Trans Ghoap Celebration Week

—

“Simon!” Soap called from the bathroom.

He hummed back in response as he sifted through his clothes drawer.

“Come ’ere!” Soap ran his hands through his hair, forming it with a pomade.

Ghost leaned into the bathroom, braced forward against the door frame, “What?”

“How would you like to go to that pride event with me ‘n the other two? I know y’haven’t been, so, since the time between away missions seems to match up, why don’t you come along?”

He looked at Ghost through the mirror as he went about brushing his teeth.

Ghost stood there kinda shocked.

He hadn’t expected this. Sure, if he had paid more attention when the group had that conversation a couple days ago, he might’ve expected this a bit more. But here he was.

He couldn’t deny the pull to say yes, but he was cautious to accept. He didn’t think he’d be much of a good fit there, as big and intimidating as he was.

Soap spit out his toothpaste, swishing water before spitting that as well, “Y’don’t have to answer now. There’s still a couple o’ weeks before then, so just think about it”

Ghost hummed, “Okay”

Soap nodded at him through the mirror before turning, kissing his cheek, and walking past him back into the bedroom.

Simon smiled and shook his head as he started his own morning ritual.

—

Later that night he stood in front of the sink, towel wrapped around his waist as he looked in the mirror. A light finger was run along the thick line of scar tissue on his chest that’d brighted in colour after his shower. His thoughts drifted to what he might be like now if he’d had the experiences and people that Soap did during his youth. If he hadn’t been alone in his transition and had some sort of support system behind him. If he’d had that community.

He huffed a sigh, pushing through his thoughts before they crossed the line between curiosity and self-pity, and walked out of his bathroom.

He flopped face down onto his bed, thinking about Johnny’s offer as he laid there.

A pride event.

One that he’d be attending with the only people he’d actually been comfortable enough with to let in on his identity (both the queer and the regular one).

What a thought that was…

—

A couple days later, he walks into the mess hall like normal. He grabs his food and walks over to their usual table, where Soap is already sitting.

He sits down across from the sergeant,

“Okay”

Soap looks up from his food, “Okay…what?”

“I’ll go with you” he muttered.

Soap looked confused for a while before his eyes lit up with recognition.

“Really?!” A smile broke out widely on his face.

“Yeah… I’ll go” he averted his eyes, shifting under the excited look directed at him.

“Yes!” He fist pumped in celebration, causing Ghost to shake his head fondly.

—

Ghost wasn’t exactly sure whether Gaz and Price were there because they were also queer, or if it was just for the hell of it. His “gay-dar”, as Soap had put it, wasn’t functional enough to figure it out apparently.

The two had worn rainbow stuff, but it seemed like everyone there did whether they were queer or not.

Gaz had switched his usual baseball cap for one with a flag on the front, and Price chose a rolled up bandanna for around his neck.

Ghost himself had been nudged into wearing something pride related, so he reluctantly chose to switch his usual half skull mask for an ace themed one.

It wasn’t his first choice, that being that he’d just go in his normal getup, but it was fine. For Soap, he could deal with the change.

And the man in question was decked out. Soap had chosen to wear a black fishnet shirt with a bisexual coloured fashion harness overtop. He paired that with black pants that had a coloured stripe down the side and black combat boots laced with pink laces.

His explanation when Ghost had asked was that he rarely had an opportunity to have fun with his clothes, so he took it.

Which was fair, in Ghost’s opinion.

And he sure as hell wasn’t gonna complain when he got to admire his partner like this.

“Welcome to pride, boys!” Soap grinned at them as he spread his arms out.

Ghost huffed fondly, watching him spin back around to lead them about.

—

They walked around the event, looking through the tables of vendors and watching various drag performances.

Soap had bought him a little crocheted ghost keychain, grinning wide while he handed it over. He rolled his eyes and stuffed it in his pocket, feigning annoyance (He’d never admit to later keeping it on his civvie backpack).

They also watched the parade when it was time. Ghost got slightly overwhelmed by how loud the crowd got along with whatever music was playing from various vehicles.

Soap stood behind him on a step and cupped his hands over Ghost’s ears.

He tilted his head back to look up at him and got a bright, very love filled, smile in return. Soap kissed his forehead and grinned before turning his attention back to the parade. Ghost felt a warmth fill his chest at the simple, yet thoughtful gesture. He felt seen and understood in a way he usually doesn’t. And it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was surprisingly soft and relieving.

—

Price and Gaz had called the day earlier than the other two, claiming they’d need more rest after their day out. Whether that was just an excuse or not was something Soap and Ghost debated about as they later sat in a quiet park.

Ghost had taken off his mask by this point and was just gazing over at Soap; who was looking up at the clear, star filled sky with a look of awe.

Stars and shit had apparently been something that Soap was really into when he was younger. So much so that he’d regularly go out and just sit under the stars late into the night.

He’d just finished recounting a story of when he’d done just that, and when he returned home, he was greeted with his very annoyed mother. The laugh he’d let out from that was still visible on his lips as he smiled up at the stars.

He looked beautiful.

Simon found himself softly gazing at Soap. The only thing in his mind was Johnny’s features; his general side profile, soft lips, slightly curved nose, and big blue eyes.

He turned to look at Ghost, a soft expression on his face.

“Thank you for coming with us today. I’m glad you got to see it”

“Me too, Johnny”

He knew what Soap meant. He knew what he’d responded wasn’t really to what he’d said (even though Soap was none the wiser). But he couldn’t help himself imagining the wide smile on the man’s face throughout the day; his happiness and excitement practically palpable.

He was glad he got to see that. A free energy that was different from what he had in the field. It wasn’t an almost feral grin full of adrenaline and the high of whatever explosion he’d just detonated. It was one of stressless joy and something so purely Johnny. The Johnny that existed before the world of the SAS got their hands on him.

Simon and Ghost adore watching their sub play with others. Some days, when he's feeling good, he rough houses and shows that want for harder play. Other days, when he's a little wobbly, he seeks out the softer things, the mix of age play and pet play that draws Simon more to the forefront, but is no less endearing to Ghost.

Today is one of those wobbly days.

A good one, all things considered; the migraine medication has kicked in, and Johnny isn't wincing at lights or too many loud noises. Still, Simon keeps the lights off and his voice soft as he pets over Johnny's head, keeping his touch light behind the soft headband with his puppy ears on it.

"That's it, good lad," he coos, just watching Johnny settle. He's got his body-length eel stuffie clutched in his arms and legs, his head in Simon's lap. He's not as mouthy as usual, probably on account of the tenderness in his head, but he is happily sucking on a pacifier. The TV is off, letting the living room be filled with the sound of birdsong through the open window.

Johnny stretches out, knees cracking a little as he uncurls himself from his shrimp position, and nuzzles in closer to Simon's thigh. Simon waits a beat, and when Johnny settles down again, he resumes petting him and cooing soft praises. They've been at this for a while, and Simon expects they'll be at it for a while still.

Until he sees the moment of change.

The heat, building at the base of his pup's spine, thrumming in his blood, aching between his thighs. Each word, each gentle touch, coaxes the heat to higher and higher intensities. Simon knows how praise affects Johnny, but he didn't think on a day like today he'd express it as such. Yet he rolls onto his back, mouth working over his pacifier and legs parting, arms still wrapped around his eel. In this position, he could want tummy rubs, or something else.

From the way he's canting his hips up, Simon guesses it's something else.

Simon gently brings a hand down to his tummy, softly rubbing over his pup's stomach, seeing if that helps. And it does, a little, but it's not long before Johnny's whimpering, hips pushing upward more insistently now.

"What's that, pup? Need something a little more?" Simon murmurs, letting his hand drift further down, over Johnny's pelvis, and further down to the apex of his thighs.

A shyly signed 'yes' is his reward, and Simon can't help but coo softly. "What a good lad you are, asking for what you need. Daddy's so proud of you."

He can feel the way heat pools between Johnny's legs, wetness and slick building as he squirms. He wants to relieve his good boy of this torture, but he's in a onesie today, which means baring all of his body to his touches.

"Will you be cold, sweetheart, if Daddy undresses you?" he asks. Johnny gives a little muffled 'arf!' in response, insistently lifting his hips up, which makes Riley's chest warm.

The soft praise continues as he moves his hand back up to grasp the zipper resting on Johnny's chest, unzipping it and moving it down. Tanned skin reveals itself, a dark patch of chest hair and his top surgery scars coming into view. He keeps unzipping his onesie until he gets to the lower stomach, at which point he slips his hand beneath the garment, cupping Johnny's wet arousal.

Simon coos softly at him, rubbing his fingers along the soaked material of his briefs, feeling how needy he's getting with each passing moment. He purposefully strokes his fingers along the small bump that is Johnny's cock, which twitches with the sensation. Johnny whimpers, gripping his eel tighter and hiding his face, the pacifier moving even faster as he gives in to his oral fixation.

"You look so good, all wet like this for Daddy. So sweet for me, such a good boy."

Nothing compares to the way Johnny looks up at him, so sweet and submissive, in this moment. He's begging for relief, hips twitching up against him, and Simon can't help but give in. It's Ghost who would torture them both, with slow circles of his fingers around his clothed cock, little taps here and there as he made Johnny beg. But Simon is far kinder to both of them, moving his hand beneath Johnny's briefs with ease.

Johnny moans, muffled behind the pacifier, blue eyes dark with arousal. He doesn't speak – he can't, in this headspace, with this pacifier – but Simon can hear him well enough. He knows what his good boy would be begging for if he could, and who is he to make him wait?

Simon hushes him as he slips two fingers inside his wet heat. Johnny's legs tremble, his mouth falling open, the pacifier falling from his mouth. The steady curl of Simon's fingers, coupled with the lazy thrusts into him, drag soft pants and moans from him. Simon keeps working his pup over, taking his time playing with his soft wetness, stroking his walls and playing with his hard cock, standing at attention adorably between scarred, strong thighs.

Everything about Johnny is adorable when he's like this.

The sweet thing arches his back, and Simon withdraws his fingers, just to hear him whine. Then he sinks them back into him, to the hilt, and he can practically see the way Johnny's body relaxes beneath him.

"Oh, precious thing you are; need to be full, pup? Are you going into heat, baby?"

Johnny signs 'yes' again, eyes closed and lips parted, panting sweetly as he squeezes around Simon's fingers. Simon groans at that, just a soft sound, but he can feel how Johnny wets a little at it. He knows his pup likes when he shows signs of pleasure, but this is about Johnny.

"Here, sweetheart, let Daddy help." He withdraws his fingers and adjusts them, stripping Johnny of his onesie and briefs as he goes. He ends with Johnny still laying on his back but more supported by pillows under his hips and head, the pup still gripping his eel, the stuffie now held in his mouth. His hips wiggle enticingly, and Simon chuckles as he slides a hand between his thighs.

"Wagging your tail, hmm? Feels good to be like this, where you belong, pup."

Johnny keens in agreement, and Simon hums, sinking his fingers back inside. After a little while, he adds a third, giving Johnny a familiar stretch. His pup takes him like a good boy, and Simon is sure to tell him as such. He says it's good to practice tricks like this, so he can stay ready when Daddy asks him to perform. The way Johnny squeezes around his fingers tells him that he's hit a good spot, and so he teasingly continues to stroke him there, dragging his pup towards orgasm.

Ghost surfaces just enough to float the idea of leaving Johnny like this for a little while longer, barely stroking along the good parts and leaving him hard and dripping, until he begs. Simon ignores him, shoving him back behind the apartment door in his mind, leaving him and his afternoon with Johnny free of interruption.

He leans down and presses a kiss to Johnny's tummy, and he feels how he clenches, hips flexing in anticipation.

"Go on," he encourages with a low laugh. "Be good, come for Daddy."

Johnny does, clenching and moaning as pleasure zips up his spine, pooling wet and slick between his thighs. He fingers him through it, just to be rewarded with the moans turning into hiccuping pants and whines as Johnny starts to get overstimulated. His fingers slow as he softly hushes his pup, running a hand along his abdomen. He takes a few moments to breathe with him, letting him recover, before he continues with the praise.

"There's a good lad. Just breathe, you did so well, pup. Just as I asked. What a good boy you are, so good for me. Isn't that right, Johnny?"

In response, Johnny reveals himself even more, pulling his knees back to his chest to put himself on display.

"Oh?" A little laugh. "Ready so soon, pup?"

A pathetic whine is his answer, and Simon chuckles. "Alright, alright sweetheart. Give me a moment."

The next thing he hears from Johnny is a needier whine, entrance clenching to make himself more tantalizing. It works, and any plans Simon had of slowly working Johnny over — maybe even making love to him — are forgotten. Instead he tells him to take a big breath in as he undresses, and then slowly let it out; and when he exhales, Simon presses inside, turning that exhale into a delicious cry.

This is what he's made for, and Simon tells him as such; tells him that his sweet pup was meant to be a good boy and take Daddy's cock like this. It goes right to Johnny's wet heat, making him tighter and wetter with every word.

He's drooling into the soft fur of his stuffie, making pleased and desperate noises with every roll of Simon's hips, hands gripping the couch arm above his head as he's taken apart. He's gorgeous like this, so trusting of Simon, so eager to find his pleasure, even on a day that previously would've derailed his whole week. He's learning to trust himself, and Simon couldn't be prouder.

That pride bleeds into his praise, encouraging Johnny to keep listening to his body, to keep seeking out what makes him feel good because it's so, so important that he does. It turns into declarations of love soon enough as Simon allows himself to set a rhythm that won't jostle Johnny too much but still gives him what he needs.

Dual pleasure-filled noises fill the space when words fail Simon, and it doesn't take long before he's feeling Johnny tremble beneath him, his orgasm taking him by surprise. He looks up at Simon — all flushed face and wet mouth — and Simon comes too, pressing flush against his pup's hips as he fills him. He feels intoxicated with pleasure, and he can't help himself from further praise, coupled with a check-in. He needs to know his pup is still alright.

Johnny waits a moment, clearly trying to think after the pleasure, but he gives a thumbs up. He's fine, Daddy took care of him. Relief gives Simon a lightness that he could grow used to, and he leans down to give Johnny a kiss. His pup happily returns it, clumsy and earnest, and Simon chuckles softly.

"There, pup, easy. You're alright. You did so good for me, you know that?"

Amidst the blushing and happy panting, Johnny finds the coordination to squeeze down around Simon's still-hard cock. Simon tilts his head at that, giving Johnny a playful suspicious look.

"What's this; my pup's not been satisfied yet?"

Pathetic whimpers and whines are his answer, and another delicious squeeze around his cock. Johnny doesn't even have it in him to look innocent about it; he's needy and counting on her.

Simon smiles at that and kisses him once more, before moving to murmur into his ear, "Let's give you what you need then, hmm?" as he rolls his hips.

Johnny keens, but Simon doesn't let up.

He never expected anything of Ghost, completely content with how things were.

So, Soap was surprised when one night he was pulled into the Lieutenant’s living quarters, and offered the chance to really see his partner for the first time.

“You don’t have to feel pressured, m' eudail. I’m not bothered by you wanting to keep your mask on”

Soap offered a way out. But Ghost had already made up his mind.

“I want you to see. But I’m not–“ he heaved a heavy sigh, “I won’t look the way you’re expecting”

“I already kinda saw you in Al’s safe house. I don’t care about scars n’ stuff. It’s nothing to be ashamed about, ‘specially not in our line of work” he tried to reassure him but it almost seemed to do the opposite of what he’d been going for.

“That’s not it. I just–“ he groaned and grumbled in slight frustration, “I’ll just do it. But if you say anything fuckin’ stupid I will punch you”

Soap nodded, seeming completely unbothered by the threat thrown his way.

Ghost huffed again to try ridding himself of the unusual fear he felt before he grabbed the top of his mask and pulled it off.

His hair stuck out messily and the eye black around his eyes was smudged, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t those that he was worried about anyway.

Soap looked at him for a minute, taking in the face that he thought he’d never get to see up close. Simon didn’t match his gruff voice so it was making his brain stutter.

“Can you speak for a second?”

Ghost’s brows scrunched in confusion. This was not what he’d expected him to say.

“…What?”

“I just– I need to see your voice come from you. The voice hasn’t connected to the face yet. So…please?”

“Okay? What should I say?”

“I don’ know! Just– talk about our last mission or somethin’!”

So Ghost spoke for a couple minutes, just factually talking about the simple mission they’d had last as Soap stared at him.

“Alright, you gotta stop with the starin’. ‘S fuckin’ creepy,”

Soap seemed to have somewhat zoned out because he jolted out of his revery.

“Oi! ‘M not creepy!”

“Yeah, you are. Your, blue as fuck, eyes are staring into my soul” he chuckled.

Soap grumbled something under his breath as his cheeks flushed.

“Hmm~?” He teased, leaning in.

He grumbled it out again but Ghost could actually make out what he said this time, “Not m’ fault your a handsome lad…”

Out of all the things Ghost had been called, handsome wasn’t one of them. His chest warmed with gender euphoria at being called handsome, and with affection at how cute Soap looked all flustered.

“Not the reaction I was expecting”

That caught the sergeant’s attention, “What were you expectin’?”

“Well I’m not exactly very masculine looking, am I?” He said like it was obvious.

“And?”

Ghost just blinked at him, confused, “What do you mean ‘and’?! My face doesn’t match anything else about me!”

“I don’ think so,” he added quickly.

But that just served to confuse Simon more. He was a tall, muscular, generally pretty big guy, with a ridiculous baby face. How was that not weird to him?

“I don’t understand you. Never will” he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Gotta keep you on your toes, eh?” He chuckled.

His face became a bit more serious as he looked at Ghost’s face again. His eyes moved along his features as he turned his head slightly.

He anxiously hesitated for a good minute before he spoke again, “Can I touch you?”

He nodded and Soap brought his hand up to his cheek.

Ghost cringed at the feeling of his soft cheek squishing under his partner’s hand.

“Didn’t know you had freckles, Si” he spoke softly, “I like ‘em”

Ghost kept quiet as Soap continued his work. He grazed his fingertips over all the edges and scars that his face had, looking at him with something pretty damn close to awe.

Suddenly Soap took his face in his hands and kissed him. He leaned back and smiled lovingly, “Much better now that I can actually see your reactions to me~” he purred.

Ghost stuttered for a moment before yanking Soap back down to him, kissing him fiercely. Soap hummed into the kiss, pushing him back and climbing into his lap. Ghost’s hands immediately grabbed onto his waist and pulled him closer, causing Soap to groan.

Soap broke their kiss to move down to Ghost’s, now exposed, neck. He shivered lightly as Soap kissed and nipped and sucked at his skin, clearly trying to leave marks on him.

Apparently Soap had decided to push his luck, because he felt a smirk grow on his face as he moved the collar of Simon’s shirt. Then with the skin bare, he quickly sunk his teeth into the crook of Ghost’s neck.

A low growl came from deep in Ghost’s throat as he grabbed onto the messy brown mohawk and pulled. Soap quietly moaned as he was yanked back, breathing heavier.

“Watch yourself, sergeant” he warned, his voice having gone beautifully gravely.

Soap smirked, then groaned when the hand in his hair tightened its hold.

“Just taking advantage of the given opportunity, Lt~” he chuckled breathily, “You’re so pretty all marked up like that~”

He expected a strong wave of disgust to flow through him at the word ‘pretty’, but nothing really came. It was muted and blurred. Surprisingly, it kinda felt good coming from Johnny.

“Shut up” he pulled him down roughly, growling into the kiss as the lips met.

He wakes up screaming.

He can't see anything. It's too dark, too hot. He tries to shove at the covers, kicking and squirming, but the weight presses down further. He's going to die here, he's going to be buried alive (again), he's —

His knee makes contact with something warm and solid, and a sharp, wounded noise follows.

He's not in a shallow grave, drugged to near catatonic states, being buried alive in the Mexican jungle. He's in his bed, on the other side of the Atlantic. It's dark and he's overheating because Johnny is plastered over him, probably trying to give him a reassuring presence so he doesn't wake up alone.

And Ghost just kneed him in the stomach.

"Fuck, Johnny? Sorry, I'm sorry," he mumbles, gripping his pup and moving him off his body, to the tousled bed beside him. He turns on the lamp, the yellow light illuminating his sweat-slick form, the way Johnny's curled up, tail tucked between his legs. His ears are back in uncertainty, and he licks his lips, baring his throat in submission.

"I know, I know, I- fuck, gimme a minute." The tears sting, his throat nearly closing with emotion. The rush of blood in his ears almost drowns out everything else. Trying desperately to keep some kind of composure, he presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, curling in on himself in his seated position.

He can't remember the details of the dream, nor even who was having it. It felt equal parts before Johnny and equal parts after; Roba and Makarov in one faceless, multinational evil hell bent on making Riley lose everything. The grave usually was Ghost, but the raw, unsculpted panic was all Simon.

He'd not protected Simon well enough and he'd hurt Johnny who was only trying to help. Fucking hell.

The bed shifts but he doesn't lift his head. Johnny's probably looking for space, after what happened. Or at least needs to stretch out any pain. The guilt weighs almost as heavy as the fear, distorted by the witching hour and embedding deep in his bones. With a sharp inhale, he realizes he hasn't taken a breath since he last spoke.

A pressure on the bed, and then a wet nose pressing against his wrist, a clawed hand pawing at his lap. Ghost swallows, lifting his gaze from his palms. Color flickers across his sight, silver sparks of static interrupting his view, but when the visuals settle, he sees that Johnny's grabbed his box of cigarettes, and is holding them gently in his mouth. The lighter, he holds in his other hand, as he sits on the bed, tail tentatively wagging.

So much care for such a battered pup. Ghost doesn't know how he got lucky enough to have Johnny choose to be in his life two times over, but he won't let him go so easily.

"Yeah, alright." A sniff, and he gives a gentle scruffle to Johnny's shaggy hair, between pointed dark brown ears. "Door. Go."

Among the many rules Simon's imposed in the house, one of the few Ghost usually doesn't fight him about is no smoking in the house. But as Johnny refuses to move, and instead casts a blue eyed glance to the rarely-used ash tray on Riley's side of the bed, Ghost figures he's earned it.

He takes the lighter from him, and the box of cigarettes. "Twist my arm, pup," he murmurs, tapping one out into his hand. He pops it into his mouth and lights it, the muscle memory already priming his brain for relaxation, the captive flame burning the shadows of his nightmare away.

Johnny sizes him up, giving him a little whine, before moving to sit beside him, and nose at his jaw. He places a few submissive licks there before softly asking, "Talk about it?"

Ghost doesn't answer, keeping his eyes closed as he takes another hit from the cigarette. Johnny waits, leaning his cheek against his shoulder. Ghost can hear the steady sweep of his tail across their sheets, the way his pup's ears twitch at every noise.

A positive thing about his transformation, he thinks; Johnny can hear better than he ever could as a human. Each and every noise is a new marvel to him, and Riley doesn't think he'll ever get used to Johnny's hard won innocence popping up now and again.

This time, however, Ghost knows what he's listening to: his breathing, his heart rate, his joints cracking as he absentmindedly stretches them, trying to get back into his body. That's his Johnny; self-assigned vitals monitor, who takes his job very seriously.

An insistent whine and little press of his nose against Ghost's jaw reminds him that he was asked a question.

"Memories." It's a gruff, blunt answer, but it is true. It's nothing fantastical or otherworldly; just the horrors of the life of Simon Riley.

Johnny whimpers, shifting his weight between his hands on the mattress, and then ducking his head down beneath Ghost's arm. With a practiced ease, Johnny slips his body into Ghost's lap, laying on his back to show his belly. He parts his thighs, absolutely no shame, as he sleeps completely naked, but Ghost can't blame him. They're finally somewhere without the constant need for protection; he can enjoy sleeping naked. He's earned it, and his fur hides anything vulnerable anyway.

Ghost slides a hand along his stomach, and Johnny promptly begins happily groaning, low satisfied noises exaggerated by his own sleepiness. A smile crosses scarred lips, smoke ghosting out through the chip in his lip and teeth.

Time passes as a storm settles right over their house. Johnny's tail steadily thumps a rhythm of peace. The cigarette burns away, taking the ghosts of the past with it. Ghost is left with a mind raw and a lap full of happy, sleepy pup.

He swallows, emotion rising in his throat again as he crushes out the butt of the cigarette in the ash tray. The shift in motion brings Johnny back to wakefulness, yawning and showing off his teeth. Big blue eyes blink up at him, yet he makes no move to get up.

Ghost regards him with a rarely expressed softness. Johnny's innocent look turns into a happy grin, and he sits up, nuzzling against his mouth again, heedless of the cigarette scent. The nuzzles turn to soft kisses, and Ghost brings his hands up to hold Johnny steady, taking his comfort from him, which Johnny so generously gives.

When they part, Riley feels more even, more balanced. Johnny seems to approve too, if his fanged smile is anything to go off of. He looks at him with a tenderness that makes Ghost feel a flash of discomfort, and the urge to duck behind Simon. But Johnny is faster, clawed hands holding Ghost's face, rough paw pads providing enough irritating stimulus to keep Ghost at the forefront, since Simon doesn't want to deal with it.

"What is it?"

Johnny's tail wags faster. "You love me."

He laughs, a short sound of surprise. "Yeah, Johnny. We love you."

"I love you."

"I know, Johnny."

There's a muffled start to a howl in Johnny's chest, tucked against his sternum. He wants to let everyone know, Ghost knows that, but it's four in the morning and that can't be good for anyone, even though they don't have any neighbors.

"Let's save that for the morning, okay? We can go to town, see how many compliments you get, how's that sound?"

Johnny's enthusiasm turns to wordless puppy excitement, and he snuggles closer to Ghost, licking his face.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. C'mon, time for a few more hours." He wraps his arms around Johnny in a steel embrace, pulling him down into the sheets. Johnny playfully wiggles, trying to escape, but Ghost doesn't let him get any room.

Johnny goes limp with a dramatic huff, though they both know even if Ghost were to release him, he wouldn't leave.

Not with how he shows his love.

Not with how Ghost needs his love.

Ghost presses a soft kiss to the back of his head, knowing Johnny will stay up until Ghost's been asleep for a suitable amount of time. Despite everything, all they've lost and gained, he's still got his six.

"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."

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 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.

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.