subtly calling his name while they’re working out, just to watch that cock throb in those sweatpants, and ghost getting flustered bcuz soap is literally in control of his body

they both pause, realizing where they are. price is yelling over the comms for an evac, gaz creeps into the room, and a body twitches in the corner. soap just helps ghost to his feet and lets him lean on him ad they walk outside. snow is falling from the sky again, dusting their shoulders.
~
end

“wha’s tha’?” soap asks gently.

“lovely christmas present, yea?” ghost leans back, his smile crooked and bloody. all soap can do is laugh, quiet and warm.

“the best. no tip fer tha couriers, though.” ghost laughs at that, a deep wheeze that ends in a sharp cough.—

soap just manages to catch him. he can feel the stiffness in ghost’s muscles from being restrained for so long. he clutches the man to his chest, just feeling him breathe, the soft beating of his heart. ghost murmurs something into soap’s shoulder, more a puff of air than anything.—

“they’re all gone,” soap reassures him. “yer okay. gonna be fine, aye?” ghost’s head lolls to the side.

“didn’t tell ‘em anything,” he whispers.

“ye wouldn’t. never doubted ya.” soap reaches for the ropes and saws through them. ghost tumbles forward like a puppet with its strings cut.—

and when those long lashes flutter to reveal red-tinged eyes and uneven pupils, one threatening to overtake the gorgeous blue that soap had so often become lost in. it takes a long moment for them to focus.

“johnny?” the man croaks out. he winces and soap watches the split on his lip open again.—

and his face, his poor, beautiful face. soap’s thumbs tremble as they wipe away the eyeblack dried on ghost’s cheeks. his nose is a mess, blood smeared over his lips, and his brow is bruised a deep purple, nearly black. his usually delicate cheekbones aren’t much better.—

three bodies hit the ground. there’s another one slumped in a chair, presence massive even unconscious. soap’s knees hit the ground painfully as he cradles ghost’s head in his hands.

the man is wrapped in rope, arms pulled back and straining. the skin around his wrists is rubbed raw and pink.—

he’s the first one to the innermost room. price shouts at him to stand down, wait until the rest of them get there, but soap is already bursting through the door.

he’s met with the bright flashes of muzzles. he feels the vest take the brunt of it and quickly fires back. his face is cold.—

soap’s not an anxious person. he can’t imagine how people go all hours on full cylinders, mind running away, skin prickling with sweat and fear like this. he can’t stop it. it’s terrifying.

his entrance into the building is brutal and messy. he’s spattered by blood that isn’t his own.—

it’s much later than any of them would have preferred when they can finally move in. soap is seeing red, hardly able to think beyond killing every hostile he comes across. there’s an anger in him that he’s never quite felt before. it makes him shake, makes him burn, makes his stomach twist all day.—