Pattern Breaker

Déjà Vu Married with the Sick Sense of Retribution

There were a lot of things Soap had to work through regarding what Ghost had done. It had only been a few days since the returned, sans Alejandro and Rodolfo, and it was all he could fucking think about. The way Ghost felt touching him was addicting— and even more exciting than the first time it had happened. Of course, it had gone much farther this time than previously. Too far.

Though minimizing it down to "what Ghost had done" wasn't fair, Soap had quickly realized. It wasn't just what he did, it was what both of them did. Soap could have stopped it. Just like the other times. Everything Ghost did was with purpose, with heavy consideration of all implications. He had even pleaded, practically begged Soap to tell him to stop— as if he needed the rejection to come to his senses and realize what was going on. It would be much easier if he had been able to blame it all on the Lieutenant. Absolve himself from the consequences of his own actions.

Soap should have told him to stop. He should have ended it right then and there. Just like he had before.

But he missed Ghost. He missed the knowing looks they used to share, the mutual frustration when something went wrong, the jokes and banter and borderline flirting that has now twisted far from harmless. And waking up, still melted into Ghost's touch after having the dreams he had leaving him raw and hungry in the worst of ways just contributed to his downfall. Even the old, barely faded sting of emotional rejection that still left him feeling dejected and pitiful couldn't mitigate the irresponsible need he felt ripping through his body like a fire.

He should have been humiliated, to be honest, when Ghost left him wet and sticky in his own cum. And he had, for a moment, when the post-nut clarity freed his mind from the shackles Ghost's demanding touch had trapped him in. He had already started considering with dread and apprehension that Ghost was just doing it as a way to get himself off and to satisfy his own needs. But Ghost hadn't even touched himself, and instead chose to keep stroking Soap until he was shaking and whimpering— unable to speak too much, too much, please stop, please don't fucking stop . Then he grabbed at Soap's thighs, palming them in an almost possessive manner as if to say You're Mine and licked Soap's cum off his glove with a light in his eyes Soap had never seen before. It was filthy, watching him shove his own fingers into his mouth like a starving man and tasting Soap's arousal and spit.

The first thing Soap had done when they made it back to their base was lock himself in his room, biting down on his pillow and stroking himself to the memory of Ghost's throat bobbing as he swallowed Soap's expense.

He'd come alarmingly quick at that, but not before imagining the way Ghost would look with his mask rucked up to his nose, freeing his mouth and shoving his cock into his mouth. Imagining his lips wrapped around and sucking on his cock was such a pretty sight, and sent Soap spiraling towards his orgasm with almost as much force as the one Ghost had given him.

It wasn't until after that when he was finally able to think objectively. Pondering over his own broken morals and decisions.

He had made himself an internal list of things to consider.

One, he wanted to feel Ghost touching him again. To feel the worn leather of his glove wrapped around him, to hear the erotic appraisal from the first time Ghost saw him over and over again. He wanted to make Ghost feel just as good, wanted him to writhe and beg and plead under his own touch. To see how much noise he could draw from the stoic man. To see how long it would take until he cracked.

Two, he was sickeningly in love with Ghost, with Simon, and felt a sense of disrespect and shame at the thought of using him to supplement the unrequited feelings. He couldn't sit here and just let himself believe Ghost was using him to get his rocks off. If Ghost was guilty of that, so was Soap. That was exactly what he had done. They were both at fault. Soap had taken his emotions, boxed them up, and shoved them into the deepest parts of his subconscious he could find to be rediscovered later. It was the first thing he had done when he regained his bearings after sleeping on Ghost's chest. Honestly, he wasn't sure if it made it easier or harder , because with everything else pushed far down on his list of priorities out of force, the only two things on his mind were Ghost's body and the mission— the adrenaline of which just proved to shoot straight down to his dick and annoyingly so. There was no hiding the looks he had kept giving Ghost, and the heat that would follow. Ghost had obviously caught wind of it, and Soap could practically taste the change in his demeanor when he did. Every single inch of his body was alight with anticipation when Ghost had seemed to purposefully follow him into that shitty, dingy office room. Any other time it would have seemed innocuous, just a Lieutenant and his Sergeant being thorough and watching each other's six. And while at first glance, it was, but Soap knew the implications behind it.