he can see Price again. Thank fuck she already took his temperature or Ghost would've had to field some awkward questions about his sudden flush.
Price blows out a sigh, ruffling his whiskers. "Kate's men are working over our guest, trying to get some definitive answers." Shares a loaded glance with the nurse, who nods and retreats, pulling the curtain closed behind her. When Ghost pushes himself upright again, Price helps him reposition the pillows, so at least he can scowl at the man eye-to-eye.
"But you don't know," Ghost states flatly.
Price shakes his head. "We have theories, based on how you and MacTavish reacted."
"You said Soap was fine-"
"I said he was confined to quarters," Price says, holding up a finger with a raised brow. "And I'm assured nothing is likely to worsen in the next ten minutes."
Ghost starts the countdown. Moves on to gathering intel. "How did we react to the substance?
"You had a raised temperature, were delirious, increased sensitivity," Price lists. Ghost tries hard not to flush redder—the team has seen him in worse states. Bleeding out and half-dead from cold after two weeks in Siberia. He refuses to be embarrassed because he was drugged with something that made him out-of-his-mind horny.
"And how long did that last?"
"Once you were out of the water and we'd gotten you under the showers... ten minutes, max. Doctors said it was the exhaustion that knocked you out." Price taps his fingers against his biceps, whiskers shifting as he visibly searches for the words. "Do you... remember the pain?"
"Pain?"
"You were moaning and writhing when Soap pulled you out. Screamed whenever anyone touched you." Price closed his eyes, his own expression pained, before he opened them again. Looked at Ghost with clear regret. "We think, whatever it was, it was designed to increase sensitivity until any touch to your overloaded nerves only registered as painful. I'm sorry, son."
"Don't be," Ghost says, keeping his eyes firmly on Price's face. Not the wall behind him, as much as Ghost would like to. "Just tell me about Soap and why you've confined him."
Price spread his hands in a helpless little gesture. "It's only gone and sent him into a bloody rut."
"What-?" Ghost turned away, coughing into his elbow as he half-choked on his own tongue.
"And it doesn't make sense," Price continues over Ghost's coughing fit, pinching the bridge of his nose. "His species don't even do that. But something about his biology reacting with that substance has driven the sergeant fuckin' stupid with the need to, well... fuck."
"Fuckin' hell."
"Like I was saying. And that wouldn't be an issue, except the surge of hormones and whatever bloody else that's going on has him acting out-of-character. The doctors are hoping it'll burn itself out, since he's stable for now."
"And how long has that been going on?" Ghost asks with something like horror. Who knows how long for now will last. "I got submerged in the stuff, he couldn't have come into that much contact when he was pulling me away."
"He shouldn't have had as much contact," Price begins ominously. "If he had been in position, that is."
That's almost as unbelievable to Ghost as some kind of sugar syrup sending Soap into a sex frenzy. "Why would he be out of position?" Ghost mutters. "It was standard operating procedure, up until-"
"Right up until you comm'd to say you were compromised." Price lets that statement lie there with all the subtlety of a dead fish left to rot in the sun. Ghost goes very, very still, and then he's swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Simon, he's not himself right now-" Price says, hands out like he could stop him.
"How long has Johnny been compromised." He's no longer thinking about countdowns, or intel, or his own stupid fuckin' embarrassment. Johnny had gotten compromised pulling Ghost to safety. The way Price's whiskers bristle has him lurching to his feet and digging around in the bedside for his clothes.
"Don't suppose telling you he nearly took Roach's arm off will make you reconsider?"
A seam pops on his shirt as Ghost tugs it on roughly. "How long, Price?"
"A little under six hours."
"Bloody fuckin'-"
"You don't have to do this." Price's grip on Ghost's wrist is like iron. Years of working together is what keeps Ghost from doing something regrettable, and the look in Price's eyes says he knows it. "He's tough, he'll pull through whatever this is. But he'll never forgive himself for hurting you. Or forcing you."
Ghost takes a deep breath and holds it. Blows it out slow through pursed lips and feels the calm settle over him. "It was always going to go this way, John. You know that."
They both consider that. How Soap and Ghost have become Soap-and-Ghost, something more than teammates. More than friends. Price huffs a laugh. "Couldn't keep you two apart if I tried. Don't break him, and I'd advise against putting anything near his teeth you can't stand to lose," he says, a last warning before letting go. Ghost doesn't acknowledging him before striding away.
The corridors on base are made up of two side-by-side 'lanes', a carpeted hallway and a seawater-filled, half-glass tunnel. Worked like a pneumatic tube, helping the other taskforce members get to where they were going quickly—and not designed for loitering in. Only Roach can manage it, really, by flattening his tail so the water flowed over the plates and gripping the sides with his legs. Gaz manages by wrapping his snake's-tail around Sanderson.
Both of them startle when Ghost storms out of the medbay and makes for the sergeants' quarters. Tumbling over each other in the tube trying to keep up with him, their hands signing rapidly. Ghost catches 'Soap' and 'lively' and 'holy shit', which Roach signs repeatedly and emphatically. If Price thought to keep the situation under control by downplaying Soap's condition, he had deeply miscalculated.
"Check-in is two hours from now," Ghost orders. "Nobody else is to enter MacTavish's quarters without my word, I don't care if you think we're killing each other in there."
Gaz taps an affirm on the tube glass, Roach nodding when his hands and antennae and many legs are too twitchy for anything else. Makes Ghost's steps falter for a moment, really take in the state of his teammates. Exhaustion's plain on their faces, same as Price, and the kind of stiffness in their shoulders and jaws from being powerless to do anything about it.
All while Ghost had been passed out in medbay.
"Any last intel I need before I go in?" Ghost asks, once they're outside the pair of entrances to Soap's quarters.
Gaz and Roach exchange glances with each other, Ghost, and the underwater hatch. It's Gaz that turns to him and clearly signs, "watch out for the teeth". Roach helpfully demonstrates by snapping his teeth, his hands miming a pair of gnashing jaws.
"Cheers," Ghost mutters. His footsteps fall heavy on the staircase up to the above-water door, the same weight he feels wading through waist-deep water. The door isn't locked and Ghost slips inside without a word.
The lights have been dimmed in Soap's room, enough that it takes Ghost a moment to spot his sergeant. He's a dark shape in the shallow water below, both of his dorsal fins completely submerged as Soap swims in tight circles. If he notices Ghost in his room, he makes no sign of it. That alone is enough to make Ghost's stomach churn bitterly.
He strips efficiently and sets everything but his underwear on the platform by the door, balaclava on top. Steps down on to the ledge at the pool's edge, intending to sit up to his waist in the water and wait for Soap to notice him. Ghost barely manages to get his toes wet before Soap twists out of his circling and lunges for him. Tries to dodge back, can't, sharp claws have already latched on to his shins and are dragging him under.
Soap's immediately in his face, blue eyes turned black, his teeth gleaming in the darkened water. Ghost swings his elbow, hoping to the element of surprise is enough to strike Johnny in the throat over his sensitive gills. Catches Johnny in the jaw instead. The pain is a bright line across his forearm where Johnny's teeth score a line, and Ghost's body goes cold. If Soap really isn't himself, driven by hormones and instincts, Ghost's done the worst thing imaginable.
Soap darts away, his strong tail churning the water around them. Can't see well enough to guess what direction he'll come from and already bleeding, Ghost can only hope it's quick.
He's not afraid. Only sorry that he did this to Soap.
It is quick, at least, the grip of strong hands around his waist again. Rather than dragging him down again, Soap surges forward, launching them both out of the water and on to dry land. Ghost coughs as Soap's entire weights lands square across his back. Heavy with muscle and burning hot. Ghost is pinned beneath him, by his body and hands, and then Soap's teeth are scraping over the thin skin of Ghost's throat.
Soap whines like a kicked dog when Ghost lashes out with his free arm at him. "LT," Soap whimpers, hunching in to presses his forehead to the back of Ghost's neck. "Ghost."
"Soap?" he gasps back. "Johnny? How copy?"
"S-solid copy," Soap mumbles, rubbing his face into Ghost's skin. Ghost slumps, wheezing out some mix of relief and exasperation and terrible fondness for the mershark wiggling atop him. He can't be too far gone if he was still able to answer, right? "Where were you, LT? Missed you, wanted you."
Or maybe not. Soap's never been one to be stingy with his affection, but it's never had this desperate, needy edge to it. Like he might die if Ghost left him now—or try to bite off another teammate's arm. "I'm here now, Johnny," Ghost says softly, as gently as he can, trying to soothe some of the frenetic energy.
Soap makes a noise he's never heard before. A trilling call, the gills over his neck and ribs fluttering. Ghost can't tell if it's a good sound, but he lets Soap bring the hand he'd tried to strike Soap with up to his mouth. Turns as much as he can beneath Soap's bulk and watches him bare his sharp white teeth—and lick over when he'd broken skin during their scuffle in the pool. Tastes Ghost's blood and moans rapturously.
"Simon." Drool pools behind his teeth and drips from Soap's long, thick tongue on to Simon's skin, so hot it stings. "Fuck, taste so good, smell so good, Simon."
"Johnny," Simon gasps. The stinging melts away, leaving his skin flushed and warm and sensitive. The rasp of Soap's tongue over the veins in his wrist down to pit of his elbow, chasing any chase of blood from his skin and then lapping at the wound, it's almost too much. His spit covers every pore, the warmth spreading—Ghost is burning up, he needs more, needs Soap to stop teasing.
Takes back his hand, despite Soap's heartbroken cry, and reaches up to pet through his mohawk for another fluttering trill. Then grabs him by the hair and pulls him closer, Ghost arching up to meet him with trembling muscles. "Soap, Johnny, kiss me, please-" Doesn't even care that Soap's mouth is filled with shark's teeth, but Soap croons and laps his cheek in an animal-kiss.
His tongue curls over his jawline, pressing teeth and spit into the pulse he can no doubt feel rabbiting under the vulnerable skin. Ghost shouldn't be tipping his head back, shouldn't be baring his soft underbelly, shouldn't want Soap sink his teeth in and rip out his throat. Whines when Soap finally dips his tongue into Ghost's mouth, tasting behind his blunt little teeth. He groans when Ghost sucks his tongue, Soap's body shifting and grinding against him as Ghost moans at the sweet taste of him.
Times feels slow as the spit sliding down Ghost's skin, dripping messy down his chin, on to his chest. Pooling low in his belly too, where he could feel his heartbeat in his cock. Ghost's hips twitch and jerk, knees sliding on the wet floor, lost in how good it feels to have Soap touching him. The mershark moves his hips to meet Ghost's in a sinful roll, pressing the hot, hard lines of his cocks to Ghost's skin.
Cocks, plural. That's something Ghost hadn't known before that moment. He gasps and Soap moves his mouth to his naked shoulder, his lips peeled back in a grimace. "Soap, is that, you feel, Johnny-"
Soap thrusts forward again, dragging his wet cocks over the small of Ghost's back. "So good," he slurs, sounding as drunk as Ghost feels. Something slick and molten hot slides from Ghost's back and down his ribs to join the mess on the platform—Johnny's cocks, drooling all over him, while Soap smears drool all over his neck against the urge to hold him still and make him take it. That's what he wants, that's what his instincts and hormones and that fucked up substance is telling him to do—and Ghost wants it too. Knew this would happen the moment he left the medbay even as Price tried to warn him.
"Yeah, fuck, take what you need," Ghost groans. His hands scrabble against the concrete floor, trying to hold on to something, barely aware of the panting whines leaving his mouth. Whether Soap hears Ghost's pleas doesn't matter, there's nothing he could do to stop him. Can only lie there as Soap uses him for his own pleasure, his grunts growing sharper and more strained.
Until he draws back too far and one of his cocks slides between Ghost's thighs, the tip pressing against Ghost's hole through his underwear. Ghost spasms, his cock throbbing and his neglected cunt clenching around nothing, and Soap lets loose a strangled yowl. A heavy throb is the only warning Ghost gets before Soap is coming between his thighs and over his back, gasping through his gills the whole time. It goes on and on, with every pulse of Soap's cock making Ghost give an overstimulated twitch of his own.
An indistinct grumble and Soap slumps, face rubbing against Ghost like a satisfied cat. He wants to laugh, wants to ask if Soap is alright. Only his cocks are still blood-hot against Ghost's skin, every breath thick as syrup and tasting of sweat and come and sugar syrup, somehow. The only sound Ghost can let it is his own desperate, needy plea for Johnny to touch him, to fuck him, anything at all to soothe the burning inside his skin.
Soap coos at him in reply, a shaking hand stroking from Ghost's hips to his shoulders, his thumb sweeping across his back. Spreading the heat, until Ghost realises he is literally rubbing the come into his skin. Marking him. Ghost pants, shaking like leaf and letting him embed his heat and scent into Ghost until he'd never be able to escape it. When Soap's fingers brush across his lips, Ghost licks them without a second thought, sucking when Soap pushes them inside.
Rubs the hot-sweet taste into Ghost's tongue, every sense now so full of Johnny that Ghost doesn't feel like his own person anymore.
His fingers retreat, leaving Ghost empty, and there's a tugging at his waist and then the sound of fabric tearing. It doesn't seem important until Soap leans in and his cocks rub against his soaked cunt. Ghost can only beg by deepening the arch of his back, his hand going back to pull at his own arsecheek so Johnny can see exactly where he's wet and open and so so empty.
Soap growls deep in his chest, rattling Ghost's bones. Adjusts his hips, and when he presses into Ghost it's neither gentle or slow. It's a relentless, devastating advance that starts already overwhelming, Ghost's hole resisting for a moment before Soap's fat cockhead pops inside. It would be a lot even if Ghost had been stretched and gently prepared to take Soap's cock. He's tight, but he's also so wet he can feel it dripping down his thighs, and too gone to care. Even the pain feels good, sending exquisite zings up and down Ghost's spine as Soap pushes out every remaining thought in his head to make room for his cock.
Doesn't stop even when Ghost lets go of himself to dig frantic fingers into Soap's hip—he doesn't know if he's trying to get Soap to stop or slow down or keep going. Keep fucking Ghost into the shape of his cock.
His other one is left to hang wet and throbbing between Ghost's legs, brushing against his own cock only incidentally. Moaning, and rolling his hips, caught between the delicious pressure on his cock and the aching fullness in his cunt.
Soap only stops when every inch of him is stuffed inside Ghost, and then gives an petulant little thrust like he wants to get Ghost even deeper somehow. It punches a pained wheeze out of Ghost, Johnny's cockhead hitting something tender inside of him, impossibly deep and untouched until now. "Ah, Johnny, please."
"Mine," Soap growls and Simon can only agree. He's Johnny's, his lieutenant and teammate, and now his hot tight hole to fuck. He thrusts again, sending that same jolt of pain through him that made Ghost's cock twitch and his cunt soak the floor beneath him. "Breed."
Ghost realises what it is Johnny's touching. His cervix, he's smearing his come across it. Breath stuttering, then releases it all on a moan. Eyes squeeze shut as he comes, the muscles of his core clenching and making Johnny feel even larger. Like he's rearranged Ghost to his own liking.
There's no reprieve though—Johnny snarls and grabs at Ghost to bounce him on his cock. Too much, too fast, Ghost's legs tremble as he squeals and gushes, squirting on Johnny's cock. Not sure if he's coming again or if it's all the same endless wave of pleasure and bruising pain. Mixed up, one becoming the other, Ghost sobbing and pleading for mercy he doesn't want. Soap pulls out until it's just his cockhead stretching him open and Ghost tries to fuck himself back, needs his cock back inside. Needs him there, needs it-
"Need it, need it, breed me, fill me up!" Ghost pants. There's suddenly more pressure on his hole, Soap's knuckles pushing against his cunt as he tries to push something in alongside his cunt. "I can't," he gasps, eyes snapping open. "I can't, I can't, it's too much-!"
"Need to breed, need it to take," Soap says, his voice rough and shredding the last piece of Ghost's sanity. "Need both inside."
"Both cocks, Johnny, do it," Ghost moans, weakly pushing back as Soap pushes in in in. The second cockhead bullies its way inside, both cocks now filling Ghost up impossibly full, changing him, ruining him. He garbles out a sound like he's dying and comes so hard he loses time. Can feel Soap's hips smacking into him, the dull ache of his cervix being bruised, warmed up, ready for Soap to come right where it needs to be to catch.
Feels Soap's cock throbbing, his gasps pitched, changing from fucking Ghost hard to grinding inside as deep as he can get. Something urgent to his thrusts, almost pleading, begging for Ghost's body to take it. To grow round and heavy with his pups. "Please," Johnny whimpers and fills Ghost up with so much come, hot and wet, that it leaks out around his cocks and splatters against the floor. Ghost's eyes roll back, toes curling, and his mind finally, blissfully blank.
---
Ghost is rudely awakened when Soap tries extracting himself. Couldn't have been out for more than a couple of minutes but after everything, he's numb from the waist down. Even that small movement of tugging his cocks free (much smaller than than the movement needed to shove them inside) it still wrenches a pained sound from Ghost.
"Hey, Simon, it's alright," Soap says, warm hands brushing Simon's hair back from his face and soothing down his spine. Warm, no longer so hot it ignited that insatiable heat within him, which is all the confirmation Ghost needs that whatever it is has burnt out of his system. He cracks open an eye, silently regarding the way Soap is looking down at him. Still flushed, but his eyes are blue again and he's lucid enough to be concerned, not just ravenous for Ghost.
A shame, really. He wore desperation well.
"How copy?" Simon croaks, swallowing thickly. Throat's fucked, but not like he could have gotten away with people not knowing he'd been fucked half to death anyway.
"How-?" Johnny starts incredulously. "I'm fine, ya daftie. I'm no the one walking into a shark tank, wearing nae but my pants and prayers."
"Not like I could wear my mask," Ghost points out. "Really try and avoid waterboarding myself."
"Simon..." Johnny says, his forehead coming to rest against the nape of his neck. Ghost summons up just enough strength to pet his mohawk, letting him take his time. They do eventually separate, Johnny apologetic and mortified as more come rushes out of Ghost, while Ghost is just glad for the chance to finally roll over and look at Johnny fully. Takes it right out of him though. Could really go for that hot meal and long shower, but there's more important things to deal with first.
"C'mere," he grunts, and refuses to let Soap avoid his eye or slink away. To think he'd done something terrible to Ghost, who couldn't think of a decision he's regretted less. He tries to tell Johnny as much with his actions. Beckons him closer until Ghost can kiss him, licking over the sharp points of his teeth and gently shushing him when he makes a heartbroken, confused whine.
"Why aren't you mad? I could have killed you."
"I'm already dead," Ghost deadpans, waiting a beat. "At least this way, I can say I'm sleeping with the fishes."
Soap lets out a suspiciously wet snort of laughter but he smiles too, so Ghost will take that as a win. "Maybe just the one fish?" he asks, glancing up through his lashes, like they aren't both covered in a combination of each others' body fluids.
"What can I say? You have me hooked." And drags Johnny down for another kiss.