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Chapter Text

Soap wasn’t good at keeping secrets. 

When it came to classified information, or intelligence related to the mission, Soap was as tight-lipped as any good operator. He wouldn’t have made it into the 141 if he wasn’t.

It wasn’t even that Soap had never had secrets in his personal life. One of the most satisfying moments of his career had occurred when Price had learned, years after the fact, that Soap had both received and removed a tramp stamp tattoo while under his command. The nature of the tattoo remained a mystery to all but Soap, though Soap had caught Price staring at his back more than once, and he reveled in the attention. 

Where it got sticky for Soap was actively hiding a significant part of his life, the most important part, if Soap was honest with himself. He could conceal a tattoo or zip his lips when it came to the location of a safehouse. None of those secrets held Soap’s heart in their hands, hanging his happiness and the very purpose of his life on their hooks. 

That was what Simon “Ghost” Riley was to Soap. 

The most agonizing six months of Soap’s life passed with this secret digging its claws deeper and deeper into him. At one point, he was certain Price knew, having seen him and Ghost acting too familiar one too many times. Relief like Soap had never known washed over him at the thought that maybe he wouldn’t have to come clean to his father figure slash mentor slash commanding officer. Maybe Price already knew, and his silence was a kind of approval. 

Then Price went out with the lads, got a little too drunk, and made a comment about how Ghost needed to stop looming over Soap’s shoulder or Soap was never going to find a girl to spend time with. 

Soap’s hopes were flung off the edge of a waterfall and dashed against the rocks below. There was no good way to tell your closest friends that not only had you been breaking the chain of command for months, surprise, it was with your male superior officer. The man so mysterious he could count on one hand the number of people who had seen his face. The man who prided himself on showing so little emotion most people believed he didn’t have any. 

That was who had Soap’s entire being aching for him. And Soap hadn’t told a soul, hadn’t let out a peep, hadn’t so much as breathed too hard in Ghost’s direction despite the gnawing desire to shout his happiness from the rooftops for all to hear. 

All said and done, Soap didn't think what happened was entirely his fault. It was inevitable that the cat would claw its way out of the bag eventually. And what a feral secret it was. 

***

The meeting had ended half an hour prior. The 141, with the addition of their resident liaisons, Alejandro and Rodolfo, were pushing the time limit on their scheduled meeting room, but none of them had anywhere else to be. 

At some point, the conversation had shifted from professional to personal, and the men had become caught up in banter as they had a habit of doing. Price lit up a cigar. Alejandro propped his feet up on the table. Ghost even pulled his mask up, just so he could enjoy the tea Soap had made for him, which was far too bland and weak to be called anything but water with a bit of leaf in it. 

Anyone would have let their guard down. 

It was unfortunate that Soap was the rule, not the exception.  

“Hold on, hold on, MacTavish!” 

Alejandro’s face was split into a wide grin, and he couldn’t stop laughing long enough to spit his words out. Beside him, Rodolfo’s shoulders shook with silent mirth, hand clamped over his mouth. Soap’s story wasn’t that funny, but the way Alejandro reacted was, and Rodolfo couldn’t tear his eyes away from Alejandro’s face. 

“You are telling me that the reason you are called ‘Soap’ is because you ‘clean up’ with the ladies?”

The table exploded in jeers. Soap simply sat back among the chaos, arms folded over his chest and a smirk plastered on his features. 

“I’m just telling you what the rumors are.”

“He’s takin’ the fucking piss!” Gaz exclaimed over Price’s disbelieving snort and Ghost’s deafening eye roll. “I know how you got that name. It’s because of your record– ow, fuck!” 

Soap shuffled his feet under the table as if he hadn’t just crushed Gaz’s toes under the heel of his boot. “That’s classified information.”

“Oh, you cheeky fucker–” 

“Rumors are that for a reason,” Soap said. “Gaz is jealous because he hasn’t gotten a girl to look his way since we passed those wee coos out on patrol a few months back.” 

The force of Gaz’s punch to the shoulder rocked Soap’s entire body, nearly toppling him to the floor. Cackling, Soap righted himself using the edge of the table, while Alejandro looked on in confusion. 

“Coo? What is–” He leaned over, and Rodolfo whispered in his ear. A laugh bubbled up in Alejandro’s chest.

“Una vaca, sí. Cow.” Alejandro nodded sagely, and the table went quiet as a nasty expression crept over his face. 

“That’s a rude thing to say about your mother, MacTavish.” 

Soap’s mouth fell open in shock, while Gaz’s howling drowned out any protest he might have made. Even Price choked on his cigar smoke. Reaching across the table, Gaz and Alejandro pounded fists, and Soap received a hearty slap on the back when Gaz sat down again. 

“Better luck next time, mate.”

“The Sergeant cannot be blamed,” Alejandro said, waving off the rude gesture Soap threw his way. “There are not enough men here worth looking at, so the women know not to try. But speaking of women, eh?” 

Alejandro turned his attention to his second in command, and Rodolfo adopted the look of a squirrel in the headlights of a tank. Either Alejandro did not notice, or took Rodolfo’s reaction as further suspicion of his guilt. 

“I’ve heard a few things. You have your eye on someone, Rudy? On base? ”

Gaz sat forward eagerly. “What’s her name? What’s she look like? Does she have…” He made weighing motions in front of his chest, and Rodolfo buried his face in his hands. “I’m just wondering! There’s that nurse in the infirmary with the tightest scrubs, I swear she’s always bending down to pick something up…”

The conversation dissolved into investigating Rodolfo’s love life, and Soap spared a glance at Ghost. He was still sipping tea out of his cup, mask rolled halfway up his face, but ever present. Soap basked in any opportunity to study Ghost’s features, even now, when all he could see was the sharp jut of his chin and the plump curve of his lips. Longing weighed on him, the ever-present reality that Soap craved Ghost the same way he needed air and water to survive. Soap couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t yearned for Ghost, in any way he could have him. 

Now Ghost was his, every bit of him, his heart and his hands and those pouty lips with the plush cupid’s bow. Hell if that thought didn’t make Soap feel giddy as a schoolboy. 

“I’ll leave you lads to it,” Soap found himself saying, rising to his feet, though his thoughts were muddled with the idea of Ghost. “Need to get out to the training fields. Got a demonstration for the greenies today.”

To get to the door, Soap had to pass by Ghost’s chair. A firm hand caught his arm before he could leave. Ghost was leaning back, eyes on Soap’s face, as though he, too, took every opportunity to drink in Soap’s features. As though he didn’t see Soap’s face a hundred times a day. 

“Forgetting something, Johnny?”

Soap’s heart soared, and a dopey grin spread over his features. He and Ghost might as well have been alone in the room for how Soap gazed at him. Ghost wasn’t wearing gloves, and the heat from his palm on Soap’s arm warmed his entire body, curling his toes in his boots. Such a simple action triggering a response like this could only mean one thing. 

Soap was in love. 

And it was glorious. 

Love-drunk on Ghost was the most intoxicating feeling, better than any drug, better than a good bottle of bourbon. Soap chased that high as often as he could. Even now. 

Soap stepped into Ghost’s space. The hand fell from his arm, and he leaned in, blind to the way Ghost tried to pull himself back from Soap’s embrace. 

Their lips met. Ghost was a statue beneath him, and the room was in a similar state, as though every man had inhaled at the same moment. 

That was the first inkling Soap had that he might have made a mistake. 

The look in Ghost’s eyes when they parted was nothing short of murderous. Soap sensed that he had less than five seconds to clean up the bomb he had just deployed before Ghost did it for him, and in a way he wouldn’t like. With five pairs of eyes tracking his every move, Soap straightened, and pasted on the cheeriest look he could manage with sweat dripping down his temple. 

“Gaz.” 

The man’s eyes were dinner plates as Soap approached. Gaz looked as though Soap had both shit in his front lawn and handed him the best Christmas present he had ever received. Confusion bled into panic when Soap drew ever closer, stooping to Gaz’s level, and did not stop his descent. 

“Mate, what in the hell are you–”

Roughly silenced by Soap’s lips, Gaz could only splutter and huff as Soap repeated his performance with every ounce of passion he had given Ghost. Gaz was utterly silent when Soap pulled away, mouth slightly open and lips kiss-bruised. Soap exhaled softly and patted Gaz’s cheek, giving a decisive nod. 

“I’ll see you later in the mess, aye?”

A strangled sound left Gaz’s throat, but he said nothing. 

That was a common theme among the men at the table. By now, Soap’s next victim had an inkling of what was going to happen to him, but he was unable to do anything except stare as Soap closed in. The kiss with Alejandro was chaste, if a little dry, though no less startling. He tasted of coffee and cigarettes. Soap hid his smirk, remembering Alejandro’s insistence not two days ago that he had stopped smoking, even though they could all smell the lie. 

“Hermano. Good to see you, as always.” 

Soap left Alejandro with a lingering stroke on his cheek. He did not comment on the fact that Alejandro felt a little too warm after they parted. 

If Alejandro was flushed, Rodolfo was positively hot under the collar, and Soap hadn’t even touched him yet. His eyes darted away from Soap’s when he approached, but Soap was undeterred. A finger under the chin brought Rodolfo’s lips to his. Soap could swear he felt movement in response. Grinning, Soap slipped Rodolfo a little extra, something to remember him by. 

Locking eyes with Price the moment Soap detached himself from Rodolfo’s lips was, perhaps, his second mistake of the day. In one swift movement, Price removed the handgun from his holster, and slapped it onto the table in front of him. Soap didn’t pout, because he refused to believe that he could, but it was close. 

“Don’t even think about it.”

Soap tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. He took a step forward. 

“While you still have your arse, Sergeant.” Price leveled his steely gaze at Soap. “Go.”

With his back to the door, Price couldn’t have possibly seen the kiss that Soap blew him on the way out, but his threat was still standing. The door slammed shut, and the room fell silent as a graveyard once again. Only Ghost was looking down, at the training bag Soap had left beneath his chair, that he would inevitably have to circle back for. 

It was Rodolfo that broke the tension. His fingers brushed his own lips, as though he could still feel Soap’s on him. 

“Did he use tongue with anyone else?”

No one responded. Rodolfo had his answer, though every one of them now had more questions than they had ever thought to wonder. 

Chapter Text

Trouble was brewing, thick in the air like the smell of ozone before a storm. 

Soap figured he deserved whatever revenge plot was headed his way, considering he had gotten off far too easy in his initial blunder. Besides a few strange looks thrown his way, none of Soap’s squadmates had said a word to him about the violation Soap had inflicted upon them. Even Ghost had taken Soap’s idiocy in stride. His anger had dissipated by the time he and Soap had found time alone, and Soap had soothed any remaining bitterness the best way he knew how. 

It began to enter Soap’s mind that his squadmates assumed his actions were a prank. This realization spelled good and bad news for Soap. 

Good news that Soap was off the hook about revealing private information that could have spelled trouble for this thing between him and Ghost, still relatively new, as they learned to trust each other intimately the same way they did out in the field. 

Bad news that pranks were fair game for retaliation. 

Having had dye in his shampoo, salt in his coffee, and glitter down his shirt many a time, Soap could only imagine what they would come up with. Considering Soap had delivered the mother of all pranks to his squad, he could assume he would be treated fairly in return. 

As the days passed with no sign of retribution on the horizon, Soap found himself unable to lay his guard down; instead, he became more and more suspicious, watching every move his squad made. It wasn’t so much that Soap had proof of his squadmates’ devious plotting. It was a feeling, born of living in close quarters with dangerous men for too long, that Soap was undeniably, invariably screwed. 

There was nothing Soap could do but wait. 

“Oi, MacTavish! Pass me that towel, mate.” 

The roll made a satisfying sound as it smacked Gaz on the torso, prompting an undignified squawk. Gaz stooped to pick it up, but not before throwing a rude gesture Soap’s way. 

“Your aim’s shite.” 

“Aim’s fine. It’s your grappling that’s bloody pathetic.” 

The main gym on base wasn’t Soap’s preferred place to train, but the 141 enjoyed the privilege of using the open training area whenever they needed it. On a day like this one, when the men had too much time on their hands and it was too hot to train outside, the men came up with creative ways to pass the time. 

Today, that meant friendly competition in old fashioned, bloody, skin-to-skin grappling matches. 

Soap and Gaz were equally drenched in sweat, having gone several rounds with little pause in between. Both were competitive bastards, and neither would concede to the other until blood was drawn or one of them physically couldn’t move. They were about equally matched; Soap was stronger, but Gaz was slippery, and their compatible skills made each round interesting. 

The same could not be said of every pairing. 

A strained, helpless grunt echoed across the mats. Soap winced in sympathy and tilted his head to the side, trying to make sense of the hold Ghost had Alejandro in. There seemed to be far too many limbs, all contorted in a painful-looking way. Soap couldn’t see Alejandro’s face, but the way he twitched was enough to make Soap grateful he wasn’t in Alejandro’s place. 

“Who the hell told him it was a good idea to grapple with Ghost?” 

Shrugging, Gaz mopped the sweat off his forehead and tossed his towel. He and Soap wandered closer, to the edge of the ring where Price and Rodolfo stood, watching the scene unfold. 

“He said he wanted a challenge.” 

“That’s not a challenge. That’s suicide.” 

Ghost’s arm was a bar across Alejandro’s throat, his legs wrapped around Alejandaro’s torso. After five seconds passed with no movement from the position, a weak hand fluttered out from Ghost’s grasp, and tapped him on the leg three times. Ghost dropped Alejandro like dead weight and stood gracefully. He stretched his arms above his head as casually as if he had just finished a few sets of push-ups instead of thoroughly demolishing Alejandro’s pride. Alejandro remained a sad heap on the floor. 

“Had enough, Colonel?”

The stream of curses Alejandro released as he staggered to his feet, supported by a concerned Rodolfo, were answer enough. He turned his stink eye towards Price, who was standing smugly, arms crossed over his chest. 

“You said his size gives him a disadvantage. That if I was fast enough, I could beat him.” 

“It does give him a disadvantage,” Price agreed. “Shame that Simon’s pretty damn fast too.” 

With Rodolfo’s arm around his waist, Alejandro managed to limp to the sidelines, where he rested against the wall. His glare was a target on Price’s back as Price turned his attention elsewhere. 

“What about you boys, then?” 

“Tied,” Gaz said, tilting his head back so he could squirt water from his bottle into his mouth. “Won two, conceded two. Would’ve won three if Soap hadn’t cheated.” 

“I’m not a cheater, lyin’ bawbag–”

Gaz stared incredulously. “Then what do you call biting?” 

“You said anything goes!” 

“Suppose you’ll have to settle this, then,” Price interrupted, knowing full well how their arguments escalated if he entertained them for too long. “Get back in there. One more round, to tapout.” 

“Gladly.” Soap tossed his water bottle aside, and Gaz did the same. 

The men gathered outside the makeshift ring, eager for some entertainment. Price was the unspoken officiate, which really meant he was just there to make sure they didn’t kill each other. 

Soap caught Ghost’s appraising eye briefly and winked. Ghost said nothing, but he loosened his stance, his gaze never leaving Soap. Showing off had always been part of the way they teased one another. Soap delighted in knowing Ghost had his eyes on him, a silent secret they both shared. 

By the time Gaz and Soap set foot on the mat, they had already sized each other up, looking for any sign of weakness. Gaz was tired, but so was Soap, and Gaz had better stamina. In Soap’s favor, Gaz’s arms held a slight tremble, a sign of increased fatigue. The events of the last round left Soap just as disadvantaged. Soap’s shoulder was feeling funny after the hold Gaz had used on him, and he rolled it, visibly guarding his left side.  

It was any man’s game. 

The longer he and Gaz circled, the more Soap could feel the heaviness of his muscles weighing him down. Stalling would only guarantee he would tire faster. Soap had to act quickly and decisively. Gaz, after assessing the situation with sharp eyes, had the same idea. 

Gaz was the first to get his hands on Soap. He drove in fast, head down, and collided with Soap’s torso. Surprise, overwhelm, subdue. It was a smart technique. Soap had to think fast. 

Twisting his body, Soap narrowly avoided the leg between his thighs that tried to sweep him at the knee. His bad shoulder groaned in protest as he ducked, wrenching himself out of Gaz’s grasp, and put some space between them. Soap wasn’t in trouble yet, but he would have to pay attention to the warning in his shoulder if he didn’t want to end up with a dislocation and a lecture from Price. 

“Have’ta do better than that,” Soap taunted, knowing words could throw a man off as easily as a sweep of the legs. “Not so fast now that you’re tired.” 

Soap’s grin faded when Gaz didn’t take the bait, instead fixing on a cocky smile. Arrogance and anger could be an advantage to be taken by the other man. Confidence spelled trouble. 

“Bring it, MacTavish.” 

Soap narrowed his eyes and charged in. 

The best chance Soap had was to use his size and strength to overwhelm his smaller partner. It was a strategy Gaz was familiar with, but Soap knew how to use it effectively enough that it wouldn’t matter if Gaz could anticipate his next move. 

Gaz feinted Soap’s first attempt at taking him down. Hands pushed at Soap’s shoulders, keeping him at distance, but not for long. Soap wrestled his foot behind Gaz’s ankle and swept it forward, leaving Gaz off balance. Quickly taking advantage, Soap leaned his shoulder into Gaz’s torso and let gravity take the two of them to the ground. 

The moment his body hit the mat, Soap rolled, using sheer strength to pin Gaz face-down beneath him. Even though Soap was on top, it was a dangerous place for Soap to be, since his hold wasn’t secure. Fingers slipped against sweat-slick skin, struggling to keep Gaz in place.

Not content to stay trapped for long, Gaz was quick to exploit every advantage Soap had inadvertently given him. Gaz bucked, driving his left leg at the same time, and managed to get it underneath him. Soap was caught off guard, and Gaz used it to his advantage, heaving with all his strength until Soap tumbled backwards and Gaz’s heavy body landed on top of him. With all the grace of a gazelle neatly dancing out of reach of a lion’s jaws, Gaz flipped his body around and captured Soap’s head between his thighs, squeezing tightly. 

“Jesus Christ,” Soap wheezed. He attempted to find any leverage to wiggle his way out of the dire situation, but Gaz held him firmly. There was nowhere to go, and with Soap’s shoulder aching dangerously, he had no choice. 

Three firm taps to Gaz’s hip announced Gaz the winner. Groans echoed from the circle around them, as Soap had been the favored victor. Gaz’s thighs released Soap’s head, and Soap let out a desperate gasp. He remained flat on his back on the mat, in starfish position, as Gaz rose to his feet. 

Ever the good sport, Gaz held out a hand, and Soap grasped it gratefully. Soap thought he saw a twinkle in Gaz’s eye, but dismissed it as winner’s adrenaline. He let Gaz haul him to a standing position, where he swayed on his feet, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen. 

“You alright, Soap?” 

Gaz’s hands steadied Soap’s shoulders. He was standing close enough that Soap could feel the body heat radiating off him. 

“Aye.” Soap’s nod was jerky. “Catching my breath, that’s all.” 

“Alright, then.” Gaz released him, and Soap sagged forward. “You talk a lot of shite, but at least you can give almost as good as you get. Good round, mate.” 

Soap exhaled a soft laugh and shook his head. The desire to sit down and drink some water preoccupied his mind. All the blood had pooled in his head when Gaz cut off his oxygen with surprisingly strong thighs, and Soap was still recovering from the physical exertion of trying to free himself. 

Distracted as he was by that thought, Soap didn’t notice that Gaz had stepped so intimately into his personal space until hands came to cup his cheeks. Startled, Soap lifted his head, mouth dropping open for some kind of exclamation. 

Any protest died in Soap’s throat the moment Gaz’s lips sealed over his. 

Soap’s entire body seized in reflex, but Gaz held firm. He wasn’t sure if it was the lack of air or the shock of it all that went straight to his head. Either way, Gaz was a hell of a kisser when he wasn’t caught off guard, gentle but passionate in a way that could make a man’s knees weak. In the heat of the moment, Soap remained frozen, but his mind sparked with several creative thoughts he wasn’t proud of.

Soap beat that part of his brain back with a stick as soon as Gaz pulled away. 

In any given situation, Soap could respond with a dozen snarky responses. Now, words failed him. Gaz’s cheeky grin blinded him, a shit-eating, self-satisfied smirk that had little to do with his grappling win. 

“See you later in the mess?” 

If Soap hadn’t been sure this was his own stunt turned on its head, hearing those words thrown back in his face confirmed his suspicions. Soap managed a weak grunt in response to Gaz, who wasn’t so much leaving as he was lingering. Had Soap been thinking properly, that would have set off alarm bells immediately. 

As it was, the tingling sensation dancing over Soap’s lips was distracting him. His head was filled with cotton and the absent thought that he was dizzy for an entirely different reason now. 

Something soft brushed Soap’s arm. He reached for it, clutching the towel in both hands to ground himself, and turned his head to thank whoever had taken mercy on him. 

Somehow, the second kiss was less expected than the first. Alejandro had exactly two inches on Soap, and he used every one to his advantage. Craning his head down, Alejandro trapped Soap’s lips against his own, moving decisively and forcefully. The back of Soap’s head was held in place firmly by Alejandro’s hand, leaving no opportunity for escape. Soap couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his throat as Alejandro coaxed open his mouth in an oddly lewd display. The snickering from the surrounding group made Soap’s face flush and his heart race.

Both Alejandro and Soap were panting by the time Alejandro pulled back. Soap’s bottom lip was caught in Alejandro’s teeth, and he gently released it as he retreated, a sly smile spreading across his face. 

“Besas bien, amigo.” 

Alejandro’s hand fell to brush Soap’s hip in a way that felt both too familiar and not intimate enough for the moment. His embrace slipped away, but Alejandro was immediately replaced, the men determined not to let Soap catch his breath. 

It should not have been surprising to see Rodolfo in his peripherals. Yet Soap found himself bewildered by each of them, punch-drunk on kiss alone. Rodolfo approached shyly, though the hands on Soap’s waist were anything but. 

The first brush of lips was hesitant, but not like Rodolfo thought Soap was going to deck him. They met in the middle, Rodolfo pulling back slightly, until a surge of confidence saw him pressing firm kisses to Soap’s lips. Rodolfo’s mouth fell open, and Soap’s followed suit, turning a tender, chaste kiss frantic. Had Soap not been so flustered himself, he would have noticed how flushed Rodolfo was. 

“I just wanted to see if Alejandro was right,” Rodolfo’s voice breathed in Soap’s ear when he broke away. Soap’s skin prickled under the attention. 

“He was. You are a good kisser.” 

The world had melted away the moment the first touch of lips had swept Soap off his feet. With Rodolfo's absence, it slowly came into focus, a daunting reality of accusing eyes and open leers.

Although Ghost’s face was unreadable under his training mask, the way he stared did not give Soap the impression that he was angry. Soap didn’t have time to analyze what that meant for the stunt his squadmates had pulled. Price was heading in his direction, and the dread of his revenge alarmed Soap more than any of the others combined. 

The rest of the men had scattered, possibly fearing Soap’s rage, or Price’s; possibly fearing both. The closer Price drew to Soap, the more his expression hardened, until Price stood directly in front of him. His mouth was a thin line, and his eyebrows pulled in the way they did when Price was particularly displeased. Soap swallowed his tongue in an effort not to make the situation worse for himself. Finally, Price opened his mouth. 

“Your grappling needs work, Sergeant. Garrick may be fast, but there’s no reason he should be able to top you so quickly. Focus on getting him into a secure hold instead of bringing him to the ground right away. He’s good there. But you can be better.”

The heavy palm on Soap’s shoulder was somewhat of a relief. Soap wasn’t sure he could have handled what Price would dish out, especially after Gaz, Alejandro, and Rodolfo’s performance. Price’s admonishment was familiar. It was comforting. It was reassurance after a series of undeniably strange events that left Soap equally excited and confused. 

Soap smiled gratefully, and nodded as Price brushed past him. He expected they would all joke about this later, once Soap had his bearings, and they could chalk it all up to having a big laugh amongst themselves. 

What Soap didn’t expect was the hand on his backside, striking skin with a sound like a thunderclap through the thin material of his training shorts. 

The force of the slap was such that Soap had to stagger forward several steps to keep his balance, right into Ghost’s barrel chest. Ghost righted him by the shoulders, supporting Soap’s limp body as it recovered from the brutal treatment. Soap’s face was so red his cheeks smarted, and not just because every eye in the gym turned towards him the moment Price’s palm made contact with his arse. 

In the time it took Soap to process what had just happened, the offender slipped away, no doubt chuffed with his deception and devastating retribution. Soap clung to Ghost’s chest, a safe haven, while his mind raced for answers. 

“I– what–? Simon?” 

Coherence evaded Soap, but Ghost was patient. He steadied Soap, letting him find words in his own time. 

“Something wrong, Johnny?” 

“You–” Soap croaked, taking a breath to regain his composure. “You right bastard, you knew about this!”

Ghost squeezed Soap’s shoulder once and let him go when Soap was okay to stand on his own. It wasn’t just his face that smarted. 

“Dunno what you mean.” 

“Oh, you–”

Soap may have appreciated the occasional prank or two, but he never liked being made the butt of a collective joke. He drew himself up, huffy, and regarded Ghost with suspicion. It did not escape him that Ghost was the only one who hadn’t enjoyed embarrassing him that day. 

“The others had their fun. What’s your revenge, then?” 

Ghost stared, unnervingly blank behind the mask that hid the bottom half of his face. Wordlessly, Ghost turned his back to Soap, and walked the few paces to where his training bag sat. He shouldered it and started towards the exit. Soap was hot on his heels, steps heavy to hide his newfound limp. 

“Simon? What d’you mean by that? C’mon–”

The exit door was shoved open, blinding Soap with sunlight, and he stopped dead in his tracks before it could slam in his face. Ghost’s silence followed in his wake. 

“Simon?” 

Perhaps Ghost’s lack of answer was revenge in itself, but Soap had never been that lucky before, and doubted he would be now.

Chapter Text

The mess was bustling when Soap entered, though he supposed that was his fault, seeing as his demo for the rookies had run over right into regular chow time. 

There was little that could put a damper on Soap’s high spirits that day. Perhaps there were a few more eyes than usual on him as he wove his way through the crowd, but Soap chalked it up to his glowing demeanor. His explosives demonstration had gone over well, the food in the mess was looking particularly edible, and being back from leave had him feeling refreshed and ready to run some recruits into the ground. A week in Glasgow spent holed up in an apartment that gathered more dust than visitors hardly sounded like a vacation, but it was less about what Soap had done on leave, and more about who he had spent it with. 

Long since had Soap’s cheek stopped smarting, and despite the bumps along the road, his relationship with Ghost was stronger than ever. Against all odds, their secret remained on lockdown, guarded more intensely after the close call that left them both under harsh scrutiny. If Price hadn’t figured out what was going on even after Ghost and Soap had turned in their leave chits at the same time, with the same dates and location, Soap figured nothing short of kissing in front of their squad would tip them off. Even that Soap had managed to circumvent, quick thinker that he was. 

Curiously, there was still a nagging feeling that Soap was forgetting something. The relief of leave had pushed all of Soap’s worries aside. No matter the stress or worry inflicted on Soap, being with Ghost always had that effect. 

But even such an odd feeling could not sour Soap’s joy on a day like this. It was soon forgotten, lost as Soap was in the crowd of soldiers elbowing one another for a place at one of the mess hall tables. 

Among the general raucous, Soap spotted a familiar face, and his high spirits lifted even further. He ducked through the crowd, using the bodies of his fellow men as shields, careful not to be seen until he was standing right behind his unaware victim. Soap’s hand came down heavy on his shoulder, the other maintaining a balancing act with Soap’s tray. 

“So they’re letting any bloody eejit in nowadays, aye? Can’t believe how far the standards have fallen.”

Though the man had tensed up under Soap’s unfamiliar touch, he relaxed when Soap came into view, recognition spreading a smile over his face. He shook his head, waving to the seat next to him, where Soap plopped his tray down. 

“MacTavish. Sit your arse down. You flap your lips any louder and you’ll attract a crowd.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Davies?” 

Soap slid his legs under the table and sat down heavily on the bench seat, enough to rattle Davies next to him. He took Davies’ elbow to the ribs in stride. 

“Haven’t seen you since basic,” Soap said. Although he had come to eat, Soap ignored his runny potatoes and gray-looking meat, far more interested in seeing his friend than his grumbling stomach. “I see you made Sergeant. No idea how you managed that.”

“Your mouth always was the thing to get you in trouble. You were the reason I could do so many damn pushups by the end of the training cycle.” Davies picked at his food, though like Soap, he wasn’t much interested in it. “A lot of time’s passed. I haven’t been here long, a month or so, but I’ve heard plenty about you, ‘Soap’ MacTavish.”

It wasn’t as though Soap didn’t know he and the 141 were something of a legend among the rest of the men. Still, it was an ego booster to hear it, and a deep part of Soap burned to know what secrets were passed around in the dark about him. He was sure there were plenty, having heard whispers of the others, Gaz, Price, and Ghost, plenty of times. 

“It’s all true,” Soap boasted, pasting on a cocky smile. “Rumors are usually based in fact.”

“Really?” A contemplative look came over Davies’ face, and he side-eyed Soap before returning to his tray. “Well. That’s good to know.”

Soap patted Davies on the back, an affectionate thump, and the two fell into easy conversation that could only be had between two old friends. 

By the time their conversation wound down, the mess hall had emptied out, and both Soap and Sergeant Davies had realized they would soon be late for respective meetings or training. Shoveling the last spoonful of cold gruel into his mouth, Soap pushed himself back from the table, and made to stand. 

Sensing his opportunity slipping away, Davies gathered the courage to say what had been poised on the tip of his tongue throughout their entire exchange, obvious in the way he looked at Soap but couldn’t quite meet his eye.

“Hey, MacTavish. You just got back from leave, right?”

Tray in hands, Soap paused halfway, and slowly lowered himself back down to his seat. “Aye. Had a week to myself. Was good for me, if I’m being honest.”

“Right.” 

Davies’ pause was pregnant, as though he had more to say. Soap raised his eyebrows to coax him to continue. 

“So you’re… feeling better?”

“Feeling better?” Soap’s face twisted, contemplating the question. “After the time I had, aye. Was keeping it on the low, though, surprised you heard. Just needed a little time to myself to… work out some things.” He cleared his throat, swallowing Simon’s name. “Was a little stressed before leave, anyhow. Captain Price’d been working me pretty hard, but I suppose it was my fault for offering myself up. That’s how it starts. Put yourself up to it one time and they won’t stop coming to you. Glad that’s over.” 

“The Captain?” Davies’ concerned expression deepened, and he grimaced. “I’d heard what the others were saying, but I had no idea it was true. You’re… alright with that, MacTavish?”

“Well, he’s my commanding officer,” Soap said, like it was obvious. “What am I going to say, no?”

Despite the borderline horrified look on Davies’ face, Soap barrelled on. Davies hadn’t been wrong to say that it had always been his mouth that got him in trouble. 

“It’s not just the Captain, though. It’s the Lieutenant as well. He keeps us in line. Me especially.” Soap chuckled. “Ghost, he’s a bit of a myth around here, but I’ve worked closely with him for some time now. He’s tough, but y’know, he’s got a human side to him too. Suppose I bring out the best in people. I like to think I keep up morale.”

“I don’t think there’s any question about that,” Davies said faintly, to which Soap nodded enthusiastically. 

“Couldn’t ask for better teammates. We make each other better. They’ve helped me quite a bit. Especially Price.” 

Davies’ head tilted to the side as he tried to make sense of Soap’s words. It was strange, the way he regarded Soap, as though they were each having a different version of the same conversation. “But you said the Captain…”

“Oh, Price is a hard-arse, for sure,” Soap said, his mind on the intense training cycle Price had put him through just before his leave. “But he’s the one who insisted I go on leave. And he’s never made me take more than I can handle. Even if I can’t walk afterwards,” he added, as a joke. 

Soap’s smile was blinding, while Davies wore the look of a man who very much regretted the question he had asked. Bracing his hands on the table, Davies nodded slowly, as though still coming to terms with his new reality. 

“Well,” Davies said carefully, navigating a minefield with every word that came out of his mouth. “Everyone has their vices. I’m glad you’re getting the help you need. You know I’m… here for you if you need anything, right?”

For the first time, Soap stopped running his mouth long enough to listen to what Davies was really saying. His face crumpled in confusion, and he stared at Davies, who was looking at him less like a fellow Sergeant and more like he was some pitiable creature. 

“What’re you on about?”

“Leave.” Davies widened his eyes slightly and leaned in, trying to imply far too much with far too few words. “Your… condition. Addiction. Whatever you want to call it.”

Davies’ tone pleaded with Soap not to make him say it out loud, but Soap had pressed the rewind button on their conversation, and was starting to feel a sense of dread creep in.

“I might not quite understand, but I still give a shite about you, John. You shouldn’t be embarrassed about the rumors. Shame is what prevents people from getting help, honestly, so I appreciate that you feel like you could talk to me–”

Soap’s tray clattered back down to the table, and he grabbed hold of the front of Davies’ uniform, dragging him forward in his seat. Davies’ mouth slammed shut as soon as Soap put his hands on him. Soap pulled Davies in, their faces inches apart, Soap’s expression scrunched in a deadly serious manner. 

“Tell me about these rumors you’ve been hearing.”

Davies swallowed visibly, and Soap narrowed his eyes. 

***

The door to the common space banged open with a metallic clang, the force making it hit the opposite wall and bounce back. In the doorway stood five feet, ten inches of heaving fury, backlit by the hallway light. All voices from within died down to a whisper, and all eyes turned to the man who commanded attention from the room with the intensity of his wrath.

“I’m a sex addict?”

The words reverberated around the room, sucking out all sound like the coldness of space infiltrating an airlock. The tension broke when Price, who had just taken a sip out of the coffee mug clutched in his hands, began to choke. 

“What the bloody hell are you talking about, son?” 

Every other man was equally as confused. Alejandro, who was lounging around at the center table in the midst of a game with Gaz and Rodolfo, exchanged glances with the two of them. Both shrugged, questioning with their eyes to try to subtly guess at whom Soap should be directing his rage. Ghost, who haunted the far corner of the room, remained as calm and cool as always. Only Price dared to move, coughing into his own fist to clear the liquid that had entered his airways. 

“Someone in this room,” Soap dragged an accusing finger around to all of them, “is spreading rumors. No one else knew the details of my leave, so it had to be one of you. Who’s the bloody Judas? Speak up, ye fookin’ bawbag–”

The more Soap worked himself up, the thicker his accent became, until his ranting petered off into something nearly incomprehensible. Price, the bravest of them all, approached Soap, holding his hands up in the classic sign that he had no weapons and was not a threat. 

“That’s enough. You want to enlighten us about what happened?”

Soap squared his shoulders, drawing in breath to calm his frenzied state. His face was blotchy from embarrassment or anger.

“Someone spread a rumor to the entire battalion that the reason I went on leave to Glasgow was to travel to a special facility to get help for my sex addiction.”

Gaz’s brows furrowed. “That exists? Like those places you go if you’re an alcoholic or a drug addict?” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Soap seethed, and Price got between them before Gaz could make the situation worse. 

“You sure that’s not something the lads came up with on their own? Seems pretty far out there. It’s obviously shite scuttlebutt, Soap. No one would believe it.”

“That might be true,” Alejandro said, filling in the blanks as rapidly as Soap was turning red, “if not for…”

“The gym,” Rodolfo added, and Price did a poor job of hiding his snort. 

“So the rumors aren’t entirely unfounded.”

“It’s gossip,” Soap said, his voice raising with every word, “encouraged by somebody believable enough that those twits actually thought it was true. That means it was one of you lot. And I’m not leaving until someone confesses.” 

Surveying the room of his closest friends and confidants, Soap felt only a profound sense of betrayal. This was far past a prank or a practical joke. Whoever had pulled this had a nasty, personal grudge against Soap. They prayed on his downfall, deriving some sick sense of satisfaction from torpedoing his reputation, and reveled in the emotional scarring that came with such a severe blow to the ego. 

Or they just liked to see him squirm. 

After all, the whispers had started far before Soap went on leave. It was possible both Soap and Price were right. Such rumors could have already existed. They just needed the smallest spark, the tiniest confirmation of a man’s leave schedule, to burst into a wildfire that would spread to the rest of the battalion. 

Alejandro and Rodolfo weren’t even in the same chain of command as Soap. They had barely noticed Soap was gone until he had returned from leave. 

Gaz had taken his own leave a week prior, so he couldn’t have known where Soap was until he came back, and Soap hadn’t so much as had a conversation with Gaz since then. 

Price knew, of course, since he had signed off on Soap’s leave chit. Except Price rarely interacted with the lower enlisted of other squads, unless he had a reason to do so. Had Price been the one, alarm bells would have been set off immediately among the enlisted, who would be far less likely to trust the words out of his mouth. 

That left only one. 

Soap grew deathly quiet. His boots squeaked against the waxed floor as he turned perfectly, facing the one man who had yet to weigh in on the discussion. 

“And what is it that you have to say, Simon?” 

Staying cool under pressure was a skill every operator perfected. Ghost wasn’t so much as sweating, though under the mask, Soap wasn’t sure he could tell even if Ghost was. 

“Not sure what you mean, Johnny.” 

Soap didn’t need anyone else to confirm what he already knew. He stalked up to Ghost and shoved his finger into Ghost’s chest hard enough to hurt. It was better than tackling him, which was what Soap wanted to do. 

“Those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones,” Soap gritted out, his furious demeanor a stark contrast to Ghost’s ease and amusement. “You wanna spread rumors about me? Might as well confirm a few about us.” 

Soap turned dramatically to address the room and inhaled deeply, as though he was about to reveal vital intelligence of the utmost secrecy. He commanded the room’s silence, with all eyes once again on him. 

“Ghost and I are sleeping together. Have been, for over seven months now. We’re together. Partners.” 

Arms crossed over his chest in a smug display, Soap waited for chaos to ensue, the result of disclosing such a shocking secret. Soap had kept it so close to his chest for so long that there was relief in finally letting go. 

Instead, a chorus of unenthused muttering followed, shattering Soap’s expectations. 

“We know, MacTavish.” 

“About bloody time.” 

“It’s been obvious longer than that.” 

Soap’s face dropped. He whipped around to look at Ghost, who was unfazed by both the announcement and reaction. 

“You done now, Johnny?” 

No words came out of Soap’s mouth, only a few vague, confused-sounding noises. When he was finally able to get his bearings, he had only one question for Ghost, who was standing stoic behind him. 

“How? We agreed not to tell anyone. No one knew.”

For a man who kept the secrets Ghost did, he should not have been able to look at another human being with such softness and sincere fondness. Soap was the only one who deserved such intimate consideration. In lieu of an answer, Ghost lifted a gloved hand, rolling his mask up to the bridge of his nose like he had done a hundred times in confidence with Soap. He revealed his patchy stubble, the scars on his chin, the broken tilt of his nose. His crooked lips. His uneven jaw. 

Ghost’s kiss was the first one that caught no one by surprise. The way he and Soap fit together was easy, like they had done it a thousand times before, because they had. If there was any doubt among the rest of their commitment to one another, it vanished with a single kiss. 

“Didn’t need to tell anyone,” Ghost murmured against Soap’s lips, words only for them. “Think it’s plain as day how I feel about you.”

Being somewhat of an unexpected authority on the subject, Soap felt confident in concluding that Ghost was not only the best kisser in the 141, but the only one from which Soap wanted a repeat performance. Soap stole one more kiss before Ghost pulled his mask back down, a promise for later. A vow that no matter how many men Soap kissed, Ghost was the only one whose lips were made for his. 

“You know this means you can’t use them as an excuse anymore,” Soap said, already reaching for Ghost’s hand. It twitched in his, but Ghost settled, curling his fingers around Soap’s. “And you’re clearing up those rumors. I don’t care if you have to tell them I was taking it up the arse the entire leave. Better you than Price.” 

Soap ignored Price’s startled exclamation of protest. Ghost rolled his eyes, one of the few gestures Soap could make out behind the mask. 

“Don’t push it, Johnny.”

“With you? I would never.”