Sweet Musings (or Night's trans ghost fics)
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Summary
"D’ye ‘ave a favorite scar?"
“I do.”
Soap grins. “Ye gonnae tell me whit one or do Ah gottae guess?”
Ghost huffs with amusement, weighing his options. The hopeful look on Soap’s face makes the choice easy. Ghost sets down his beer and with a smooth motion pulls his shirt overhead.
Soap’s expression is everything he could have hoped for, wide eyed admiration, lips parted in surprise, the tint of blush spreading over his cheeks.
If Ghost’s forearms are littered with scars, his torso is practically a collage of them. The eye-catching Y shaped vivisection. The starburst on the right side of his ribcage from the meat hook. A constellation of circular cigarette burns spread across his clavicles. His left flank, covered in a burn scar that’s healed into a watercolor of purple and pink stretched skin. An acid splash across his right hip bone that peaks up over the waistband of his joggers. A myriad of other miscellaneous marks.
OR
Ghost and Soap sit together on the roof watching the sunset and discuss scars.
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Summary
Whatever Ghost was expecting when he looked at Soap's sketchbook, it certainly was not a catalog of dicks.
OR
Ghost finally lets Soap draw him.
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