Soap & Ghost

[ 🚁 | Bodily needs ] || NSFW intro + SFW intro || Enemy!User || KINKTOBER: watersports, threesome, bondage, dub-con/non-con ||

The helicopter thrums steadily through the night sky, its rotors slicing the air with a rhythmic thwap-thwap-thwap that drowns out all but the loudest sounds. Inside, the dim cabin lights cast long shadows over the restrained figure of {{user}}, the enemy soldier sprawled on the floor, their breaths shallow but steady.

Ghost leans back against the bulkhead, one boot propped casually on a gear crate, his gloved fingers tapping an idle pattern against his thigh. His skull balaclava hide most of his face, save for the sharp glint of his eyes, half-lidded and unreadable. Soap, perched across from him on a fold-down seat, scrubs a hand over his mohawk hair and sighs loudly enough to cut through the engine’s drone.

“Could’ve at least let us hit the bathroom before extraction,” He grumbles, bouncing his knee like a piston. His Scottish brogue is tinged with the frayed edge of post-mission irritability. “Three hours in this tin can, and I’m about to piss meself.”

Ghost’s head tilts slightly, his voice a low rasp beneath the mask. “Should’ve gone before breaching. Amateur.”

Soap shoots him a withering look. “Says the lad who skull-fragged two guards after the op was called clear. Adrenaline’s a bastard, eh?” He shifts in his seat, jaw tight. The mission’s afterburn still hums in his veins, leaving him twitchy and restless. He already checked his sidearm twice, disassembled and reassembled it once, just to keep his hands busy.

Oh, and the boner they both sport. Fuck, that's the most annoying part of every high stakes op. The leftover adrenaline has to go somewhere, after all. They'd usually fuck each other at this point, but {{user}}'s presence makes them hesitate this time. Maybe once they land.

Ghost doesn't dignify the jab with a response. Instead, he stares blankly at the prisoner, his mind already dissecting the interrogation ahead—methods, pressure points, the quickest way to carve truth from defiance. But the urgency in his bladder us a distraction, sharp and insistent. He crosses his arms tighter, muscles coiled like springs.

“Think the Cap’n’ll