#I just like it when ghost is whimpering and limp underneath Johnny

[cod-fishing]

(Continuation of this post with vampire soap human ghost)

The second time Johnny feeds on Simon, they still stumble into it.

After that first time, in the bunker, they don’t really bring it up again. It’s not some elephant in the room, it doesn’t feel awkward per se, just not something that needs to be discussed.

And just as Ghost doesn’t bring it up with Johnny, he very purposefully locks his own thoughts on the interaction behind a very thick blast door in his own head. No no, it didn’t make him feel mind-blowingly relaxed and at ease for the first time in who knows how long. No, it absolutely did NOT make him content and settled in his own bones and feeling like Johnny hung the god damn moon. Nope.

And so it goes on for a few weeks. Everything back to normal. They go on a few more missions with far less problems than the one that got ghost and soap locked in that bunker in the first place, and slowly ghost isn’t even drifting off to the thought of Soap’s weight on him every night. The end of the next mission finds the team celebrating a tidy hit on their most recent target, smoke and whiskey filling them up in ghost’s office.

Eventually, laughter and traded stories slow. The captain heads off, begging the need for sleep. Gaz heads out to go call that girl he’s been seeing back in London. And his loyal sergeant is the only one left.

A comfortable silence drapes around them. It feels good, to just be with Johnny like this. His mask is off, but in the low light of his office, whiskey warming his belly, and nobody with Johnny around, it almost feels good.

“You know, I knew you were tough, but I’m still impressed with how you took my bite, Ghost.”

Glass at his lips, Ghost almost chokes at Johnny’s sudden interjection. His chest tightens at the thought of that moment, of Soaps steady weight on him, his teeth at his jugular -

Ghost shakes his head.

“Really didn’t feel like much. Not bad at least. Just made me kinda loopy.”

Soap looked at him thoughtfully. “Well, loopy makes sense, with the blood loss. But usually it hurts a lot, even when someone consents. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

Ghost clenches his jaw, and realizes an embarrassing moment later that he might genuinely be jealous of the idea of anyone underneath Soap like that.

Purposefully relaxing, he shrugs, hoping the topic will die out.

“You were really loopy. If anything,” Soap looks over at him, eyes hooded and head tilted back against the couch. Suddenly, ghost is nervous. “If anything, I would say you were enjoying yourself.”

Ghost can’t help the way he tenses, god damn it, and he can see the second soap narrows in on the movement, just like the predator he is.

He leans forward, his half empty glass balanced between strong fingers. “I mean you said it yourself, L.T.”

“Johnny,” Ghost interrupts, but it’s never stopped Soap before.

“You said it was good,” a smirk creeps onto his face, but there’s still that bit of wonder in his eyes.

“Johnny.”

“I mean that’s just curious to me. Why is that?”

“Johnny.”

He finally stops talking, but Ghost knows it doesn’t matter. He’s shown his fucking cards. Silence hangs between them, far less comfortable. Ghost glares at the stupid, beautiful cunt sitting across his desk from him, and Soap stares back with that same bloody smile in place.

Johnny knocks back the rest of his drink, and stands. His thighs flex under his jeans, and he moves towards Ghost, gracefully stepping around his desk. Ghost clenches his hands into fists as soap steps neatly in between his spread legs, and relaxes against his desk.

Ghost very purposefully doesn’t look up at him for a long, long moment. He keeps his eyes trained on the mug of pencils he keeps on his desk. Suddenly the bland mug stollen from the chow hall is the most interesting thing ghost has ever seen. Maybe he’ll just look at that for the rest of eternity.

But all too soon, his eyes flit up at his sergeant, completely against his wishes. Because he’s weak, he’s always been weak when it comes to Johnny, and god, he feels weak as he looks at him.

The barest hint of soap’s canines are peaking out between his teeth.

Ghost inhales sharply, feeling frozen in place at the intensity of soap’s stare. Soap’s eyes flick down, past Ghost’s chin to his bare neck, and then back up.

“Do you mind being a guinea pig, L.T.? I just want to understand why it doesn’t seem to hurt you.”

Ghost swallows, Soap watching the bob of his throat. “How, uh. How would you do that?”

“By feeding on you again,” he says it so calm, almost casually, even as tension is so thick Ghost can almost taste it. He can’t seem to find a response to that, so Soap continues.

“Now that I’m not starving, I can actually pay attention to what I’m doing, how you’re reacting.”

Ghost swallows again, and fuck it’s so embarrassing to know that soap can hear his heart rate slowly ticking up, racing like a rabbit in his chest. He still can’t force his mouth to move, and he wouldn’t even know what to say if he could.

Something changes in soap’s face, and he shifts, turning away from ghost.

“Sorry L.T., silly thing to ask. Didn’t mean to push you.”

Without thinking, ghost is snatching soaps wrist to hold him in place, suddenly desperate. And god, desperate for what? If he can’t even say it in his own head, how on earth is he gonna ask for it?

Soap looks back at him, surprise in his expression, lips parted just so. His fangs are gone, and Ghost wants them back. Doesn’t ever want Johnny to hide himself like that.

“No, uh. You can. You can do it,” he manages to choke out. And god, it’s worth it to see the way Johnny’s face lights up with hunger.

“Right now?” Soap asks.

“Uh..” ghost searches soap’s face, and there, there, he can see his fangs again, deadly sharp, and that expression- “yes.”

Soap is on him before he can blink, bullying his way into his lap, strong legs boxing him in. One strong hand runs up his shoulder, gripping the back of his head and gently tilting it to the side, opening ghosts neck up to Johnny. Ghosts hands are fisted in soap’s shirt, and he finds himself almost panting at the anticipation, at Johnny just sitting on him, breathing against his throat.

“Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”

He jerks his head in a nod, and sucks in a sharp breath.

Johnny’s teeth meet his skin.

Again, there’s the pain, but already, Ghost feels heat flood his body, turning his limbs to jelly, turning the pain sweet. Almost instantly, Johnny is moaning against his neck, tongue lapping at his pulse, and Ghost has to stop himself from moaning back.

“Fuck,” soap slurs against his throat, “I thought you tasted this good just because I was starving.”

Ghost’s hands clench around Soap’s hips. He can feel the beating of his heart everywhere, in every poor of his body. Somewhere, far in the back of his brain, Ghost is fixated on soap’s fingers on his scalp. The grip isn’t forceful, it’s light. But ghost has seen the way soap can hold down a meal, the strength in his fingers as he forces meat to comply, to stay in place until he can devour it.

God, he must be fucked in the head, because he only goes more boneless at the thought. It feels like the whole universe has been shrunk, nothing outside of this room, hell nothing outside the circle of their bodies, exists.

Johnny pulls back just a bit, and curses.

“Fuck, just a little more, okay? You just-“ he sounds desperate, and cuts himself off by plunging his fangs back in Ghost’s throat.

It’s much less gentle than Soap had been before, and Ghost does moan at that, which Soap answer back with a growl. Ghost feels it in his throat, his chest, everywhere. He feels…he feels fucking claimed.

It’s a miracle he doesn’t cum on the spot.

By the time Soap eases his teeth out of Ghost’s wounds, he’s started to see black spots at the corner of his vision. He probably should have told Soap to stop, but god, he didn’t want to. He wanted to be here forever.

Soap gets one look at him, and his face drops.

“Shit, L.T., why didn’t you tell me? Fuck, I know you keep snacks in here somewhere,” he turns, angling away from Ghost to rustle around in his desk, looking for his stash of granola bars. Finding it, he tears one open and breaks off a chunk, feeding it directly to Ghost like some sort of sad baby bird.

Ghost chews mechanically, barely even conscious of what he’s doing. When Soap offers him water, he swallows that too, and then more of the granola bar. The whole time, all he can focus on is a tiny smear of blood - his blood - on Johnny’s mouth.

Slowly, Ghost starts to feel like he’s a few steps from unconsciousness, instead of hovering on the edge. He realizes that he’s still hard as a rock, and takes a second to marvel at his own body. So little blood he’s about to keel over, but he’s got enough for a raging boner.

Soap must be able to smell his return to earth or something, because he stops looking so worried, and starts looking smug.

Fuck.

“So I see you do in fact enjoy that.”

“Shut it, Sergeant,” Ghost manages to croak out, and Johnny grins.

“I’ll leave the scientific survey of your experience for tomorrow, for now I’m thinking I’ll help you to bed.”

And he looks smug, so goddamn smug, and Ghost knows he will in fact need help getting to his room on the other side of the base. He can’t let it end this way, so unbalanced.

“Johnny, you’ve got-“ he lets his eyes go soft, lets his lips part, and reaches out his thumb, gently swiping the bit of blood from the corner of Soap’s mouth. Johnny’s eyes widen at the motion, and when Ghost brings his thumb back to his own mouth, sucking the blood off of it, that hunger is back.

“Oh you wanker,” Soap curses at him.

Ghost grins.

There’s no going back from there.

[subjectnr8]

SoapxGhost pt3

"Warmin' yer hands"

There’s an odd feeling of numbness. It’s spreading with a hot touch, from his aching head to his frozen feet. With a groan Ghost sits up in his bed. His head immediately started throbbing. “Faking hell-” His sheets felt wet, he must’ve started sweating during his sleep.

Ghost reached out to the glass of water that always stood on his bedside table. With every sip he got painfully aware of the scratching that had nestled in his throat. Good Gods, what did he do to deserve this? The heat from before started to come back, now spreading in his face, making his eyes watery.

It would take Ghost some more convincing later to finally accept that he is sick, but his symptoms are clear. Headache, sweat, shivers, the heat in his body, the aching muscles. He had a flu. Great, bloody amazing.

Nevertheless, Ghost took in his surroundings and searched for something ,somebody, that could help him with all the pain he was feeling. Painkillers, tea that magically would appear, a warm blanket, Johnny with his fancy flask. But nothing. Ghost’s room was empty and lonely. On most days Ghost appreciated having a room for himself, but now with a raging sickness inside him, he would accept somebodies help without hesitation.

The ache in his head was killing him, so he just snuggled back into his bed and buried his face in his pillows. He shivered. With sheets wet from sweat they were clinging to his aching limps like a second layer of skin. Ghost would have to change them, make himself tea and getting meds for every single complain he had. But he couldn’t. He felt exhausted, just sitting up right now felt like the most intense workout session.

7 am. Training had started half an hour ago. They would miss him, they would look for him. He was sure. Not many in the taskforce had the guts to step into Ghost’s room, let alone remind Ghost that he was late for training. But people like Soap and Gaz, they would burst through the door any second. They would tell him off, making stupid jokes as always. But they would take care of him.

Teary eyes focused on the door. It was hard to rely on others, especially for Ghost. But in order to perform well in the taskforce Price had made it a necessity for Ghost to have at least 3 people he would let close to him. Close as in “I sit next to them during lunch” and “I don’t groan loudly when I am partnered up with them”.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. With a desperate try to flee from all his aching Ghost had fallen asleep again. It was an uneasy sleep, with way too many thoughts running laps in his head. His shivering body was losing liquid and warmth left and right and Ghost could just helplessly lie there and pray for his mates to come find him.

Coughing hurts. While trying to sooth the endless scratching of his throat, Ghost had fallen into several coughing fits. Each cough sending another wave of pain through his body. He felt like whining, like whimpering. Complaining, crying, swearing, God damn why? Why him? It reminded him of a few nights ago. Where he was tempted to dumb all his emotions out on Soap.

He whined, hiding his face under the sweaty blanket. Johnny. Fuck, Johnny what is taking you so long?

There has been a soft knock. Or not, Ghost could be hallucinating by now. The heat in his body made him dizzy, he felt like puking. Another knock, firmer than before. Ghost didn’t answer, didn’t move. In fear of puking or passing out, or was it the sheer exhaustion that took over him? Either way, he stayed hidden under the blanket.

A firm hand grabbed him by his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Simon?” Oh, John. Not the John he was so frustrated about, but he now was in good hands. And that’s all his mushy brain could care about.

Sorry I missed out on training. Apologies sir, I’ll be out in a second. I overslept, Captain.

“Price…” Ghost sniffled, fever making his eyes seem glassy. He wiggled his head out from underneath the blanket so it now only covered his lower half of his burning face. “I-.” With the sight of his Captain he instinctively searched for an excuse. Something that would assure Price that he was fine. That he was sorry.

Price on the other hand didn’t hesitate as he reached for Simon’s forehead, a deep frown forming on his bearded face at the touch of burning, sweating skin. A sigh left the older man as he sat down on Simon’s bed. Ghost gave up on trying to find an excuse, his eyes silently following Price. “I knew something was up with you, but I didn’t expect a full blown flu, Simon.”

The soft usage of his name made Ghost relax. He despised his name, yet hearing it whilst feeling like dying indeed felt… good. Price provided some warmth while going through the typical symptoms of a flu. Ghost only nodded his head, groaning in affirmation every time a symptom applied to him. For a second time Price reached for Ghost’s forehead, letting his hand linger a little longer.

“I’ll be back in 30, I need to do a checkup on my boys out there, but I’ll send a nurse in to do a check up on you. Until, keep on fighting, son.” Price rose from bed and put Ghost’s balaclava down on the bedside table. Ghost hadn’t been wearing his beloved masked and had not noticed at all. With a groan he turned over again to try and find some more sleep. Having Price here was oddly comforting, yet, when wasn’t it? Price spread this weird feeling of comfort and safety, similar to the warmth Soap always emitted. But with Price it was more… fatherly.

you can find pt4 here >:)