A/N: This fic is very anti-fluff. But it's LUST, not love. This one got away from me somehow, and every time I read through it, I find another line that I don't really remember writing, but really enjoy reading. Hope you guys like it as much as I do. ;D
yeah-bled: Awh. I'm glad you liked it. :3
GothicBandicoot: I'm glad you liked them.
Nadilee: I love whore Roach as much as you do. It seems to fit... He seems to be undeniably clumsy and he doesn't appear to be much of a conversationalist in the game, so we must assume Soap and Ghost put up with him for other reasons. /evil grin.
MissPumpkinHead: It took me a lot of time to get used to writing in first person, but I'm glad you think I did a good job. It was kinda difficult for me to put myself in that mindset. I'm really glad you liked that one.
Astaldo Ungol: Wow... Thanks so much for that review. :3 The first time I played through Modern Warfare 2, the thing that really struck me was the level "Takedown" when everyone was shooed away while Soap and Ghost stayed behind to interrogate the "informant" (as the first chapter suggests). And it doesn't help any that I have a dear (and gorgeous) friend of mine currently in the Army and on deployment in Afghanistan, and when we were in high school together, I used to pair him up in my head with other guys in our classes, so I know what you mean. X3 I promise, it's gonna take a lot to get me to leave this story behind, especially once I get my hands on Ghost's comic book collection. (Yes, I'm a sad, sad little fangirl) It might get a lot worse than that if Infinity Ward releases Ghost-centric DLC for the 360 like they've been hinting... :D
"Lust's passion will be served; it demands, it militarizes, it tyrannizes."
It was originally said by Marquis De Sade, but Soap had heard it from Captain John Price. It was something that few people really knew; Captain Price enjoyed quotes, enjoyed memorizing them and using them when he decided they were needed. He knew that Price had meant it to do with the lust for power, but that was the thing about quotes; they could be taken in a multitude of ways.
It was day three stuck in a hole dug into the side of some god-forsaken hill with sniper rifle scopes pressed against clear blue eyes. The days had begun to bleed together as John MacTavish and Simon Riley lay baking in the sweltering Brazilian heat. The foliage around them served only to capture water and increase humidity, offering only a negligable amount of shade. They hardly noticed the environment around them and virtually ignored even their basic needs in favor of laying as still as possible, lest the sun hit their scopes at the perfect angle and send a flashing glint of light as a warning. They couldn't afford to miss this target. It was the reason they were snipers; A single shot could end a war before it started. The entire unwritten history of the world, changed in one blinding muzzle flash, altered in a deafening crack, rearranged in a jarring recoil.
"There they are." Soap murmured softly.
The door to the tiny shack they'd been watching swung open and their target and two of his personal guards exited the building. Ghost licked his lips behind his balaclava and tasted sweat. He ignored it and watched the two casual-looking men scanning the area. The Captain would get the bastard Sheperd sent them after, Ghost would kill the guards and make sure there was no one around to sound the alarm while they booked it back to a more populated area where they could "hide" while waiting for transport back to base.
Ghost's finger slid from the trigger guard to the trigger itself and he waited...
Thump...Thump...Thump...Thump..Thump...CRACK...Thump... John took his shot, timed it perfectly, timed it between breaths and heartbeats. He smirked with satisfaction as a glorious pink mist swirled in the faint breeze that had kicked up a few minutes prior. (1)
Thump...Thump...Thump...Thump...CRACK...Thump... Ghost's shot had to be timed a little better, but he managed to kill both of the guards with a single bullet. There was something satisfying about knowing that he was capable of something that should have been an impossibility. He was sitting two miles away with a Barrett M107 .50 caliber, and he'd killed two men with a single, skull-shattering pull of a trigger. There was a strange, calm elation that flooded his veins, despite how hyped up he was from the adrenaline rush.
"Time to get out of here." Soap said gruffly. They quickly collapsed their rifles, tore off their ghillie suits, stuffed them into their packs, and sprinted towards the jeep they'd hidden in a ravine.
They drove faster than was probably necessary, but the rush, the endorphins, the overpowering need to just move was overwhelming. Ghost was still reliving the muscle straining recoil of his rifle when they arrived at the less-than-ritzy house they'd "comandeered". It had electricity and running water, which was more than could be said for most of their resting places, it also had real beds, which was more of a luxury than it should have been.
Even with the pitiful air conditioner running, it was still far too hot inside the tiny shack. Ghost peeled his balaclava away from his face and his Kevlar followed. He pushed his shirt over his head and cracked his neck. His dark brown hair was dampened with sweat and so was his shirt. He glanced at the Captain and saw that he wasn't the only one who decided it was too hot inside...
Riley could feel his hands trembling as the adrenaline of playing God began to fade, but he was still too keyed up to even consider relaxing. He could tell Soap was in a similar situation by the way he was staring blankly out the window while his fingers drummed idly against the 1911 that was always strapped to his thigh. Riley's mind raced through a thousand different "combat" scenarios in an instant. He decided on a plan of action and knew that it was going to either work perfectly in giving him what he wanted, or it was going to end in a nasty fist fight.
The rush wouldn't be leaving Riley any time soon and he knew it. He knew that his only option was to go forward with his plan. He stepped forward, crossing the small living room in a step and a half. His left hand shot out and wrapped around John's right wrist and the fingers stopped tapping. The Captain seemed as if he were going to say something, but the words were lost as Simon's lips covered his.
A secondary spike of adrenaline sent sparks down John's spine and made Simon's skin tingle. John wrenched his hand from Simon's grasp and grabbed ahold of dark brown hair, not caring that it was dampened with sweat and caked with dirt. This new rush was quickly sweeping in and replacing the fading thrill of a series of perfect kills. Their tongues desperately pressed against each other and they were both suddenly made painfully aware of how much they needed this rush. The only thing on either of their minds was the room at the end of the hall that held a lumpy mattress on a rickety bedframe. John pushed his subordinate back towards the hallway and Riley stumbled backwards with a low growl; he knew what MacTavish wanted, but he sure as hell wasn't going to just give up control like that. He lunged at the Captain and slammed him aganst the wall before he forced his tongue into the Scotsman's mouth. Soap bit at Ghost's lips and tongue and forced the Brit to beat a hasty retreat. Riely was trying to settle on a new plan of action when all thoughts of attack fell from the forefront of his consciousness; John had moved his mouth and was now nipping at Riley's neck, leaving purple hickies and reddened impressions of his teeth to appropriately lay claim to his conquest. Riley made the fatal mistake of moaning softly and Soap smirked against his partner's neck. The quirking of chapped lips against dirt-smudged skin alerted Ghost to his mistake all too late. He'd showed weakness, and the information was going to be used against him in the upcoming fight.
Their lips were soon reattached and Riley was pushed backwards again. This time, he stumbled down the hallway like MacTavish intended him to. He'd lost that battle, and this was the consequence. The back of his head, and the rest of him, collided with the wall near the bed with a sharp crack and he winced as his left elbow went through the cheap, crumbling plaster wall. John didn't acknowledge the reaction, or the damage to the bedroom wall, and instead continued to bite at Simon's neck, shoulders and chest. The Lieutenant tried desperately to hold back the gasps and moans that tried to break free from behind his lips, desperately tried to keep a little "intel" for himself. It wasn't working so well. It was like the Captain knew what to to to make his "adversary" a weaker man.
This game soon began to bore John and the sudden rush went from a screaming war-cry to an irritating buzz in the back of his mind. He shoved his fellow sniper back onto the bed and Riley fell with a scowl. Weapons began to disappear, though John's seemed to be removed more slowly. The show of dominance, power, and control wasn't lost on Riley, who bared his teeth in irritation. The silent snarl soon disappeared as MacTavish's bulky form was lowered onto his own and their lips met in a painfully bruising kiss. Simon's fingers reached for the button on John's pants and he tugged it free. He did a few quick mental calculations and tried to see which way would be the best to get from under John, but it seemed the Captain had thought of that as well. They were squarely in the middle of the bed and there was nowhere to go, lest they end up on the floor and the rush be lost forever to the complications of a concussion. He snarled his dissatisfaction at his superior and bit back at him a little harder than was necessary. John didn't seem to notice the damage done. He was focused on reaching his goal, and that goal was to fuck Riley.
The Lieutenant wasn't happy with how quickly his remaining clothes disappeared while the Captain's dissappeared with a slow deliberateness. He knew that it was all a show of power, but he wasn't used to being on the losing side of the war. There was a slight lull in their actions and their blue eyes met. There was a tense and silent moment where they both tried to read each other, cursing the training they'd both received to be unreadable. It wasn't making this situation any easier. The only sounds were their own shortened breaths and the faint humm of traffic a half a klick away, but eventually even that faded away as they focused on the sound of their hearts that beat in time, following an unheard cadence. In those few short moments, John formulated a new plan of attack and worked out all the details.
Soap ducked his head and pressed a gentle kiss to his partner's lips, his tongue tracing their outline and politely asking for entrance. Ghost teasingly parted them only slightly, curious to the reaction he would get. It was a violent entry and subsequent ravashing of his mouth that made him arch his back. John's hand slid between their bodies and teasingly squeezed Simon's erection, receiving a choked moan in response. Riley's teeth caught at MacTavish's earlobe and he sighed sharply, the closest to a whimper he'd come since he was in primary school. Soap got the general idea, but he wasn't done playing his little game. His movements remained violent enough to ensure there was no questioning his dominanace, but he also made sure he was doing less than was necessary to give Simon any sort of measurable satisfaction. He was one hell of a fucking tyrant, and Ghost wasn't happy with that. John gripped Simon's face and stared down into angry pools of blue with a nearly sadistic smile. Riley's hand slid up MacTavish's arm and he took the Captain's wrist into his hand and slid his tongue across the calloused palm. He was rewarded with a display of "weakness" from his partner, a quiet grunt and a change in the gleam in his eyes. Ghost knew what he was doing; he could feel the reaction in the heavy beating of Soap's heart reverberating through his own chest. His tongue again slithered over the hand and it soon disappeared, slid through the miniscule gap between their bodies. John used the saliva from his conquest to lubricate his member in preparation for what was to come.
There was no sort of warning. They were beyond words, far beyond words. The rush of lust was all that mattered to them; their minds had been dominated by the pursuit of that adrenaline-laced pleasure and there was no hope of escaping it now. Ghost's teeth snapped together with audible force at the sharp pain of being penetrated with no preparation. A low, rumbling growl slid through Simon's clenched teeth, one that almost sounded animalistic and Soap wated only for a few short seconds before he snapped his hips forward.
Too many years of living with agony made this pain negligable. Too many years of ignoring pleasure in favor of coping with pain made this new pleasure flare up with an imposible to comprehend intensity. Riley gasped at the sudden flash of colored sparks that floated past his vision as the Captain did something that made everything fade away that wasn't the bed, wasn't John. His hands wrapped around the base of John's neck and his short fingernails managed to break the delicate skin there, though neither of them seemed to notice. The continuing slide of the Captain in him was beginning to make the Lieutenant lose his coherence. There was no more room for combat scenarios or a fight-or-flight reaction. There was only "lust's passion" that they were serving dutifully. There were sharp breaths and short moans as the two of them gave into primal desires.
There was something clawing at the back of Simon's mind, something that curled around his consciousness with an unrelenting iron grasp. It was suffocating his rationality and blocking out his sanity. He didn't care. He didn't have the time or the energy or the power of will to care. His teeth clicked together again in a vague attempt at a warning. John grunted some sort of vague acknowledgement and they both knew the other was close to that downward spiral. It soon became a bit of a competition, seeing who could hold back the longest, to see who could outlast whom. John won, but only by a few precious seconds.
Post-coitus, there wasn't much said. They lay on the bed that was nearly too small for the both of them to lay side-by-side, waiting for their breathing to slow.
"That was one hell of a rush." John finally admitted after a few minutes.
"That it was."
"Care for a second round, just to see if the rush loses its potency?"
Simon smirked and agreed. They had time to kill and a rush to ride.
(1) I was watching this show "Fight Science" and they were testing "Super Soliders" and one of the guys they brought on was a Marine Corps Scout Sniper that literally fired between heartbeats to improve his accuracy. I was watching that and I was just "Fuck yes. MW2. Let's get in on that. :D"