Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

The Standing One	By : LisbetAdair Category: +A through F > Call of Duty: Modern Warfare Views: 3629 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 1, 2 or 3, nor do I own any of the characters contained in it. I make no money from these stories.

Chapter List
- 1-The Standing One
- 1
The Standing One
Author’s note: This is the first piece of erotica that I ever wrote for this fandom, back in 2011. I redrafted this work in 2013, and tinkered with it again in 2018.
Soap and Ghost pairing, which is rated MA for explicit consensual male/male sexual activity including some power play, and swearing. Obviously, I have borrowed the characters of Activision/Infinity Ward for the purposes of this story. The time is set somewhere before the events of MW2, but after MW1 and does not accept the Ghost comic series as canon.

Ghost ran alone, circling the otherwise empty track under the harsh glare of the floodlights. His breath condensed in the crisp, winter air as he pounded over the asphalt. Around him, the first touches of frost dusted the ground, glittering in the darkness.

A noise intruded, and he slowed down to a gentle trot. He had lost track of the laps some time ago and entered a running trance, barely hearing the rhythm of his feet on the ground. He recognised the sound and fumbled with numb fingers for his phone. One message: Mine. One hour. He smiled.

Fifty-five minutes later, he sauntered along the path towards MacTavish's: a two-storey house, with the old render crumbling at the corners, the last of the partly-demolished family accommodation from days gone by, and his prerogative as Captain. He stopped for a moment. A light shone like a beacon from the back bedroom, the scene of many past nights of ferocious activity. He hated the word 'lovers' but undeniably he and MacTavish were that, secretly entwined in a tenuous relationship of fucking and fighting for the last three months.
Inside, unable to focus or to keep still, MacTavish sat on the sofa, staring at the clock. A week had passed since the disastrous mission in the Georgian highlands. The intelligence that Shepherd had insisted was solid had, in fact, been well wide of the mark. They had missed their man and been compromised at the worst possible time. To make matters worse, two of his men had been injured in the hastily beaten retreat and both were still in the confines of the base hospital. He had spent the last seven days swinging between being livid at himself for the poor execution of the mission and self-doubt at his abilities as a commanding officer. He knew that the stress showed.

The week had consisted of endless sessions of meetings, calls to tearful relatives with complicated fairy stories about how their son or husband was injured, runs to the embassy and long, tedious conference calls to the intelligence agencies on both sides of the Atlantic. Physically, MacTavish might have been in peak condition, but mentally, he was close to breaking point. Finally, on Friday night he had dismissed the rest of the task force who had eagerly snapped up the opportunity to shake off their own demons in the pubs and clubs of the town.

For himself, he had other plans. The anger and the tension of the last week had left him feeling like an overwound spring, and nothing he could do for himself could relieve it. He wanted something to let loose against, but at the same time, he felt that seeking solace in another was a form of weakness. It had driven him increasingly mad until this evening, when he finally gave in.
“You rang?”
Ghost leaned nonchalantly against the door frame. Two hundred pounds of lean muscle on his height looked magnificent, even fully clothed, and he knew how to make the most of his looks. Despite the cold, he was wearing a cream cotton shirt, rolled up at the elbows to reveal the sinew of his forearms and left undone, invitingly, at the neck. The light from the doorway highlighted his sandy blond hair like a halo. He knew from MacTavish's face when he opened the door that it had exactly the right effect: he looked like a fallen angel.
“Get inside, you stupid bastard, before someone sees you!”
“Charmed, I'm sure.” He replied.
In the narrow hallway, the two men were forced against each other. Ghost was comfortable in who he was, embracing his sexuality even though he kept it a closely guarded secret and this smug, self-assurance drove MacTavish wild. He wasted no time forcing Ghost roughly backwards into the wall, pinning him down with a forceful, aggressive kiss.
Under the onslaught, Ghost simply relaxed. He had known MacTavish's response to the crisis would be to keep it bottled up until a suitable vessel into which he could pour his frustrations appeared. Usually, he rolled with it, coaxed it and spun the front of snarling aggression into a passionate session of fucking. MacTavish's sexual energy was boundless, a convenient side-effect of his clichéd ideal of masculinity. Ghost sense that he believed he could fuck his homosexual feelings out, a misunderstanding Ghost happily exploited.
Yet tonight, things felt different: an emptiness in MacTavish's eyes, a haunted look that suggested his mind was still elsewhere, even if his body was willing. Ghost’s head bounced off an awkwardly-placed picture frame, the pain causing him to bite down involuntarily. MacTavish jumped.
“Jesus! said Ghost. “Not in the hallway!” He jerked his head towards the stairs leading up to the bedroom. MacTavish pulled back. “What's got into you?” Ghost asked.
“I don't want to talk!” growled MacTavish, shoving Ghost towards the stairs.

In the bedroom, Ghost got as far as removing his shirt before MacTavish was on top of him again. This time he answered back a little, pushing against the fierce, angry kisses and pulling back enough to bite gently on the other man's lip. He started to work a little, trying to adjust the rhythm to something with more breathing space, but MacTavish was having none of it.
Time for some direct action then, thought Ghost.
Sensing the right moment, Ghost reached down and tugged MacTavish's shirt free, sliding his hands up his back and drawing his nails down the side of the ribs just hard enough to make him jerk. MacTavish stopped, pulled Ghost's hand away and pushed himself upright onto his knees. As he was pulling his shirt over his head, Ghost made his move.

He pulled his right leg up and twisted, bringing MacTavish's body under the back of his knee. At the same time, he rolled, using the weight of his rising body, and the element of surprise, to force MacTavish face down onto the bed. Quickly, he grabbed the shirt and twisted it, locking MacTavish’s wrists in a tight bind, pinning him down beneath him.

“Get the fuck off me!” roared MacTavish, impotently heaving himself into a position where he could force Ghost off.
However, Ghost was ready for this and simply twisted his right hand tighter, pushing MacTavish's wrists down. With his left hand he stroked the sensitive skin on the side of MacTavish's chest in a soft clawing motion that made him squirm.
“Get off!”
“You think you always have to be in control, John.” Ghost slid his hand slowly across the underside of MacTavish's right arm and shifted his weight so that he was straddling his back. He leaned close to MacTavish's ear. “You never let up. Always thinking you have to fight it out.” Underneath him MacTavish growled.
“For fuck's sake, Simon!”
Ghost went on “Just let go a little, relax.” He bit down gently on the earlobe and teased it softly with his tongue. The growl changed to a moan.
Ghost shifted his weight and let MacTavish roll over. The two of them faced each other. With no objections, Ghost bent down and started to kiss him, softly, along the jawline and down along the tendons of his neck. Without looking, he reached behind with his free hand and slid a pair of stolen handcuffs from his back pocket. Distracting the other man by sliding his tongue around his nipple, he twisted them between the metal bars of the headboard and round MacTavish's wrists.
“Fuck!” exclaimed MacTavish, as he realised what had happened. His eyes widened with sudden fear, but the shock seemed to have rendered him speechless.
Now, with both his hands free, he laced one through MacTavish's hair, gripping just enough to keep his head back as he returned to tease along his neck with gentle nips and delicate kisses. He worked along the hollow of his collarbone and down to take his nipple gently between his teeth, teasing along the fine line between pleasure and pain. MacTavish growled and writhed beneath him. He circled for a while, paying close attention to the parts he knew to be delicate and sensitive, ignoring the straining erection that was trapped beneath MacTavish’s thighs. Ghost was in control, and MacTavish, after some initial misgivings, was starting to find that he loved it.
He spent time undressing MacTavish slowly, stripping away his boots and jeans and leaving him in his tight, black shorts. He enjoyed himself sliding his hands up the inner aspects of his bared thighs and retreating just at the edge of the fabric.
“Fuck!" gasped MacTavish, again. The fear of the unknown was exciting him more than he thought it would, and combined with Ghost's careful attentions, he was close. Part of him wanted to plead for Ghost to strip him naked and take him in his mouth, but he was too proud. Instead he spread his legs wide to allow Ghost better access and hoped he would take the hint; however, Ghost had no intention of letting MacTavish dictate the pace. With a wicked smile on his lips, he slid one hand beneath the fabric of the shorts and gentle squeezed at the tight, swollen balls hidden beneath. He moaned and swore again.
“Please! Oh God, please!” MacTavish finally snapped. “Simon! Please!”
Ghost ignored him, sliding his hand further inside the shorts and softly stroking the base of his cock. MacTavish’s body buckled and twisted with pleasure. He pleaded again, but Ghost ignored him.
With his free hand, he slid open the bedside drawer and pulled out the tube of lube MacTavish kept there. Warming some in his palm, he wrapped his hand around MacTavish’s cock and started to work up a rhythm. He clasped it firmly, driving the head through the tight gap between his thumb and forefinger, relishing the noise MacTavish made as he did so. He knew that he was desperately close and sure enough, after about a minute, the nature of his cries changed. At the right moment, Ghost squeezed, clamping his hand down on the head of his cock just in time, denying him full release.
Ghost waited until the writhing and yelling had stopped before releasing his grasp and bending down to take him in his mouth.
“Fuck!” MacTavish exclaimed again “What the hell did you just do?”
Ghost said nothing, but his lips twisted into a wry smile at MacTavish’s astonishment. He knew MacTavish thought he was good at this and savoured the obscenities he constantly muttered between growls of pleasure. He circled his tongue around the sensitive head, lapping at the drops of cum escaping.
Eventually, he decided it was time to change the pace and started to suck gently. Whilst he knew MacTavish would be focussed, he started to rub at the base of his cock, slowly working backwards across the sensitive skin between his legs until he was rubbing his fingers along the crease of his arse.
“Jesus!” MacTavish swore as Ghost pushed past the tense muscles and slipped his finger inside. Ghost felt the muscles clench around him and he waited, sucking gently until he relaxed. Ghost worked slowly, circling his thumb on the sensitive skin between his cock and his arse, building up a rhythm with his lips. When he felt MacTavish relax completely, he slipped a second finger inside, gently stretching the muscles for later. In all the months they had been lovers, with all his misogynistic hang-ups, MacTavish had never asked Ghost to fuck him, and Ghost suspected that he'd never been fucked, a situation that he was going to change for the better.

MacTavish was getting close again. He barely even noticed Ghost's careful preparations, so rapt was he under the attentions of Ghost's tongue. He felt the rhythm of the sucking change, and his body responded with a headlong dive into orgasm.
“Oh Christ, Simon! Fu-” The second orgasm was as immense as the first, but again, there was no true release. Ghost had clamped his hand just beneath the head of his cock again, denying him a finish. He lay there, helpless and moaning, watching Ghost start to strip himself naked in front of him.
By now, Ghost was rock hard, and starting to get little desperate himself. His own cock strained against the material of his underwear, uncomfortably trapped. Releasing the handcuffs, he kissed MacTavish again and started to twist his body round to prone, only to feel, with delight, him rolling around himself, moving to a position where his arse was more accessible. He looked up and caught MacTavish looking back at him, a nervous, pleading look in his eyes. He knew what he wanted, even if he was too proud to ask.
He slid his hand back down to MacTavish's arse, squeezing the firm muscle in his hands, spreading the cheeks wide. As he slipped his finger inside, he felt MacTavish’s breath catch and he tensed again. Gently Ghost began to tease his finger along the ridge of the prostate, listening with a satisfied smile as MacTavish swore, his body shuddering and buckling beneath him. Sensing his fear, Ghost slowed. Laying full length across MacTavish's back, he clasped one of his hands in his own and nibbled gently at his ear, breathing softly over the sensitive skin until he felt the muscles beneath him soften and then gently began to push his cock inside.
MacTavish knew it was coming, but he still gasped when Ghost entered him. The pressure of his cock inside him forced a deep, shuddering moan from his lungs. He had never permitted anyone to dominate him, and the excitement that resulted from losing control surprised him. Everything was tinged with a soft touch of fear, of tested boundaries and trust. It was driving him wild.
Ghost slowly pushed himself further inside, feeling the tight muscles of MacTavish’s arse straining around him. He’d been waiting months to do this, and the excitement he felt was almost unbearable. He felt the skin of their balls touch and then they were grinding together as Ghost pushed the full length of himself inside. MacTavish gave a shuddering moan.
As Ghost started to gently thrust he bellowed again. Each slow stroke slid over the nub of his prostate, sending a wave of pleasure through him. He suddenly understood why Ghost was so keen to be fucked, what he had been missing out on. Each thrust pressed harder and harder into him, pushing him to new heights of ectasy. He couldn’t control himself, juddering and moaning each time Ghost pushed himself forward. He was so close, teetering on the brink, and then he was coming. His body shuddered in wild spasms of ecstasy as he climaxed, pounding the sheets with his fists.
When it was over, they lay together on the floor, tangled in the mess of the sheets and slick with sweat.
“You're such an utter bastard, Simon.” he said.
“I know.” Ghost replied. “But you fucking love it.”

Re-drafted 28th June 2013, and again on the 8^th of April 2018.
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Standing One