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Summary
“What’re you doin’, Johnny?” Simon breathes, flashing Soap his crooked, snarled teeth. His canines are sharp like a dog’s.
“I think you’re smart enough to figure that out on your own, L.T.,” Soap says, before pulling the mask fully off and crashing their mouths together.
Somehow, any time they’re alone together, it always devolves into this. Always.
Ghost’s lips are cold, but the inside of his mouth is hot, almost feverish, and his tongue is wet where he bullies his way into Soap’s mouth. It’s disgusting, objectively. Ghost has nerve damage around his mouth, too, so he can’t really feel what he’s doing when he kisses someone, and with the open scar it ends up being a sloppy, slick mess, but Soap loves the way it leaves him feeling like he’s being devoured.
Ghost’s teeth are sharp, and John crumbles like communion bread underneath them.