INFECTIOUS [GHOSTXSOAP]

VI. ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER

WARNING - FLUFF / JEALOUSY / INJURIES

A/N ... I appreciate every single one of you who have stumbled upon this story of mine and would be absolutely grateful if you could leave a like or sneaky comment on this. It helps me know I'm on the right path but also keeps me motivated to write more stories like this.
Much love.

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Sweat beaded down Soap's face and neck, soaking his shirt and left dark spots on the mat below his feet.

With a grunt, he swung his right fist, landing square in the centre of the punching bag in front of him, the force rippling up his arm, through his shoulder and down his back, before he threw his left hand, and continued to repeat the combination.

Like he'd been doing for the last 20 minutes.

After the debrief, neither Soap nor Ghost admitted to the scuffle between them, even though they both arrived at the helicopter cut up and bloodied. Even when Price had dragged them into his office and questioned them both, knowing something had happened, though what, he couldn't be sure.

Neither had said boo, even when questioned separately, so with a frustrated grunt Price had sent them off to eat and recoup. Medical if they needed it.

Soap had gone straight to his room, showered, changed, glared at the quickly healing puncture marks on his neck, then went straight to the gym, where he had been for the last 2 hours.

Having missed Soap at dinner, Gaz had gone looking for him, worried after spying the fresh wounds on his neck when the omega had climbed into the helicopter, anger and concern immediately flooding his system.

He now stood, leaning against the wall, watching Soap sweat out whatever had happened, surprised he still had the energy to keep throwing punch after punch after punch.

Not sure if he should say anything or stay quiet, Gaz decided to bite the bullet and cleared his throat, watching Soap pause briefly, then start up again. “Wanna talk about it?” He asked quietly, raising a brow.

“Nope.”

Soap's reply was clipped, short. His tone hoarse, aggressive, though not at Gaz, who knew that.

Kicking off the wall, Gaz moved closer and held the bag still Soap, bracing it as he let loose on it, just waiting for the omega to tire himself out, to burn whatever he needed to, and Soap took offering, putting everything into every punch he threw at that bag, grunting with every exertion.

And he continued, thankful for Gaz's silence, until he ran out of steam, the last swing barely connecting to the bag, his body stumbling against it, exhausted.

“Better?” Gaz asked, a slight smirk on his face.

Soap lifted his gaze, leaning his cheek against the bag, partially hugging it, and gave Gaz a weak, yet dopey smile. “Enough.” He shrugged slightly.

Locking eyes, Soap reached out, and gently punched Gaz's shoulder, before he moved over to the bench, and dropped to it with a huff, quickly wiping his face and neck down with a towel, gulping water from his bottle.

Stepping over slowly, Gaz dropped down to the bench beside Soap, crossing his ankles in front of himself. “You gonna talk about it?”

“Nothin’ to talk ‘bout.” Soap grumbled, taking another large mouthful of water.

Humming with a slight hint of amusement, Gaz's gaze dropped to Soap's neck, before he nodded stiffly. “Those marks don't lie Soap.” He said softly, keeping his voice low, as his gentle eyes moved up to Soap's.