Disclaimer: I don't own any characters mentioned herein.
General rules apply: Don't like, don't read.
Warning: M/M slash.
MIA. Three letters now listed next to his name, but I knew what that meant. Shepard had betrayed us. Murdered Roach. Murdered Ghost. He would pay, oh dear God above would that bastard pay for what he took from me. Sitting in Nikolai's heli next to Price, I closed my eyes for a moment and remembered. Remembered the smell of him, the feel of him. Remembered the lilted English accent that made my toes curl. But this was war. Friends die. Lovers die. All to save a country that isn't even my own.
The sunglasses and skull bandana are permanent fixtures on his face. I don't think I've ever seen what's beneath them. Still, when he turns to me with that skeleton grin, there's something in his eyes that makes my stomach twist into knots. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud, of course, nor was it love at first sight. But as two of the best snipers on the team, we shared a camaraderie that somehow evolved quickly under the heat of battle. I could see it in those eyes of his that he wanted me. Being a sniper will train you to watch for the subtle things. His little glances said it all, even if I never saw his lips. Shortly after I met him, we were hiding out at some rundown shack between missions. I was lounging in the piss stinking mattress I was affectionately calling a bed in nothing but my camo trousers when he quietly walked in. He had not yet shed his gear from earlier that night, so he was standing before me, decked out in full fatigues with that bandana and sunglasses, gazing down at me.
"Something you need, Ghost?" I asked casually, knowing my voice wouldn't betray me. He stepped closer, shedding the skullcap to reveal a mess of dirty blonde hair. I stood up. "Ghost..." I started. He removed the glasses, silencing me with a look. His wide skeleton grin cast an odd juxtaposition to his shockingly blue eyes. He tucked the glasses into one of the many pockets on his vest in a deft move and stepped closer. Moving not of my own volition I reached up and untied the bandana. It dropped unceremoniously to the floor and his lips quirked into a small smirk.
"I knew it," he said, before grabbing me and pressing his lips to mine in a rough kiss. My hands worked quickly at his vest, practically tearing it from his shoulders. His shirt followed. His rough kisses continued, the stubble on his face abrasive against my skin. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him down to my mattress on the floor, trapping him under me. I ground my hips into his, forcing a moan out of him. Those lips that I had never seen before parted but I silenced him again in another bruising kiss. He kicked his boots off and I attacked his neck with reckless abandon, not caring that Roach was in the next room or that this damnable cabin was so small and dilapidated that the whole bleeding forest could probably hear us. I stripped him of his pants and he shivered against the cold air, though his skin was flush and feverish with need. He returned the favor and suddenly we were both naked, grinding against each other like clumsy schoolboys. I forced his legs apart and with little more than spit and gumption forced my way into him. As I penetrated him, his eyes rolled up into his head and I stifled his pained grunt with another brutal kiss.
"Oh God, Soap," he mumbled around my mouth. Moving slowly, he moaned into my mouth and it took all my concentration not to just take him as hard and fast as I was capable. As I felt him relax around me I picked up speed, forcing the sounds to tumble from his deliciously parted lips. He wrapped a hand around his painfully erect member and began jerking off in time to my thrusts, writhing and gasping beneath me. Suddenly he was twitching below me, ribbons of the glistening goo painting his chest. That sent me over the edge and after a few more quick thrusts and I emptied myself into him with a groan. Utterly spent I tossed him one of the dirty shirts from my pack and he cleaned up a bit before pulling his briefs back on and flopping down on the bed next to me.
"I'd been wondering what you looked like," I said evenly, casting a sidelong glance his way. His tousled hair matched the flushed skin of his face and the bruised, swollen look of his lips, which then curled into another smile.
"And I'd been wondering if you'd been interested. Looks like both our questions have been answered." He propped himself up on one elbow, gazing at my still naked form. Not one for modesty, I settled down beside him, dragging the feeble blanket I'd brought for the trip over us. He curled up next to me, seeming like he wanted to cuddle but uncertain. I relented and tucked my arm under him. He rested his head on my chest.
"What, no post-coital smoking?" he asked. I chuckled.
"It's a pre-mission thing. Better than diazapam. Wouldn't want to ruin it by using it for sex," I replied with a smirk.
I staggered away from the water, looking for that traitorous scumbag. My feet were barely obeying me. My vision was bleary, but when I finally saw him, the rage burned away my clouded vision and left me with one purpose in life: to see his blood on my hands. He moved away, slowly, and I pursued. When I finally saw him through the dust, he was leaning against a jeep, looking defeated. I raised my knife for the final kill, but I should have known it wouldn't have been that easy. He stabbed me. The fucker stabbed me and threw me down and I was too weak from the near-drowning to respond. The pain was so intense I couldn't even register it anymore. I knew I must be dying. I was dying and the traitor still lived! I watched the flight between Price and Shepard through fading vision. Suddenly when I looked, the tosser was beating Price.
Something had to be done. I looked around for a weapon, but the only one I could see was embedded in my chest. So be it. I willed my hand to obey me and watched with grim pride as it swung up to clutch the knife. I pulled. With all my might I tugged at it. The pain intensified, white-hot, and it was all I knew. I brought my other hand up and with a final earth-shatteringly painful wrench, the knife was free. I blessed my long hours of throwing practice as I raised my arm. I had one shot. Ghost's face flashed in front of my eyes, his shit-eating grin urging me on. I flung the knife and prayed to any god that might be listening. When I saw it hit his eye and watched him collapse onto the ground, I knew I'd won. I'd avenged Ghost. Then Price was bandaging my chest saying it would do and then Nikolai – what the fuck was he doing here? - was at my side, dragging me to Little Bird, telling us he had a safehouse. Did it matter?
Yes. I'll fight the good fight for you, Ghost. Shepard's treachery will be known and your name will not be forgotten.