Whenever Soap messes up on a mission he needs to repent, he needs to be punished. It’s been like that ever since he started Military. He’s made a habit out of finding himself the biggest, meanest Doms he can find, so when he meets Ghost he thinks he’s hit the jackpot. Little does he know that Ghost is the softest Dom — a pleasure Dom at that — so when something inevitably goes wrong and Soap begs for a punishment, for a hard, degrading fuck, he’s only met with softness.

Soap is masturbating and gets caught by Ghost, they fuck about it.

“Poor thing,” he croons, patting over his pussy like he’s consoling it, not him and fuck that shouldn’t make him drip; the wet sound echoing in his ears. “Just want attention, don’t ya? Dumb fucks here don’t know what they’ve been given. Should be fuckin’ lined up to put you in your place.” Johnny’s skin heats and he can only hope it doesn’t spread far enough down for him to see as he shifts restlessly on the bed. “Big talk fer a man behind a wall,” he spits. “Harsh words for a slag flashin’ ‘is cunt,” he shoots back.

Ever since he’d come out to his devout Roman Catholic family, Johnny had been told he was going to Hell. Seeing Simon “Ghost” Riley on his knees in front of him, looking like Lust incarnate, has him thinking Hell suits him far better than Heaven anyway. His blonde hair catches the fluorescents like a halo, and Johnny now knows exactly what the legends meant when they said the devil has angelic eyes. OR: Johnny needs proof that the aphrodisiac drug sample they're retrieving is real, so he tests it the only way he can with the resources he has: on himself. It's real, alright - he figures that out pretty quick.

“No one told me what prayers to recite,” Johnny forces out, trying to summon the well of anger that usually burns within him when he enters the church. “‘Spose they’re not used to trussin’ up somethin’ that can talk back.” Father Simon says nothing, his footsteps echoing out on the stone; growing louder as he approaches. “I can baa for ya if that’d make it more familiar,” he spits, some remnant of himself flaring and he strains his arms, struggling in vain against the ropes binding his wrists. He follows the hem of his robe as he circles him; his keen eyes heavy as they study the sigils on his skin until he finally comes to a stop behind him. He’s not even to see his death. Johnny curses himself as only now does grief come at being denied a final look into his eyes. Even now, you can’t help but chase sin.

They call Ghost a tease for never posting videos or pictures with him fucking more than his hand; some even offer to buy him a fleshlight, just so they can get the chance to watch his cock in action. None of them know the truth. Ghost's cock doesn't belong to him. Not when he can't use it properly.

Soap took a deep breath to try to steady his nerves, "Ah, are you conscious or unconscious?" "Let's say unconscious, new arrival so no sensory or sleep deprivation as of yet. What is the first step?" He hadn't moved, arms crossed against his chest and eyes not giving away a damn thing. "Securement." He was confident in that answer at least. "Alright, Soap. Secure me." With that, Ghost stood his full height, dropping his arms at his sides. Fuck. This was going to be more difficult than he thought. It felt incredibly wrong to stand here and imagine how he would tie up his superior. •OR• Soap is forced into a simulated interrogation with his Lieutenant and the information he learns about him isn't what he expected.