soap and ghost work out together and the second they enter the gym, ghost knows his sergeant’s in a mood. he’s got a comment for everything; poking at ghost’s form and his entire routine, shamelessly checking him out in the mirrors and practically ignoring his own work out until he gets to the weight bench.
soap plops himself on ghost’s hips with a paper-thin excuse of playing his spotter and chats shit about how much he’s lifting for his entire set. “that the best you got?”, “thought you were here for a workout, lt.”, “careful, lookin’ a lil’ shaky there, sir,” until ghost finally sets the bar back on the rack and orders him to switch places.
soap settles under the bar, ghost sitting heavy and imposing on his hips as he looks down at him. he doesn’t look taunting or irritated, he’s blanker than ever and soap just smirks back and lifts the bar.
and fuck is it heavy, more than he ever lifts, but soap’s always put his money where his mouth is and he refuses to put it back up until he gets at least ten reps in. he’s pushing to hide the shake in his arms as the set crawls by, huffing out harsh breaths with every rep, face steadily turning red.
ghost doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even blink as he gets to seven, to eight, to nine-
until the final rep where he crosses his arms over the bar and holds it down.
soap’s eyes widen as he rushes to adjust to the new weight, hands almost slipping as he scrambles to find the new balance point. “christ, lt., what the fuck?” he grunts, the shake in his arms growing worse by the second.
“finish the set, sergeant,” ghost orders, expectant apathy in his voice as he leans heavier on the bar.
he locks his elbows as they attempt to buckle but he can’t move it any higher. “’m fuckin’ tryin’,” he grits out.
he just shakes his head. “i don’t want you to try,” he dismisses. “i want you to lift it.”
sweat pours down soap’s face, panting as he fights against the weight. “ghost-”
ghost stands, pushing down harder as he towers over the bar to get into soap’s face. “lift the fucking bar, sergeant,” he growls.
soap screams as he shoves against ghost’s weight with everything he has until the bar finally slips over the edges of the rack, the entire bench rocking with the force of it settling into place.
his arms flop uselessly back down, hanging either side of the bench completely numb as he pants, too breathless to think as his head spins and his cock throbs.
ghost just pats his reddened cheek as he slings his leg off him and heads over to the exercise bikes; not even sparing a glance at him as he throws out, “‘atta boy, johnny.”
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Lore post in sirion? Sorry if you already made one
throwback to This Guy. if you want further info on Why the tattoos, take a geez at this post: https://filibusterfrog.tumblr.com/post/637237026798829568/some-eldest-elves-have-a-bit-of-a-shit-time-of-it
these are his younger brothers btw. they dont keep in touch
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