Thinking fae!Price and Ghost thoughts. Thinking specifically about how animalistic Ghost is while he's trying to relearn being alive. Thinking about him going after Price. Price is safe, Price takes care of him, he's latched onto Price and everything that he seems to represent, and Price never does more than push his knee up against Ghost's throbbing cock. Never let's Ghost fuck him, never fucks Ghost, just gives him another body to cling to when he needs release. That's it, thats all Ghost gets. Price maintaining his control when he can't.
It doesn't matter if Price pins him or if Ghost pins Price. Doesn't matter if Ghost leans his weight against the hands the hold Price's shoulders against the ground. Doesn't matter that he's aching for more. If he wants to act like an animal he'll be treated like one, and it's a special sort of torture when Price grabs the back of his head and drags him close. Ghost feels the thick thigh that slots between his own, and presses his face against Price's neck while he ruts against it, almost ashamed that he still has these urges in his body. He would have thought he left them in the grave with the rest of his mind, but here he is tucked against Price having sin whisper low in his ear.
Because Price won't fuck him if he doesn't ask, and Ghost won't ask, won't even speak in those first few years. This is all he gets until he can control himself, until he's learned to be a person again. When other fae spit at Price and his guard dog they don't know how right they are, don't know how Ghost humps his leg, desperate for release, don't know how Price grips his hair tight to keep him from biting and tells him, "be a good boy and ask next time."
They only know the teeth that rip into them, the claws that tear their flesh, they only see the familiar pat Price lands on Ghost's shoulder and the immediate release of tension it brings him.
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Soap got shot in the face. It’s not so bad, it was a close quarters, clean shot. By some dumb luck the fucker managed to get him from the inside out, so the most damage he’s got is two broken teeth and and large hole in his cheek.
It’ll heal fine, by some miracle it hadn’t even gotten infected (probably because it bled like an old slasher film). But now Soap, one famously chatty John “Soap” Mactavish, is stuck unable to talk for roughly a week.
He’s going fucking insane by the second day he’s fully lucid. His journal is filled with rambles and doodles and eventually just scribbles when his brain ran too fast to even form words.
He could watch videos, if only on mute because he’s got a fucking ice pack strapped around his head. It would be fine aloud but he’s stuck in an inbetween room in the med ward, and he does know some curtesy.
Normally he’d pester Gaz, but he and the Captain are on a mission half way around the world from their current base. And besides, even if Gaz were awake, he’d hardly be in the mood for Soap bitching about a few stitches.
His salvation comes a dose and too many ice-alterations later to count, in the form of one masked lieutenant.
He’s sure his eyes light up like a puppy, but he’s too wound up to care by that point.
“Nice to see you conscious, Sargeant.” Is all Ghost says as he drops himself into the chair besides Soap’s cot. Then Soap sees the objects in Ghost’s hands, his nose scrunches up.
“Paper work.” Ghost states, and drops the offending parchment and clipboard in Soap’s lap.
Soap can’t voice his opinion on the matter, but Ghost seemingly reads his mind. Or his nose wrinkles.
“Your hands still work, far as I’m aware. Price will want the report. I’m sure he’ll just be dying to hear your voice again, even in writing.” Ghost’s normal monotone breaks as he says the last bit. Smug fucker.
Soap, using his still very functional hands, socks Ghost on the shoulder. It earns him a proper, stilling chuckle out of the man. A reward for his suffering. He smiles a bit at that, then winces as it pulls at his cheek. His mouth is still full of coppery taste and a hint of gunpowder, but a fresh trickle of blood makes itself known at his mistake.
Ghost makes to get up and Soap panics. Bored out of his mind and still on some not insurmountably strong painkillers, he grabs Ghosts wrist. Thoroughly attention-gotten, Ghost tilts his head at him.
“Something I can help you with?” He asks, and watches Soap scramble for one of the notepads a diligent nurse had been using to ask him his pain level.
‘I’m bored.’
Ghost tsks as he reads it, giving Soap an unimpressed look.
“Lucky for you, you’ve got the world in your hand right there. And a charger, even.” He says, and points to the phone in Soaps unoccupied hand. Right, he was still grasping Ghost’s arm.
Soap lets go and looks away with a groan. He almost opens his mouth to complain before he thinks better of it and turns back to the paper.
‘Wifi’s shit here, and I haven’t got anyone to talk to.’
It takes Ghost a minute to decipher Soap’s increasingly slanted script.
“Even if you did, could hardly talk to them, aye?” Soap lets the slight at the end slip past him, in favor of very emphatically writing:
‘Can still write. Or text, if they know how to use a phone.’
The last bit is a slight break in character. Usually he’d poke at Ghost for pretending to be tech-illiterate. But his current vocabulary is limited by his already shaky hand-writing.
“Well, handy for you I just might.” Ghost says, and gestures for Soap’s phone.
He’s unlocked and handed it over to Ghost before his words even hit. With Ghost currently occupied by… whatever he’s doing on Soap’s phone. Soap opts to tap his knee and give him a confused look.
“I do have a phone.” Ghost says, eyes twinkling with something like mirth. He hands Soap his phone back, and to Soaps astonishment he finds that Ghost’s entered his phone number.
“Can’t promise I’ll respond quickly, I’m handling two sets of paperwork after all.” Ghost says, and stands up and just walks out like he hadn’t just handed Soap something worth more than gold.
Soaps first thought, when his brain catches up to what had just happened, is to change Ghost’s name. He’d entered himself as simply ‘Ghost’ which went against Soaps sorting system for contacts. He quickly alters it to one ‘Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley.’
Someone who didn’t know him would assume he was a proper respectful soldier boy for entering every one of his contacts’ ranks. Really he just couldn’t be fucked to remember them on his own.
His second thought, after that was fixed, was to focus on what Ghost had said while Soaps brain was still loading.
“Two sets of paperwork.” He’d said. And, upon further inspection, Soap finds the forgotten clipboard in his lap only has the barest minimum papers in it. Soap feels something warm settle in his chest. He decides to text as much to Ghost.
-taking my work was nice
-you really need to work on your coldness
-have a reputation to keep after all
Against his word, Ghost’s response is near instant.
-Not nice, tactical. You’re still technically high, can’t have you fucking up anything important.
Soap notices the punctuation immediately. The image of Simon carefully typing it out on his tiny phone with his large hands makes Soap laugh, before he winces as it pulls at his cheek.
-Also, full name I notice there.
It was the barest of sentences but Soap could just hear the overly-serious tone Ghost would’ve grumbled it in.
-if you’re worried about a security risk lt just know it’s how i put every one in
Ghost types for a long time after he sent that. Soap has to put a careful hand over his mouth to resist the grin forming on his face pre-emptively to the chewing out hes about to get.
-Well, I guess compared to the rest of you that’s the least of our worries.
Soap squawks at that one.
-what’s that supposed to mean??
He knew to wait patiently for Simon to finish agonizing after his grammar this time. Even though he wants to break his bed rest and run to the lieutenant’s office to demand an answer.
-I mean you’re so desperate to talk you’re texting me about fucking paperwork, Sargeant. Also, an excessive amount of question-marks.
Soap could only roll his eyes at that. He was starting to get drowsy though. It was near nighttime, and a Nurse had come in between texts to give him some of the good stuff so he could really sleep.
-maybe if you visited and told me something you’d find the conversation more interesting
It was bold, but he could blame the drugs and exhaustion. Seemed stupid, how tired he was when he hadn’t been on his feet in at least 48 hours. But healing was hard work, apparently.
-Fine, I’ll eat breakfast with you tomorrow. Can’t promise I’ll have much to tell, but I’m sure you’ll fill the space.
Huh, that was easier than Soap would’ve expected. He doesn’t bother answering, just starts to drift off until a Nurse comes in to dim his lights. He wakes up slightly to give them a thanking nod, then properly sets about falling asleep. Thank god he normally slept on his back, he doesn’t know how else he would manage otherwise.
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