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Mission successful, task force 141 went out for some drinks. Price “ordered” Ghost to attend as it was to be a “team building exercise”.
That was complete and utter bull.
But that’s how Ghost found himself sitting in the corner of a dark booth with Price, Gaz, and Soap. He wore all black except for his dark jeans that fit snugly on his big thighs. His long black jacket’s hood was up over his head and his face donned the more casual version of his usual balaclava. It showed more of the area around his eyes…a small sacrifice made in order to not “scare off the locals” as Gaz put it. As if Ghost’s size and demeanor didn’t do that already….
Soap sat on his right laughing with Gaz at some stupid joke he made while nursing a glass of scotch. A glass that was almost empty. Ghost idly watched as Soap raised the glass to his liquor-shined lips and emptied the glass.. He watched as Soap’s Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He saw the quick movement of Soap's tongue as it flitted out across his lips. He heard Soap’s satisfied sigh as he put the glass back down.
“Well, I’m gonna get me another glass. Anyone else want another round?” Soap asked. He was already shuffling out of his seat next to Ghost as Gaz and Price shook their heads.
“Gaz and I are going to shoot pool. I spotted an open table finally.” Price replied.
“Hell yeah! Get ready to lose, old man.” Gaz grinned. They both stood up and walked to the far side of the room where several pool tables were located. Ghost and Soap watched as Gaz accidentally walked through the middle of a dart game. He almost got hit in the face with a dart before Price yanked him out of the way. Soap snickered.
Ghost felt Soap’s eyes on him. He looked up at the Scot and shook his head. He hadn’t drank at all. Too uneasy to remove his mask in such a public setting. By now, it was quite late and the bar was bustling with youngsters and far-gone drunks. His hands fidgeted in his pockets. His right hand playing with his pocket knife. Twirling it around, folding it, unfolding it, running his thumb across the texture of the handle and the serrated portion of the blade…over and over. In the corner of his eye, he saw Soap as he sauntered up to the bar. Spotted him standing near the end as he waited for the barkeep.
Watching Soap was something Ghost was used to. A habit of sorts. Always keeping an eye out for his sergeant during missions. Making sure he was safe and watching his back. Surely it was all professional…his attention to this man..and not some strange unidentified interest with the odd soldier. An interest that had sparked the moment they first met when Soap greeted him cheerfully and gave a playful punch to his shoulder. Ghost shivered at the memory. Mentally grumbling at himself and willing the feelings away. His eyes shifted to the back of the bar where Gaz and Price were setting up their game. He saw Price setting up the balls as Gaz picked out a stick. Testing it a few times before grabbing a square of chalk and setting it on the side. The whole scene was quite….domestic. Normal. He continued to watch as Gaz went first. Leaning down over the table and setting the rod down. Gaz’s face scrunched in concentration, his eyes lining up the shot. His arm snapped forwards and Ghost swore he could hear the sound of the balls clicking over the music and people. He continued to idly watch their game. Fingers still fidgeting around his knife in his pocket.
It wasn’t until a bit longer that he noticed that Soap wasn’t back yet. Not like he expected Soap to come running back to the table. Especially when it was just him left at the table.His eyes shifted back towards the bar. His brows furrowed as he scanned the crowd for Soap. A few seconds later he spotted him. Saw his mohawk first. Blasted haircut. Half his view of Soap was covered by another man. A big man. Not as big as Ghost, but bigger than Soap. And he was wearing a…cowboy hat?
The man wore a dark blue button down tucked into a pair of faded blue jeans. He had on a pair of honest-to-god cowboy boots and a big buckled belt. He looked like a bloody modern-day cowboy. But that’s not what made Ghost scoff. It was the sultry grin the man shot Soap. Ghost mentally rolled his eyes. Soap would never fall for-
Soap laughed and put a hand on the man’s bicep.
Ghost’s throat went dry,
His fidgeting hands stilled. This was interesting.
He sat further back into his seat and decided to watch the scene play out.
The man was now grinning down at Soap and Soap was doing the same. Ghost watched as the man leaned down to whisper something into Soap’s ear. Soap let out a hearty laugh. His ears turned pink and eyes sparkled as he quipped something back. The man chuckled and leaned forwards to put a hand on Soap’s waist. Ghost’s hands were back to fidgeting. He watched them talk for what seemed like hours. When in reality it was probably fifteen minutes. He watched as Soap’s hand moved from the man’s arm to splay across the man’s broad chest. Watched as Soaps eyes danced when the man brought him closer as he moved to sit on a bar stool slotting Soap between his thighs. Ghost had never seen Soap’s face more red before. His whole face was red. Redder than that one time he had gotten sunburned out in the desert. But then Ghost watched as Soap melted into the man’s arms. An easy smile played along Soap’s lips as the man spoke into his ear.
“Looks like Soap found himself a new friend over there huh?” a voice interrupted Ghost’s trance. Ghost looked up to see Gaz and Price sliding back into their seats at the table. He gave them a once over before turning back to Soap and his cowboy companion.
“Ole John looks smitten.” Gaz mused. They all watched as John swayed back and forth between the man’s legs to the loud music. Ghost’s eyes narrowed as the man’s hand slid down from Soap’s waist to cup one of his pert buttcheeks. Ghost watched the man’s fingers flex as he squeezed and groped the mass of flesh. He saw the way Soap had stiffened before a coy grin graced his features. Soap pressed even further into the man. His swaying hips stopped in order to start not-so-discretely humping the man’s thigh. Soap’s jaw hung slack and his eyes looked hazy as he leaned forwards to whisper something into the cowboy’s ear. The man chuckled, eyes roamed over Soap in an appreciative manner. Hungry. Lustful.
“Wonder if he’ll take him home.” Price muttered into his drink.
“I’d bet money on it.” Gaz smiled, “Soap deserves some fun. Especially when he has to deal with you all the time Lt..”
Ghost gave Gaz a sharp sidelong glance before his eyes flicked back to Soap. He huffed and stood.
“Getting a drink finally?” Price asked. The old man gave him an amused once over and Ghost glared blandly back as he put his gloves on. He turned and marched darkly to the bar. Eyes on one man.
—
He settled himself right behind Soap. Not too close but close enough that Soap noticed his presence and raised a brow.
“Eyes back here baby, I wasn’t done with my story yet. I’m getting to the good part.” A voice chuckled. The cowboy. Ghost rolled his eyes. He waved the bartender down and ordered a glass of bourbon. In his mind he could hear Soap’s chiding remarks on his choice of drink. But it was interrupted by the loud voice of the cowboy.
“Yeah and then the sucker bucked me into the wall! Hurt like hell but I wasn’t gonna give up there. I tightened my grip and just rode it out. Was able to stay on for eight seconds before he finally threw me. Ain’t nobody stay on Ole Ruckus longer than five.” He bragged loudly.
“Sounds like a wild ride! I no’ think I could stay on a bucking bull fo tha long. Prolly takes a lot o skill. Am amazed. Guess you really showed everyone huh?” Soap’s voice was filled with awe. Eight seconds? Didn’t sound like very long. But what did he know, it’s not like Ghost cared.
“Oh I’m sure a pretty thing like you would be very good at bull riding.” The cowboy winked. Ghost heard a soft moan escape Soap and his hand closed tighter around his glass.
“I bet you’d look just stunning bouncing up and down on something big and hot.” the cowboy purred, “Show a real bull rider how it’s done.”
“Hmm…I got a few moves I could show you.” Soap responded. Moving even closer to the cowboy. A feat that seemed somewhat impossible as they were basically on top of eachother. Legs and arms intertwined. Chest to chest. So close their breaths mingled with eachother’s. A funny feeling settled in Ghost's stomach just looking at them. He turned away and stared down into his drink. His reflection stared back. Dark eyes. Mask. His scars itched.
There was a shuffle beside him and his body went rigid as he noticed the couple standing and moving away from the bar. Were they leaving? He slightly relaxed as he watched them move to the dance floor. The cowboy leaned down to whisper something into Soap’s ear. Whatever it was made Soap laugh. A big full-bodied laugh where he flung his head back and gripped his stomach. Ghost could count the times he's seen Soap laugh like that. Once. And that one time was today.
He heard a muffled crash and a gasp from his other side. He quickly glanced down and to his dismay…he’d broken the glass of bourbon. His hand clenched around broken shards of glass. His glove prevented them from cutting his skin but it was soaked. He grit his teeth as the bartender rushed over to clean the mess.
“Damn! Never seen something like this before! You got superhuman strength or something?” they asked. Ghost grimaced internally and put a $50 on the counter before he turned around and slunk back to Gaz and Price.
“Everything ok?” Price asked.
“Fine.” Ghost grit out. He wasn’t fine. What was going on with him? He took his gloves off and shoved his hands in his pockets again. His right hand started fiddling with his knife again. His eyes drifted to the dance floor.
The hand playing with his knife stopped. The blade dug into his palm as his fist clenched around it. He couldn’t see Soap at all. He was lost in the mass of dancers. The only thing that gave him an idea of where his sergeant was…..was the occasional flash of a cowboy hat in the crowd.
“He’ll be fine son, John is a grown man. He can handle himself.” Price said. His eyes looked at Ghost with a smile. Damn, maybe he was staring too much. Making it too obvious. He was too used to Soap running off. Getting lost or caught up in danger. Being too reckless for his own good. Like the fool knew Ghost was always watching. Following him like a shadow to come in and scoop him off his feet like damsel in distress. To blast their way through together. A cut throat team. Maybe Soap preferred Ghost on the field next to him instead of up and away in the distance watching in a crow’s nest. Not that Ghost really asked the Scot. He just did what he felt was right.
Gaz’s phone pinged. The shrill noise interrupted the smooth beat of the music.
“Looks like Soap is heading out.” Gaz informed.
Ghost’s grip on his knife tightened. He flipped it closed and gripped it like a madman. The textures of it biting his palm and fingers angrily. He flicked his gaze back at the dancefloor and saw no cowboy hat. Saw no Sergeant John MacTavish. No Soap. No Johnny.
He felt bile in the back of his throat.
It was official.
He hated cowboys.