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The first time it ever happened was a one-off.
Obviously, it was a dare. Price had invited Ghost and the two Sergeants out for drinking, and it had started smoothly enough, though the four knew that as Gaz and Soap got more and more inebriated, something was bound to happen.
It was always a surprise what, anything from seeing who could fit one of the large ice-spheres in their mouth first, to seeing who could get a free drink the fastest through flirtatious charm alone.
Ghost didn’t know where this landed on that scale, but it certainly wasn’t something he was expecting.
As touchy as Soap was with most people, just out of his own friendly nature, the Brit had made it incredibly clear that physical touch with him was usually a no go. And Soap respected that… Usually.
Now, with more alcohol in his system than Ghost thought he had drunk in his whole life, he could tell that Soap was having a tougher time with that boundary. It wasn’t malicious, not at all. Ghost knew that Soap was a touchy drunk and he had given him many free passes several times prior.
But this last one was… unexpected.
Ghost was sitting at the bar with Price, the two talking about whatever came to mind, mostly Price rambling on about whatever gossip had been missed with Kate and her wife, catching him up with what had been going on with Nik, and even making some commentary on the football game going on the pub TV.
So, sue Ghost for missing the mischievous snickering, and the change in the air. He was plenty distracted, and about four bourbon’s deep.
“Oi, LT,” Soap called, and Ghost turned in his stool, body facing Price with his head turned to see the sergeant doing his best trot to the bar. He was just a bit stumbly, so Ghost wasn’t expecting this to go too horribly.
“What is it, Soap?” He asked, tone clearly exasperated. Price snickered before turning back to the game.
“Anyone ever tell you tha’ you got a boopable nose?”
Simon blinked. What? What in the world was the Scot on about?
“What?” Was all that came out of his mouth, and Soap looked ready to burst with laughter.
“Your nose, LT, it’s boopable,” He pressed, and Ghost just blinked at him again. What in the great fuck was talking about? Before Ghost could process anything at all, Soap had, as gently as an inebriated beyond hell Scot could, booped the tip of his nose.
Seeing as Ghost still had on his soft balaclava, Soap hadn’t touched skin, but a heat bloomed from where he had been… booped. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable.
“Fuck off, Soap,” He tried, but the Scot did finally burst into laughter, giving him a “gentle” pat as he went.
“I’m just takin’ the piss, LT, Gaz didn’t think I could do it without gettin’ shanked,” Soap explained, and Ghost let his lip pull up despite his expression being hidden, a half-scowl pulling one side of his nose up too.
“You better go before I prove him right.” He threatened, and Soap, with that stupid grin on his face had walked off, a mock salute his only goodbye. Ghost turned back around, and luckily Price didn’t comment on anything, if he even saw it. The man seemed engrossed in his football.
Ghost let it drop. It was only a one time thing, there was no reason for him to be so… shocked. He let out a sigh, and took another sip of bourbon.
💀💀💀
The second time it happened, Ghost had been a bit more prepared.
After thoroughly overthinking what on Earth Soap had tried that night at the bar, he had put together a list of things that were dead giveaways whenever Soap would strike.
Ghost had realized, after that night, that Soap had done that to several people. He watched him do it to Gaz a few times, the other Sergeant either retaliating with a boop of his own, or if his hands were full, just rolling his eyes.
Ghost had seen him do it to Price, and he was taken aback to find that the Captain just sighed in mock disappointment before continuing on as well.
Was he the only one who thought it was… weird?
He didn’t even know if that was the right word, considering he hadn’t been incredibly off put by it, but it certainly was… new.
Uncharted territory, which was definitely what was making him weird about it.
Despite that, at this point, Ghost knew the signs. So, when Soap had waltzed over to him while he had his hands full with a mug and biscuit, the Scot’s hands tucked behind his back, he knew what was bound to come. His eyes thinned to a glare, and that got Soap to pause.
“What, LT?” He tried, struggling to hide his mischievous grin, hands still firmly behind his back.
“You look like the picture of innocence, Sergeant,” Ghost replied, voice dripping heavily with sarcasm. Soap rolled his eyes, letting his hands drop to his sides.
“Mother Mary, I do it once on a dare and you’ve already got me all figured out,” Soap sighed, and Ghost was shocked.
He was just… openly admitting to it? After seemingly trying to sneak up on the Mancunian the last few days, he was expecting more resistance, possibly pouting, complaining, maybe even some rushed out Scots, but… nothing. Just plain and boring admission. Ghost blinked a few times, staring at Soap, whose grin only seemed to widen.
Before he knew it, his shock was taken advantage of, and he felt a press to the tip of his nose. It jutted out slightly from the hard shell of his mask, and he found that that was somehow worse than when it was just his soft balaclava back at the bar.
“Booped ya, sir,” Soap smirked, leaving with a wink and a shout, “See ya’ around!” He called, darting down a hall.
How does Soap keep getting away with this? More importantly, why the fuck is he letting him get away with it? He knew it was coming, he saw it a mile away, but the Sergeant’s easy admission of guilt had caught him off guard… He supposes the Scot wasn’t doing anything wrong, but it was just… strange.
Yeah… strange.
💀💀💀
“Soap, I know it’s you out there. Go away, I’m working,” Ghost drawled, and he heard the footsteps outside stop.
He knew who it was, obviously, and Soap had been pacing for a good few minutes. Which, for what?
“Just had a question, sir,” He shouted through the door. Ghost sighed, letting a hand scrub down his face. Was he really going to humor him? He decided silence was his best course of action, and he thought for a second that Soap had gone.
“Was wondering’ if you were up for a spar? I know it’s gettin’ late but I thought it’d be a good time, with the gym empty ‘n all,” He heard, slightly muffled and trailing off.
Soap wanted to spar. That was all. This definitely wasn’t a trap, and Ghost didn’t know why he was so concerned about it being one anyway. The worst Soap could do was boop him again, it was simply ridiculous that he was letting it get to him. He let out a sigh, one that resonated from deep within his chest cavity, and one that he knew Soap had heard.
“Alright, Soap, give me a minute,” He replied, and he could’ve sworn he heard an excited buzz coming from just beyond his door. He quickly changed into more appropriate workout clothes, since he still had some gear on from earlier today. He grabbed the soft balaclava, thinking about changing masks, but decided to keep the hard shell mask because…
Because it gave him an advantage in sparring! Obviously.
He tossed the balaclava back on his nightstand, moving to the door. He swung it open, and there stood Soap, leaning on the wall beside the door. He beamed upon seeing Ghost, now dressed in a black tank top and black sweats.
“We goin’ or not, Sergeant?” Ghost pressed, and Soap all but leaped off the wall, making his way towards the gym.
“Aye, c’mon then,” He called, and Ghost followed dutifully behind him.
The walk was short, but by God was it loud. Soap had a habit of never shutting up. It wasn’t that Ghost minded, but he seemed to be in a particularly talkative mood, and he was talking a mile a minute too.
“Here we are! Gotta love when this place is empty,” Soap grinned, busting the doors open like he was a celebrity, or some theater kid throwing open a curtain.
“Just get in the ring, Soap,” Ghost sighed, already somewhat regretting agreeing to coming here. He was sort of tired after the last few days' events, but he had agreed out of… why had he agreed?
“Look who’s laggin’ behind now,” Soap teased, standing patiently on the sparring mat, hands and feet wrapped. “You comin’, or what?”
“Shut up, Johnny,” Ghost sighed, making his way to the small tucked away cabinet where the wraps were, wrapping his feet before grabbing his personal wraps and quickly wrapping his hands. “Tap out?” Ghost asked, and Soap nodded.
The man walked onto the mat, and he stood just on the ring in the center, Soap lining up on the opposite side, both preparing to spar. And that’s when Ghost realized what Soap was going to do.
His realization came too late, as Soap’s index finger was right in between his eyes, and before he could even move, he felt that small pressure on his nose. With a half growl he grabbed Soap by the waist and threw him to the floor, officially starting the match.
It didn’t take long for Soap to wriggle out of Ghost’s grasp, and the Scot laughed.
“Flustered, LT? Little boop on your snoot got you riled?” He taunted, and Ghost hit him with a mean left hook. The Scot stumbled, before quickly recovering, that dumb grin still plastered on his face. Ghost was just about ready to punch it off.
A few more quick jabs that Soap had easily blocked or maneuvered around had Ghost breathing a little harsher, moving a little slower, and Soap took his chance. He took a swing at Ghost’s leg while he was mid-step, and the mountain of a man faltered, taking a second to refind his footing. That second was all Soap needed.
While Ghost was busy trying to steady himself, Soap added an extra couple of kilos by quickly moving around him and jumping on his back, legs wrapped tightly around his waist and arms securely trapping him in a headlock.
Ghost growled again, frustration mounting as he planted his feet, grabbed Soap’s arms, and tugged, the Scot unable to fight the Brit’s strength. He started to fall backward, his legs the only thing securing him to Ghost’s back, but those were quickly removed too, and Soap found he was being dangled by his ankles.
Ghost was breathing hard, clearly frustrated and tired, and Soap seemed pretty satisfied, even crossing his arms despite being held upside down.
“I’d say that was a pretty good match,” Soap started, and Ghost all but dropped him, giving him a second to put his hands on the floor before he actually did. Soap flipped himself upright, and Ghost stalked off of the mat to his water bottle, lifting his mask up to his nose to drink.
Soap took a moment to admire, before he noticed Ghost’s very clear and obvious irritation. He felt a little bad. Maybe he was pushing the nose-booping a little too far.
“You alright, sergeant? Blood rushing out of your head?” Ghost asked, and now Soap blinked.
“Aye, I’m alright, was just about to ask you how you were doin’,” He replied, and Ghost nodded, a small smirk playing at his lips as he took a step forward.
“I’m doing just fine, Johnny,” He replied, and the Scot looked a little unsure.
“Are you sure? Ahm sorry if I’ve been a pain recently,” Soap rubbed his neck, Ghost looking through him.
“You mean when you…” Ghost trailed off, and Soap blinked for a minute… was there something else he was doing that was bothering Ghost? What else had he been doing… Was it that he had been extra talkative? Soap was referring to the whole snoot-booping thing, but Ghost seemed to be thinking of something more serious—
“Ghost?” Soap stopped, and Ghost looked at him, that same small smirk stuck on his face.
“Yes?” He replied, easily, as if he hadn’t just shattered whatever image Soap had of him in his brain.
“Did you just...?” Soap paused, and Ghost let out a huff, almost a laugh.
“Boop your snoot?” Soap nodded, a smile building on his face at hearing the scariest motherfucker in the 141 say ‘boop your snoot,’ “Yes. Yes, I did.”
“Guess that’s payback, then,” Soap replied, laughing with mirth but also disbelief.
“It sure is. You want to know why?” Ghost asked, stepping more into Soap’s space, and the Scot felt the smallest bit of fear prickle at the base of his neck.
“Because no one will believe you.” He finished, and Soap’s smile fell off of his face, the daunting realization hitting him full force.
“You sick bastard,” He started, and Ghost shrugged, his smirk still on full display.
“You started it. Can dish it out but you can’t take it, sergeant?” Ghost teased, and Soap gawked even more, his jaw dropping.
“You are hardly one to talk—” He started, but was cut off by a wrapped hand coming up to boop his nose again, and he could barely comprehend what was happening.
“Is that all it takes to get you to shut up? If I had known it was that easy I would’ve started this day one,” Ghost teased again, and Soap blinked before shaking his head. Ghost took a moment to admire the red tone of Soap’s cheeks. He looked properly flustered.
“Is that what you feel like when I do it to you? Just pure disbelief and shock and endearment?” Soap asked, and Ghost stopped for a moment.
Endearment?
Is that what that was? That little bubble of warmth that floated up through his abdomen every time Soap was that close, and subsequently every time he had booped his snoot?
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Soap laughed, watching Ghost freeze in his tracks before shaking his head.
“I’m headed to my room, sergeant. Tired after all of your nonsense,” He concluded, and Soap rolled his eyes.
“You love my nonsense.” He pointed a finger on Ghost’s chest, and the usually confrontational action was met with a huff of laughter.
“Sure I do,” Ghost replied, but the amount of sarcasm in his voice was definitely debatable.
If all he needed to do was boop Johnny on his nose to see him turn a beautiful blinding shade of red, he may just have to do it more often.
And if Johnny decided that he wanted to boop Ghost more often, the Brit found he didn’t really mind.