#transghoapweek

The room of a hotel with some name appropriate for a place people rent by the hour to fuck looked out onto a large neon sign. Reflections the color of a Cosmopolitan glass fell through the curtains onto the floor, mixing with the violet of the dim lighting that remained after they turned off the overhead lights. The only thing that stood out from the ambiance of a webcam girl's room was the TV hanging for some reason on the wall. The bird at reception had mentioned something about music and speakers, but they didn't bother, flicking through the meager selection of channels and ignoring the abundance of porn just to settle on the regular evening program.

Sounds of the third consecutive episode of Midsomer Murders mingled with the short, ragged breaths of a breathless Johnny making an effort not to moan out loud.

The sweat beading on his temples quickly cooled in the chilly, well-air-conditioned room and clung to his heated skin like a tight film — every muscle in his bulky body was tense, from his clenched jaw and bound hands to his trembling, spread thighs with a black rabbit, shoved inside to its limit, vibrating insistently between them. To prevent the toy from slipping out from his dripping hole Soap had to twist his body and push the base of the rabbit against the mattress — that only tightened the knot of his third orgasm, forcing his overstrained muscles to spasm. It was unbearable — deciding to take a risk, Johnny bucked his hips and miscalculated; Ghost, sitting with his back to him and thoughtfully watching the investigation in the detective show on the screen, turned around at the pitiful whine and absentmindedly adjusted the toy, pressing the short appendage that had slipped off against Johnny's hard clit.

Soap came, looking at Simon's bony glove between his legs, and slumped heavily onto his side, letting the tool of his torture slide out onto the salty wet sheet and shifting his own weight from his restrained arms.

"Ye ken, LT, this isn't how Ah imagined it," he muttered hoarsely, still out of breath, looking at Ghost through his glued-together eyelashes. Ghost reached for the sticky vibrator and switched it off, his thoughts seemingly still somewhere with Inspector Barnaby from the show. There was no reproach in Soap's voice — flushed and satisfied, he slowly regained his breath, pressing his cheek to the pillowcase, clearly fresher than the one Simon slept on at home, and stared at Ghost without blinking. The latter removed his mask only, and the contrast between his dark bulk, covered from head to toe, and Johnny's completely naked body seemed appropriate in this absurd setting.

But Soap was right.

"And how did you imagine it, Johnny?" Ghost rumbled low, turning away from the telly showing murders in a fictional county and leaning down to Soap's sweaty face. The kiss was salty and stubbly — Johnny reflexively tried to cup Ghost's scarred face and pull him closer, as if only his mangled lips could quench his thirst after all that physical exertion, but he got stopped by the unyielding red cotton ropes on his arms and growled in displeasure.

He didn't really have to answer — Ghost had become quite good at reading his thoughts after all that time spent side by side on missions and in civilian life; without taking his eyes off those plump lips, he rolled Johnny onto his back again and swung his leg over his Sergeant's thigh, resting his knee dangerously close to his wet, pulsing slit. Soap kissed him as if he hadn't just been milked dry — and judging by how easily Simon slid his fingers inside after pulling off his glove, he certainly wasn't done. Hot walls, stretched by the thick rabbit, clenched around the cool digits only when Ghost circled the engorged head with the pad of his thumb — Simon involuntarily licked his lips between the thorough caresses of Johnny's broad tongue, and Soap breathed out raggedly in response.

"Fock me, Si, please, Ah really wanntae," he murmured softly, trying to trail kisses down Simon's pale neck. Ghost offered himself without immediately responding and scissored his fingers inside Johnny, shutting his fluttering white eyelashes close. He was welcomed and awaited inside, clung to by heated, blood-pumping soaked cunt no vibrator could satisfy, fully trusted and shamelessly wanted.

"I... it'll take a little time," Simon finally sighed, pulling back and pulling his fingers out of immediately shuddering Soap. They both looked down — at Ghost's cock that still hadn't the slightest urge to burst his fly with its erection.

"Want me tae blow ye?" Soap blurted out immediately, licking his already wet lips, and quickly added, "I wanntae. If ye let me."

Ghost nodded without much hesitation, first helping Johnny sit up to undo several knots and free him from his bonds, and then finally tugging at his hoodie's back, shedding its protective hide. Shaking off the ropes and wasting no time rubbing the ribbed indents in his tanned skin, Soap reached for Simon's belt, pulling his jeans down his wide hips. His cock lay neatly in his boxers, undisturbed by arousal — not taking it personally, Johnny almost immediately took it all the way into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking with hungry pleasure.

It was easy for Simon to resist the urge to close his eyes — Soap was too handsome. Looking down at his features, carved from the Scottish coastal cliffs, Ghost ran his hand over his sweat-dampened mohawk and slid his hand lower, to his broad shoulders, to the almost senseless nipples above the barely noticeable, symmetrical scars, to the dark hair that covered his strong, beautiful body like a barbaric coat. He didn't even notice he muttered it out loud — he only met blue eyes that flicked upward with silent love and let out a low groan as he felt the sly bastard trace a teasing pattern with his tongue over his sensitive underside.

Soap sucked wetly, drooling all over his fist, the rumpled sheets, and the thin skin of Ghost's sack. His efforts were soon rewarded with a slow erection, which he greeted by pushing all the way down to his throat and choking like a loud slut. Pulling himself off Simon's hardened cock and still caressing it with his hand, Johnny offered his sated face for a kiss and grabbed Ghost's soft arse with his other hand, gently urging him to lift up.

"Johnny," the name flew from Ghost's lips automatically, replacing any other phrase. The hotel bed, ill-suited for two burly men, creaked under their clumsy tossing and turning, but held — Simon's pale, freckled thighs settled between Soap's hot legs, which immediately clasped them. "Good boy, Johnny."

"Love ye, Si," Johnny placed his calloused palms on Ghost's broad back and dropped his head onto the pillow, finally closing his eyes in bliss. The wet head of Simon's cock brushed against him, sliding lightly over his hot folds, and on the second thrust sank easily into the hot tightness. Slowly, as if still unsure he won't go limp during the process, Ghost began to move, watching Johnny relax and melt before his eyes, no longer holding back the moans he'd saved for this very moment.

No response came.

“Johnny..?” He leaned forward to be in view and still nothing.

He sighed and crouched down in front of Soap, placing a hand on his knee.

“Johnny.” He spoke firmly.

Finally Soap’s eyes blinked rapidly and his regained focus locked onto Ghost. He looked at him guiltily as he clued into the fact that he’d fully zoned out and completely ignored him.

“Shit. Sorry, Si…”

“It’s alright” he moved his hand from Soap’s knee to the outside of his thigh, rubbing light circles into it with his thumb, “your dysphoria worse today?”

Soap’s shoulders tensed, “Yeah” he sighed.

Ghost looked at him with a look of deep understanding.

He understood exactly what it was like. He didn't have to deal with chest dysphoria too much anymore due to him having gotten surgery before he joined the military, but he understood.

He felt sad for his partner. Due to Soap enlisting as soon as they’d let him in, he hadn’t had the time to get any surgery he’d have wanted.

The dysphoria didn’t really bother him when he was out on missions. The tight tac vests were usually enough to keep his mind at bay, and he didn’t really have the luxury to worry about anything other than his own safety and that of his team anyway. But in between missions, or whenever he’d be pushed to go on leave, he’d struggle a lot.

“Y’ need to take it off, love…”

Soap huffed a frustrated sigh. He hated this part; it was great when he had it on, but it was when he had to take it off that most of his problems came up.

“I know— I know…” he dropped his head into his hands, “I’m sorry…”

“No. Don’t apologize for this shit. It’s understandably hard”

Soap snorted despite himself.

“Oh, shut up. You know what I meant” there wasn’t much bite behind his words as he smirked and shook his head.

“Aye” he chuckled softly.

“Anyway“ he started, “this isn’t something to apologize to me about. Not really the one affected by this situation, you are. ‘M just trying to make sure you don’t hurt yourself”

Soap nodded and raised his head. This caused tears, that he hadn’t known were there, to run down his face.

Ghost’s eyebrows scrunched together in a sympathetic expression.

“Johnny..” he wiped the tears away with his thumb, leaving his hand on Soap’s cheek.

Soap had days where he could just do it. Could just take the binder off without a second thought. But he also had days where his executive dysfunction had him paralyzed, unable to do anything but sit and wait. He’d struggle against the mental chains holding him still, but it was a toss up whether it’d work or not.

Days like these were ones that could end up with him just sitting or laying there for hours, unable to just take the damn binder off; no matter how much his ribs began to ache and flash with pain.

He’d get frustrated by the fact that he couldn’t just do it. Physically, it wasn’t a hard task whatsoever. But he just couldn’t get his damn body to move.

“Fuck…” he sighed forcefully, his voice cracking with pure irritation and disheartened sadness.

He leaned further into Simon’s hand, his tears coming down harder even as he resisted them.

The biting winds and solid rock beneath his body do nothing to address the discomfort in his far-too-full bladder. He shifts, trying to adjust himself a little bit, but knows he can't move much from his spot. He and Ghost are on overwatch – Ghost for support to the ground team, and Soap for demolitions once their team is clear. And with Ghost on the scope, he can't even entertain himself with the goings on down below. He knew this would be a longer one – they were advised to be prepared for upwards of an hour in position, since the compound is mostly underground – but this sucks.

And he still has to piss.

Soap shifts again, trying to lay more on his hip rather than his front, avoiding pressing solid rock against his stomach. He's nearly cramping with how bad he has to go, and he's heard of snipers pissing themselves in the name of duty but he never thought he'd be one of them. Another shift, and this time the silence breaks.

"Problem, Soap?" Ghost drawls, not looking up from the scope.

Soap swallows, brows furrowing as he looks away. There's no point in mincing words with Ghost, but they've only been up here for 20 minutes, according to Soap's watch. It's going to be a long wait at this point.

"Hafta piss."

A beat, then a snort from Ghost, which makes Soap's irritation flare. "What?"

"Grown man, squirming like a worm. 'S funny."

He can't move and yet he needs to move again anyway. Shifting to a plank position – still low, he's not stupid – he gives himself some relief from the ground, and can squeeze his legs together. It's not sustainable, he knows it, but god does he need some relief.

"Soap."

A strained growl of an answer escapes the sergeant.

"Just go. No one's gonna see."

"Ah'm no sittin' in wet jeans for thirty more minutes," he snaps back, his tone simmering with desperation, and a tad too loud.

Ghost deigns to look away from the scope for a minute, then rolls onto his side, motioning for Soap to take his place. He gives him a searching look, but he does, taking his place with the scope. He adjusts it – he swears Ghost needs glasses and just won't admit it – and tries to settle in, grateful for a distraction.

Until he feels Ghost's hands at his hips.

"Lt?"

Ghost hushes him then, and the sensation mixes dangerously with his hands on his hips and Soap's full bladder. It's not like Ghost hasn't made Johnny piss before, and his body knows it. Their bodies know it, and Soap is caught between a duty and relief in this moment. Ghost gave him the scope so he can't look away, and now he's at his mercy.

And he walked right into it.

"Ghost, really, no-"

Another hushing sound, this one closer to his ear. Then he feels teeth against the shell of his ear, and pressure against his thighs, working his legs apart.

He curses, trying to keep his legs closed, but Ghost is stronger at this angle and has the upper hand. Ghost takes his place between Johnny's legs, keeping them apart with ease. Johnny vividly remembers the last time they were in this position; it was only last night.

He waits with baited breath, before there's a hand in his hair, gripping tightly.

"Focus, Johnny," Ghost purrs, and Johnny finds himself counting guards for the seventh time, as if he needs plausible deniability from what he fears is going to happen next.

"There's a good lad." There's a touch, a hint of Simon in that tone, but Johnny knows not to trust it. Simon can't get him out of this one. Simon probably won't even know this happened, unless Johnny tells him.

He's not sure he will.

Ghost presses down on the small of his back, one hand big enough to splay over the entire area. The pressure is solid, unyielding, and Soap knows what he's trying to do.

Desperation kicks in, as he traces the latticework in the fence with his gaze through the scope. "Don't, Ghost-"

Ghost's thumb rubs against his back, the last touch of gentleness before the pressure becomes too much. Johnny doesn't stand a chance.

The first gush is enough to soak through his underwear and jeans, the fabric darkening. The rest of his release is hard enough that Johnny's sure Ghost can see the stream bubbling up from the denim seams, clear as day as it soaks into the ground below, puddling between the rocks and grasses. He's pissing himself in full view of his partner, his superior, his everything.

There's a shift behind him, and he pulls away from the scope, wanting to see, but a strong hand keeps him looking through that damn lens. He doesn't quite hear anything – the ambient noise is too much with the wind, and the muted chatter of the team in his ear – but he feels something. Hot, wet pressure directly against his soaked jeans, directly against his entrance. Ghost knows his body too well, and that fact sits heavy at the base of Johnny's spine.

"Ghost," he whines, and it's meant to be followed up with more words, but all he can manage is the soft cry of his name.

"You like it, don't you? Like being owned like this," Ghost hums as he pisses on Johnny. The stream gets firmer, his dick pressing against Johnny's clothed cunt. He's helpless but to tip his hips up, seeking more, and Ghost chuckles in his ear. "Yeah, you do. You feel better now, don't you, Johnny?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," he whispers, fingers trembling as he forces himself to move the scope to a new position, checking the hidden explosives he'd advised on, triple checking their work.

"What's that?"

"Yes, sir."

A low hum makes Johnny clench, a little bit more piss dribbling out. His thighs and crotch are soaked, and despite all his vitriol earlier, he doesn't seem to care.

"Good lad. Now let's hope you can stay still."

Ghost rolls Johnny out of position, settling down over the wet spot – though in his all black windbreaker and jeans, it's unlikely anyone will be able to see. Johnny lays on his side, watching Ghost readjust the scope, the puddle of their shared piss beneath his body, sinking into the earth and stone.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who likes being marked," he says with a cheeky grin.

"Only by you, Johnny."

He doesn't know what to do with the rise of emotion after that, so he simply lays on his back and catches his breath.

And, hopefully, can dry his pants a little before exfil.

"Si? Simon! Si, where the hell are ye?" Johnny's still hoarse voice sounds deceptively free of panic, but his bare feet stomp hastily across the chilly floor. Soap has no idea what's happened — his operating system, not fully loaded yet, is entirely focused on finding Ghost and administering first aid if necessary; he'll figure out later whether it's just Ghost's nose bleeding from a particularly bad nightmare or he managed to hide a wound from Johnny for two days after a recent run-in with enemy operators.

"Johnny? I'm here. Did I wake you?" a low voice spills out into the cramped hallway, along with a narrow strip of light from under the bathroom door, and Johnny, without thinking, grabs the loose handle.

Simon stands in the small room that seems even smaller because of his size, alive and well — except for a dark shadow from lack of sleep under the eye Johnny sees from the doorway.

"Everything a'right, Si? Ah woke up, ye're gone, and-" Johnny trails off, frowning in confusion as Simon, seemingly ignoring him, hooks his thumbs under the elastic of his boxers and pulls them down, sighing as he strips naked. "Simon, what are ye do- oh, shite."

It's barely visible on the black cotton of his boxers — only a damp sheen shines under the light — but Ghost's fingers that brushed along the seam are smeared with red paint.

"Doc warned it might come back," Simon explains, clicking his tongue in displeasure as he tosses the dirty boxers into the sink to wash. Johnny finally unfreezes from his spot and steps over the threshold onto the chilly tile, closing the door behind him so as not to freeze Ghost while he cleans himself. "Jus' gonna run some tests when we get back..."

The thermostat heating their water in this shack hums, filling the air with plump clouds of steam that instantly coat the mirror with sweat, so that Johnny sees only a shaggy image of himself as he reaches into the cabinet behind the mirror and pulls painkillers from the medkit. Simon takes two white tablets from his hand and swallows them straight, along with a handful of tap water, causing Johnny to grumble.

"So, that's what woke ye up?" he asks, just in case, wrapping Simon in a balding towel. Simon nods silently, rustling with the packaging of his pad, and with the resigned sigh of a man awakened by cramps at three in the morning pulls on clean underwear, scrunching his nose as he does so — the pills haven't taken effect yet. Soap hangs up the towel and plasters himself against Simon's back, stifling a yawn and eagerly sharing his excess warmth. The thoughts in his head are as thick as the snowy northern night outside, but they move as predictably as the moon in its arc. "So we better wrap it for now-" "Yes." "Or nae..."

Simon, who had been standing motionless until then, trying to muster the strength to walk back to the bedroom and change the sheets under the persistent dizziness, suddenly wakes up and glances over his shoulder with a furrowed brow.

"What do you mean, no?" The confusion evaporates from his dark eyes as Johnny's hot palm lands on his tense abs, stroking roughly where the twisting spasms are raging. It's replaced by vulnerable confusion before Simon looks away again with an embarrassed snort. Soap also stirs behind him, opening his mouth to take back the words that escaped him in the absence of inhibitors due to drowsiness, but Ghost only shakes his head and covers his hand with his own. "We'll talk about this later, Johnny. Definitely not on an op."

One thing that had recently changed in his routine was that Ghost now lived with him. And this was his first time seeing Soap do this.

They’ve talked about it before so it wasn’t surprising, but hearing about it is different than actually seeing it.

—

Soap had gotten up earlier than Ghost, brewing a coffee to start his morning.

He went about his morning routine slowly, using that as a way of procrastinating. It worked for a bit, but he ran out of reasons to push it back pretty quickly so he reluctantly grabbed his medication and started prepping. He laid out everything on the counter top and he settled into one of the seats along it.

Ghost soon walked out, grabbing the steaming mug that’d been left on the counter for him. He leaned forward on the counter top, sipping his tea and humming at the soothing warmth.

“What’re you doing?” He leaned further over to try and look.

“My testosterone” he wiped the top of his thigh with alcohol and grabbed the needle he’d just filled. Then he sat there, hesitating to take off the needle’s cap.

Apparently he’d hesitated long enough that Ghost felt the need to comment.

“You gonna do it or are you just gonna hold it all day?” He teased.

“Oh, fuck off” he huffed, his frustration bleeding into his tone.

Ghost immediately picked up on the tone change and walked around to where Soap was. “What’s wrong?”

Soap sighed and set the needle back down, “Needles and I aren’t on the best of terms” he joked lightly, looking down.

Ghost huffed a laugh then took his hand, “Then why choose to inject it? You said that there were other ways, why not do one of those?”

“Because it’s convenient. Don’t have to deal with going to a doctor or worryin’ ‘bout gettin’ gel on anyone else cause I’m too impatient” He huffed a little laugh.

“And it’s not very often so it’s not too bad”

They stayed silent for a moment, with Soap just dreading and Ghost trying to think of ways he could help.

“Would it be better if I did it for you?” He offered; he was no stranger to needles and shit so it would be easy.

Soap immediately shook his head, “No. Would probably be worse actually” he stated, then quickly added, “Not that I don’t trust you! ‘S just cause I’m a bit of a control freak when it comes to this” he chuckles awkwardly.

“Yeah, I get it” he smiled, running his hand up the back of Soap’s neck.

Soap relaxed back into his hand, sighing heavily as Ghost scratched over his shaved hair.

It was quiet in their kitchen for a while, just sitting in the anxious mood, before Ghost spoke again.

“Maybe if you thought of it as you teaching me, it would be less daunting,” he said.

Soap looked up at him sceptically.

“No, just think about it! It makes it so you have to think about how to describe things and it’s less about the actual actions and mentally more of an ‘in theory’ approach” he explained.

“Might help your mind disconnect from the fear a bit”

He was still unsure about it and whether it would actually change anything, but there was nothing to lose so he gave it a shot. [no pun intended]

He started explaining how he had to fill the syringe and switch needles after, how he had to pick his injection site and clean it, how the injection type could differ per person. Some of it Ghost probably already knew, but he explained it anyway.

Then he got to the actual injection, and the plan started to unravel.

His heart-rate started to increase again, the deep uncertainty clawed in his chest.

He swallowed dryly as he looked down at the needle, his fingers pinching the cap.

Then Ghost firmly grabbed his upper arm, just enough to keep him grounded and aware that he was still with him.

“Breathe, love” he soothed.

Soap took a very shaky breath in like he was told, huffing it out forcefully.

“Could you grab m’ phone?” His voice sounded slightly shaky.

Simon hummed in agreement, “Where is it?”

“The table” he pointed to the small table across the room.

Ghost quickly grabbed it and handed it over.

He took his phone and searched for the music app they shared. He flicked through their various playlists before finding the one he wanted and starting it. The familiar sounds came through the speaker that had already been connected to his phone earlier that morning.

“What’s the music for?”

“Sometimes it helps distract a bit”

Ghost hummed in understanding.

It takes a while for the injection to get done, but he got it done.

And once he got everything put away and thrown out, he just sits there, taking even breaths to hopefully calm back down.

Ghost wasn’t usually big on physical affection, wasn’t big on touching in general either really. But he wrapped his arms around Soap, one arm around his waist and the other around his back and up to hold the back of his neck firmly.

And he did it with no hesitation.

Whatever Soap needed, he’d provide. And he knew very well that this was exactly what Soap needed at that moment.

Which was confirmed when he quickly reciprocated the hold, his own arms wrapping around Simon’s neck.

The switch in Soap’s tension was pretty much immediate. He relaxed forward against his partner, his face tucked into his neck as he was held.

He pulled back as Soap’s hand slipped up his shirt, running up and down on his waist. Soap followed him to continue their kiss, trying to pull him back by his waist.

“Mmmph~ wait–“ he pushed back against his shoulders, “there’s something you need to know”

Soap looked concerned as he settled back against the bed’s headboard, “Okay…” He removed his hand from Ghost’s bare skin as he shuffled back off of Soap’s lap, “did I miss somethin’…?”

“No, no. Just haven’t mentioned anything” he dragged a hand down his partner’s arm to interlace their fingers together.

“Mmm,” he hummed, “well, what is it, love?”

His fear flared up in him once again. He hesitated and Soap squeezed his hand. He smiled a little and squeezed back.

“I’m… transgender” he tried to seem largely unaffected by this admission, but he was nervous of Soap’s impending reaction.

Soap’s eyes softened, “Oh, okay” he spoke softly, “I’m glad you told me”

“Is that okay?” He said cautiously.

“Of course!” He brought his free hand up to Simon’s cheek, looking at him with such affection, “no complaints from me, Tannasg”

Simon just sat there for a moment. What had he really expected? An outrage? This was Soap. Johnny. His Johnny. There was no chance he’d have reacted any other way.

“Good” was all he said, climbing back into his lap and shoving his face in his partner’s neck.

Soap chuckled, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing. He sighed as he loosened his grip, leaning his head against Ghost’s.

“Can I…” he hesitated, “did you get the top surgery done?”

Ghost nods into his shoulder.

“Can I see you?” He tensed up. He realized a bit too late that it could be weird or bad to ask that.

Ghost felt Soap tense and kissed his neck lightly to try settling his nerves, “Yeah”

He leaned back and grabbed the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head. He placed it beside them and looked away from Johnny. He felt very exposed like this, baring a vulnerability of his willingly and hoping that it’s not taken advantage of.

Soap looked at him in awe. He could see the hard work that he’d put into training; big boy that he was.

“Fuck..” he muttered under his breath.

Simon tenses.

“Shit no–! It's a good thing! I just…” his hand starts at the crook of Ghost’s neck, squeezing lightly before running it down his chest and around to rest just above his waist, “I’m just…” he grabbed Ghost chin with his other hand, pulling him to look at him, “you’re gorgeous, Si”

Ghost groaned, pulling away from his hold to look away again, “Don’t say shit like that…” he covers his mouth and cheeks with his hand.

He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he didn’t have a mask on.

Soap laughs something close to a giggle, his smile big and full of deep affection. He could see the blush forming on his Ghost’s face, even through his attempts at hiding it.

Soap brushes his hand away and grabs the sides of his face, pulling him into a soft kiss. One that he tried to push as much love into as he could.

Ghost’s shoulders finally relaxed and he leaned into his partner, accepting his love and affection.

“Y’ know…” Soap started when he eventually pulled back, running his hand down his partner’s thigh, “I am curious to find out what else you haven’t shown me~” he smirked.

“Would that change anything?” His anxious energy bled through his words.