call it fate, call it karma (snippet)
“I don’t recall you always being this shameless, Lt.”
“S’ your fault,” Ghost reasons. Makes a noise that Soap can feel in his own throat. It’s complimented by another caress to Soap’s thigh, hands that have killed hundreds tediously gentle and so fucking close to his dick without ever actually making contact. “Your bad habits’v’ rubbed off on me.”
Soap’s jaw drops open, parroting the noise Ghost’s just made. Their heads bump together; Soap’s arms rise to lock around the bulk of thick shoulders. A palm flattens to the base of his spine, presses him even closer to Ghost’s body; their gear knocks and catches and tugs, but neither of them give a shit. Their bodies fit together like it’s always supposed to be like this, chest to chest, face to face. Eclipsed by one another.
(Historically it’d been easier to keep his distance. When they started fucking around it was strictly behind unquestionably locked and bolted doors, a state of existence banished to the shadows of Ghost’s silent, dark room. No one to hear, no one to know. Soap had always been touchy. It’s not like there was a particular point in time where things started to spiral out of control. Put simply, the more Soap touched him, the harder it got to resist. Judging by Ghost’s progressively tactile engagements, the feeling was mutual. The compound effect has been catastrophic; an increasingly all-consuming need to touch, to connect, to orbit, a need that manifests with the inevitability of a gravitational pull. A feeling that is a force of nature all on its own, a startling example of what an act of god really means.)
“Not worried extraction’s gonna see?” It’s just the one pilot, who’s been sequestered in the cockpit from the moment they boarded and who’ll stay sequestered until they’re touching down. Even still, the risk isn’t non-existent. Soap would be lying to the both of them if he claimed not to enjoy the subsequent thrill.
“Don’t care,” Ghost laughs at him. Or— at least, he huffs out a single, throaty breath that Soap has come to know as Ghost’s unique form of laughter.
“Bullshit.”
“I’m not fucking around. Let ‘em see.”
“That a challenge?”
“Negative.” Low and gruff; Soap can feel the vibration of it playing along his nerves like telephone wires. “Just telling you where I’m at.”
HI HELLO IF THIS HAS INTRIGUED YOU MIGHT I SUGGEST GIVIN THE FULL THING A READ
https://archiveofourown.org/works/86458866
