Unseen | Ghost x Soap

Chapter 30: Dinner Tension

Soap's POV:

Dinner with the team was always a boisterous affair. After the intensity of the mission and the rigorous training sessions, it was a chance to unwind and enjoy some camaraderie. The mess hall was filled with the sounds of laughter and conversation, the clatter of utensils on plates, and the comforting hum of camaraderie.

I took my usual seat, grabbing a tray of food and settling down next to Ghost.

The rest of the team was already gathered, the atmosphere light and relaxed. Ghost and I exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment of the tension that had been simmering between us since our return from Siberia.

The conversation flowed easily, a mix of mission debriefs and light-hearted banter. Ghost and I found ourselves engaged in a playful argument about the best strategies for close-quarters combat, our voices rising above the din of the mess hall.

"Mate, l'm telling you, speed over power any day," I said, pointing my fork at him for emphasis.
Ghost smirked, leaning back in his chair. "And I'm telling you, power is what gets the job done. You can't argue with results."

"Speed gets you out of tight spots," ! countered. "You just don't like to admit you've been outmaneuvered."
Gaz, sitting across from us, laughed.

"Sounds like someone's still sore about that training session."
The table erupted in laughter, and I felt a flush rise to my cheeks. "I'm not sore," I muttered, though the grin on my face betrayed me.

As the conversation continued, I felt Ghost's hand brush against my knee under the table. I stiffened slightly, my heart rate quickening at the unexpected touch. He kept his expression neutral, engaging in the conversation as if nothing was amiss.

"What do you think, Soap?" Price asked, drawing me back into the discussion. "Speed or power?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but Ghost's hand moved up my thigh, the touch firm and deliberate. The words caught in my throat, and I struggled to maintain my composure. "1, uh, I think... both have their merits," | stammered, trying to sound normal.

Ghost's hand continued its slow ascent, his fingers brushing the inside of my thigh. I could feel the heat rising in my face, my pulse pounding in my ears.
The casual conversation around the table seemed surreal, a backdrop to the intimate, secret touch.

"You alright, Soap?" Gaz asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You're looking a bit flushed."
I forced a laugh, trying to play it off.
"Just a bit warm in here, that's all."

Ghost's hand moved higher, the pressure increasing as he stroked the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I bit back a gasp, my fingers gripping the edge of the table as I tried to keep my breathing steady.

The sensation was maddening, a mix of pleasure and frustration that left me flustered and distracted.
Price was saying something about the next phase of our training, but his words barely registered. All I could focus on was the slow, deliberate movement of Ghost's hand and the growing arousal that threatened to betray me.

"So, Soap," Price said, drawing my attention back to him. "What's your take on the new training protocols?"
Ghost's fingers brushed dangerously close to my crotch, and I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "I think... they're a good idea," I managed, my voice wavering slightly. "We need to be prepared for anything."

The rest of the team nodded in agreement, oblivious to the torment I was enduring. Ghost's hand stayed where it was, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my inner thigh. I could feel myself getting hard, the arousal building with each passing moment.

I shifted slightly, trying to create some distance, but it was no use. Ghost's touch was unrelenting, a constant, teasing reminder of the tension between us. I glanced at him, my eyes meeting his, and saw the mischievous glint in his gaze.

"Relax, Soap," he whispered, his voice low and teasing. "You're doing great."

I swallowed hard, my heart racing as I tried to focus on the conversation around me. The team continued to talk and laugh, oblivious to the intimate exchange happening under the table. I forced myself to participate, to respond to their questions and comments, but it was a struggle to keep my voice steady.

Ghost's hand moved again, his fingers brushing against my growing erection. I bit my lip, a wave of pleasure washing over me. The pressure was almost too much, and I fought to keep my composure, to maintain the façade of normalcy.
As the conversation wound down, 1 grabbed my bag and placed it on my lap, hoping to hide the evidence of my arousal. Ghost's hand finally retreated, but the smug look on his face told me he knew exactly what he had done.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, the tension between us a constant, unspoken presence. As we left the mess hall, I shot him a glare, but he just chuckled, the sound low and intimate.