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This is a bad idea.
It’s a sultry, sticky night that finds Soap pacing a hole in his carpet as he waits for his date to arrive.
Date. Soap makes a face at that. It’s a hookup, MacTavish.
He’s sweating and pulling at his collar like it’s something momentous though, and in a way he supposes it is. It’s rare for a ’lowly’ beta like him to pull an alpha, especially at such short notice, and yet said alpha should be only moments from arriving.
Thank God for Prowl, Soap thinks.
All of the normal dating apps are marketed at people looking to actually date, but ’Prowl’ is an unashamed meat market that could only have spawned from the depths of an alpha’s depraved mind.
Soap had posted an ad with exactly the sort of encounter he needed only that morning, and now, hours later…
An alpha, coming to spend a night here.
A lazy throb of heat warms his core, before his more pragmatic side douses it with a bitter thought, If he even shows up at all.
Soap pokes his nose into the slats of his blinds like a nosy old bitty, then promptly tears himself away. Pathetic.
He’s hardly unaccustomed to casual sex with a perfect stranger, but this is different. He’s due back bright and early to Hereford tomorrow to meet his new squad - a rather infamous one as far as SAS units go - and Soap’s risking it all because of this god forsaken heat.
The temperature kind, not the sort that turns otherwise sensible omegas into mindless, sexed-up animals. Never mind that much like alphas and omegas, Soap’s always found himself similarly hot and extremely bothered by the turn of warmer weather.
If he hadn’t been told by every alpha he’d had the dubious pleasure of associating with that he smelled just as bland and forgettable as any other beta, he’d think he was an omega himself.
He’s not, of course, yet the rising heat blanketing his apartment sends paradoxical shivers down his spine all the same.
Got to sort myself out, before tomorrow.
Soap’s well-versed with explosive first impressions (sometimes literally), but showing up drenched in sweat and smuggling a rock hard erection in his fatigues isn’t going to fly.
I’m getting air-conditioning, he promises himself. As soon as I can afford it.
But there’ll be no relief until he gets some help – preferably in the form of the alpha he’s found on Prowl.
Before Soap can think better of it, he’s pulling up the pictures of his upcoming hook up for the nth time that night.
His own barebones ad request pops up first alongside several older photos of his own face and body.
Single, male beta, anon, tonight only.
No strings.
Pref alphas.
He flicks to his messages, finds the alpha’s profile again. It’s somehow even worse than Soap’s, the type he wouldn’t look twice at under regular circumstances. There’s zero information, no age, no hobbies. He didn’t even bother with a cover identity, instead there’s only a little skull emoji where his name should be.
The photos are truly grim, too. There’s only two, and both are blurry, dutch-angled, poorly lit, and clearly shot on the same day in the same dark room, revealing the bulky figure of a man in dark sweats and hoodie. The only inch of skin on show is the wet, girthy column of his hard cock resting in his black gloved hand.
Soap licks the sweat from his upper lip, toes curling in the carpet. It’s a risk, inviting someone so positively uninviting into his home for a quick shag, but these are desperate times. Mopping the stickiness from his brow, he’s debating the merits of ruining his freshly gelled hair for his fifth shower of the day, when the front door buzzer rings.
He’s here.
Soap barrels down the stairs, just barely stops short of tearing the front door off its hinges, and there he is.
Finally.
A brick shithouse of a man lurks on his stoop, garbed in black from head to toe.
From above the dark gaiter pulled up to his nose reveals the upper half of his pale face, an impenetrable stare beneath his stern brow. His shock of dirty blond hair looks almost long enough to threaten to curl – a nice handful for Soap to grip onto while he’s pounded into the mattress, if he plays this right.
He wonders what he makes of Soap. Delirious, sweaty and agitated, his nipples and cock already harder than steel through the thin material of his shirt and shorts, it’s a miracle that he’s still standing upright at all.
“Hello.” The man’s low voice cuts through Soap’s soupy reverie. He cocks his head sideways and says, “Gonna let me in, then?”
Up close he can almost count the sweep of pale lashes framing his lazy, dark eyes – eyes that are shamelessly cataloguing Soap in turn, and all at once the dormant heat simmering in his gut sparks right back to life. For a man who goes out of his way to hide his face on his profile, he’s far prettier than he expected.
Soap blinks, then sheepishly steps back. Right, he’d forgotten how positively vampiric alphas are, though he’s not sure if it’s some sort of strange custom or physical trait that prevents them from walking into homes uninvited.
Maybe he’s just polite? But Soap immediately dismisses the thought. Alphas are born to rule and dominate, and even the most civilised of their kind don’t usually bother to put on the charm for random betas.
“Come in.”
+
Soap barely gets the door closed to his flat when the stranger is on him, big hands curling firmly around his flanks as he dips to breathe him in through his ridiculous mask.
Doesn’t waste any time, does he?
Momentarily put off balance, Soap’s lips flap without conscious thought, “Surprised you said yes.” He shudders as a clothed nose glances up the column of his throat. “Thought most - most alphas avoid betas.”
“Prefer you lot, actually,” he mutters against his ear. At Soap’s surprised noise, he cups his ass in a meaty palm and squeezes hard. “Easier to stay in control.“
It’s almost a relief, knowing he won’t have to waste time with niceties tonight. There’s a million reasons why he shouldn’t rush into this with a stranger, and an alpha no less, but all he can see is the promise of imminent, sweet relief from the burning ache tearing through his insides.
He takes another whiff of Soap’s throat and groans softly. “Pent up, are we?” He whispers and it takes Soap a moment to understand.
Fuck, he can smell me.
Soap steps into the cage of his arms and shamelessly grinds his erection against the trunk of his leg, suppressing a grin at his quiet hiss. “Aye.” He looks at him beneath his lashes. “You gonna help me or not –”
He’s swept off his feet before he can finish speaking, apartment whirling around him as he’s hefted and manhandled into his bedroom without another word.
In only a matter of minutes Soap’s shorts are ripped from him, his damp shirt rucked up his torso as the stranger pins him to the bed and folds his knees to his chest.
“Holy hell,” Soap whispers to himself, biting his tongue at the man’s amused glance. It’s one thing to know most of the men in his squad can hear and smell his every move on an op, but it’s another thing when he’s whimpering like a bitch in heat in the bedroom.
I like it, he decides, but the thought dissipates when the man procures a bottle of lube from his person, dark eyes trailing a lazy path from Soap’s pink face to his twitching hole.
When he flicks the cap open and aims at his gloved palm, Soap’s lips part in surprise. Is he keeping those on?
He somehow plucks the question straight from Soap’s own head. “They’re clean.” The man says, squirts a generous heaping on his glove, until his black fingers are shiny and wet. “Put them on before I got here.”
It makes no sense, the way the prospect of being spread bare and fucked by a man as buttoned-up and aloof as this alpha has Soap’s pulse thudding wetly in his cock.
“Thought you’d like that,” the man chuckles, and Soap screws his nose up.
“You don’t know me - oh.“
Soap can barely feel his heat through the thick gloves when he slips them between his cheeks to rest them flat against his hole, idly spreading lube along his rim with an almost impassive hum as he leans his bulk against Soap’s twitching legs.
Sweet Jesus.
“I don’t know you.” The man’s almost bored affect barely pierces the haze of his mind. “But I can smell you.” Soap whines as two digits tease the tight furl of his ass gently apart, applying only the barest amount of pressure until his rim snaps over the pad of his fingers. “And you like this,” he laughs, free hand stroking his inner thigh in a way that agitates and soothes and equal measure.
The material of his gloves creak as they flex inside his walls, stretching the tight muscle open with excruciating patience, until he’s slick and open beneath his touch, welcoming his huge fingers inside without any resistance. With his legs crushed to his chest, Soap can hardly move; he can only lie there, shaking like a leaf as this stranger fingers him with near clinical precision.
“That’s it,” the man breathes, the barest hint of desire cracking through his aloof facade. “Christ, might be able to knot you at this rate.” He curses when Soap clenches in surprise around his fingers.
Soap nervously licks the salt from his lips. “I’m a beta.“ He might be half out of his mind with lust, but he’s not completely mad.
But with the way the alpha’s eyes are locked between the juncture of his legs, Soap’s not sure he’s heard a word he said.
An unfamiliar scent mingles in the air alongside his own arousal, and Soap breathes it in with a dreamy noise. It’s unlike any cologne he’s ever smelt before; a musky and potent concoction that thickens his blood further south.
“You smell nice,” Soap moans. “What is that?”
The man’s eyes crease once down at him as he bears down on Soap, bracing himself on Soap’s pillow as he bears down on him. “No blockers.” The hand between Soap’s leg slips away, the metallic rip of a zip opening singing sharp in the air. “Got a good nose on you.”
He sounds curious, but Soap’s too busy preening at the slightest hint of praise to think much of it.
Bent in two as he is, Soap can’t see when the man pulls his cock through his fly, but he can certainly feel it – a stiff, hefty weight that glances over his fluttering hole. He hears the sluicing slap of lube as the man coats his cock, and alarm bells ring in Soap’s brain as the man shifts between his aching legs.
Under normal circumstances, by now Soap would be snarling at anyone fool bold enough to even hint at fucking raw without being tested, but his mind’s as soupy as the humid air blanketing his bedroom, some strange miasma of madness rendering him even more senseless than usual.
You don’t even know his name.
His blond curls fall over his eyes as he leans over Soap, low voice curling softly through his strange half-mask, “Alright?”
The little frisson of anxiety unfurls, giving way to a hazy and totally unearned sense of safety instead. The man slots his cock between his cheek and rubs his tip over his hole in teasing circles, groaning as little by little he sinks just his crown into Soap’a molten heat –
“Oh, yes,” Soap moans, toes clenching as sweat and lube trickle down his stretched rim.
But the man’s gone unnervingly rigid, head going limp on his shoulders as he sucks in harsh, ragged breaths, leaving Soap to wriggle beneath him with a confused huff.
Several seconds pass without a sound, and Soap clears his throat. He thinks maybe the man has somehow already come, until his head lifts slowly, and the dark, flinty pools of his eyes settle on Soap.
Like a predator.
“You,” the alpha hisses, sliding the flat of his gloved palm up Soap’s quivering, sweating stomach to slip beneath his bunched up shirt, pressing down hard when he tries to rise. “You’re wet.” It’s said with such acerbic accusation Soap almost laughs aloud.
“I’m sweatin’,” he corrects archly. “It’s almost thirty degrees – you’re the one wearing layers.” You fuckin’ mad man, he adds silently.
“No.” The man laughs, a low disbelieving sound. “You’re – “ He pulls back to plunge two fingers inside without warning, and Soap moans at the obscene, wet popping sound of lube and sweat squelching. When the man’s eyes crawl up Soap’s body, they’re almost black in the dull light. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, omega.”
“Omega?” Soap stutters out a laugh. Is this some weird roleplaying thing?
“If I fuck you like this, we’ll be here for days.” The alpha rises to his knees, slowly fisting his slick cock before Soap. “…And I’ve got places to be, little omega.”
Little omega. Soap gnaws his bottom lip. What the fuck. He’s definitely roleplaying. This bizarre turn is clearly the result of a last second decision to avoid unprotected sex without saying it outright, and Soap’s willing to play along, so long as he gets off sooner rather than later.
Though the prospect of long, sweltering days of sex and sweat intrigue him, he conceals his disappointment behind a scowl before he remembers himself. I’m back on base tomorrow.
“So do I,” he mumbles.
+
This – this is exactly why Ghost avoids omegas in the first place.
The sweet, heady scent emanating from John – if that’s even his real name – is slowly sending Ghost into a frenzy, as is the feeling of warm, luscious slick coating the tip of his cock.
Most alphas would likely find the idea of being deceived into fucking an omega anything but a negative, but Ghost’s not most people. The desire to ignore common sense and fuck this insolent liar into the mattress pulls at all of his worst instincts, which is exactly why he stays away from their kind in the first place.
And yet, there’s something about the confusion creasing John’s brow that strikes him as genuine. There’s no telltale sour, nervous stench typical of liars coating his skin, at the very least.
Christ. He really didn’t know?
No, even if John had taken deliberately taken blockers to deceive him, Ghost would’ve smelt traces of his true scent in his flat far before this point.
But Ghost knows when he walked in that night, John had been a beta. Yet now…
Did I do this to you?
He knows it’s theoretically possible, but the answer seems almost too outlandish to be true. Alphas or omegas who don’t present during puberty, who live their lives as betas, clueless of their true nature, right until an alpha or omega calls to their dormant instincts enough to reveal the truth.
Until they imprint on their other half, his subconscious ripples in disbelief, as he examines John with new eyes.
He’s imprinted on me.
“A late bloomer, are you,” Ghost says, his earlier wrath fading in place of intrigue. His eyes find the crook of John’s neck, and Christ, is it his imagination or does the once smooth skin looks conspicuously red and swollen now.
He can hardly believe it; of all the people for this perfect stranger to imprint on, something in John found kinship in Ghost.
He knows he should likely stop and leave before things escalate further. Bad enough to be inadvertently invited into an unbonded omega’s nest, but with the way Ghost’s mind is crumbling under the pressure of his instincts, there’s a very real risk he might tear into this sweet idiot’s neck and mate him before he even knows what’s happening.
John must smell Ghost’s arousal spike at the idea, because he thrashes wildly beneath him – as much as he can whilst bent into a pretzel for Ghost’s pleasure, anyway.
“Don’t fuckin’ know what you’re on about – if you’re not gonna fuck me, at least let me –”
“Shh…” Ghost hushes him absently, eyeing the almost milky sheen of slick pulsing out of John’s hole. “I’ve got you.”
Claim him, something monstrous and covetous whispers within. He needs you.
Ghost plugs his hole full on two fingers before he gives in to the urge to drive his cock inside, listening to John’s guttural cries as he strokes his glistening stomach in time with his twisting fingers. His sizeable cock sits fat and neglected at his navel, but Ghost avoids it in favour of pushing his damp shirt even higher, so he can tweak his peaked nipples instead.
“Oh God,” John whimpers, eyes squeezing shut. Ghost watches the play of feverish adulation across his pink face and wonders how he ever mistook him for anything but an omega in the first place.
When his lids open more, Ghost bites back a savage noise that rattles his chest. His pupils have disappeared entirely, leaving only the perfect, flat crystalline blue of an aroused omega instead.
Poor thing, Ghost thinks, with only the barest ounce of real sympathy. He’s truly picked the worst possible alpha to attach himself to.
Twisting his fingers to graze his prostate, Ghost watches John twist half off the bed with a hoarse shout, before he grinds against that spot again with slow, unrelenting force whilst he tweaks his sweaty nipples with his other hand. With his fingers buried deep inside his ass, it only takes him brushing his thumb over his sac to softly stroke the root of his cock before John’s coming in hard, tense pulses all over his sweaty abdomen.
“Oh fuck, oh Christ–”
He sounds like he’s in agony, and Ghost supposes he is; he’s just another heat sick omega in desperate need of an alpha to properly sooth the fire ravaging his insides. Even his own fingers won’t be enough to save him from the agonising week that surely awaits him.
Christ, if I didn’t have to meet the new guy tomorrow…
“Please.”
Those sweet, luminous eyes catch Ghost’s, the latent desperation in appealing to all of his worst instincts. “What do you need?” He murmurs with false sympathy.
“If you’re not gonna fuck me,” he slurs, reaching down to milk the remaining dribbles of release from his cock. “At least come on me.” He licks his lips and adds with a plaintive whisper, “Please.“
Bloody hell.
He makes it sound like the act of Ghost coming on him would be some great hardship, a favour he has to beg and convince Ghost to do. As though marking an omega, otherwise untouched by any other alpha, with his own seed doesn’t plague his most depraved fantasies on a near nightly basis.
I should stop, he thinks again. John clearly has no idea how to navigate the change wreaking havoc on his body; it’d be better for him to adjust without the scent of unfiltered alpha consuming his rational mind. There might even be a chance to stop the imprint solidifying fully, giving him a chance to find an alpha better suited for civilian life.
But John bats his plaintive, glassy eyes up at him again, and Ghost knows full well that he’s not going anywhere.
Not yet.
Instead of stopping, Ghost strokes his spread thighs, allowing himself a tiny smirk behind his mask as he whispers, “I can do that.”
Taking himself in hand, Ghost lazily cracks his neck as he slowly strokes his cock, admiring the wriggling omega beneath him as increasingly crazed ideas flit behind his mind’s eye. Judging from the delirious sheen glossing John’s eyes, Ghost could breed this little harlot full and savage a mating bite into his neck without much resistance, and he’d be well within his rights to do it – even without a collar and solidified claim, an imprinted omega likely has no recourse to bond anyone else.
With the way he’s writhing and moaning beneath him, he thinks John might even welcome it, too.
The delicious pressure forming at the base of his spine heralds his imminent release, and Ghost’s all but determined to paint John’s leaking hole with his spend when he notices it –John’s newly revealed mating gland, pressing against the gossamer thin barrier of his skin, and an ugly instinct has Ghost crawling away from his spread thighs to kneel over his face instead.
Fisting his dark locks, Ghost pushes his blushing face down sideways, burying one half of his face into the mattress and jacking his throbbing cock mere inches over his other cheek.
“You don’t even know what you are, do you.” Ghost breathes, hips snapping hard into the wet heat of his fist.
“What?” John sucks the salty brine from his pouting lips, trying in vain to get a proper look at the cock bobbing over his flushed face.
Ghost presses his thumb against his bottom lip, shuddering when John obediently wraps his lips around it with a soft moan. Obedient thing, aren’t you, he thinks. Whether it’s simple instinct, or a facet of his regular personality, Ghost has no idea.
“You don’t know.” Ghost hips stutter as his balls tighten ominously, and he slows his pace to thumb over his leaking slit, in a fruitless attempt to draw this out further.
It only takes one confused, helpless noise from John in time with the sweet scent of his spiking arousal, before Ghost’s orgasm rockets through him. He groans low as he comes against the swell of his pink cheek in delicious, lazy pulses that leave him feeling light headed. Lips curling behind his gaiter, Ghost watches a milky glob of his release trickle down his jaw, until a dollop of it pools –
Right over John’s untouched mating gland.
Something depraved twists loose in Ghost’s brain at the sight, and he bites back a snarl as a second, unexpected shockwave ripples up his cock, and he drags his shaft and balls down his cheek to rest against John’s throat as he paints his seed directly over his gland.
When Ghost comes back to himself he’s still holding John’s face to the bed, absently fucking the juncture of his throat in an obscene pool of sweat and come, absently daydreaming of the size and shape of the collar he’s going to latch around this unwitting omega’s throat.
He only pulls his cock away long enough to replace it with his gloved hand, massaging his warm release with single-minded focus over his gland, assuaging the primal need within to mark and seed his omega by any means necessary.
Mine.
John pushes against his hold, and Ghost finally releases his hair with a reluctant growl, one that hitches into a garbled hiss when the wily brat turns his face upright and runs the flat of his tongue along the underside of his soaking cock.
Christ, if he keeps that up he might never make it back to base, and the sobering reminder has him drawing away before John can properly wrap his lips around his crown. He stifles a laugh when John yowls in outrage, furious eyes watching his retreating cock before they flick up to Ghost in pained desperation.
“Let me…”
“Maybe next time,” Ghost promises without second thought.
He’s rewarded with a petulant scowl. “When?“
Ghost stills at that. It’s out of character for Ghost to fuck people more than once, let alone remain in their presence once the endorphins of his release begin to ebb, and yet the idea of disappearing back into the SAS and never seeing John again…
It’s unacceptable.
Making promises to this petulant omega should rankle, but he finds himself doing it anyway, gazing down at his come-splattered face with inexplicable fondness.
“I’ll be free in July.” He says, “We can continue this then.”
John’s eyes widen, then narrow. “But that’s months – almost a year away.”
Rather than argue, Ghost cards his hand through his damp locks, biting his tongue to stifle a laugh when John’s eyes droop.
So predictable, Ghost thinks. He might avoid omegas for the most part, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to use their instincts against them. “Go to sleep,” he orders, scratching lightly over his skull.
“What’s…” John’s eyes flutter as he fights a losing battle against exhaustion. “I don’t even know your name.”
You will, that’s for sure, Ghost thinks. Aloud he says, voice steeped with malevolent promise, “It’s a’right. I know where to find you, now.”
You never should have let me in. Ghost hopes it’ll be a mistake that’ll haunt John for the rest of his life.
But oblivious to the sinister tenor of Ghost’s thoughts, John falls limp against his pillows with a dreamy sigh.
+
+
+
Soap snaps awake hours later to find an empty bed, feeling just as agitated by the unrelenting heat as he was the day before.
Was it just a dream?
He should’ve known better than to expect an alpha to keep his word.
He’s tossing and slumping in a disappointed heap back to the sheets when something glints in his periphery.
On his bedside table sits a neat pile of paraphernalia Soap knows he didn’t put there, and he drags himself across the mattress with a frown.
“What?” His whispers, throat tight.
Beside his mobile phone sits a foil strip of tablets, and beneath that a scrap of paper that Soap unfolds with shaking fingers.
He finds a note scrawled by an unfamiliar hand, but Soap knows exactly who this belongs to.
The alpha. He blinks rapidly. Not a fuckin’ dream.
Sitting up, he squints in the dim light as his hazy eyes struggle to comprehend the words.
Thought you might need these.
And if you still don’t believe me, check your phone.
Wide awake now, Soap snatches his phone up, silently cursing himself for carelessly falling asleep and leaving the alpha unchecked in his own house for God knows how long. He’s still struggling to type his password with clumsy fingers before he even sees it, and when he does he almost flings the phone clear across the room.
“What the fuck.”
His lock screen photo had been changed overnight, the old group shot with his last squad replaced by a still image of…
Soap blinks desperately, but the photo remains.
It’s a photo of a man, dark hair pulled taut in a familiar gloved fist, his dazed face arched towards the lens. But it’s his eyes that terrify him – glistening blue like an ocean in twilight, with not a single pinprick of a pupil to be found.
An omega, Soap thinks, strangled with horror.
That’s me.
Forcing his eyes back on the note, he frantically absorbs the stranger’s final parting words, the indelible ink carrying the same half-remembered promise Soap remembers being whispered in his dreams only moments earlier.
I accept your imprint, Johnny.
I’ll be back for you.
+
+
The whirlwind of meeting the 141 properly is almost enough to ease the nauseating cocktail of disappointment and paranoia eating away at the back of Soap’s mind.
Soap’s already met Captain Price before, so there’s no surprises there, and Garrick is polite if not a bit reserved.
But his determination to forget the alpha who’d foisted this change on him goes out the window when Ghost enters the picture.
What are the odds, Soap thinks, watching Ghost’s black gloves – adorned with the skeletal outline of finger bones, of all fucking things – swallow his own hand in greeting. Of meeting two spooky, masked bastards in twenty four hours?
This man is even more covered up than Soap’s guest was, though; his skull balaclava gives nothing away, and the only physical traits they share are their towering size and deep, brown eyes.
They’re hardly unique features.
But Soap’s strangely fixated on Ghost even hours later, finding himself staring when he thinks the other man’s attention is occupied. He’s sure his newfound obsession has gone entirely unnoticed, right up until later in the day when they’re all walking towards the training courses – popping in for a quick friendly run-through to break the ice, or so Price claims.
There’s nothing friendly about the unimpressed side eye Ghost abruptly casts his way and grunts,
“Spit it out, Sergeant.”
Has he got eyes on the back of his head? Soap straightens, and he considers simply apologising and moving on without mentioning it, but…
This is gonna drive me mad.
Forcing a casual tone totally at odds with the rush of blood roaring in his ears, Soap tilts his chin and sends what he hopes is a suitably disarming smile Ghost’s way. “Sorry, Lt,” he says. “I was just wondering – have we met before?”
Secretly he thinks, Was it you who came on my face and left pills on my nightstand as payment?
It’s hardly an incriminating or strange question, yet Ghost takes his sweet time answering, so much so that Soap’s smile threatens to crack in the ensuing silence.
But then Ghost’s nodding. “We have,” he says, ignoring Soap’s astonished noise in favour of making a show of glancing at his wristwatch. “…About an hour ago,” he adds wryly, and Soap suppresses a sigh.
“Very funny.” At Ghost’s raised brow, Soap coughs and quickly adds, “Sir.“
“Hm.” Ghost’s quiet for a beat as his dark eyes rove lazily over Soap’s prickling cheeks. “Do I remind you of someone,” he murmurs. “A long lost sweetheart of yours?”
Long lost. Soap rubs the juncture of his burning neck. If only.
Pasting on a chagrined smile, Soap rocks back on his heels. “Ah, nothing like that, sir.” He hesitates once, unmoored by the amused slant of Ghost’s dark eyes. “Forget I said anything.”
Soap’s already turned away when a huge palm encased in leather abruptly curls around the back of his neck, stealing all the breath from his lungs as he freezes in place.
Good god.
When Ghost leans in close, masked lips pressing tight against the shell of Soap’s ear, he’s subsumed with terrifying clarity.
It’s him, it’s him, his once dormant instincts shriek.
“Greedy thing” Ghost breathes, thumb digging with unnerving accuracy right into Soap’s inert gland. “Should’ve known you couldn’t wait that long for me to find you again.”
He savours Soap’s hitched gasp with a hum before he finally releases his neck with a husky laugh.
“Welcome to the team, Johnny.”