Pattern Breaker

And So the Pattern of Behavior Continues

Soap couldn't breathe. Whether it be from the confession, or from seeing Ghost's fully exposed face for only the second time ever since they had known each other, he wasn't sure. But tears now flowed freely down his cheeks, wetting Ghost's hand as it trapped their gazes together.

And pushed violently he was, landing in a flattened crunch against pavement.

Ghost let out a heavy breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring as he studied Soap. No, not studied. Scrutinized.

" What do I have to do to get it through your thick fucking skull, MacTavish?" He shouted, voice still raised in anger. Then his eyes flickered down– almost unintentionally– right down to Soap's quivering lips.

"Don't," Soap whispered, helpless, knowing there was no point of return if Ghost acted on what he so obviously wanted to. What Soap wanted him to do. And Soap knew it was coming, and there was nothing he could have done in this moment to stop it– no matter how much he knew he had to in order to save himself. Soap watched, enthralled, as the pink of Ghost's tongue just barely hinted out to wet his lips. There was no amount of self control left in any crevice, any cell of his body that wasn't now screaming Simon, Simon, Simon.

Ghost's hand tightened on his chin, and Soap's shoulders dropped in defeat.

There was no opportunity to fight.

Then Ghost swooped down, swiftly closing the distance between them, his bare lips crashing down on Soap's mouth. Soap gasped desperately into Ghost's mouth at the feeling, his hands coming up to tangle in Ghost's hair as he scrambled through his emotions. Trying to gain control again. Ghost's body weight pushed them down, Soap's back hitting the bed as Ghost used one of his knees to roughly force Soap's legs apart– situating his own hips between them.

Like a starving man eating his first meal in weeks, Ghost's lips devoured Johnny's as he panted against the bigger man. His body was being dwarfed by him, one side of his chin and jaw now being cradled by his hand. Soap's face felt so small in comparison, and the material of his glove burned against his skin. Ghost settled over Johnny, one of his forearms bracing themselves right above Johnny's head in an attempt to keep his entire weight from crushing down. Johnny wouldn't have minded. Ghost's body felt so, so impossibly delicious against his. Nothing they could do would make him feel like they were close enough together.

Ghost's tongue licked past Johnny's lips, causing him to pull at his ridiculously soft hair in response with both hands. Ghost gasped into his mouth at the sensation, catching Johnny's lower lip between his teeth. The deliriousness Soap had been subjected to in America was nothing compared to the way he felt trapped under Ghost as he hungrily ravished him.

Johnny kicked his legs up, wrapping them around Ghost's waist and hooking his ankles together, struggling against the clunky size of his boots–  palms tightening and loosening over and over in Ghost's hair. He noted Ghost's reaction every time he pulled, almost imperceptible moans coming from deep in the back of his throat in response. Ghost's tongue slithered past Johnny's lips again as he ground his hips, and he could feel every single inch of Ghost's hardness against him. Soap thrust his own tongue out, flatting it as best as he could as he licked against Ghost's, the salty taste of his own tears and the faint flavor of cigarettes filling his mouth. He smelled like mint and fresh body wash, and Soap was suddenly ashamed knowing that Ghost could probably taste the scotch on his own tongue.

He didn't seem to mind.

Against his own will, he felt his resolve crumbling down as he savored Ghost's mouth against his. They could have stayed in this hungry embrace forever, and it still wouldn't have been long enough. Nothing else mattered at that moment. No one else existed. It was just the two of them, tangled together desperately. Las Almas never happened. Chicago never happened. Soap's traumatic childhood that he never talked about under any circumstances ceased to exist, and the reason why he found himself in the special forces in the first place. Gone. There was nothing. No walls between the two, no roadblocks, no longing and distant glances. Just Johnny and Simon, tasting each other relentlessly– despairingly. Committing the moment to memory.

Ghost let out a guttural, choked moan and dug his own fingers into Soap's hair– yanking it back to expose his neck. He opened his mouth and bit down, causing Soap to whimper at the feeling of his teeth on his bare throat. Then his tongue replaced teeth, slowly soothing the indentions as he ran the tip of it across the half moon-marks, almost like he was trying to fuck them with his tongue. Johnny shuddered at the sensation, his eyelids fluttering open to the dark ceiling. Eyes focusing and unfocusing in ecstasy.

Then reality came crashing down unceremoniously, breaking him from the little piece of heaven he had allowed himself. Tears began falling down his cheeks again, unrestrained, blurring his vision. He took a deep, shaky breath– and released his hold on Ghost's hair when a sob wracked through his chest. He couldn't do this. He wouldn't survive. He had lost every single last bit of himself to Simon, and was now desperate to get it back before he vanished into nothing. The future was terrifying, an unknown entity, and Johnny wouldn't be able to keep his body and mind together with his soul raw and exposed as it was.

And the walls he had built to protect himself, that had been shattered at the addicting flavor of Ghost's lips– slammed together around him again. Air tight. Crushing him.

Ghost lifted himself up from where he was busying himself in Soaps neck, both hands now on the mattress on either side of his head.

"Please..." Soap choked out, beginning to hyperventilate. He was about to have a panic attack, he knew that much. Every event from the past few months swarmed his brain, suffocating. It wasn't the first time he had had one, and certainly wouldn't be the last, but it wasn't something he was comfortable with other people seeing. Especially not Simon.

"Johnny?" Ghost asked, the concern in his voice just causing more pain. "What's wrong?"

Soap's next words, laced in worry, fear, and self-induced heartbreak came out with another tear filled sob. Begging. Pleading. But also hoping, deep down, that Ghost wouldn't listen. Scared that he would.

"Get out."