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It was cold.
They were on another low level mission in another sandy desert and Ghost didn’t want to think about how he’d be shaking sand out of his boots for days after they returned to base. But he didn’t have to think about that because the only thing that was taking up his mind was the man sitting outside of the house they were squatting in.
Soap had taken up residence on a little garden wall. It wasn’t too tall but it let his feet dangle a few inches above the ground. Ghost knew if he sat down his feet would firmly be planted on the ground. The subtle height difference between the two made something rattle around in Ghost’s head. He wasn’t going to call it happiness, because he wasn’t meant to be happy, but if there was no other word to describe it, what else could it be.
They were waiting to be evacuated out, and there was little else to do other than check the perimeter every few minutes and make sure the fire inside didn’t burn out. Ghost had been left to do both when Soap fucked off to…smoke?
The cloud that puffed out from Soap’s mouth confused Ghost. He was positive he hadn’t seen the other man bring smokes with him, and he was also pretty sure he’d never seen Soap smoke anyway. As he walked closer to the wall, he made sure his footsteps were heavy enough to alert the other man that he was approaching.
Soap looked up at his commanding officer but gave no indication that he was going to start up a conversation. He seemed content enough to keep puffing on his cigarette…which, under closer inspection, was not a cigarette at all.
“Now where in the hell did you find a joint?” Ghost grumbled.
Ghost had been even more confused than before. One, because Soap would have had to find the joint on the mission without Ghost noticing, and two, because they weren’t supposed to intake any recreational drugs while on active duty. The second point being one that Soap had full knowledge of.
After taking a smaller hit, Soap finally spoke.
“It was in the desk with the blueprints of the compound,” he was analyzing the joint between his fingers, “but it feels like weak weed.”
This made Ghost snort, something he didn’t know he was capable of. Johnny made him soft, he knew this fact already like it was written in the stars and prophesied for his life. However, that didn’t mean he wanted to outwardly make it obvious. Some prophecies were better kept close to the chest.
“How do you know it’s weak?” Ghost entertained the notion.
“M not high yet,” Soap mumbled.
Ghost didn’t know what Soap was like high, he hardly knew what he was like drunk, only having found that out the one time he had to escort the plastered Scotsman back to base. Well…less of escort and more of rip him away from the barstool he was sitting on that had ended up far too close to a stranger.
Soap didn’t let Ghost stay lost in his head for long.
“You want a hit?”
Ghost sighed.
“You know I could write you up for this, right?”
Soap laughed.
“Gonna rat me out, LT?”
Ghost didn’t bother responding. He ignored Soap’s outstretched hand that offered him the blunt and sat down next to the sergeant at a distance that was closer than friendly. Ghost, through nothing less than privilege, knew exactly when the 141 would administer their next drug test. The date was far enough away that this blunt wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. So Ghost took it. It would give him something to do.
After inhaling, Ghost looked up to the sky and blew his smoke out. Blew it out to the stars. He ignored the way he felt Soap’s eyes on him the whole time and handed back the blunt without glancing his way.
“Didn’t take you for a stoner LT,” Soap laughed.
Ghost grunted, finally turning to look at the man next to him. Ghost found out early in their…relationship that Soap had a habit of staring. Whereas it made Ghost nervous and fidgety, it seemed to not bother Soap. This was evident as he continued to take in his superior sitting next to him.
“Do you want to try something, Simon?”
The way Soap discarded his rank had Ghost playing with the frayed edges of his pants pocket.
“Depends,” Ghost said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, “what do you have in mind?”
Instead of answering, Soap turned himself on the stone wall so he was facing the other and brought the joint to his lips. Instead of inhaling and exhaling like they had been doing, Soap kept the smoke in his mouth and leaned forward, cautiously reaching up to tug on the edges of Ghost’s mask.
Ghost had been around for a long time, and had seen things that people couldn’t even make up in their worst nightmares. He knew what was happening, and yet, he still froze. Soap took his stillness as an ok and rolled the mask up slightly. The fabric was sitting just above Ghost’s top lip, giving him the privacy and comfort he required while also giving Soap the room to work.
Soap cupped Ghost’s face and brought his thumb up to tug on his bottom lip, urging him to leave his mouth agape. Once the two men reached Soap’s desired position, he leaned forward and closed his eyes.
Ghost hadn’t been this close to someone else without the intent to kill or maim in years. He wanted to stare, no matter how uncomfortable it might make him. Soap’s eyes were closed anyway, so he watched as his sergeant leaned close enough for their lips to brush slightly. And he watched as he exhaled the smoke between them. Some neural pathways must have reconnected in Ghost’s short circuiting mind because he inhaled when he needed to, pleasing the man leaning up to him.
Ghost took care to blow the smoke away from their faces. When he turned back, Soap was still close but staring right back.
“Was it good?” Soap whispered.
“Good enough to not report you, Johnny.”
Ghost stood up to check the perimeter and the fire again while Soap chuckled and put out the blunt.