Work Text:
The first time Soap noticed it, he thought he had lost his mind.
Ghost was notoriously guarded about his mask– about his face. He never took the balaclava off in front of others.
Outside of Las Almas, the closest of the 141 rarely saw his face. During meals Ghost would pull the bottom of the mask up underneath his nose, and shove his mouth full to bursting like an animal before covering his chin again. Sometimes he would just take food back to his bunk.
A few nights ago though, Ghost joined the rest of the 141 in the evening. Someone had found a bottle of whiskey somewhere. The mood wasn’t sour enough to be drinking for anything other than leisure. To everyone’s surprise, Ghost had sat down with Soap and grabbed a glass.
“This better be bourbon.”
“Still crazy L.t.”
The shock at Ghost’s arrival was quickly replaced by a fierce debate about the finer points of alcohol and liquor. As the night went on, Ghost kept his mask shoved up above his mouth rather than bringing it back down between drinks.
That was when Soap first saw it.
Something about the angle of Ghost’s face, the way the light was bouncing off the glass he held, made Soap nearly do a double-take. A flicker of silver, small and barely visible for a moment.
But that was impossible.
Soap tried to put the thought out of his mind. He really goddamn tried. Maybe it was how the mask made it even harder to tell, unable to track the movement of his mouth and words as he spoke. Maybe it was because he could have sworn he saw something.
Regardless, it was driving him fuckin’ mad. It had been a few days now, and Soap found his eyes trailing Ghost, waiting for a moment where his mask was drawn up so he could make sure he was hallucinating.
Because there was no way that Ghost. Had a tongue piercing.
It was absurd. Clearly the past few days of relative peace had made him crazy. He was fuckin’ blessed from above that Ghost hadn’t noticed it. They spend almost every hour around each other– the base wasn’t large enough for much privacy– and Soap couldn’t keep the thought from his mind. That underneath that mask-
“Going for a smoke.”
Ghost pushed out the door of the barracks. It was afternoon, light still making its way through the small windows they had, as Ghost left from his position watching a card game. Gaz had swindled Roach after very obviously cheating, but Soap was barely paying attention to the game.
Soap wasn’t sure what had possessed him, but he soon found himself following Ghost’s silent footsteps outside. The two walked together, Soap trailing behind, Ghost aware of his tail.
They ended up in an area away from everyone. Cut away in the shadow of a building, leaned against the shockingly cool concrete that had avoided the heat of the afternoon sun.
Soap’s gaze followed the gloved hands that brought up the edge of the balaclava, grabbing a cig and pulling out a lighter.
Ghost turned toward him and wordlessly offered one. Soap took it hoping that it would give his mouth something to do other than ask the ridiculous question that had been plaguing him. He didn’t think he’d survive the aftermath.
After lighting his own, Ghost brought the flame toward him. Soap leaned over to light the smoke resting between his lips, realizing how close they were. He looked up and met Ghost’s eyes, smudged with black grease paint, before he subconsciously glanced at his mouth, now exposed rather than covered by black fabric.
Soap leaned back quickly, taking a few drags and looking straight forward, away from Ghost.
He knew that Ghost had caught that. They were so close to one another, how could he not? Some idiotic, animal part of Soap was telling him to look back over. Just a quick glance. He’s smoking, now’s a good time to look for it again. You’ll go crazy thinking about it if you don’t just check.
Soap’s survival instincts were shit when it came to Ghost. Other men had a healthy amount of fear, in their own best interest, when they dealt with Ghost. Soap never had any of that. He just didn’t.
The silence was starting to feel thick with the lack of his own banter to fill it.
Not caring for his own safety apparently, Soap looked back over to Ghost, only to find his eyes already on him. Soap held his gaze.
“Got a starin’ problem L.t.?”
Soap saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards, something precious and no longer hidden. He tried to put the image to memory.
“I’d say you got it the wrong way ‘round MacTavish.”
Shit. Of course he noticed.
“Not sure what you mean,” Soap lied. He took another drag from his smoke. The light stubble on Ghost’s face was distracting.
Ghost didn’t reply, just kept his gaze on Soap. He brought his cig back to his mouth, and this time Soap unabashedly stared, his life and well-being be damned.
There it was. There it fucking was again. Just for a moment, the sun caught on something shiny and metallic.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he mumbled.
Ghost raised an eyebrow.
Fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that outloud.
“Knew what, Johnny.”
“Nothin’.”
Fuck. Shit.
“Don’t spare me your words now. Never have before.” Ghost turned away from Soap, letting the embers of the cigarette smolder.
This was decidedly not a conversation Soap was prepared to have. He was, in fact, very ready to go to the grave with or without this information. Depending on how generous Ghost was feeling– a word which is not used to describe the man– Soap might be sent to that grave a little earlier than expected.
But Ghost didn’t seem particularly violent or murderous right now. Not as much as he usually is when Soap is pestering him. If Soap was any less tense he might realize how relaxed Ghost was.
Soap was actively digging his own grave now, but he couldn’t back out. The only way out was through. But knowing that didn’t mean Soap knew what to say. The question blurted out of his mouth before he could think of something better to say.
“When did you get it?”
That brought Ghost’s gaze back to him. Soap refused to break the stare. He took another drag of his cig and tried to act normal.
“Few years ago.”
Holy shit. So he hadn’t gone mad.
Ghost dropped his spent cigarette and drove it into the dirt with his boot. He left the mask pulled up under his nose as he turned toward Soap, the side of his body leaning into the wall behind them.
Soap recognized what this was. Rare as it was. He wasn’t going to waste this opportunity with Ghost, offering whatever sliver of vulnerability he could give. Soap would take anything he could get.
He had to keep him talking, but Soap felt like all higher thought had left his brain.
“How’s that allowed?”
“Didn’t tell anyone.” Soap was surprised by the laugh that left him. He tried to swallow it up.
With the mask halfway up, he could see more hints of the small silver ball on the top of his tongue. Ghost. With a tongue piercing. It was absolutely mad. It made zero sense.
“I fidget with it. Not sure what I’d say if my mouth weren’t occupied.”
Christ. Bloody fuckin’ Mary. This was psychological warfare. If Soap didn’t look like a blushing virgin before he sure as hell did now. What the hell was happening.
Soap had so many questions. Why’d he get it? Who the hell did Ghost let that close to his face with a needle? Did he have any other piercings hidden away?
If his imagination was driving him mad before, he was surely going to lose his mind now. Images of Ghost, maskless, using his tongue to-
“Nothing else to say Johnny?” Ghost was smirking. The fuckin’ bastard.
“Lots to say. Not sure if I’ll live long enough to say it all, though.”
Ghost moved forward, getting even closer to Soap. He was warm now, in the heat of the afternoon, the concrete behind him no longer cool. His whole body felt like it was on fire.
“Care to try your luck?” Ghost’s gravel tone spoke around the piercing.
If Soap wasn’t already red before, he definitely was now. Fuck Simon for knowing how to do this to him.
“Anything else you do with it?” Soap said, quiet enough to be a whisper between them.
Ghost lightly laughed, just a huff of breath that Soap would have missed with the mask covering his face.
“Why so interested, Johnny?” That damn smirk was still there, with a scar cutting through the top of it.
“Just curious.” Soap knew he was pushing it. Whatever this was could either stay as it was, here, in this space where nothing had quite happened, or go further. He hoped he wouldn’t regret his decision.
“Do the lasses enjoy it?”
Ghost went still at his question. As the moment went on longer, Soap hoped he didn’t fuck this up.
“Not sure. The lads seem to like it, though.”
His heart nearly skipped a beat at that. Soap felt a grin stretch wide on his face.
“Aye. I can imagine why.”
Soap swore that a little red flush was creeping down underneath the mask, just barely visible where Ghost’s scruff was unshaved.
They had been gone too long. Both of them knew it. But this shadow of a building felt nearly like privacy that didn’t exist in a squad like theirs.
Ghost slowly brought a gloved hand up to Soap’s face. It gripped his chin, firmly but gently running a finger along his jaw. Soap’s breath was caught in his lungs, heart beating so quick it might have run straight out of his chest.
“Let me know if that imagination gets too distracting, Johnny.”
A moment later, his face was cold where gloves had left a handprint in warmth.
Soap thanked all that was good and holy for his incredibly active and bored mind. This was going to be fun. That is, if Ghost doesn’t kill him first.