Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Soap tries not to fidget in his chair.

Tries.

He's passed all his testing with flying colors, has worked tirelessly night and day just to get to this moment.

It's much more subdued than he thought it would be, almost anti-climactic. But still, his nerves are frayed to the point that his leg has been bouncing ceaselessly until Gaz slid his chair close enough that he could put his boot on top of Soap's and still his bouncing. It helped, at least a little, having Gaz here. They'd met in basic and become thick as thieves. They'd drifted as their assignments took them different places, but they'd remained close over the years.

But right now, Soap needs to not fuck up the opportunity that's right in front of him.

"File lists you as a hybrid," Price says, looking up at Soap over the edge of the folder in his hands. "Class 5," he adds with an appreciative low whistle.

"Yes sir," Soap nods. He doesn't want to do this—doesn't want to get into this but he will be honest.

"But you tested as a human," Price continues, putting the folder down on the table. "Why?"

Soap is distinctly aware that Ghost's eyes have also come up from his copy of Soap's file. He's sitting at the complete opposite end of the table, closest to the door. He's not really in Soap's line of sight, but he can feel the man's gaze on him all the same.

His answer to this question matters.

"Wanted to prove I could, sir," Soap admits. "It's not always. . . convenient for me to shift. Testing as a human shows that you can rely on me under any conditions, sir."

Price hums for a moment. "Do you want to operate as a hybrid?"

Soap's resolution to be honest wavers for a moment. He doesn't want to operate as a hybrid. It will effect the way his team sees him. But if Price orders him to, if it means his spot in the 141 is guaranteed, then he will. But as he glances from Price over to Ghost, then Gaz, he knows they'll see right through him if he isn't honest.

"Would prefer not to, sir. If at all possible. But I will follow orders," he admits, meeting Price's eyes.

If it came down to it, gun to his head, Ghost reckons it's the way Soap moves that first caught his attention. He distinctly remembers watching Soap run an assault course for the first time and something in the back of his brain screaming 'danger, Will Robinson'. He's a large man, Soap MacTavish, not nearly as big as Ghost but broad and strong, built for hard graft.

Why, then, is it that he moves with the lithe grace of a fucking snake.

It's like watching a gymnast, watching Soap move up and over obstacles, Ghost has never seen that kind of control before. It's that that had reeled him in, in the end. The control. Something about the way it's pulled so taut makes Ghost desperate to see what happens when it finally snaps.

When he's the one who snaps it.

Then of course there's always the muscle and the beautiful eyes and the every other tiny thing that has kept Ghost strung along in the last year and a half since Soap first walked up and demanded to be allowed to try for the 141.

That's a part of it too, Ghost knows. The drive, the determination to be the best without even taking into account his natural advantages when shifted into…whatever it is he becomes. Soap has always been cagey about that. But Ghost has always been attracted to competence, and this insolent, insubordinate little shit is also probably the single most competent soldier Ghost has ever had the good luck to work with.

And then there's the fact Soap is a hybrid. A damned powerful one at that. The un-redacted files are above even Price's pay grade, but the redacted ones still share enough information that Ghost knows Soap is a Class 5 hybrid. Considering they only go up to Class 6 that makes Soap pretty impressive indeed. The idea of a creature that powerful submitting to Ghost's command as beautifully as Soap already does? Intoxicating.

"Sir!" Ghost is snapped out of his reverie by Soap's hand waving in front of his face. He's got to start coming to the gym at a different time to the rest of them, before someone notices that he finds it almost impossible to unglue his eyes from Soap's arse when he's doing squats. "There he is." Soap grins.

"What?" Ghost grunts, as though that will magically make Soap think he's been listening all along.

"I asked if you wanted to come to the pub with us later? We've got a big mission in the morning, might as well get our pints in while we can." Soap looks… well if he didn't know better Ghost would say he looked hopeful. He's not stupid; he knows they're friends. He knows Soap likes his company and wants him around, but this looks like more than that.

If he didn't know better Ghost might think this looked an awful lot like desire.

He does though, know better. At least, he knows enough to know that if Soap feels any desire for him at all he certainly doesn't want to act on it. As evidenced by the way they've spent all this time dancing around each other even though Ghost has openly tried propositioning him at least twice.

Soap isn't interested. Simon can take a hint. So why does Soap keep trying so damned hard to keep him around?

"Well, Si?" Soap is staring at him like he's losing it. In all honesty he might be, if this is the way he's behaving now.

"He'll come." Price's hand clamps down on Ghost's shoulder hard enough to have him snapping out of whatever ridiculous hold Soap has him in. He nods, leaning into Price's touch enough for him to feel it for the 'thank you' it is.

"Great!" Soap grins, and for just a second Ghost could swear there's a shift in his eyes. His pupils change just a little, the blue of his irises becoming so pale it's almost white, but it's over as fast as it began and then it's just them. Just him and Soap, grinning at each other before Price uses his grip on Ghost's shoulder to shove him gently into the lockers.

Ghost launches himself at him to pull him into a headlock and by the time they're done tussling, Soap is gone.

"It's fucking hard to watch." Price says, running his hand through his hair. He's sweaty from the gym and he's starting to gather his shower things from his cubby. "You two interacting, I mean. Tell me why you've not got on with it and fucked him yet?"

Ghost doesn't have a good answer to that, so he flips Price off instead, knocks his washbag on the floor, and flees the room.

"You've invited him here," Price says, slapping Soap on the shoulder too hard. "And now you've left him over there while you play darts by yourself."

"I'm not by myself," John grumbles, throwing his dart much farther to the right than he'd intended. "You're here."

Price shoves him this time, rolling his eyes. "You know what I mean, MacTavish." He punctuates his sentence by throwing a dart precisely where Soap had wanted to. "What's the issue?"

Soap throws himself down on a bench near the dart board and shrugs as he finishes off his second pint. "No issues, sir—" Price sends him a withering look and he sighs, caught. "Should ye even technically be discussing this with me?"

"Dunno what you mean," Price sniffs, sitting next to John and throwing his arm across the back of the bench. "Would be hypocritical of me too, wouldn't it?"

Soap follows his gaze across the pub to where Gaz and Ghost are sitting in a booth. Gaz is laughing at something and Ghost is using his bourbon glass to cover his mouth, trying to hide his own smile.

"Dunno what you mean," Soap parrots.

Price huffs a gentle laugh, but sobers quickly. "What I mean is, it's clear to anyone with a pair of fucking eyes that you two are gagging for each other."

"Sir!" Soap chokes, feels a scarlet blush threatening to take over his face and neck.

"What I don't understand is why you've said no," Price continues, ignoring John's spluttering.

That blush does begin creeping its way over Soap's skin now, burning as it travels up to his ears and down his chest. "So he's told you, then."

"He has," Price nods. "Thing is, I don't think it's put him off in the slightest. And now here you are, all the way across the pub when you've invited him here. So, my original question stands. What's the issue?"

"The issue is he doesn't know what he's asking for," John grumbles. "He doesn't know what I am."

"And what is that?"

"You know what I am," Soap looks over and meets Price's eyes.

"I only know what you've told me," Price corrects. "I never did go searching for more, like I promised."

"I know," John sighs. "I didnae mean it like that. I only mean—he wouldn't be asking if he knew."

Price hums, and Soap decidedly does not like the tone of it. "Seems like you're making that decision for him."

Soap flinches, but can't argue with that, not really.

Price's hand comes down to rest on Soap's shoulder and gives him a firm squeeze. "You know why he wears the mask? Why he covers up like he does?"

Guilt grows in John's stomach, weighing him down. "Sir—"

"It's because he thinks when other people see the scars that they'll be put off. Yeah it works because he's a ghost operator—convenient enough, I suppose. But that's not really why and you know it." The look Price gives him is firm, but not unfair and Soap supposes he deserves it.

But Price softens and reaches over to pat John on the thigh. "Don't let yourself miss out on something good, Soap."

—

"Why is it you two aren't fucking yet?" Gaz asks, leaning into Ghost's shoulder and kicking his feet up onto the chair across from him. Ghost knocks their arms together to jostle him but doesn't move away.

"He's your best friend ain't he? You'd have a better idea than me." Gaz snorts and shakes his head gently.

"He's not a confident man, not about his appearance." Is all Gaz says, but it's enough; Ghost has always been a bit of an expert at reading between the lines.

Soap is proud of his body, shows it off often enough, but never certain parts of it. Never gets naked or uses the communal showers. Gaz doesn't mean he's shy about his human parts, absolutely nothing to be shy about. He's shy about the rest, the elephant in the room that won't budge, lounges there creating an uncrossable barricade between them.

Ghost knows, knows with everything he is, that if Soap gave him the chance to he could prove that there isn't a single part or form of Soap that he wouldn't want. He's just getting increasingly less sure that Soap is ever going to offer him that opportunity.

"Reckon it would've been easier for Price, he's better at this sort of thing." Ghost ruminates. "What about it, Gaz, wanna swap? Fancy a shag?"

Gaz barks out a laugh and Ghost pretends, badly, to be wounded by it.

"Oh please." Gaz rolls his eyes. "I like 'em a little more rugged." He adds, insult to injury, "And I'm a felid, and you aren't enough of a masochist to enjoy my cock." Ghost chokes out a laugh which he buries behind his tumbler.

"Oh well." Ghost heaves a sigh and then bodily shoves Gaz off the bench. "Pining it is then."

Gaz swears at him colourfully as he stands, but also leans down to bump his head gently against Ghost's in that way you have to get used to when you let any sort of cat hybrid into your life. Ghost leans into it and then turns just as Price gets to the table.

"You just assault my boyfriend?" He asks.

"Yeah." Ghost grins, taking the sharp swipe to the back of the head he receives in good part.

"Little cunt." Price tells him, only half joking, he's a protective bastard.

"And he propositioned me." Gaz says, just to stir. Well, partly just to stir, mostly for the dark and hungry look of jealousy that Price gets, no matter how much he knows Gaz is joking. He doesn't even bother answering, simply grabs Gaz by the arm and drags him away to the bathrooms while Ghost and Soap chuckle softly at the display.

As they trail off Soap shuffles from foot to foot, looking awkward.

"Sit down." Ghost offers, and it's just enough of an order that Soap scowls and makes a point of leaning on the table instead. "Buy you a drink?" Ghost tries.

"I'll do it." Soap tells him, and turns on his heel.

For all that he knows it's wildly cliche, Ghost really does love the view as Soap walks away and leans on the bar. His t-shirt is just tight enough for Ghost to be able to see the knobs of his spine, a little more prominent than one might expect from a man that well muscled. His jeans are painted on, showing off that gorgeous arse, his boots black and just heeled enough to make the lines of his body that much longer.

Ghost could stare at him all day. He could stare at him all day in a potato sack, in fairness, and not like the view any less.

He's furious about it. This stupid infatuation. This cheap desire that has somehow simmered and burned itself out of control, a constant roiling in his gut.

And he could have Soap, really have him, if only he could prove how much he wants him.

For now, he thinks as Soap comes back with their drinks and actually does sit down beside him, for now he'll settle for as much as he can get.

It turns out, Ghost thinks several hours later as last call is ending and the two of them are being ushered out of the closing pub, that as much as he can get is actually quite a lot. They've only had two pints, what with the mission tomorrow, but when Ghost let his hand rest casually on Soap's knee he'd blushed as if he was far drunker.

By the second hour Soap had been leaning into him, eyes bright and a smile that could almost be called desire playing prettily on the corners of his mouth.

Ghost knows arousal when he sees it too, and he'd seen it on Soap's face when he'd let his hand drift higher, let it squeeze at the solid muscle of Soap's thigh. It had been buried almost as soon as it had flickered into life, Soap smothering it beneath carefully crafted friendliness. He'd shifted and Ghost had let his hand fall away, had carried on speaking as though nothing had happened.

It hurt that Soap had looked so grateful for that.

'He's not a confident man', that's what Gaz had said.

"You know I don't think I've ever seen eyes like yours." Ghost says, leaning closer and relishing the way Soap leans closer too, like a moth to a flame. He means it, the blue is a pearlescent, shifting thing. Up really close Soap's pupils aren't truly round either, there's a strange wobble to them that Ghost knows means they must be very different when he's fully shifted, the way goat shifters have square pupils that lengthen into rectangles.

"I shouldn't think so." Soap says, already squirming uncomfortably, as though bracing for a hit.

"They're amazing." Ghost tells him, "I could look at them forever." Soap's eyelids flutter softly, his mouth dropping open before he shuts his eyes and turns his face away. Ghost catches his chin between thumb and finger and turns his face back ever so gently.

"Oi, lovebirds, pub's closing and you need to be on your way." Soap pulls away properly and Ghost scowls up at the landlady, who doesn't look the least apologetic and in fact looks utterly bored by the whole interaction. "Out." She repeats, "Now."

"C'mon, Ghost." Soap mutters, sliding out the booth and leaving a long strip of cool air along Ghost's side. He runs boiling hot, Ghost notices now that his warmth is gone, several degrees hotter than a normal human. Certainly hotter than any of the mammal hybrids Ghost has ever spent much time around.

"Fine." He answers, glaring at the utterly unphased proprietor as he slides from the booth and lands a hand on Soap's shoulder, unwilling to lose that last tether just yet.

He walks Soap as far as his door, long since having let go of any hope he might be invited inside. Still, he wants this rare closeness that Soap is allowing to last as long as he can get away with. They've walked largely in silence, since coming back through the barrack gates. Ghost had traced a thumb across the top of Soap's spine, along the skin above the neck of his t-shirt, and Soap had immediately flushed a red so bright Ghost can see it even in the low evening light.

"I had fun tonight, Ghost." Soap says, leaning a shoulder against the door jamb.

"Yeah?" Ghost lets a little tease float into his voice. He's pleased, embarrassingly so, and he refuses to hide that from Soap.

"Don't let it go to your head." Soap rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"Too late." Ghost leans in to whisper that into Soap's ear and enjoys the shiver that runs through Soap when he does. Notes the way Soap's goosebumps feel under his hand, a little larger, more discernible than a human's, maybe.

"Goodnight, Ghost." Soap says pointedly.

"Goodnight." Ghost grins, an answer to the one on Soap's face. He slides his hand away, letting it trail across Soap's shoulder just to feel the strength in the muscle there. He doesn't move away though. If Soap wants to call it a night, he's going to have to be the one to do it.

"Right then." Soap says. "Goodnight."

"Night." Soap rolls his eyes again - he's going to sprain them one of these days - and opens his door. Mutters something that sounds like 'idiot' and throws one more quick smile Ghost's way before he's closing the door between them. Ghost lets his head fall forward to rest on the wood, grin so wide it aches a little.

That was flirting. Soap had flirted with him.

"Ghost, I can see you through the peephole." Comes Soap's voice, muffled through the door.

"Why were you looking?" Ghost teases.

"Good. Night." Is all Soap says, and Ghost goes, throwing his hands up in surrender as he does.

The next morning Soap brings a travel mug of tea for Ghost to drink along with briefing, as is their usual ritual. This time, when he hands it over, their fingers brush together and Ghost gets a hint of that glorious heat even through his gloves. Soap stays by his side, shoulders bumping together. Ghost notes with a great deal of pleasure that Soap's sitting on one edge of his chair so that they're closer. Ghost rewards him by leaning into him, letting some of his weight fall onto Soap's more than capable shoulders.

He glances down a few times during the meeting to look at the doodles Soap is sketching around the edges of his mission brief. There's weapon schematics and bomb components. There's a few drawings of Ghost, scattered among the rest, mostly of the mask but there is one cartoon face with scars suspiciously similar to Ghost's.

Most interesting, though, are all the images of the sea. There's a pirate ship and a treasure chest in one corner; spilling out of the chest are all manner of jewellery and shells and trinkets. Swimming among the treasure are a variety of fish and eels and what looks like a very angry crab. They're detailed, all of these, so well done they could be in a textbook. Soap must have spent a long time studying them, to draw them this well. Then again, Ghost supposes he did grow up on the Scottish coast, hardly surprising he'd have developed any sort of affinity for the ocean.

They're headed to an oil rig for the coming mission, Ghost wonders if Soap is excited for a chance to be near the ocean again.

Maybe, if they get any down time from their base on the Mexican coast, Ghost will drag Soap to the beach. Make him teach Ghost about all the things he loves. Ghost has never been great with deep water, but he thinks with Soap to hold his hand it mightn't be so bad.

Soap falls into place behind Ghost easily. Price and Gaz should be infiltrating the other side of the oil rig as they speak, but they've gone dark. Last thing the four of them need is the enemy picking up comms traffic not intended for them.

"We get in, set the charges, get out," Price said just before infil. Soap had walked Gaz through the steps to set the charges at least five times, then made Gaz repeat it all back to him until they were both sick of hearing it. He then did the same with Price, just in case something happened to one of them. By the time he'd turned to walk Ghost through it, the man repeated it back to him flawlessly, having been listening the entire time.

Smug bastard.

Ghost stops in front of him, holding up a fist, meaning they'll be waiting where they are until some danger Soap can't see passes. He looks down, through the metal grates beneath his feet. Hundreds of feet below them the ocean is beginning to stir; foamy white caps just starting to appear on the swells below. Soap looks to his right—West, and can't see the setting sun for the dark wall of clouds that's lazily rolling their way.

He nudges Ghost and waits about thirty seconds before the man turns his head, regarding Soap from over his shoulder. Soap only tilts his head in the direction of the storm and watches as Ghost's amber eyes flick that way. He doesn't say a word, but he does heave a long but quiet sigh. From anyone else, Soap wouldn't consider that a response, but from Ghost he knows exactly what it means. They're already pressed for time with this mission and the storm is only narrowing that window further.

If there's anything they can't fight, can't change, it's mother nature herself.

Ghost's focus returns in front of him, and now Soap can hear two guards talking on the deck below as they casually walk by. Neither of them are in uniform, and don't have weapons. Given the hour and their unhurried pace, Soap figures they're heading towards whatever mess hall they may have on this rig. He watches as they walk beneath them, completely unaware of their presence.

The predator in him can't deny the inherent thrill of having prey so close; the satisfaction of remaining undetected is a high he'll never get sick of. It's something he believes Ghost must relate to, at least on some level. Though he's strictly human, Ghost is stealthier by far than any other Soap has met. It's probably why he's so pathetically infatuated with the man. He mentally shakes himself, returning to the mission at hand as he and Ghost both watch the men beneath them until they enter a door and are out of sight.

Then they move.

As one they silently make their way to the first beam where Soap is to plant charges. He drops to his knees, quickly working to attach the charge to the bottom of a fuse box where it won't be noticed while Ghost stands guard. It takes him less than a minute and then they're moving again, the silent pressure to work as fast and as flawlessly as possible a palpable tension between them.

It takes nearly seven minutes to reach their next target. They had to pause and wait on another guard except this time, he was on the same walkway as Soap and Ghost. Ghost had turned suddenly, snatching Soap by the front of his tac vest and shoving him backwards into an equipment locker and closing the door. Then Ghost disappears.

Soap knows better than to move when Ghost puts him somewhere, so he stays still, watching through the little slits in the locker as an armed guard saunters by. Which confuses Soap. According to their intel there shouldn't be any armed personnel on this level. They've been meticulously sifting through satellite images for weeks to ensure they knew the guards' patterns. Up until right now, there hadn't ever been a guard on this level.

It makes him uneasy.

But the man walks by casually, without incident, and doesn't seem to be on particularly high alert according to his body language. Soap tells himself maybe this is simply the quickest way to his assigned station for the day, nothing more.

A low whistle calls him out of the locker and, as he pokes his head out, he finds Ghost standing in a shadowed alcove not far off. It's dark, too dark for anyone with human eyes to see him there. But, for Soap, it's no problem. Something Ghost likely knew from their time spent together. Quickly Soap makes his way over and looks at the small tablet in Ghost's hands.

It's their model of the rig and, as he looks where Ghost is pointing, then to the wall across from them Ghost points at, he realizes they're on the opposite side of the beam Soap originally planned to set his charge. He pulls off a glove and zooms in on the model on the screen, doing some quick mental calculations and looking at it from every conceivable angle, trusting Ghost is keeping watch while he does so.

Eventually he looks up and nods. "It'll do," he whispers, but waits for Ghost's nod of approval.

"On you," Ghost nods once.

Soap turns and looks at the wall, trying to find a place he can conceal the charge long enough for them to get off the rig and to a safe distance. Ghost snaps from off to his right, then points to a small vent once he has Soap's attention. Together they pry the vent cover loose and Soap sets the charge inside. Ghost crams the vent cover back into position enough that someone walking by likely won't notice.

"Last one," Ghost says, knocking Soap on the shoulder as he walks past.

They make their way to the final charge's destination and Soap sets it without incident. Then they turn and begin heading to their exfil point where they'll meet up with Price and Gaz. It all goes flawlessly and Soap is more than a little relieved when he spots Gaz's red eyeshine in some shadows across the last walkway.

Soap and Gaz both wait for Price and Ghost to give the command to move forward. It's nearly dark now and they should have enough cover to exfil undetected.

Hopefully.

Gaz's reflective eyes dart out over the choppy surface of the water and Soap can see him watching something, something Soap can't see yet. It's likely Gaz can't even see them yet, he'd probably only heard some gear rustling. He wouldn't have heard their wings.

Soap allows his pupils to shift and he spots the owls the same time Gaz does. There are four of them. The largest is a dark mottled gray colour and will be Ghost's. It's considerably larger than the other three though all of them sport a reinforced harness that the 141 will clip into. The next largest owl is more resemblant of an eagle than an owl with its pointed, angular face and dark brown feathers and will be carrying Price. The other two owls are similar in size and colour, though they have repeatedly informed Soap they are not the same type. They're both a mousey brown with gray dappled throughout and have long feathers that seem almost as if they have ears on the top of their heads. They will be carrying Soap and Gaz respectively.

They're Class 5 hybrids, just like Soap, and their ability to fly silently and carry heavier loads than most other flighted hybrids makes them an invaluable tool for tricky infil and exfil.

Price and Ghost give the signal to move forward and, just as they're taking the first steps, Soap spots something.

He hadn't noticed it before, too distracted watching the owls approaching. But now he sees it. On the other side of the gangway, one of the sections of handrails is a different colour than the others. It's only off by a shade, maybe two, and Soap likely wouldn't have noticed it at all if he hadn't shifted his pupils. But now that he has, he can see the metal grate that makes up the floor is also just a shade different than the rest.

Soap watches Gaz and Price step onto that section of the walkway in slow motion, sees Ghost's foot as it touches the same section of metal at the same time.

Soap shouts in the same instant he reaches for Ghost, blowing their cover but at the moment, he can't be pressed to care.

Because the gangway has been rigged to collapse and is plummeting out from underneath their feet.

His shout is enough to warn Gaz, ever quick on his feet, and Soap sees him snatch Price by the vest and leap to safety just in time. But he turns his focus away, to Ghost, who is falling ahead of him, hurtling towards the water below. Out of the corner of his eye he sees two of the owls diving for them; a last ditch effort to reach them. But they veer off at the last second to avoid being crushed by the thousands of pounds of metal hurtling towards the water behind them.

If Soap doesn't act fast, he and Ghost will get pinned beneath the walkway as it sinks to the ocean floor.

He can see Ghost trying to right himself enough to hit the water feet first, but he doesn't have enough time. His angle of entry is poor, and he knows it judging by the way he brings his arms up to shield his head. Soap is shifting then without giving much conscious thought to it. Yes, he worries it will change the way his team sees him, but he'd rather have to transfer out of the 141 than live with the fact that he could have done something more and didn't.

He won't be a coward.

He knows he won't be able to live with himself should something happen to Ghost that he could have prevented. So he shifts, allowing his body to take on its most natural form.

Time seems to slow as his body changes; what only takes a second feels as if it takes several minutes.

It doesn't hurt, though by all appearances it absolutely should. But Soap feels his body growing, stretching to more than double its usual length. As his legs shift, he feels his trousers rip and fray. His tentacles shoot out, ripping the tattered clothes from him and slinging his boots off to fall somewhere into the sea below. Soap's gear, vest, and clothes are all ripped from him too—the tentacles working with a mind of their own to free him from the confines of clothes not made to fit his shifted form. The only pain John feels is a slight ache in his jaw as his head shifts; but it's fleeting, and his shift is complete before they even hit the water.

The smaller tentacles on his face wrap protectively around his mouth and eyes just as his other tentacles group together tightly, forming a point where he'll hit the water. Falling from this high, he knows there will likely be damage. At this point, all he can do is mitigate it.

Ghost hits the water first, at an odd angle but not nearly as bad as Soap thought it would be. Soap rockets into the water after him, a tentacle reaching out to wrap around Ghost's torso and yank him deeper on his way by.

Soap's only concern is getting them out of the path of the tons of metal that's just crashed into the water behind them. Ghost is limp in his grip, a fact Soap tries not to focus on as he rapidly propels them deeper, swimming at an angle until he's fairly sure they're well clear of the debris raining down through the water.

The second John knows they won't get trapped by any sinking metal, he gets them to the surface. A tentacle rips Ghost's mask off as he does, unwilling to let the man drown in it. That same tentacle works at getting Ghost's vest and gear off too while Soap uses his hands to shake and prod at Ghost, hoping to illicit some kind of a response from him. The rest of Soap's tentacles focus on swimming out of there as fast as they can.

In the distance Soap can see the four owls flying in the opposite direction, Price and Gaz peppering gunfire back towards the oil rig as they go. There's shouting above them, and Soap looks up just in time to see the muzzle of a gun pointing in his own direction.

Without a hope of rendezvousing with the others, and with enemy fire turning towards him, Soap holds Ghost tighter to his body and swims into the darkness as quick as he can. It's not as fast as he'd like; the sea is rough and Soap can smell rain in the distance. The current and waves pull his body to and fro, but he keeps his course.

He swims for hours through the storm without a response of any kind from Ghost. He keeps a tentacle held slightly aloft over Ghost's face, shielding it from the worst of the rain as he swims. The man is breathing and his pulse is steady; which leads John to assume his head hit the water, rendering him unconscious. He prays it isn't anything more than that. Using his arms and two of his tentacles, Soap has wrapped as much of Ghost's body in himself as he can. They're somewhere between the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean, so the water isn't cold and the rain is nearly as warm as the sea. But humans lose heat quickly in water and John's not going to take any chances. His shifted form runs even hotter than his human form does, and he knows he'll be able to keep Ghost warm until he can find somewhere safe for them.

Using the currents, Soap has been navigating them back towards the Caribbean, hopeful he'll find an island or atoll or something similar. He knows there are quite a few peppered throughout this region, and he's keen to get Ghost out of the water and to shelter. There's a small current he's been following that he thinks he remembers noticing in their briefing. With any luck, it will take them to a small string of islands where he can make do until help can arrive.

The rain has only just started to ease, and the current has just intensified slightly around Soap when Ghost shifts against him, grunting something incoherently.

"Easy," John murmurs, belatedly remembering he needs to uncover his mouth so he doesn't sound like he's talking with a mouthful of rocks. "Easy," he repeats. "I've got you."

Ghost tenses against him, tries to get his arms up and, when he finds he can't, he grunts a little more panicked sound. Soap releases his arms and moves the tentacle that had been shielding Ghost from the rain, and Ghost's hands immediately start feeling their way over his own body, up to Soap's hands. As soon as they make contact, Ghost pauses, pulling his hands away and Soap braces for the disgust he knows will come.

"S'ry," Ghost mumbles instead, letting his head fall back against Soap's chest.

"I'm the one should be apologizing," Soap sighs, watching the way his breath ruffles Simon's damp hair. "Took your mask off so ye wouldnae drown in it and now I dinnae where it's gone."

That gets an honest to God chuckle from Ghost and Soap could cry with relief at that. But the moment is short lived as Ghost goes limp again. Immediately Soap's feeling for a pulse, and finds it, steady and strong under his fingers.

"Yeah that's fine," he grouses with no heat to it. "I'll find us someplace, LT."

The rain stops completely and the sea slowly calms and Soap does eventually find them a place. The current he's found is the one he'd spotted from the maps in their briefings and it carries them to a series of small atolls. Soap takes his time surveying them, willing to spend the time to find the best one and not rush his decision. Ghost is going to need shelter while they wait for help, and he's not keen on trying to move the man from place to place if he can help it.

After a while he settles on the second largest atoll. It forms a ring with a deep blue pool in the middle and a thin strip of land around it. There are large piles of volcanic rock interspersed between the thick trees that grow on the atoll. Many of them are coconut trees and that plays a large factor in Soap's decision making.

While he can survive on seawater, Ghost cannot.

A cave made from the volcanic rock is what Soap eventually deems good enough. It faces towards the inside of the atoll, meaning anyone cruising by won't be able to see into it unless they round the island, giving Ghost and Soap ample time to hide themselves should they need. The water extends about halfway into the cave before sloping gently upwards to a small sandy beach. The sun is just beginning to rise, kissing the sand in the orange early morning light. Gently he drags himself and Ghost up the beach.

He gets Ghost settled, lying on his side in case he vomits when he wakes. During his swim, he hadn't realized one of his tentacles had held onto Ghost's vest and pack. Soap had belatedly thought about holding onto it as he'd ripped it from Ghost's body, knowing it would come in handy, but he hadn't honestly afforded too much thought to the matter in the moment. He'd been rather busy trying to keep them both from dying.

A little irritated that he hadn't had perfect control, he snatches the vest from the tentacle and bundles it underneath Ghost's head as a makeshift pillow. Checking Ghost's pulse one last time, Soap makes to leave the cave to see what he can find in the way of supplies when Ghost's eyes snap open.

When his eyes open the first thing Ghost thinks to be grateful for is the semi-dark he's in; his head fucking hurts and he's certain any light would only make it worse.

Then he sees the shadows shift in front of him, a roiling, thunderous undulation as they begin to take the form of something massive.

Someone massive.

And then they turn, a writhing nest of tentacles furling and unfurling over one another as they do, and Ghost knows those eyes. Even in the half dark, even with a head injury and probable concussion Ghost knows them.

He's looking at Soap, in his True Form, and Soap is looking back at him.

The wave of feeling - desire and awe - is too much for his stressed and injured body, Ghost supposes, because the warm hands of sleep are beginning to drag him back under. Just as his eyes slip shut he thinks, beneath the surprise in Soap's gaze, he sees something far worse.

He thinks he sees fear.

Soap sits in the corner of the cave farthest from the sunlight that's pouring in. It's sunset and the cave apparently faces west; meaning he's on full fucking display for Ghost whose eyes have just fluttered open again for the first time in hours.

For the first time since he saw Soap in his fully shifted form, tentacles and all.

It's been almost a full day of Ghost being unconscious. Soap has been worried sick, but Ghost's vitals have been strong every time Soap has ventured over to check, so there's been little else he can do.

Little else except apparently occupy himself, he thinks as he looks at the pile of stuff sitting not far from Ghost. The pile of, what can only be described as, loot. Because John had found a few shipwrecks around their atoll and in his plan to keep himself distracted until Simon woke up, he'd gotten curious. Nevermind the fact that he stopped to bring back loads of treasures that reminded him of Simon. He hadn't meant to the first few times; his tentacles had reached out and snatched an old knife with a mother of pearl inlay in the handle. He hadn't even realized he'd taken it until he got back to the cave and noticed his tentacle curled tightly around it.

Sure he'd thought about taking it, but hadn't actually intended to. John didn't want to try and explain to Simon why he felt so compelled to bring him gifts.

But there they all are in a rather substantial pile next to Simon. John can't help but feel like he could have done better, gotten him more treasures if he hadn't needed to continually come back to the cave to check that Simon was still alright.

Not that any of it will matter. As soon as Ghost is fully awake, it's all going to come crashing down around Soap.

Just like it has every time he's shown someone his True Form in the past.

Which was all of once as a teenager and then once again when he was tested for entry into the SAS. The officers testing him had seen all manner of hybrids, but even they couldn't hide their shock and disgust when Soap had shifted in front of them. A couple of them had even left the room rather quickly and simply never returned.

All of this influenced his decision to shift back to his human form for when Ghost woke up. So he wouldn't scare the man but also so that maybe they could go on pretending Ghost had simply never seen him in all his horrible glory. He'd rummaged around in Ghost's pack and found the man's extra pair of trousers and has them on now even though they're much too big.

He can see Simon's eyes as they slide open, squinting against the orange light of the sunset. They slip closed again almost immediately and Soap watches, fascinated, as Simon simply lays there and breathes. Before too long he notices his fingers wiggling, then subtle shifts of his arms, then his feet, and lower legs. A huff of appreciation leaves Soap as he realizes that Ghost is checking over himself for injuries before he tries getting up—endlessly thorough in everything he does.

"You all the way over there because I stink?" He asks, voice gruff with disuse.

"Minging," Soap fires back, relieved to see a smirk grace Simon's features.

Though he violently doesn't want to cross the space between them, his instincts push him to care for Simon. Before Soap can even fully process what he's doing, he's stood and picked up a coconut he'd cracked in half earlier and walks it over. Simon pushes himself up onto his elbows as he hears John coming, and gratefully takes the coconut as Soap stoops to offer it. Greedily he drinks all of it, and John can't help but watch the droplets that trail from his mouth off the edge of his chin a little too closely.

He's rarely afforded looks at Simon's bare face like this and, though he knows he shouldn't stare, he can't quite help himself.

Simon is staring right back at him. He doesn't mention anything though, and merely sits up more to take a second coconut Soap offers him and drinks that entire thing too.

"Got some fish," John mumbles, going back towards where he'd been seated earlier. He'd managed to catch some fish in one of the shipwrecks and brought it back to cook over an open flame once he'd realized Simon was beginning to stir. They're simply gutted and skewered, then roasted over the open flame until done. He takes them to Simon and watches, trying not to preen, as the man eats the whole lot, finally sitting back with a sigh as he places the last pin bone atop the small pile he's accumulated next to him.

"I was right, you know," Simon says, looking far too closely at John.

He doesn't want to do this, doesn't want to talk. All he wants is to disappear beneath the surface of the sea and wait somewhere Simon can't see him until someone comes to exfil them.

But he's always been a glutton for punishment.

"About what?" He asks.

"Never seen eyes like yours."

And there it is, flopping between them like a fish tossed onto a dock.

Some part of John had held onto the hope that Simon wouldn't remember what he saw earlier. But Soap's always had shit luck.

"How much did you see?" He manages to whisper, drawing his knees up to his chest and looking at the sand between them; can't bring himself to meet Simon's eyes.

Simon hums and is quiet for a moment before he speaks. "Not enough. Will you let me see you?"

John promised Price when he signed on with the 141 that if push came to shove, he would use his True Form. He would never deny Price or Ghost if they asked it of him. Over time he's grown to trust their judgment, grown to regard them and Gaz as family. Even grown to realize he's arse over end for Simon.

Soap would rather be shot at point blank range than let Simon see him in broad daylight in his True Form. But he's the one that's dragged Ghost here; he's the one that took his mask off him, leaving him exposed. He's the one that Simon's stuck with on this atoll and feels it's only fair that Simon know the full scope of what he's dealing with. That way, when he sends Soap away, he won't have to feel guilty about it.

So he stands, brushing at the sand on his trousers in a futile attempt to waste time as he jolts towards the sea.

Simon stands too, though John isn't sure why. As his feet reach the edge of the water he turns and glances over his shoulder towards Simon.

"Will ye turn around?"

Simon gives one nod and then dutifully turns. John lets his eyes linger over his tall form, in case this is the last he'll see of him before he shatters the careful reality they've built. Then, he sheds the trousers, tossing them back onto the dry sand, and steps out into the sea.

He tries to be quiet as he shifts, but producing ten tentacles from a human body generates quite a lot of. . . rather unsavoury noises. John can see Simon's head turn a fraction of an inch towards him, listening. He's sure that in any other circumstances he'd be making a joke about the noise but, thankfully, the man has half an ounce of tact in this moment and doesn't.

John doesn't venture very deep into the water, staying where Simon can see him from just below the waist up. It means he's mostly reclined on the sand, using his tentacles to brace himself upright. It's far more of himself than he'd like to show anyone, but he respects Ghost, cares for Simon too much than to make a mockery of him by not showing his full self. But Soap doesn't think he'll be able to stomach the look on Simon's face when he turns.

He allows himself that small bit of cowardice and lets one of the tentacles on his face come up to cover his own eyes.

"Johnny," Simon calls gently. It's been too long now, he knows. "Can I—"

"Aye," Soap whispers.

He hears the sand shifting, hears the sharp intake of breath and braces. But then it's silence. Not a breath of air moves inside the cave, and Simon doesn't make a sound. Until John hears a splash just in front of him, followed by another, then another. Then hands are on him. John instinctively jerks away, begins moving deeper out into the water where he can be away from Simon's gaze, where he can hide his shame in peace.

But the splashes only follow, accompanied by Simon grumbling for him to, "Wait a fucking second."

But John can't, won't stay and force himself to listen to whatever lecture Ghost has for him. He keeps going, deeper and deeper, but Simon is relentless. Soap is forced to use a tentacle to push the man back towards shore, and hears the gasp Simon lets out when it wraps around his arm in order to haul him back into shallower water.

"Let me go," John pleads, despite the fact he knows his tentacle is likely wrapped tightly enough around Simon's arm to bruise.

"You aren't listening to me," Simon snaps, trying to wrestle his arm out of John's tentacle and failing miserably.

"It's okay, sir," John mumbles, irritated when some of his tentacles reach out to try and pull Simon closer. Because truthfully, when Simon rejects him, John knows it's going to ruin him. "I'll just go. It's alright."

"You'll do no such thing," Simon commands, and instead of trying to fight Soap's tentacles anymore, he goes lax for a moment. Then, carefully, John can feel him tracing a gentle hand up the tentacle that's wrapped around his arm, pausing to feel at each of the suckers his hand passes as it travels higher and higher. "I want to look at you," Simon says, much softer now. "If you'll let me."

John doesn't respond to that, can't respond to that because there isn't a reality in which he won't do whatever Simon asks of him. Even if that's to his own detriment. So he stays still, trying to memorize the gentle way Simon's fingers are trailing up his tentacle that's still wrapped around his arm and thinks back to how his fingers trailed across the top of John's spine the previous night after they'd left the pub.

He'd thought initially that Ghost was drunk the way he was touching him. The hand on his thigh, inching higher, the way he's tilted John's face towards him to look at his eyes, the lingering touches in John's doorway back at base. It'd been too much and not enough all at once. Not enough because John hadn't wanted it to stop. He wanted to feel Simon's hands on every square inch of his body. But too much because John knows he can't have that, can't allow that. Because he's been keeping a rather large secret from Ghost all this time.

John knows Simon wouldn't want to touch him if he knew what John was. . . is.

Or at least, he thought he knew that. But Simon is now crawling over his tentacles in an effort to get closer. John thinks to push him away, has a tentacle up and wrapped around his leg with the intent to drag the man all the way back to the beach. But he can't bring himself to do it; instead just relishes in the gentle warmth that seeps into his skin through Simon's trousers. John has to actively fight with his tentacles to keep them from reaching out and enveloping Simon because he's greedy, and his tentacles tend to follow his base desires and instincts without him thinking much about what they're doing.

He can control them, but dealing with ten limbs that each have a mind of their own isn't a precise science so much as it is a rough approximation. And right now, John doesn't really know what he wants, whether that's to push Ghost away or pull him close and never let go.

But his mental battle comes to a grinding halt when there's a gentle hand on his chin, exactly like it had been the previous night when they were sat in the booth in the dingy pub lighting. On instinct, Soap has flattened his spines close to his body, and keeps his hands and claws well away from Simon on the off chance he catches him or a tentacle accidentally pulls him in.

"Told you I could look at those eyes forever and now you've gone and covered them up," Simon murmurs, holding John's chin still.

He feels a finger run, feather light across the tentacle that Soap still has covering his eyes and he shudders. The traitorous tentacles that have been covering the rest of his face begin to reach for Simon, the tips of them up and searching for the man's fingers and John finds he's powerless to stop them. . . maybe doesn't really want to stop them.

Simon lets out a small huff of a laugh as they brush against his hand experimentally, then begin wrapping around his hand, intertwining with his fingers. His hands are rough and calloused, the skin hard from years of harsh work and conditions. But his grip is gentle, soft in a way that makes John's chest ache as he feels of the tentacles just as much as they feel of him. After a few moments of this, John finds himself thoroughly embarrassed again, and his tentacles retreat to again wrap around his face, clamping tight over his mouth.

Letting out an appreciative sound, Simon's finger again traces across the singular tentacle covering Soap's eyes.

"Guess I'm not the only one who wears a mask, eh?"

Despite his best efforts to tamp it down, to control himself, Soap feels his body break out in goosebumps, which for him means his entire texture briefly shifting to appear prickly, running in shivers across his torso and down to the tips of his tentacles. As if that weren't jarring enough his colours go haywire with it, technicolour splotches blinking in and out before he can wrangle his chromatophores back under control.

"Didn't know you came with a seizure warning," Simon says once Soap has finally got himself to a nice, stable and smooth moss green. He says it as he huffs around a laugh and the statement is so stupid, so Simon that it gets a frantic little chuckle from John too, dissolving a bit of the tension that's been holding him back.

"Let me see your eyes?" Ghost asks, using the barest hint of pressure at the tip of his finger to curl under the tip of Soap's tentacle. But he doesn't pull, doesn't force, simply waits there for Soap to decide.

The tentacle decides for him, and chases more contact with Simon's finger, peeling itself off John's eyes as it goes. He blinks a little as that tentacle follows Simon's hand and retreats away from his eyes.

"There he is," Ghost sighs, looking directly into Soap's eyes in a way nobody ever has before; not in his True Form at least.

And. . . he doesn't look away. Simon simply keeps staring into his eyes, his own honey gold eyes soft around the edges in something that can only be described as fondness.

"Ye can still run for the hills," Soap grumbles, looking away first. "Or the sand, I suppose. I'm no good on land really."

"Do I look like I want to run?" Ghost asks, again bringing his hand around to take Soap gently by the chin, bringing him back around to face him.

Soap realizes too late that he's allowed himself to relax just a little too much. That, by relaxing even a fraction, his spines have also relaxed and must now be visible because Simon's gaze immediately snaps to the ones on the top of John's head.

As if he's drawn to them by a siren song, Ghost's hand lifts as he reaches for the venomous spines.

Chapter Text

"Don't touch them!" Soap's body shifts violently away from Ghost's reaching hand. "They're dangerous." One of Soap's tentacles has come to wrap firmly around Ghost's wrist, keeping him right where he is. The grip is strong, too much for Ghost to ever overpower and there are a lot more of them where that came from. A little giddily Ghost thinks he might just have bruises in the shape of Soap's suckers when he lets go.

"How dangerous?" Ghost asks instead, keeping his voice pitched soft and low.

"Fatal." Soap says, eyes huge and sad, "If it gets into your bloodstream."

"And on my skin?" Ghost murmurs, turning his hand to run his fingers along the tentacle he's still held by. Soap's eyes widen, like the question has shocked him.

"It might tingle a little. I'm told it can have a warming sensation too." Soap answers, honest but clearly wary of where this line of questioning is going.

"And is it poisonous?" Ghost asks, mind already racing at the idea of tracing the bright blue substance across his skin. "If ingested, I mean?"

"Not poisonous, no." The tentacles on Soap's face that have been clamped flat along his features, making him look far more human, are now twitching in an obvious show of Soap's nerves. There's a bright red tint starting at the tip of each of them and slowly spreading down their lengths.

"Which means?" Ghost probes.

"If ingested it can act as a potent… stimulant." Ghost takes a minute to parse that, interpret Soap's choice of words.

"It's an aphrodisiac?" The blush swallows Soap's entire body in a bright rush of colour, baby pink around the edges of his face and extremities, fading into deep crimson at his core.

"If you want to be reductive about it." Soap says, his tone huffy, but Ghost is pretty sure he has been more accurate in his description than Soap is willing to admit. The tentacle on Ghost's wrist has loosened it's grip and to Ghost's relief there are indeed small circles all across the skin from the suckers.

"I do." Ghost says easily, just to make Soap scowl. It's with careful and deliberate movements that Ghost reaches out again, lands his hand on Soap's shoulder and ever so slowly traces around to his shoulder blade. They're knee deep in seawater and Ghost is having to lean to one side to watch his progress, but he doesn't feel unsteady at all. Two of Soap's tentacles have wrapped securely around his ankles and up his calves, ending just above his knee. He thinks it would take more than just a small wave to knock him over right now.

Soap doesn't stop him again, but his pulse is thundering in his throat. Some of the small colourful freckle-like spots across his shoulders are pulsing in time with it and Ghost thinks if he watched for too long he could find himself hypnotised.

The frills that cover the spines are loose, a strange texture that's somewhere between seaweed and human skin. They feel almost delicate, paper thin, but there's an elasticity that Ghost can't help but test with a little tug. Soap doesn't react strongly though, and Ghost moves on to something that might get him what he wants.

The spines themselves are beautiful; translucent while maintaining the brightest, electric blue. It's only as Ghost traces his finger along it that he realises the blue is the venom itself, the viscous liquid standing in stark contrast to his own pale skin. His finger begins to tingle immediately, though it's nothing he can't handle. It's a pleasant low grade thrumming through his nerve endings that immediately sends his mind down a rabbit's warren of other places he could use it that would feel even better.

Soap is watching him; Ghost isn't sure he's moved even to blink since Ghost first moved his hand.

"They're stunning." Ghost says, and grins internally at the delighted flutter that Soap's tentacles give in response to the praise. The spines all flare a little, flicking out from where they had earlier been pinned flat to Soap's body. The ones on his head give the adorable impression of a lethal mohawk that has Ghost's heart feeling embarrassingly fond. "How sharp are they?"

"Not very." Soap mumbles, shifting a little under Ghost's scrutiny. "They operate by heavy pressure more than anything. Not likely to cut or prick yourself on 'em."

Ghost takes a calculated risk.

He runs a hand blithely across Soap's head, smoothing the spines back the way one might to a lover's hair. He earns himself a streak of bright blue venom across his palm and a startled look from Soap.

"Jesus, Ghost, are you fucking insane?" Soap snaps, but it's fear and not displeasure that's colouring his voice.

"They're not sharp." Ghost says. "And I wanted to touch them. I want to touch you."

Soap gapes at him.

The red which had started to fade has come back full force, a mesmerising shimmer as the colour changes in ripples across Soap's body, pulsing out from his core. Ghost puts his money where his mouth is and reaches up, captures Soap's chin in his hand and traces a thumb across the scar there, so familiar even here. Vaguely he wonders how Soap's scars translate onto his less human parts but he supposes that's a question for later. Right now he's busy convincing Soap that there truly is nowhere he would rather be than wrapped up in each and every one of his tentacles.

Ghost washes the handful of venom off into the water and smiles when it makes Soap noticeably relax.

"Can I touch your face?" He asks instead of anything else, watching the way the smaller tentacles there begin to wiggle in a way that he chooses to believe is anticipatory. Soap doesn't respond verbally, instead he gives one short, sharp nod and that's all Ghost needs before he's reaching up. He'd already had Soap's chin in hand but he slides his fingers around until he's cupping Soap's jaw.

The tentacles immediately reach for him, twining around and through his fingers and dragging him in. When Ghost gives a little tug away they let him go but vibrate a little, as though annoyed he'd dare try to escape.

"Cute." Ghost says to himself, and chooses to ignore the choked off sound that Soap makes in response to that. Instead, he focuses on his exploration; he wants to map every inch of this new version of Soap. He wants to learn every mark and shape of him, see every possible colour and texture that Soap can turn.

He hooks his thumb just lightly onto Soap's bottom lip, tugs down and hums happily to himself when Soap lets him, dropping his mouth open willingly. Soap's teeth are very different, razor sharp and more centered. When Ghost applies a little more pressure Soap opens wider, his bottom and top lip both split in the middle, his teeth rotating with the movement until his lips make a perfect circle, four fangs facing diagonally inwards and smaller teeth running the whole way around. It makes him look less human than ever, yet looking at the rows of dangerous fangs, the serpentine tongue, all Ghost can think about is shoving his tongue in there.

There really might be something wrong with him, he reckons, but luckily he is entirely disinclined to fix it.

Soap must read whatever Ghost's face is doing wrong, though, because he pulls back and pinches his mouth closed, a pair of his mouth tentacles coming back to cover it.

"Disgusting, I know, I'm-"

"Stop." Ghost uses his Lieutenant voice, the one that he knows Soap will obey instinctively. Soap stops. Ghost's fingers gently brush the tentacles out of the way, his thumb returning to trace along the seam of Soap's mouth again, sweeping across the vertical lines that are almost invisible when closed. Soap's skin has darkened into a murky blue, so deep it's almost black at his joints. Under Ghost's fingers though, only under those, he's shining a bright sunny gold.

It's hard for Ghost to find the words he needs. Hard for him to know how to tread when the path before him seems so littered with possible pitfalls and missteps.

God loves a trier.

That's what Ghost's mum used to say, anyway, and though he doesn't believe in God for a moment, he does believe his mum.

"You're so cruel to yourself, Johnny." Ghost slides a hand to the back of Soap's head, fingers slipping in between his spines, pulls him in to press their foreheads together. "I don't doubt that someone has made you feel this way, that this hasn't come from nowhere. I just." Ghost stops, assesses.

"Soap, I think you're beautiful, no matter what form you're in." Soap's tentacles all jerk like they've been hit, but the two wrapped around his legs squeeze tighter, wrap more firmly. Another two come to join those, squeezing just the right side of uncomfortably.

"I don't think-"

"It's not up for debate, Johnny." Ghost says, voice stern again. "I'll ask that you not speak for me or put words in my mouth." Soap's eyes have gone very, very wide. His skin is back to its blush colours but there is an indigo shifting into lilac across his chest and down his stomach that Ghost is suspecting might indicate something like arousal.

"Okay."

"Okay." Ghost nods. "I think you're perfect." He says, because words like that bear repeating. "And I have wanted you since the day we met, so much. Do you have any idea how tired the others are?" Ghost is delighted to find that when he is bashful enough, Soap's blush becomes the colour and movement of flickering flame, hues of red and yellow and orange darting across his body.

"I ken you're attracted to me but-"

"Attracted to you? Soap this is far more than that. Whatever you thought was going to happen when I saw this form, whatever you were afraid of, I'm here to tell you that I am more aroused than I have ever been and you haven't even touched me."

Soap rears back out of Ghost's hands like he's been slapped and Ghost has just a moment to panic that he has read all of this, their whole relationship, horribly, terribly, wrong. When he looks at Soap though, he realises that his hands are clamped down over his own face, seemingly battling with his tentacles. His blush is back in full force along with a few bursts of stark white that Ghost thinks might just be panic.

"Soap." Ghost says, and reaches for him again, ever so gently pries Soap's hands away until he can see the tentacles straining for him. "Would you, uh. Is this your body's way of saying you want to kiss me?"

"I'm sorry, I know it's weird but I can't really control oof-" Ghost cuts him off by slamming their mouths together. He hadn't really thought through how, exactly, they were going to do that, what with Soap's different anatomy. As it turns out he's more than happy to learn on the job. Soap's mouth is warm and for now at least he isn't opening more than his top and bottom lip. His tongue is thinner than a humans and a little forked, the skin tougher too, which makes sense considering the size of his teeth.

It's the tendrils though, that make it the most different. They wrap around Ghost's cheeks and jaw, one curls up around each ear to hold him close, rubbing small circles into the tender skin behind. It's consuming, overwhelming in the best possible way and Ghost can't get enough of it.

Still, a man has to breathe, and he reasons that if he breathes now he can ensure a foreseeable future full of more kisses just like this.

The tendrils aren't keen to let go, which makes Ghost laugh. He brings his own hands up to gently dig his thumbs in at the base of them, the muscles writhe happily under his fingers and relinquish their hold on his face in order to play with his hands.

"You don't find me disgusting." Soap murmurs, and he doesn't say it like a question. He says it like it's a revelation, like it had never once occurred to him that anybody could do that.

"Not even a little." Ghost agrees. "Will you let me prove it? Since we're stuck here…"

Soap's skin all but twinkles, pops of gold and crimson bursting across swathes of lilac. Then, without warning, Soap's tentacles hoist Ghost up and carry him powerfully through the water until they're back at a rocky outcrop, the stone smooth and warm from the sun as Soap sets him down on it. His own body is hauled mostly out of the water, several of his tentacles draped off and into the sea. Ghost must look as baffled as he feels because Soap blushes, though much less this time, and shrugs.

"If you want to touch me you need to not have hypothermia." He says it with a little shrug that has Ghost laughing; it's the most 'Soap' gesture he's seen since his sergeant sprouted tentacles and it puts him back on even footing.

"Demanding, you are." He bats lightly at the tentacle that is coyly playing along the hem of his t-shirt and Soap draws it back to his own hand, shaking lightly as if admonishing it.

"Aye, I know. It's a lot, asking you not to drop dead."

"And now he's taking the piss." Ghost mutters, but the smile that's splitting his face gives away that he's not feeling anything like affronted about the situation.

"You'd not like me half so well if I was nice to you." Soap retorts. Ghost is listening, honest, but Soap's entire body has lit up in a bright, golden sunshine yellow. Burnt orange is dusting across his nipples, suckers and the tips of his fingers, even sprinkled across the tops of his cheeks. This is Soap, unequivocally happy. He's gorgeous, the brightest thing Ghost has ever seen.

He's absolutely desperate to see what other colours he can discover before the evening is over.

"I suppose we'll never find out, since you're incapable of it." Ghost snarks but he's had enough of this back and forth, his lizard brain is making itself well known and he's sitting up onto his knees and pushing Soap down before he can think it through.

"I'm well nice." Soap snaps, a little breathlessly.

"To every one else, sure." Ghost nods, finally getting Soap flat on his back and swinging his leg over him. "Now, shut it." He leans down to take Soap's mouth in a filthy kiss before Soap can say anything further, though he isn't exactly complaining. Damp tentacles rise out of the water and wrap snugly around both of Ghost's legs, another comes to wrap around Ghost's arse, cradling him against Soap's body. Ghost doesn't think it's intentional but the suckers along it's length are pulsing where they grip him and even through his thick trousers it is doing very interesting things to his cunt.

Ghost is better prepared for their kiss this time, knows how it will feel when Soap's tendrils wrap around his ears and stroke along the soft skin under his eyes. This time though he has something to prove, wants Soap to see that he can't scare him away, not with a part of himself. He traces his tongue lightly down the seam that crosses through both of Soap's lips. It almost matches his own scar, the one that traces from cheekbone to chin, given to him long before he ever signed up for the service.

Soap's second lips part on his third pass, tentative, as though even now he is hesitant that Ghost might run screaming for the hills. Ghost grunts his pleasure and focuses his attention on finding out just how Soap can use them, what new ways they can kiss.

Ghost's hands are exploring too, tracing down Soap's sides and feeling the shifting texture of his skin. On Soap's neck he stops, traces his fingers featherlight along the fluttering edges of Soap's gills. He follows that with pressing his thumbs firmly into the skin just beneath and his experiment is rewarded when Soap bucks up hard under him.

"Soap?" Ghost grunts, jerking his own hips back against the tentacle that has tightened it's hold against his arse.

"Hmm?"

"Tell me what you like, what feels good like this." Ghost's hands have slipped lower onto Soap's chest, groping and squeezing at the swell of his pecs, feeling across his stomach and relishing how the muscles twitch under his hands.

"I- ah-" Soap cuts off as Simon's fingers trace even lower, sliding low across the front of his torso to the place where his tentacles begin.

"Use your words." Ghost whispers against Soap's mouth.

"I don't know." Soap whines, tendrils pulling back to again cover his eyes. Ghost doesn't try to pull them away this time, instead he settles for pressing gentle kisses to them where they're clamped down, until they're torn between covering Soap and reaching for Ghost once again.

The implications of that statement are clear. Ghost doesn't even know why it's a surprise; nothing about Soap's reveal so far has implied this form is something Soap is comfortable showing to anyone. Still, it does surprise him that Soap has never had this with someone, that he has never bitten the bullet and let literally anyone touch this form and give him pleasure.

Guiltily, the idea of it has Ghost aching and empty, more eager to touch Soap than ever before. The idea that he could have Soap in a way that no one else ever has, that he could be the one to touch Soap and make him feel in new, pleasurable ways.

"But you'll let me find out." Ghost says and he doesn't even bother to pretend that it's a question. Still, Soap answers him.

"Yes."

"You want me?" Ghost asks, because he has to hear it at least once.

"For so long." Soap arches up into Ghost's hand, still pressed flat against the smooth expanse at the base of his torso. His tentacles writhe around Ghost, he doesn't know how they don't knot together, so much twisting movement.

"How long?" Ghost gives in to the urging of the tentacle cradling him and rocks down until he's sliding his clothed cunt along the smooth base of a tentacle, it presses up to meet him as the tip of the one behind him curls up and toys with the waistband of his trousers. Another trails up beneath his shirt, suckers pulsing curiously at each new piece of skin they reach.

"Day we met." Soap grunts out, voice strained as he continues to roll up into Ghost's palm, despite there being no obvious source for his pleasure that Ghost can see.

"The assault course?" Ghost is surprised, Soap had seemingly taken a long time to warm up to him. He's spent all this time labouring under the assumption that he's been successfully wooing Soap. Maybe that was never the problem to begin with.

"No." Soap shakes his head. "No, it was, oh fuck-" Soap cuts off at the moment Simon finally wraps his hand around the top of the tentacle playing with his chest and presses an open mouthed kiss to its tip. Soap groans, long and low, and Ghost takes that as his cue to do it again, to dart his tongue out and twirl it languidly around the sensitive area. Soap, in retaliation, shifts the rest of the tentacle to spread across Simon's chest. Ghost almost comes there and then when the suckers begin to move, working over his nipples until jolts of pleasure are shooting in a direct line to his cock.

"When." Ghost grits out, unwilling to be so easily distracted.

"You did a knife skills session, during my initial training." Soap whines when Simon slides his mouth over the tip of the tentacle in his grip, lowers himself onto it until it's slipping down his throat. "Christ, you - ah - you moved so well I was convinced you were a hybrid. Never seen a human move like that and I wanted-" Soap breaks off with a whine when Ghost swallows around him, laves his tongue across the suckers.

"What did you want, love?" Ghost pulls off so he can coo the words but Soap retaliates by bringing up another tentacle to tug at the button of Ghost's fly until it pops off and skitters away into the sea.

"Wanted - hngh - wanted my mouth on you." Soap's skin is shifting; his belly is now a bright white while the rest of him has lit up with a dazzling pattern of iridescent green covered in black zebra stripes. It's hard to look away, the colours so mesmerising.

"What's stopping you?" Ghost quirks his eyebrow and makes sure Soap reads this for the challenge it is.

Soap doesn't bother answering verbally, instead he wriggles a tentacle into either side of Ghost's waistband and pulls. The trousers rip like wet tissue under his strength, Ghost might actually be a little awed if he wasn't so fucking turned on. His pants had gone with them and all that's left between him and Soap's skin is scraps of fabric trapped under his weight.

It doesn't matter for long because Soap's tentacles are moving again, winding around his limbs and torso and bodily moving him, turning and lifting and Ghost is honestly glad he's had training in the art of dealing with being bound because he thinks he might have panicked about just how irrevocable this hold is otherwise. Then just like that, he's being released, his arms at least. He drops forward to brace his weight against Soap's chest and as he does so he feels the alien sensation of Soap's tendrils crawling up along his thighs, tiny suckers feeling like a hundred feather light kisses against his skin. He doesn't even know when his t-shirt went missing.

"Fuck…" Soap breathes it from between his legs, he's holding Ghost's thighs still, trapping them open. Not that Ghost could close them even if he wanted to; Soap's enormous head and shoulders are firmly lodged between them.

Ghost can feel his own slick beginning to trickle down his thigh, he's been unbearably wet since the second he'd clapped eyes on Soap like this.

"You just going to stare at it, Sergeant, or are you going to taste it?" Ghost tries to push himself back and close the gap between Soap's mouth and his cunt but Soap's tentacles hold fast. "Now, Soap, that's an order."

He's half joking, when he says it, half falling back on the easy control he's so used to having. Soap doesn't seem to think he is. He doesn't even respond verbally, just slams Ghost hips down onto his own face so hard Ghost thinks he'd have broken his nose, if he still had a human one.

It is instantly the best head of Ghost's life, clear inexperience be damned. Soap's tendrils are a law unto themselves but luckily their wants seem to align exactly with 'give Ghost as much pleasure as is possible all at once'. Soap's jaw is working eagerly, happy grunts echoing out of his chest as his tongue pushes as far into Ghost as it can, licking further into him than Ghost has ever felt before. His cock is rubbing against Soap's chin with each movement but there's also a tendril creeping under his thigh which wraps tightly around him and pulses, suckers rippling along him. More of the tendrils are lying along his lips, sucking tiny hickies into the sensitive skin as two others slowly work their way inside to join Soap's tongue.

Ghost doesn't doubt Soap has at least some experience with vaginas, no one gets this good at eating pussy without having done it before, but the tendrils seem to just be instinctively excellent. The two inside him curl and twist until they're pressing and pulsing against his sweet spot relentlessly. The final ones are trailing up and along his taint to play with his other hole.

Ghost had lost the power of speech almost immediately but he seems to have now lost the ability to make any sound at all, reduced to a silently mewling mess as his hips jerk, wildly attempting to chase the mindless pleasure he's feeling.

Still, he can't bear not to give anything in return and he reaches out to claim one of Soap's tentacles in his hand, hauls it up to his mouth and slides it between his lips again. He loves the feel of it as it pulses and writhes against his tongue, loves the way Soap instantly moans with pleasure at the feel of it too. With his mouth occupied, Ghost reaches out to claim another tentacle in each of his hands, clever digits playing with the tips of each of them, rubbing and rolling them between his fingers as Soap begins to tremble beneath him.

He isn't going to last long, not like this. Not with the way Soap is taking him apart so efficiently. Not that he's quite willing to give so much away, he's still arching back, rolling his hips, guiding just where Soap puts his mouth and at what angle. Soap, unsurprisingly, lets him. Allows himself to be led and even seems grateful for it. From a distance it might be difficult to tell that Soap has a submissive streak about a mile wide, under all that bravado.

Up close though? As his superior officer? Well. Ghost would be lying if he said he'd never been tempted to test the boundaries of just how far he could push Soap.

"Fuck, Johnny, right there." Ghost grinds down hard and slow as Soap manages to align his tendrils and tongue at just the right time. He's going to come, and it won't take him long, he can feel it building in his gut and he knows it's just a matter of time.

He slumps forward to brace himself against Soap's stomach, dropping the tentacles in his hands, the one in his mouth drawing back until it's merely applying heavy pressure to his tongue, stroking languidly along the slick muscle. It's the slump that allows him to see it though; something at the base of Soap's torso has shifted, a slit that wasn't visible before has opened and another tentacle is beginning to slink out.

Except, it's not a tentacle, Ghost realises. It's Soap's cock.

At this point Ghost had come to accept that perhaps in this form Soap didn't have one, though he'd have been more than happy to make do with just the tentacles. It turns out the one he does have is better than anything Ghost could have hoped for.

It's long and tapered, clearly almost as dexterous as the rest of Soap's tentacles based on the way it's writhing now. Ghost thinks, with a fair amount of manoeuvring he could probably take it all, if the tapered end curls around. The base is so deliciously thick and there is what appears to be almost a knot near Soap's torso that Ghost knows would feel so perfect as it slipped inside. He reaches for it without thinking, wrapping his hand around the middle and shivering with need when the tip of it twists around his wrist and begins to rub itself off against him.

He twists his hand and begins to stroke, he can barely close his fingers about it, can't by the time he gets anywhere near the base. As he gives an experimental squeeze to the knot, which earns him a very loud grunt from Soap, he feels something bump against the heel of his hand. When he looks he notices two small protuberances emerging from the very base of Soap's cock, below his navel. They move and wiggle independently and Ghost is for a moment lost in the image of them hugging his clit as Soap bottoms out inside him.

It's that image, along with the almost vicious suck Soap gives to his clit, that finally sends Ghost over the edge. He feels so full already with Soap's tendrils pulsing inside him, squirming as Ghost's muscles clench down on them. Soap makes a happy trilling noise as he feels Ghost begin to ripple around him, thighs shaking, and his whole body instantly transforms into a dazzling array of purples and pinks that seem to fizz like champagne.

The fizzing seems to be in part thanks to the texture changing across his surface, something like goosebumps rising and falling over and over. Ghost almost comes again when he feels the same effect take place under his hand across the surface of Soap's cock, imagines that happening inside him.

Soap seems to have gone lax and happy in the wake of Ghost's orgasm, which means his unbreakable grip on Ghost's thighs and hips has loosened. His hands are happily squeezing and rubbing at Ghost's arse but his tentacles have flopped lazily back into the sea for now as Soap's back arches up into Ghost's hands on his cock.

Ghost is only too happy to be the first one to feel Soap's cock like this, to be the first one to give him this kind of pleasure. He shuffles forward until he's straddling Soap's chest instead of his face, leaves a trail of slick behind him he thinks he'll probably be embarrassed by later. Soap's cock is definitely a two-handed weapon, even using both of them there is plenty left over. He edges further again, releasing the tentacle he'd all but forgotten was in his mouth, until he can press a kiss to the tip of Soap's dick.

The reaction is immediate, Soap's entire body convulses, his tentacles flail wildly, and Ghost grins to himself.

"Fuck, Simon. Are you sure-" He cuts off as Ghost does it again, and again. Opens his mouth to suck lightly at the slit and press in with the tip of his tongue. Soap is already babbling, keening praise about how good Ghost feels and how good Ghost makes him feel. His hips jackknife up and Ghost pushes down on them hard, turns to glare over his shoulder until Soap is whining.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be good." Soap flattens himself against the rock, tentacles bracing against every nearby nook or cranny.

"Hmm." Ghost watches the display with keen interest, "Good boy." As expected, Soap shudders in response, breaths panting out of him, but he doesn't move. Satisfied that he has the obedience he'd been after, Ghost returns to exploring, running his tongue along the smooth length of Soap and returning to suckling the head as Soap holds himself rigidly still beneath him, soft whines and pants escaping his lips.

Ghost is fascinated by the way Soap's cock emerges from his body. He trails his fingers down to trace around the soft edges of the slit, applies a little more pressure when he feels the moisture gathered there. Soap makes a sound that sounds almost like a hiccough and when Ghost does it again, with even more pressure, one of his tentacles shoots out straight like it's been shocked.

There isn't much give, Ghost can't press in except for in one small place at the top of Soap's cock, just behind those two little fronds which cling to Ghost's fingertip as he traces past them. Something about the movement sparks something in Ghost's brain. Something about the soft, burning give of the place behind, barely wide enough for a finger and certainly not that deep, but deep enough.

Ghost climbs off Soap and shuffles, ignoring Soap's whine and reaching hands.

"I want to try something." Ghost tells him as he swings his leg over the base of Soap's tentacles. "Tell me if you don't like it."

Soap doesn't answer, just looks at Ghost with glassy pleasure, a stupid, stunned smile on his mouth.

"Johnny!" Ghost clicks in his face and watches as Soap seems to startle back to himself. His tendrils snap out at Ghost's hand, one of them catching the back of it in a stinging snap that makes Ghost chuckle with surprise.

"Don't fucking click at me." Soap bitches, scowling in outrage. His cock doesn't seem to have got the memo that they're annoyed and is instead curling to creep in between Ghost's legs.

"Answer me when I speak to you, then." Ghost snarks back. Soap's body goes a dull shade of red and he folds his arms even as several tentacles move to run soothingly across Ghost's body in obvious apology. Ghost sighs fondly, softening. "Please, tell me if you don't like something."

"I will." Soap nods. "Not sure you could do much of anything to me I wouldn't like." He adds, blushing harder as he says it but pushing out the words anyway. Ghost, as a thank you for his honesty, leans forward and up to press a firm kiss to Soap's lips that makes his body ripple with the strange goosebumps once again.

Soap's cock is now lying firmly between Ghost's legs, smooth and silky with whatever natural lubricant he produces himself. It doesn't give much friction when Ghost rolls his hips experimentally, but it's hot and hard and friction of that kind hadn't exactly been why he moved down here anyway.

One of Soap's tentacles has been clamped possessively across Ghost's chest since their kiss but it's getting in the way now. He pats it with a gentle hand and nods towards Soap.

"D'you mind?" Soap releases him, but his skin had been wet and as the tentacle peels away it makes the unmistakable, unsexy and undeniably funny sound of over a hundred suction cups pulling off a wet surface in sequence. When Ghost looks down, Soap is grinning mischievously up at him, seemingly stuck somewhere between laughing and eyeing up the obvious bruises a couple of the larger suckers have left.

Ghost decides to rise above it, instead he presses firmly on Soap's stomach, a silent instruction to stay put. Soap is watching him curiously, a spark of excitement in his eyes as he watches Ghost slide forward in preparation.

"Tell me-"

"If I don't like it." Soap finishes with a smile, his skin returning to that same fascinating zebra pattern as before. "I know, I will."

With that, Ghost tilts his hips and pushes a finger either side of his cock to make sure it sticks out as much as possible. His bottom growth is significant and privately Ghost is very proud of it, loves the way it stands out proudly from his cunt. Lowering himself down until he's seated on Soap's cock he slips his cock between the two fronds and pushes until his tip is pressing against the slight give of Soap's sheath.

Soap gasps, draws in a shuddering breath as he watches Ghost's movements, transfixed on the place where Ghost is sliding into him. Ghost presses hard until his pelvis is flush with Soap's and feels his own breath stutter when the two small appendages wrapped around him seem to close, tightening their grip on him and helping guide him when he draws back only to press forward once again.

The movement drags his cunt along the top of Soap's cock, which shivers before the texture changes, ridges rise up and now each time Ghost strokes in or out his pussy is stimulated at the same time. The fronds are moving too, flicking over one another in a way that has them almost feeling like they're vibrating around him. Ghost prides himself in his composure, his control, but he knows he's on the brink of losing it just moments after starting.

Soap is sobbing beneath him, tentacles writhing in a great mass around him, clinging to his limbs like he is the last thing tethering Soap to this realm.

Ghost is impressed by himself, honestly, for how long he manages to hold on. He lets his hand roam, gripping and rubbing at every part of Soap he can reach. He's nowhere near tall enough for them to kiss in this position, not when Soap has his back arched mindlessly into the sensation. Ghost reaches up, hand outstretched and feels Soap's tendril reach for him in return, the tip of the tendril just able to wrap around his finger.

Something moves between Ghost's legs then, twists just right until the tip of Soap's cock is pressing against Ghost's entrance, and Ghost is demanding, "Yes."

The cock probes inwards, just one inch, two, and that's all it takes. Ghost's hips stutter and fall out of rhythm as he groans long and low. Soap's cock has frozen in its movement as Ghost clenches around him, his own cock twitching inside Soap as the fronds tease his orgasm out until he's jerking and overstimulated and his entire body is shivering.

Gingerly, he lifts himself up and slides along Soap's torso until he can slot their mouths together. Soap is smiling, Ghost thinks, though it's fairly hard to read his expressions in this new form. Ghost intends to learn every one of them, in time. There's a sort of joyful bubbling sound that Ghost realises is the suckers in the water pulsing to cause little ripples. He thinks it might be the equivalent of satiated giggling, if Soap was still human.

Cute.

"Thank you, Ghost, that was-" Ghost kisses him again just to shut him up.

"Christ, please don't thank me for sex, Soap. Trust me when I said that was at least as much for my pleasure as it was yours. You didn't even get off."

"I'm not sure I'll survive you getting me off." Soap says, cheerfully.

Ghost traces a finger along the intricate swirling patterns across Soap's skin. Pokes and prods at the different ridges and bumps of texture he finds.

"I'm not sure I'll survive you fucking me." Ghost says honestly, and then backtracks when he sees the distressed look that immediately appears on Soap's face at the thought. "Because of how good you feel." He reassures, tracing the flat of his hands along the length of a nearby tentacle. Several of them drape across his back, soothing away the slight chill of the air.

Soap is still hard and hot and languidly swishing between them, Ghost truly cannot wait to see how much of the thing he can get inside him. The idea though, of trying to get off again right this moment, has his overstimulated body recoiling at the idea of so much sensation. Which is when the idea comes to him.

"Soap…" He says, cautiously. Soap's eyebrow immediately cocks suspiciously, as does the top tendril on the same side, which makes Ghost's heart damn near burst with adoration. He runs a soothing thumb across Soap's eyebrow and presses a kiss to the tip of the tendril, which immediately attempts to shove its way into his mouth. He pries it away by hooking a chastising finger around it and ignoring the blush that is beginning to creep back across Soap's skin.

"That's the tone you use when you're going to say something I won't like." Soap says, warily, though there is a hint of that strange smile hovering around his mouth.

"Yeah." Ghost nods, unapologetically. "I want to suck on your spines."

"What the actual fuck is wrong wi' ye?" Soap rears back immediately. "You need ye head checked, are ye actual fuckin' mental?" The mixture of new anatomy and the thicker Scottish that always comes with Soap's ire makes him almost impossible to understand, but Ghost certainly gets the gist.

"You said it's an aphrodisiac, right?" Ghost is sitting up now, straddled across Soap's stomach while Soap is propped up on his elbows, tentacles wriggling anxiously.

"Aye, I think I also mentioned it could kill ye stone dead." Soap says, followed by a muttered, "Fuckin' eejit."

"Only if you stabbed me with em." Ghost rolls his eyes before he can stop himself. "I'll just swallow a little bit and then you and I can go over and over and over again." Ghost knows he's cheating, the way he flexes as he says it, moves his hips just a little, but he really, really, wants Soap to fuck him, along with all manner of other things while they're at it.

Soap looks pained, face scrunched and brow dipped in concentration.

"I'm not letting you near my spines." Soap says finally, his tone deadly serious. Ghost deflates a little, but isn't about to argue when Soap has set a boundary.

"Alright."

"But it is supposed to be very safe if ingested." There's that torn look creeping back across Soap's face, concern and want fighting one another in his features.

His face goes flat all of a sudden, mind made up, and before Ghost can ask any sort of follow up, he's being flipped. Again. His body hoisted and manhandled so fast and so gently he's hardly aware it's happened until he's flat on his back looking up at Soap. Soap reaches behind himself, his huge form braced above Ghost on one deliciously strong arm, corded with hard muscle.

When Soap's hand draws back there is a flush of bright, luminescent blue dripping across his fingers.

"Christ…" Ghost breathes out, swallowing hard.

"You want this?" Soap asks but Ghost doesn't answer him. Instead he drops his mouth open, laying out his tongue like he's welcoming Soap in. Soap's hand comes down until the tip of his nail is resting an inch over Ghost's tongue and the venom begins to drip. The warm tingling spreads through his mouth and follows down his throat, a low hum that picks up into a symphony of sensation when it hits his belly.

Soap's hand turns until his fingertips are touching Ghost's tongue. They begin to draw down, leaving a long, buzzing trail of blue down his chin and throat and onto his chest. Ghost's body comes alive, Soap's wonderful biology lighting him up in every way.

And then, Soap finishes his teasing by wiping the very last trace of venom onto the tip of Ghost's cock, and his entire body catches fire.

When Ghost's back arches, he lets out a moan that has Soap convinced he's killed him. He knew playing with his venom like this was stupid, knew it was dangerous. He should have never let Simon convince him to do something as foolish as—

Simon's hands come to rest on John's chest for a fraction of a second before he shoves him backwards.

John goes with it, easily, but his tentacles do come up to wrap around Simon's legs and waist, worrying his skin everywhere they touch. He's looking for any sign of an adverse reaction, any sign to confirm his fear that what he'd heard from Simon just moments ago was pain and not actually pleasure.

"Quit your fretting," Simon grunts as his hips settle over the base of John's tentacles. "Felt fucking amazing."

Simon's pupils take up nearly the entirety of his sclera and a blush is crawling its way from his cheeks, down his neck, across his chest and shoulders, and extending to the top of his stomach. It's a rich and dark reddish pink and John can't bring himself to look away from the beautiful blush Simon's skin has created just for him. He brings his hands up, careful of his claws and venom, and rubs them across Simon's chest, enjoying the way he arches into the touch, settling his hips flush against the base of John's cock.

Simon lets out a groan as Soap rubs even harder over his chest, then pinches his nipples.

"Greedy fuck," Simon grumbles as he takes Soap by the wrists and leans forward, pinning them on either side of Soap's head. "Keep these to yourself," he pants. And then he smirks the way he does when he's gotten a particularly terrible idea.

Reaching down, he takes a tentacle in each hand and brings them up, wrapping them around each of Soap's wrists even though they wriggle and squirm in protest.

"Hold yourself still if you can't behave," he orders just before leaning up to lick straight into Soap's mouth.

John can't help but moan into the kiss, and Simon moans back as two of his tendrils slip into his mouth while the others caress the rest of his face and head, keeping him from pulling away. Simon alternates between sucking on John's tongue and tendrils, and it's distracting enough that he hasn't really registered what his own cock is doing. He doesn't register it at all until Simon moans just as the tip nudges up into the warmth of his cunt again.

John tries to rein himself in, to pull his cock back, to check in with Simon because he has already come twice and he has to be oversensitive by now. But he takes the base of John's cock in hand and only seats himself on it further. He sits up, causing John's tendrils to vibrate in annoyance at the distance between them, and grinds himself even further down on John's cock.

Simon moans, long and low, with his head thrown back and throat exposed. One of John's tentacles comes up, wrapping snugly around Simon's throat and just holds there, reveling in the feel of the man's pulse hammering in his veins. Simon's hand comes up, wrapping around the tentacle for a moment before he finds the tip of it and begins pinching and rolling it in his fingers all while his hips grind and roll, taking more of John's cock with each thrust.

His tendrils have clamped down over his own mouth as Soap fights to keep quiet, trying not to moan and beg as loudly as he knows he would were his mouth uncovered. Ghost leans forward, has to really reach, but manages to fist John's tendrils in his hand and pull them away from his mouth.

"Lemme hear you, Johnny," he pants as his hips roll. "Don't you dare try to be quiet."

"Yer so fuckin' bossy," John grumbles just as Simon rolls his hips forward particularly hard, causing John to cut off with a less than dignified whimper.

But then Simon's creating some space between them, pulling John's cock free with one hand, and before Soap can lean forward to check if he's hurt him, he's re-directing John's cock further back.

"Simon," John starts to warn, but the man doesn't listen, doesn't even pause as he begins seating himself on John's cock. "Ye didnae prep for that. You're going to hurt yourself," he tries as his tentacles fall away from his wrists and he sits up to take Simon by the waist.

"Doesn't hurt at all," Simon smirks, rolling his hips continuously, taking more and more of the tapered end of John's cock with each small thrust. "Think your venom dripped—fuck—doesn't feel anything but good. . . and you're so wet."

That does nothing to ease John's concern because while his cock is self-lubricating, his venom is an aphrodisiac but not a miracle drug. He tries to pull Simon up slightly, even as his own cock is trying to nudge its way deeper into the inviting tight heat of Simon's hole.

"Simon," he tries again.

"Said quit your fretting," Simon grumbles, batting a couple of Soap's tentacles away.

With a frustrated growl, John decides he's had just about enough.

He gives Ghost no warning as his hands and tentacles wrap around his body, turning him until Ghost's back is against Soap's chest. He hooks a hand under Simon's thigh, and has his other hand high on his waist to brace the man against him—keep him from lowering himself too quickly onto Soap's cock and injuring himself. Instinctively, several of his tentacles mesh together to form a cushion between Simon's skin and the rock behind them. But the one wrapped around Ghost's throat stays put, even as others come to tangle with his fingers on each hand, preventing him from outright shoving Soap's cock further in.

"I won't let you get hurt," John grumbles, leaning in to press his forehead against Simon's. "Ye walloper," he huffs affectionately.

"You give me that venom just to tease me?" Simon snaps, trying to wriggle in John's hold but failing to move at all.

Instead of answering, Soap allows his tendrils to reach for Ghost's face, lets a couple of them push past his lips and press his tongue flat to the bottom of his mouth. It gets him a strangled moan and he can feel Simon shiver against him.

"Told ye that ye wouldnae like me if I was nice," he smirks, allowing his tentacle to squeeze tighter around Simon's throat just once. "I agreed to the venom, let ye get away with that. But now ye have to behave."

Simon's argument is garbled around the tendrils in his mouth, and Soap doesn't even pretend he's understood, though Simon's tone speaks loudly enough. But even that changes quickly as Soap's cock nudges its way between Simon's cheeks. He arches his back hard trying to get more of his cock, and John lets him.

"Didnae know being greedy was a side effect of the venom," he mutters, nipping at Simon's throat playfully while his cock just nudges against Simon's rim. He watches as Ghost's eyes roll back and he lets out a long groan around the tendrils in his mouth, just beginning to drool down his own chin.

Slowly, Soap lets more of his cock press against him, relishing in the noises Simon makes as the tapered tip pushes past the ring of muscle.

"Gonna let ye have it," John grunts, pulling his tendrils free of Simon's mouth. "Just have to be patient."

"Don't wanna be patient," Simon snaps as soon as his mouth is unoccupied. He reaches around to thread his fingers between the spines on the back of Soap's neck, tries to yank him forward for a kiss—

But his fingers slip a little too low and brush right over the sensitive flesh of Soap's gill plate. His body reacts before he can stop it, his tentacle around Simon's throat tightens slightly, his hand gripping him so hard he'll surely bruise, and his cock lodges itself further in Simon.

"Steamin' Jesus," Soap gasps and Simon's fingers still immediately. But he seems to realize Soap's reaction is one of pleasure and, tentatively, his fingers hook just underneath the gill plate, seeking until they find a softer texture.

John lets out a loud moan as Simon's fingers stroke skin that he doesn't think even he's touched on his own body. His touch turns explorative then, and presses against the skin like he's trying to get his fingers underneath it. Soap's vision goes white, instinctively a tentacle wraps tightly around Simon's wrist and pulls his hand back a fraction of an inch.

It takes John a second to get his bearings, but when he does he can hear Simon apologizing.

"Dinnae—dinnae apologize," Soap pants. "Nobody's ever. . . I've never touched that before."

Blinking his eyes open, he finds Simon's honey gold eyes on him and watches as they shift from concerned to deeply curious.

"What is it?" He asks, and as Soap's tentacle loosens its grip slightly, his hand returns, running against the edge of his gill plate, feather light.

"That's just the plate, the operculum," Soap explains with a shiver and gasp as Simon prods at the bony plate under the skin. Then his hand skims lower again, fingers slipping around the operculum until they brush the tender skin beneath.

"And this?" he whispers, mouth mere millimeters from John's now and he can feel the man smile as he whimpers.

"It's a. . . fuck. . . a valve," Soap struggles to explain as Simon's fingers dance lightly across him. "Keeps water from flowing the wrong way—Jesus—over my gills. Keeps debris out."

Simon's intentionally distracting him, he knows. The smart bastard has figured out if he distracts Soap, his cock will act of its own accord, and Soap realizes with a start that nearly half of it is buried in Simon's hole now.

Which has him cursing and doing his best not to thrust. He allows his tendrils to yank Simon's face forward so he can kiss him. They wrap around his face and jaw, holding him close while John licks filthily into his mouth. He smiles when Simon moans as a tendril nudges behind the man's ear, curling around the shell of it as the suckers clamp themselves onto the back of his ear. Soap focuses on sucking dark marks into Simon's throat with his tentacle that's still wrapped there; loosening and repositioning it in order to suck marks onto every inch of Simon's throat until there isn't a square centimetre of skin that isn't bruised.

With the hand wrapped around Simon, he begins rolling his nipple between his fingers, and Simon moans loudly into his mouth.

"Cheeky fuck," John murmurs against Simon's lips as his tendrils explore his face. Simon's hand hasn't stopped running forward and back across the valve under Soap's operculum, and his tentacles give an involuntary shiver of pleasure each time.

Simon opens his mouth, no doubt to fire off some retort, but he chokes it off with a moan as Soap's cock begins nudging incessantly against his walls. The moan turns into an outright shout as John's cock curls back on itself, and he finally allows himself to thrust. It gets a moan from the both of them as Simon is stuffed full, as Soap's entire cock is finally seated in the delicious heat it's been seeking.

Simon's babbling almost incoherently. All Soap manages to catch is, "Fucking full," before he devolves into more moans.

Soap hums. "Full?" He asks as one of his tentacles works its way up the crease of Simon's hip and thigh. "Ye were so demanding just a moment ago."

He grins as Ghost's back arches when his tentacle nudges at his cock, rubbing curiously over the sensitive flesh. Simon's body tenses, his fingers intertwining with a different tentacle and squeezing hard.

"And what's this?" John asks, nudging that tentacle against Simon's cunt. "You're not full at all."

He watches Simon's features for any indication this may be unwelcome, that it may be too much. But the man's eyes roll back, and his hips jerk in Soap's hold, seeking more.

"Pretty desperate thing," John murmurs, licking Simon's throat as his tentacle begins pressing inside. "You're so wet for me too," he groans, licking over Simon's lips, swallowing down the moan he gets as his tentacle easily pushes further in.

The noises Ghost makes as he's stuffed full will live in Soap's head forever, and he only gets louder as Soap's cock and tentacle rub and probe at each other through the thin flesh separating them. Soap's cock will pull out just as his tentacle thrusts in, and then the reverse so Simon is constantly being emptied and filled. The tip of the tentacle curls around as it fucks in and out, probing until it finds the spongy texture it's looking for.

Simon comes as soon as it presses against his g-spot, clenching and squirting around Soap as he lets out a long moan.

But John can't bring himself to stop. He's enraptured by the flush that covers most of Simon's body now, can't tear his eyes away from the sucker marks littered all over his pale flesh. It's a pattern he thinks is more beautiful than any his own skin has ever made, chromatophores be damned. Simon is writhing now, tears streaming out of the corners of his eyes as John continues to fuck into him.

"Ye feel so fucking good around me," he grunts into Simon's ear. "Squeezing me like that. God you're a dream, Simon."

He knows he's probably talking too much, but Simon doesn't seem to care as he turns his head and searches for John's mouth with his own. They kiss sloppily, all tongue and teeth as they moan and pant into each other's mouths. Soap's getting close; he can't actually believe he's held on this long. But as Simon's clever fingers begin drumming against his gill flap in a new pattern, he knows he won't last long.

"'M gonna come again," Simon all but whimpers into his mouth, hips jerking with every thrust from Soap. "Want you to come with me."

Soap thanks whatever god may be listening for that.

He doesn't even have time to think of a response to that before his cock twitches and he begins to come. That sends Simon over the edge too, his head falls back to rest against Soap's shoulder as he shudders and clenches around John's cock and tentacle, milking him as he comes. . . and comes. . . and keeps coming.

Simon's moans begins to shift into whimpers, then he squirms and whines, "Too much," with tears building in the corners of his eyes.

Soap pulls out but is still coming, and his cock ruts up into the juncture of Simon's thigh and hip, seeking friction wherever it can as he spills. Dark inky come spurts from him, all the way to Simon's throat, spattering over his chest and stomach, staining his skin in an impossibly beautiful pattern. Soap has just enough brain power left to hope that it stains for days.

When Simon wakes up it's to the feeling of cool water lapping across his body. His skin feels tender and too sensitive, even for the light-as-air touches that Soap is using to wash him clean. He's comfortable though and the light sting is worth enduring for the way Soap is cradling him in his strong tentacles as his hands sluice water over him.

Ghost distinctly remembers Soap passing out first, sated and spent, largely because the pillock had dropped him in the process. Ghost had been too wrung out to carry a grudge though and had wriggled his way under Soap's enormous body in order to pass out himself. Clearly he managed to do so far more comprehensively than Johnny had.

"Morning, princess." Soap is smiling, soft and smug and just the slightest bit unsure.

"Go fuck yourself." Ghost tells him curtly but clearly with just enough softness that Soap knows what he isn't saying, since his skin flutters an attractive blush pink before settling into the peaches and yellows of sunset. "I feel hungover." He grumbles, for the sake of complaining.

"Aye, well you're the one who insisted on trying a Class A restricted substance just to get your rocks off." Soap doesn't look in the least bit sorry for providing it, nor like he's going to brook any argument from Ghost that he in fact enjoyed the results.

"Didn't tell me I'd get hungover." Ghost mutters, knowing he sounds petulant and ignoring the indulgent smile it coaxes onto Soap's face.

"Need to turn you over so I can clean you." Soap tells him, tentacles already shifting to do exactly that.

"Pervert." Ghost grunts but makes himself pliant in Soap's hands. The water beneath him is clear and still when Simon relaxes into Soap's hold, lets him trace his fingers along the rows upon rows of round sucker-shaped bruises that crisscross Ghost's torso.

Ghost lets his eyes follow the shifting ripples, searches through the surface to spot the darting of fish in amongst the shallow pools below. His eyes catch on the reflection of his own bare chest.

"Soap." Ghost grunts and wriggles in Soap's hold until he's facing him again. He lets his eyes fall to his chest and stomach and then dart back up to Soap's face in horror. Soap is at least having the decency to blush crimson. "Why does my torso still look like a poor man's Jackson Pollock?"

"Um." Soap hedges, the ridges of his muscles vibrating a nervous rainbow as the rest of him vacillates between red, black and white. "My ink sack is next to my sperm sack and I can expel ink without sperm but uh. Not the other way around. So it is literally ink."

Simon closes his eyes and forces himself to do some deep breathing before he does something ridiculous like burst into tears or start laughing.

"How long does it last." Ghost grits out between clenched teeth.

"A few days to, uh. Up to a week?"

"A week?" He shouts it, he knows he does, but he can't really help it. "You're telling me I'm stuck with a Vantablack snatch for a full seven days?"

"Ten days at most." Soap says, and he's doing the soothing, reasonable tone that makes Ghost wants to drown him.

"Until you learn to control your ink sack you are not fucking me again." Soap makes a distressed sound and squawks.

"It's a biological thing, I can't control it!" Soap throws up his hands and Simon shrugs at him, leans in to press a mollifying kiss on Soap's mouth.

"Tough luck, kid." He scoots his way out of Soap's hold then, mostly so that he can get the last word, and sets about locating his clothes.

His t-shirt had somehow survived relatively unscathed, which is a relief. The same, however, cannot be said for his trousers. Those are lying in tatters, in several places across the rocks. He snatches Soap's jeans instead, since he's busy sulking still, and hauls them on as best he can. Weirdly enough they fit perfectly. And they have the same patch in the knee he'd added about a week ago and-

These are his own fucking trousers. Well, Soap isn't getting them back so he can either go home naked or go tentacles first, the decision is his.

He piles on all the gear he thinks he can manage, mostly so that he has enough pockets to hold the pile of treasures Soap had bought him. Strong arms slide around his waist from behind, hands overlapping on his stomach as Soap's chin hooks over his shoulder.

"Are you accepting my gifts?" Soap's tendrils flutter against the side of Ghost's face as Soap watches him.

"What bloody difference does it make if I am, hm?" Ghost asks. "In merperson does that mean we're married now or something?" One of Soap's tendrils swats Simon's ear hard enough to sting.

"I wouldn't fuckin' know would I, on account of not being a merperson. Dickhead."

"What are you then?" Simon asks, not in the least phased since he can feel the fond smile pressed to the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

"I'm a member of cephalopoda. Sepia hominum, I'm not even technically a hybrid really. Some people call us krakens; we're more of an ancient species who branched away from the order though no one is entirely sure whether-"

"So like a mer-octopus?" Ghost asks, just to be a bit of a cunt.

"A mer-cuttlefish if you're insisting on being reductive."

"The gifts, Soap?" Ghost cuts him off before he can get any real steam worked up.

"They're just." Soap shrugs and slinks back a little, so that the cool air of the night sweeps across Ghost's body. "They're just gifts. Instinctive ones."

"Like when those penguins give each other rocks?" Ghost isn't trying to be offensive here but he winces at the way it comes out anyway.

"Actually yeah, I suppose. Courting gifts." There's a grotesque squishing sound at Ghost's back and the body that presses against Ghost's now is distinctly human. It feels a little novel for him to be shorter than Ghost.

When Ghost spins to look at him he can't help the grin that creeps across his face; Soap is almost entirely human now, except that his skin is still a happy, rippling kaleidoscope. There's a strange Rorschach-esque splotch across his face and neck that doesn't move with the rest though. With some horror, Ghost realises that he's mirroring the stains on Ghost's own body.

He doesn't know if Soap is aware he's doing it, decides not to mention it just in case.

"Consider me well and truly courted, I suppose." And Soap, naked and dazzling, beams at him.

This is, of course, when the mechanical whirr of the helicopter blades makes its presence known.

"Fuck, Simon, your mask!"Soap looks stricken and Ghost feels somewhat compelled to remind him-

"Johnny, you're stark bollock naked, you worry about that first, yeah?" Thankfully he does, sets about piecing together any sort of cover he can from the scraps that remain of Simon's and his clothes. His top half is fine but he ends up in a pair of briefs and Simon's torn trousers held together with their combined thigh holsters and belts.

He looks ridiculous, though Simon can't look much better with his shirt tied strategically around his head and his tits out.

"What the fuck happened to you two?" Is the first thing Gaz says as his feet hit the floor. He and Price have rappelled down and the helicopter has flown off to do a wide lap, presumably so they can all debrief in privacy before they have to board. Gaz is not subtle in the way he yanks out his phone to take a photo of them, even less so when he spins to make it a selfie.

"That's enough." Price barks, then, "Take one of me." He ducks in front of the pair of them, dancing out of the way again when Ghost swipes for his head.

"Spill." Gaz says again once his phone is back in his pocket, the mirth in his eyes hasn't diminished at all.

"Nearly died, thanks for asking." Ghost bites and enjoys the way Gaz's laugh dies just a little. "Platform took me with it. I'd have been fish food if it wasn't for Soap."

"And you were attacked by a giant squid before or after Soap doggy paddled fifty miles lugging your dead weight?" Price asks with the tone of a man who can smell a rat.

"The two are…connected." Is all Soap offers him, though his skin is distinctly crimson now.

"Okay and you're changing colour because?"

"Biology."

"And what's with the matchy matchy war paint?" Gaz chimes in. Soap's vanishes the second Gaz mentions it and he spins to look accusingly at Ghost, who carefully doesn't look back at him.

"Right." Price says, voice a little strangled like he's stuck between laughing and actual irritation. "You two muppets are going to have to give me something to go on since you went AWOL and I launched a very expensive retrieval mission."

"Not mine to tell, John." Ghost says. "I'll take whatever punishment is necessary."

"Fuckin' hell." Soap groans. "I'm a kraken, I rescued Ghost and bought him here, yes I swam, no I'll not show ye my form as long as the helicopter is around."

"Was that so hard?" Price grunts. "You've only been here a few hours, why the fuck have you both gone full castaway already?"

Gaz is grinning in a way that tells Ghost he's put all the pieces together already and he closes his eyes to brace for impact.

"Yeah, and Soap is there a special part of ocean rescue training that says extra pressure needs to be applied over the nipples and near the groin, or was that just something you threw in as extra?" Gaz's ears are pinned sideways in mischief.

"Oh for fuck's sake." Price groans. "Here I am launching a rescue mission and you two choose now of all times to finally get over yourselves?"

"Yeah." Ghost shrugs. "Pretty much." Soap sighs, long and hard, and then his shoulder presses hard against Ghost's arm, a long line of heat that says they're here, together. That this isn't stopping just because the bubble has burst.

"Aye." Soap shrugs. "What he said."

The pub is quiet, no big matches on tonight and the TVs are turned down to the low rumble of background noise. Ghost likes this pub, the tables are just the right amount of sticky and the pints are under a fiver. He also likes that they have real fireplaces churning out heat and sending a flickering glow across the space.

He likes the way it lights up Soap.

The way that now he knows to look for it, Soap's skin flickers just a tiny bit too, golden tan and pale white mixing and dancing in rhythm with the flames.

It's Price's round and Gaz has gone with him (it's ostensibly to help carry the drinks, but Ghost knows he's been itching to start a fight with the wolf hybrid talking too loudly at the bar). Soap is standing, stretching. His t-shirt has ridden up just enough to show a few of the electric blue dots that highlight each of the knobs of his spine. Ghost reaches out to trace a finger along them and Soap whips around to bat his hand away.

"Hands to yerself." He's a couple of pints in, accent thickened with drink and need for sleep. Ghost catches his hand instead, presses a kiss to his palm and then yanks him relentlessly down until he's sprawling back down, half into his own seat and half into Ghost's. Soap's free hand comes up to catch him on Ghost's chest, then stays to toy with the gold chain that hangs there.

It had been in the pile of treasure Soap had brought up for the shipwrecks. A lot of it had been weapons or just shiny broken bric-a-brac Soap's more squidy bits hadn't been able to leave behind in the moment, though Ghost had kept most of it just the same. The necklace had gotten lost in the depths of his tac vest pocket though, he'd only found it weeks later in the middle of a mission, it had come out tangled around an ammo clip he'd reached for.

The chain is gold, fine, and the pendant is a small gold oval, studded with emeralds. It's beautiful, likely worth a fortune. The thing that had really pleased Ghost though was something he found out later, he'd slipped it on in the moment, unwilling to lose it in the fighting. As he lay in his bedroll studying it though, he'd found it was a locket, a tiny hinge hidden along the left side.

When he opened it he found that it was lined with mother of pearl, light pink and blue and green, swirled together and broken by stripes of black. It looked like Soap's skin, the part of him only Simon ever gets to see.

He hasn't taken it off since.

"I love you in gold." Soap tells him, tipping his head back to smile softly up at Simon. Ghost already knows he's planning a trip out to some forgotten shipwreck or other, another trip to gather lost treasures for his mate. Ghost would have a nice little nest egg ready for his retirement, if he could bear to part with a single item.

As it is, for now they look nice in the cabinet he's purpose made for them.

"You know, I've still never seen eyes like yours." Ghost tells him, instead of anything that might be considered an actual reply.

"Aye, I'd imagine not, I'm an endangered species." Ghost laughs and jostles Soap. When he looks down at him again though he sees that Soap has shifted his eyes, enough that they're noticeably larger and his pupils those adorably wavy 'W's that make him look like he's perpetually smiling.

How could Ghost not kiss him for that?

Soap tells him he's trying to train him, giving him kisses every time he shows a little more of his True Form in public. Ghost thinks it hardly matters, since it's garnering him results.

"You two are disgusting." Gaz tells them as he strolls back over to the table. He'd clearly been outside and there's blood on his knuckles. The wolf is gone too and Ghost rolls his eyes fondly.

"He deserve it?"

"Said it 'isn't cats fault that they're just naturally weaker'." Gaz laughs.

"I hope you showed him your claws." Soap says, cheerfully. Gaz flicks them out to show that yes, they've also got blood on them, and it's clearly not his.

"That's my kitten." Price grins proudly as he smacks a kiss to the top of Gaz's head. Ghost gags loudly and from the look on Gaz's face Price is lucky to have escaped the claws himself. "Oh, like you two are any better."

They aren't, Ghost knows.

Price brings the last of the drinks over and holds up his glass for a cheers.

"Happy anniversary, lads." He grins as they clink their glasses together.

Tomorrow they're going out to a beach, one Soap has chosen that is accessible only by boat. There, Soap is going to show them his form for the first time. He's nervous about it, has been all week, Ghost is so proud of him for doing it his chest aches with it.

Soap challenges Gaz to a game of pool and the two of them stride off. Ghost puts his feet up and watches the fluid, sinuous way Soap moves.

"Turns out it wasn't the unresolved sexual tension." Price says. "You two are still fucking hard to watch." Ghost doesn't bother answering. He flips Price off, drops the salt shaker into his pint and goes to join his partner.