It's not the first fight Ghost's dragged Soap's ass out of, and it definitely won't be the last.
He's snarling and hissing like a kitten as Ghost tugs him away by the scruff of his neck, pinning his arm to his side with his free arm as he strongarms Soap outside. "Take a breath, Sergeant," he growls, sending Soap crashing into the alley wall. "Settle."
Soap sneers, but he visibly deflates as Ghost crosses his arms. "Aye," he grunts, all sharp disgruntlement. "Aye, I'm calm." Ghost hums almost absently, pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and rolls up his balaclava just enough to tuck one between his lips.
Wordlessly, he offers Soap one, stepping close to light it for him when he accepts, eyes boring straight into Soap's; unflinching. "What got you so hot under the collar this time?" He asks around the fag, letting it smudge and obscure the amused quirk of his mouth as he speaks.
Soap gazes at him even as his breathing evens out into something a little less volatile; a simmering volcano, maybe, rather than an active eruption. "Said something I didn't like," he shrugs, uncharacteristically guarded. Ghost raises an eyebrow as he takes a long drag.
Exhales it thickly through his nose, knows how it looks as it filters through the fabric of the balaclava; mean and grim and a little cheesy, maybe. "No fucking shit," he agrees dryly. "Here I was thinking he paid you a compliment and that was your idea of thanking him."
Soap snorts, cherry of the cigarette glowing as he sucks in a lungful, buzzing energy calming more at the hit of nicotine. "Don't remember what he said, exactly," he says after a beat. "Something about you lot, and me gobbing enough English cock to put the navy to shame."
He works his jaw, frustration palpable as it sparks again; an ember in the night air, flickering and weightless. Beautiful in its brief, fleeting lifespan. "Fuck if I could understand the drunk cunt, but..." he shrugs. "Got the gist, didn't I?"
Ghost eyes him, steps even closer and then leans in further still, caging Soap in, barely resisting the urge to touch him. Because this is what they did: they got close, close enough to touch, to kiss, close enough to doing what they wanted, but never actually following through.
He drops his fag and stomps it out before he plucks Soap's from right between his lips, their bare fingers brushing, because Ghost doesn't wear gloves when he's like this- when that hard, unyielding military weapon is softened - brutally - into something a little more civilian.
"Got an English cock here you're more than welcome to blow," he smirks, and Soap laughs- tilts his head forward and knocks it into Ghost's before he pulls back. Ghost softens, mouth gentling into a soft, private smile. "Chin up," he tuts, chucking Soap gently under the chin.
"Aye," he smiles, "Bastard should've known I'm the only one allowed to take the piss out of you lads for being English." Ghost's smirk turns sly again, sharp teeth crumpling Soap's cigarette, slightly. "That right, Johnny? Getting all possessive over little old us?"
"Mm," he hums, taking his cigarette back, and when his fingers graze Ghost's lips it's both deliberate and Earth-shattering. "Maybe I am," he agrees, looking up at Ghost through his lashes as he takes a slow, teasing drag, and Ghost feels something snap inside of him.
Feels something unfurl and bloom, feels the chains holding back that /thing/ inside him snap, mangled and useless as it swarms forward, takes control of his body and making him crowd Soap against the wall again until their bodies are connected; chests and thighs pressed together.
It's not a particularly cold night, but Soap feels burning against him, sends Ghost's head spinning as the cigarette falls at their feet, forgotten as their hands sink into each other, as they press together, impossibly closer.
"Wouldn't mind if you were," Ghost breathes, lips brushing Soap's. It's full of meaning he can't keep back, that's crashing against him in waves, dragging him under and drowning him under its weight. Soap just smiles, knowing, a new kind of heat burning like coals in his eyes.
When they kiss, it's not fireworks. It's two orbiting, celestial bodies crashing into each other. It's destructive and inevitable, and it sends Ghost's entire world crumbling into ash and debris. The very foundations under his feet are torn down by the wet heat of Soap's mouth.
The axis of his world shifts, re-aligns to fit Soap's, and it cracks Ghost right down the middle, heart spilling out and landing at Soap's feet. "Good," is all Soap says when they pull apart.