Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Going from Team 141 to a mixed category A & B maximum security prison was not the bright future Soap had envisioned for himself, but he couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it, all things considered. 

It was an impressive feat of legal manoeuvring, courtesy of a lawyer provided on Laswell’s recommendation, to convince the court to even place him as a lower risk Category B prisoner, rather than A, given what he’d done.  

She’d badgered him to use a different lawyer specialising in soulmate defence law, but he’d baulked, insistent that he wouldn’t use his mark as an excuse to escape the consequences of his actions. 

Besides, it was hard to claim you were acting in defence of a soulmate when you’d never even met them.

+

HM Prison Manchester, or Strangeways, as the locals called it, was an impressive old Victorian redbrick fort - a miserable feat of architecture straight out of Dickensian England.

Soap could’ve almost mistaken it for a quaint English boarding school, had it not been for the ominous, multi-story bricked wall fences lined with razor-sharp barbed wire on all sides. Or the towering, sinister brick spire looming from the centre of the grounds, which was either a regular watchtower or the inspiration for Sauron’s eye itself. 

The intake process was quick and perfunctory, and he was stripped of all personal possessions and dignity in no time flat. The dehumanisation was so much like parts of military life, it almost felt like home.  

Unlike the military, however, they did not seem at all interested by the faded, dormant soulmark on the palm of his left hand, and curiously did not note it down under his medical notes. 

Soap had been allowed to bring some clothes and toiletries, but as a new prisoner he’d have to wear their standard issue clothing for the first few weeks - grey jogging bottoms and a sweatshirt. He would stick out as a fresh meat amongst the more established inmates, which didn’t bode well for his plan to keep his head down.

A no-nonsense, brown-skinned man addressed the new prisoners, his gaze steely as he spoke. The embroidery on his deep blue button up named him as Senior Prison Officer Sahan.

“The rules are simple - you are told the schedule, and you stick to it. After two weeks, you will be expected to start work full-time in the Croft, no exceptions.” He paused, allowing the words to sink in. “Some of you have never held a job in your life, but this is a working prison, and you will earn your keep.” 

Soap stood at attention whilst the other prisoners shifted uneasily. He felt somewhat buoyed to know he wouldn’t be wasting away idly in a cell, even if it would be mind-numbingly dull.

“First few weeks you’ll wear the clothes provided, until such a time that you earn your personal belongings.”  

The oversized jumper itched around his throat as if in reminder.

“IEPs, or Incentive and Earned Privileges, should be self explanatory,” he continued briskly. “As the name suggests, if you behave yourself, you’ll be rewarded with certain privileges. If you behave poorly, these privileges will be revoked.”

Soap couldn’t begin to imagine what minor basic human rights they were dangling as a reward for good behaviour, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. 

With his lecture complete, he called them all to him one-by-one, brandishing a clipboard and marking something down when they were done. 

When Soap was called, he gave him a brief once over, expression blank. 

“First offence?” Officer Sahan did not await his response, and scribbled something down. “I’ll put you in with Ghost, then. He’s also ex-military, very well-behaved. Perhaps you can learn something from him.” With that, he was swiftly dismissed. 

Not all in the military were made equal, especially another fellow criminal, so Soap wasn’t exactly enthused by the news. 

And what the fuck kind of name is Ghost?

+

Soap was carried along with the wave of new inmates, a group of grey and miserable felons being marched through their new home. 

The internal brick prison walls were painted over by a soft cream colour, with all of the metal railings, accents and doors splashed by a bold Yves Klein blue. 

Soap stuck to the fringes of the group, eyes roaming over the unfamiliar surroundings by rote, instinctively checking for entry and exit points.

His marked hand twitched nervously. Pointless exercise, since the whole point is to keep you in. 

Soap was swept along in a dizzying whirlwind of group induction meetings and paperwork for the rest of the morning.

The rules and strict times and regulations were not dissimilar to the military, and if he blurred his mind’s eye he could almost imagine he was in basic training again, not serving the first day of a 15 year prison sentence. 

After a few hours, Soap was left to his own devices until the lunch bell. Well, as much as an inmate could be left to themselves. With nothing else to do, he opted to visit the tiny library adjacent to the Croft.

The Croft was the name for the general working space for all prisoners, housing a laundry, workshop, print shop, kitchen and waste management unit as well the mess hall, or Crofters restaurant, as it was lovingly referred to. 

Soap sat in a corner with a random book he’d nabbed off the shelf, and ruminated, holding his marked hand close to his thigh. 

His father had tried to instil shame into him for the soulmark, and Soap had taken to wearing it proudly uncovered on his palm for years in quiet protest. But a prisoner with a soulmark was a target, and he’d have to do his best to hide it. 

It being a dull, faded grey would hopefully help. 

Soap knew his lack of connection after so long had contributed to his particular uncharacteristic violence, and knew the conclusions others would draw if they knew about it. It was a rare phenomenon, where soulmates lost their minds and killed people, sometimes in self defence, but always taken to heightened extremes by their mark. 

It was not unusual for one half of a pair to act out, to put themselves in harm's way or travel to strange places, all in the unconscious search for their undiscovered soulmate. They would find each other, no matter the cost. 

A marked individual getting himself thrown in jail just to find his soulmate would indicate he was not typically a violent criminal type. Which he wasn’t, not really, despite his former career and the horror he’d inflicted on his own father. 

For the small percentage of people with soulmates in the world, it was common to find each other in early adulthood, if not younger. It was unheard of to enter your 30s without ever having found your soulmate, and indicated something worrying about the connection.

There were usually dogmatic campaigners who fought for soulmate rights, who argued they were misunderstood and should not be punished harshly for following their instincts. Others argued they were too dangerous to be given any leniency. 

Soap had been deliberately suppressing himself and ignoring his instincts that screamed and begged for him to find his other half, but his father -

He deserved it anyway, Soap’s mind hissed at him. He wanted to-

Not thinking about that. He cheerily slammed the door on that particular train of thought.

Unless he miraculously found his soulmate in prison, as much as it disgusted him, being known as a killer who’d served in the military would keep him from drawing too much unwanted attention. 

As long as he didn’t form a connection, he wouldn’t become a target.

A shrill alarm startled him from his thoughts, and he hastily put his book away and headed for the halls. 

++

The Crofters Restaurant was a prison mess hall, home to over a thousand inmates for lunch and dinner daily. The sheer mass and volume of so many men in one space would’ve been overwhelming in the best of circumstances.

Wearing clothes marking Soap as fresh meat made it so much worse.

“Got some more new fish, Boss?” One gent grunted at Sahan. 

The officer ignored him, gesturing for the grey-clad group to line up and fend for themselves. 

A snub nosed man limned with neck tattoos eyed Soap speculatively from his table. “Ey, up, ‘ere comes trouble.” His thick accent pinned him as a man from Yorkshire, and he scowled at Soap’s stony silence. “What’s up your arse you morngy bastard.”   

“Chew mah banger,” Soap growled, increasing his pace to avoid further confrontation.

Play up the angry Scottish thing, Soap, he told himself wearily. Should’ve let Gaz win that bet and got myself more tats when I had the chance. 

A dour-faced prisoner in a hairnet slapped a plastic tray compartmentalised into equally unappealing savoury goops, and Soap was soon creeping through the hall for a seat.

He considered sitting with his fellow newcomers, but they’d already filled a table, and Soap was left to find a spot for himself. A conspicuous table in the farthest corner of the room sat empty, the light overhead broken, lending it a dark and lonesome affect. 

That’ll do, then.  

The adjacent tables watched him sit down with poorly concealed interest.

Why is this worse than school and basic combined? Soap grumbled.

Soap was only a few mouthfuls into his dubious meal when a shadow crossed his table. He blinked up at a towering man in all black, complete with an honest to god skull mask staring eerily down at him. 

They told me we couldn’t wear black , Soap thought dumbly, staring right back. He looked at the well-worn, skull face mask alarm. Must be those special privileges they were talking about?  

The bulging whites of his eyes looked blankly at him from behind the mask, and his heavy gaze elicited a truly impressive explosion of word vomit from Soap. 

“Ah, hello,” he said, swallowing nervously. “Is this your table? I’m Soap.” 

It took a moment for Soap to realise his own mistake. 

Shit. He darted his eyes around. Hope no one heard that. 

“Old callsign, sorry, old habits, please don’t call me that here,” he laughed nervously, scratching his neck. “I’m John, but  there’s probably a load of those around here, so you can call me MacTavish if you want.” 

The other man said nothing, merely placing his tray down and sitting in the chair furthest from him. 

Roger that, then, Soap thought grumpily, picking at his food. Rude. 

Before the grating bell rang again, an officer collected him alongside the other fresh meat, and delivered them all individually to their own cells. Soap was the last on the list, and the officer in charge was clearly ready to be done with them all at that point. 

His wing was a long, double-storied atrium, with cells joined by blue railed landings on either side. His own cell was at the very end of the wing, adjacent to an exterior wall, with the light in the hall flickering ominously, leaving the section periodically in complete darkness. 

When they finally reached his cell door, the mousy-haired Officer Figs turned to him and swiftly recited, “Lock up is at 9pm, and cells open again at 8am. Lunch is at 1pm, and tea is at 7:30pm.”

Soap listened to it all intently, absently trailing his thumb against the mark on his palm. 

“You’ll have mandatory one-on-ones with Officer Sahan every week, and visitation can be booked by friends and family online. There’s a phone in your cell that you can use to call pre-approved numbers, but it will take a few days for security to clear your contacts.” 

With that, she unlocked the cell door, and motioned him along. His rear had barely cleared the door frame before the metal door was slammed loudly on his back.

+

The narrow old cell was similarly cream coloured, with a tiny grated window on the far end, a metal framed bunk bed to the side, and open shelves lining the opposite wall. A toilet and tiny sink sat beneath the window, with a metal partition providing a modicum of privacy, much to Soap’s surprise.

A huge, hulking figure in black sat on the top bunk, knees folded with his arms in his lap. His masked head turned slowly to him upon his entry. 

The silent man dressed in Halloween gear from earlier. 

You’re Ghost?

“Ah, hello again,” Soap said, clearing his throat. “Must be Ghost, then?”

Ghost blinked, and continued his long, silent stare. 

Soap was usually quite personable, but prison was proving to be a challenge for him thus far. Help me out here, for fuck’s sake. 

“So uh, what’s with the whole…” He twirled his finger in a circle around his own face, before trailing off. 

The other man said nothing, and merely stared silently while Soap continued to dig his own mortifying grave. 

He was this close to asking, ‘Come here often?’, before he gave up entirely. 

“Look, not sure what good prison etiquette amongst cellmates is - suppose it’s a bit like basic. I’ll just leave you alone and stop talking, shall I?” 

Cold silence. 

Soap wondered if it was a good idea to admit that he wasn’t an experienced, hardened criminal, like the other man clearly was. But given his nervous ramblings, that was likely quite evident for all to see. 

Not like I’m not fully capable of handling myself, he thought mulishly. Just not particularly violent. Most of the time. 

The masked man’s blackened gaze was sending a strange trill of awareness down his spine, and Soap decided he’d endured more than enough time under it. 

“Aye, good chat, I’ll just take the bottom bunk, then.” With that, he deposited his tiny plastic bag of personal belongings onto an open spot on the shelf, kicked off his flip flops, and threw himself onto the thin mattress. 

It was only a few minutes before the cells were sent into complete darkness, the lights automatically shutting off across the entire wing. 

The flickering light in the hall cast odd, long shadows across the space through the grated window in the door, and Soap had a strange fear that the man’s head would creepily inch over the top bunk and continue staring eerily at him if he dared to close his eyes. 

+

Soap spent his first night in prison wide awake, staring at the underside of the top bunk, a yawning horror growing wide in his insides. He was gripped by a strange sickening feeling, and eventually turned and huddled with his back to the wall, staring sightlessly into the flickering dark. 

He shivered under his thin blanket, heart hammering as he held off the waves of nausea that rocked him. 

What the fuck is wrong with me? He scrubbed at his sweaty temples, biting his tongue to stop his teeth chattering. 

He only hoped his restless tossing and turning wouldn’t disturb his unsettling roommate. But given his lack of reaction to anything, maybe he had nothing to fear. 

Soap wasn’t one for homesickness, and even though he didn’t necessarily want to be imprisoned, he sincerely felt he deserved to be there. So the reason behind the churning dread in his guts was truly a mystery to him. 

Soap half dozed until the morning light, lightly tracing his marked palm until the lights suddenly switched back on overhead. By then he was a complete wreck, stomach in snarls and vision unfocused from lack of sleep.

They’d conveniently forgotten to mention that breakfast was not held in the mess, but collected at tea time the night prior, to be eaten in the cells the next day. He listened to the quiet sounds of Ghost eating above him, and briefly wondered if he wouldn’t mind sharing. 

He didn’t feel brave enough to ask, given his stony silence yesterday, and quietly laid in his bunk waiting for the cells to unlock. 

Wonder if he takes that thing off to eat? 

When the doors clicked open, Soap staggered out of his bunk, fumbling on the floor for his shoes. The other man was still in the same position, staring as he clumsily bumbled around in their space.

“MacTavish,” an officer’s voice boomed from the doorway. “With me, now.”

“Right then, see you at lunch,” He said with forced cheer, looking up at the masked man with a smile. “Save you a seat.” He considered giving his shoulder a friendly fist bump, but took one look at his blank, hollow gaze and decided against it.  

You’re going to get yourself killed, Soap, he thought wearily, following after the officer. Not gonna last a week here. 

+

Soap’s middling experience with prison only worsened as the next day progressed. Since he wouldn’t be made to start working for two weeks, he had nothing but  - heavily restricted - time to kill. 

Sleep deprived and brain terribly fogged, he didn’t notice the sinister group following him until he found himself alone in an empty white corridor, conspicuously absent of any guards. 

Bleeding Christ, he thought worriedly, slowly turning. 

The snub-nosed Yorkshire man from yesterday sauntered up close, flanked by two shorter men, their multitude of tattoos seeming to make up for the lack of brains behind their eyes.

Yorkshire and the Puddings, Soap thought absently. Terrible band name. 

“Now then, daft lad,” Yorkshire greeted good-naturedly. “Off to a rocky start yesterday, but figured since you’re new, we’d give you a lesson.” He looked at his cronies with a smirk. “Free of charge.”

Soap should’ve been more worried by this development, but he noted the opportunity with a gleam. The chance to cement himself as something other than a new, easy mark had fallen right into his lap, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away from him. 

He drifted slowly backwards, eyeing their approach cautiously. “What lesson is that, then?” 

“Respect, learning your place.” Yorkshire smiled widely, and a silver filling flashed gaudily in his mouth.

“Aye, is that right?” Soap asked blandly, sizing up the three and clenching his fists surreptitiously. “Live in a prison, so no other place I can go to.”

Yorkshire did not seem overly impressed with his lip, or his total absence of fear. “Keep going with your cheek, and I’ll lamp ya.”

“Weren’t you planning on that anywa -” 

Soap would blame the sleep deprivation for not ducking in time. Embarrassing. 

Yorkshire slugged him hard in the jaw, and Soap staggered back, shaking the haze from his brain. Ow. 

The other two were circling, and Soap’s marked hand twitched. He felt the familiar blackness rising in him, the same that had suffused him when he committed patricide -

Hell’s bells, tone it down. He shook the black from his eyes, crashing back down to reality. You don’t need to prove yourself that much. 

Soap may have been shorter than two of them, but he more than made up for it with raw, physical strength. And professional training. 

Grappling one of the Puddings, Soap quickly jabbed him in the solar plexus and kicked his ankles out, sending him tumbling heavily to the concrete. When the other Pudding sent a punch, he floated under it, using the other man’s momentum against him to throw him bodily over his shoulder. There was a crunch, and Soap suspected they might’ve broken something on the way down. 

With both Puddings quickly down for the count, he turned to Yorkshire with a wild grin. 

“Where tha fuck did ya learn all that?” He grunted warily, taking a step back. 

“Military,” Soap said cheerily, taking a deliberate step closer. “Care to dance?” 

Yorkshire didn’t seem keen on dancing with Soap, and spat on the floor between them. “Hmph,” he grunted. “Chuff off, then.”

One of the Puddings moaned piteously on the floor. 

“Quit yer ruering, Kev,” Yorkshire muttered, kneeling down to prod at him and dismissing Soap, keeping a wary eye on him as he descended. 

Sensing victory, Soap rolled his eyes and turned to walk away, but froze at the dark figure shadowing the end of the hall.

Ghost stood in the centre of the walkway, head tilted in consideration. He drifted his eyes from the men on the floor to Soap, and gave him a gentle blink.  

Shit, a witness. He shook his tingling hand, flustered. How much did you see? 

He suspected snitching was largely frowned upon in prison, but Ghost was supposedly well-liked by the staff for a reason. 

Will you tell anyone? 

The alarm for lunch blared, and Soap jolted, before moving tentatively towards him. When he was within passing distance, he was astonished when the man turned and fell into step with him. 

Soap brushed his thumb subtly against his mark, eyes darting between Ghost and his path nervously as they walked towards the mess hall. A wave of nausea sliced his stomach, and he grimaced miserably. 

Sick and in a fist fight in the first week, he thought wearily. Doesn’t bode well.  

+

With nowhere else to go, Soap sat himself down at what he assumed was Ghost’s table again, deciding the silent spectre was the best comrade he was likely going to get. 

Ghost sat a few chairs closer to him, Soap noted with a small thrill. 

Progress. 

The other man pulled his mask up to his nostrils, and Soap looked away sheepishly, feeling as though he was intruding on something private, despite sitting in a room with over a thousand men. 

Lonely and bored out of his mind, Soap decided that if Ghost had willingly followed and sat with him, he would just have to endure listening to him. He hadn’t had to be this silent in years, and felt a creeping anxiety bubbling at the idea that he would have to go back to that subdued state again. 

He’s dead, he’s dead, he assured himself bleakly. Just a more literal prison to deal with now. 

“So,” Soap leaned his elbow against the table, cheered when the other man turned his head slightly towards him. “Come here often?”

Ghost rolled his eyes, and Soap grinned, victorious.

So there is someone in there, after all. 

+

Sleep deprived and sick to his stomach, Soap fell asleep the moment his head touched his threadbare pillow. 

He found himself in a quiet room, a clock ticking loudly on the pale walls. The man looked at him over his spectacles for a moment, before he typed something on his keyboard, the screen’s display mirrored in his eyewear. 

“It is rare,” he said, pausing as he read over what he typed. “But it is most likely.” 

More clacking of keys. 

“They are suppressing the connection, so it’ll be up to them to seek you out."

He clenched his marked hand tightly, grief clawing at his throat. 

“If it has not happened by now, it likely never will.” 

Gasping violently awake, Soap shivered as he mopped the sweat from his brow, blinking in confusion. He sat in his bed for a long while, wondering at his odd dreams. 

It had felt almost like a memory, but the people and setting were entirely unfamiliar to him. The emotions were vivid and raw, but Soap was sure he’d never been in that room in his life. 

What the hell was that about? 

A cool, grey light filtered into the cell, and the sound of quiet eating above him told him it was morning. He slapped his forehead, emitting a quiet groan. 

Forgot to pick up breakfast again. He flailed and flopped his head onto his pillow in dramatic disappointment, frowning when his shoulder hit something foreign. He blindly grasped at it, curling his fingers around the weighty cube and staring at his bounty blankly. 

A milk carton? 

Soap’s eyes darted to the underside of the mattress, heart picking up speed. 

There’s no way he accidentally dropped that, he thought slowly. 

“Did you not want this?” He called out tentatively. Ghost continued chewing and ignoring him, so Soap shrugged and shoved the straw in. 

Did you leave this for me?

The thought warmed him to the core.  

+

Soap shut the book he was reading with a loud thud, wincing when the prison librarian hissed at him. 

Heart racing, he raked a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to tug on it. 

Don’t panic, he begged himself.

What do you mean don’t panic? He berated himself, scrubbing his hands over his face. Your fucking mark is activating, after all this time. 

Soap gulped, rubbing his pounding temple. 

He’d dismissed the symptoms of his mysterious illness, but the dreams had been hard to deny. As was the book on soulmate connections he’d just slammed closed. 

He’d spent most of his life resisting the urge to find his soulmate, denying his base nature - not because he didn’t want to find them, Christ he’d wanted it so desperately, but because -

Because.

He’s dead now, he soothed inwardly. You’re allowed to want it. 

He glanced quickly at his scarred palm, before hiding it uneasily against his abdomen. 

It was still the dark, spindly, lightning bolt that ran a ragged line across his palm, textured by years worth of scars. The unfamiliar silvery hue undulating beneath the surface of his skin was some cause for alarm, though. 

Soap wasn’t sure how much time he’d have before the thing was activated fully, but he knew he’d have to get it covered up as soon as possible. Without access to his personal clothing, he’d have to improvise some sort of temporary covering.

The activation was a visually loud and obvious thing, and he’d be incredibly vulnerable if it happened in front of any group of people, let alone his current questionable peers. 

You should be fine, he assured himself. Might be a few days before anything happens.

When he rose out of one of the many dilapidated library armchairs, he scrunched his nose as he caught a whiff of himself. 

Definitely need a wash, first. 

+

With a spare pair of prison sweats, flip flops, toiletries and towel on hand, Soap marched determinedly towards his wing’s showers. 

Soap was used to communal showering, but the idea of being so vulnerable amongst the prison population made his skin itch nervously. 

The shower area had no door, but a tiled hallway that twisted in on itself, much like a public bathroom. Despite it being a free time period for most prisoners, he was bemused by the surprising lack of people in the area, save for a few guards down the hall.

When he neared, he spotted the handwritten sign on the tiled wall and scoffed. 

Occupied, 15 minutes - Gh. 

It’s a prison. His mind swirled, incredulous. Who the hell do they think they are?

Soap tentatively entered and popped his head in, roving his eyes around the space. As suspected, there was not a hoard of sweaty, disgusting men milling about the space, but only blessed emptiness. 

There were several half walled cubicle showers lining one wall, and a few fully curtained showers lining the opposite side. There was no sign of the bathroom’s exclusive occupant, so Soap shrugged and headed for the nearest cubical. 

He quickly placed his things on a precarious ledge at the entry point of his cubicle and swung the door shut. When the hot, steamy spray rained down on his filthy skin, he couldn’t help but release a deep, blissful breath at the feeling.

Once he was thoroughly cleaned, he was idly debating finishing up when his soulmark gave a low, deep throb, sending pleasure and heat down his spine. Shivering, his blood rushed southward, filling his heavy, thickening cock. 

Is that your doing? He blinked down at his marked hand, then his straining prick. Just a quick one, then, while I’m alone.

It wasn’t his first sneaky wank in a communal shower, but the moment he wrapped his fingers around himself, he knew he was in for a decidedly different experience. 

His mark sparked a frisson of satisfaction the moment he began stroking, and between his ministrations and the foreign sparks of pleasure, he was swiftly locked in an intoxicating feedback loop of lust. 

The humid steam, and the water running down his body added to the sinful warmth in his blood, and the glide of his flesh made for a lewd slapping sound with every pass. Stroking faster and tighter, he rocked his hips into his fist, groaning involuntarily as another flush of pleasure twisted his insides. 

He bit his lip, breathless and dazed. Really hope no one walks in.   

There was a flash of flaxen locks, and a warm, heavy stare in his mind, and then he was coming hard and fast, slapping a hand to his mouth to muffle his surprised moans. 

He shuddered, stroking himself through the fading waves of his climax. What the fuck.

Cleaning himself quickly once more, he rubbed at his brow, the faint embarrassment at his sudden orgasm overwhelmed by the deep, heady satisfaction in his core. 

Soap was so dazed and muddled, it took him far longer than it should’ve to sense eyes on the back of his neck. 

Slowly turning his head, he let out a surprised, high noise. 

Ghost. 

Standing outside of his cubicle, staring openly at him. 

“Bleedin’ Jesus, Ghost,” he wheezed, gaping. “Dya’ mind?” 

How long have you been there? He wanted to demand, but he wasn’t sure he could cope with the answer. I would’ve noticed if you were here earlier.

I hope. 

Ghost’s lidded gaze roved over his exposed shoulders for a moment, before they slid back up. He slowly lifted his hand, displaying that idiotic ‘occupied’ sign for his perusal. 

Of course, Soap thought with faint dismay. Are you above every bloody rule in this prison? 

“Are you a teacher’s pet then, Ghost,” he snickered, unable to help himself. Water continued to pelt his face, and he shook it from his eyes. “How have you managed all this?” 

The other man looked away and back before shrugging, lowering the paper to his side. 

Soap twisted his lip in consideration. Despite almost being caught red handed with his hand on his prick, it had been a pleasantly surprising shower experience, as far as prisons went.

Wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“Could I shower when you’ve got your sign up?” he asked boldly, spinning the taps closed. “If I leave you alone, you won’t even know I’m here.”

The speculative, intrigued tilt of his head was a promising sign. 

Ghost gave a slow nod, his gaze a heavy weight across his skin. Soap couldn’t help the surprised grin that crossed his face, and Ghost’s eyes shuttered, flicking down to his mouth and back in an instant. 

Bizarre man, Soap thought, but he wasn’t at all bothered by the odd fondness that accompanied the thought. 

The masked man wandered out of the showers, his towel and little sign in hand, and Soap quickly towelled and clothed himself in his dreary sweats once more. When he stepped out into the halls, he stopped in his tracks. 

Ghost lifted his head, arms crossed from where he leant against the opposing wall. 

Soap stared, mind whirling. 

Were you waiting for me? 

Oddly embarrassed, he tentatively walked towards their cell’s landing, a little thrill shooting up his spine when the other man joined his side. 

At least one thing’s going right, he thought, wistfully brushing his scarred palm. Made my first prison friend. 

+

Soap’s dreams that night were a hazy swirl of frustrated longing, the thoughts potent yet decidedly not his own. 

‘What have I done wrong?’ Someone raged, a tremulous longing underpinning his desperation. ‘You should be here by now.’ 

A shudder, and a choked breath. A pain lit a fire in his marked right hand - ‘the wrong one’, Soap thought dazedly - and he cradled his aching temples.

‘I’ll be so good to you,’ he promised, the thought small and sweet with gentle promise. ‘I know you feel it too, so why are you fightin-’

Soap blinked awake, cringing at the pounding in his head. 

Faster than the book said, he thought nervously. Dreaming of my soulmate already?

The thought was disturbing and thrilling in equal measure. 

My soulmate, he wondered hesitantly.  

Soap had spent most of his life resisting the pull, and had never expected to find them after all this time, especially not in prison. 

There’d been one moment when he’d allowed himself to follow it, but when he’d arrived on base, they were nowhere to be found. He’d been intent to close himself off for good, after that. 

The heavy longing and frustration at Soap’s denial of their natural instincts struck him, and guilt curdled his stomach. 

I don’t think you’ll ever be able to understand why, he thought quietly, staring at his trembling, mangled palm.

+

Soap was making his way to Crofters mess hall, when a weedy, bespectacled man in bright casual wear sidled up to him. Soap looked down at his auburn hair with a blink. 

“Ethan,” his soft Welsh accent floated through the air. “Explosives and general anarchy.”

It took a moment for him to catch on to his meaning, as Ethan smirked up at him expectantly

“Soa-” he faltered, remembering where he was. 

Can’t call yourself fucking Soap in prison, you bloody bampot. 

“John MacTavish,” he said reluctantly, looking away. “Killed someone.”

Did more than just kill someone, didn’t you? He thought sullenly. 

“Gym rat, then, MacTavish?” Ethan asked, eying his muscled bulk with a considering gleam. “You’re hench .”

Looking at his scheming face, Soap wondered if his little tango with Yorkshire had done the rounds as intended. He wasn’t sure if he was being checked out for aesthetics, or potential bodyguard duty, and while he wasn’t interested in either option, he answered truthfully anyway. 

“Ex-military,” he said absently. 

“Military, huh? Just a grunt or?” 

“Spec ops, worked in counter-terrorsim, mostly.” He watched the man’s eye twitch with vague amusement. He wondered if it was the best approach to needle a relatively friendly face, when his position in the food chain was so up in the air. 

But he’d seen the carnage explosives could inflict, especially on civilians, and decided he wasn’t in the mood to be charitable.

He quickly recovered, much to Soap’s irritation. “So you’re in for killing a guy,” he said snidely, “Isn’t that your job, state sanctioned killing?”

The explosive anarchist isn’t a fan of my former employer, I take it.

Soap clenched his fist. “Aye, well, it wasn’t an authorised target.” Obviously. 

He thought that was the end of that, but the man kept talking. 

“The nosh at Crofters isn’t too bad, it changes every week, but it repeats after a month so,” Ethan clicked his teeth. “Gets repetitive after a while.” 

Soap said nothing, and the two drifted slowly along with the other groups of inmates, the halls full to bursting with men shambling towards one location. 

When Ethan warned him about staying away from the Graveyard, Soap looked at him incredulously. The other man lectured eagerly, and Soap quickly realised he knew exactly what he was referring to. 

The Graveyard was a long, white corridor that led to the ageing Victorian ventilation spire that anchored the prison, and was so called because many prisoners had been led to their deaths there over the last century. A crippling shortage of staff and funding meant the hall was never fitted with either bodies or cameras, and the more violent population gleefully took advantage of the blindspot. 

Soap had already gotten into a fight with Yorkshire and the Puddings at the very spot on his second day, but he wasn’t about to mention that to Ethan. 

“Who’s your padmate, then?” Ethan’s lilting accent floated through the air, head cocked at him curiously. 

Soap stared at him, nonplussed.

“Your cellmate .”

Oh. “Ah, Sahan said his name was Ghost?”

Ethan’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh, he’s alright then. He’s only been here a few months, but should leave you alone, always keeps to himself,” he rambled aimlessly, and Soap gobbled up the information eagerly. “Gets to keep his mask for being well behaved. Should be a good cellie for a fish like yourself.”

Soap debated even asking, before Ethan looked at him blandly and supplied, “A fish is a first-timer like yourself, MacTavish.”

Embarrassed, Soap cleared his throat. “He’s very quiet. What’s he in for?”  

Shocked, Ethan almost stopped dead in his tracks, until someone shoved him roughly in irritation. 

“You don’t know? It was all over the news for ages.”

Irritated, Soap’s lips turned down. “No, was on active duty. Never heard much local news.”

“Oh, it wasn’t just local,” Ethan said eagerly, face animated as he leaned in. “It was international, too.”

Intrigued, Soap listened while the hairs on his nape stood on end. 

“He killed a couple in their home, all without a trace. Snuck in, knifed them, and disappeared without leaving any evidence. Probably why they call him Ghost.” Ethan smirked. “He turned himself in pretty soon after, not sure why though, they never would’ve caught him otherwise.”

“That made international news?” Soap asked thoughtlessly, then flushed at his own callousness. 

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Yes, if you’ll let me finish…” he trailed off, snagging a plastic tray as they queued in line. “It was the people he killed - they were soulmates, well known in their community - so you can see why it made the news, right?”

Soap felt his stomach plummet, the grip on his own tray loosening as they shuffled slowly through the queue. 

Soulmates, rare though they were, were borderline revered and reviled in equal measure. Tensions between normal and marked people were at boiling point, with some demanding special rights for marked individuals, and others arguing they should be separated from society entirely due to their potential violent nature. 

He’d grown used to being hated by his own father for the mark on his hand, so finding out Ghost was the same shouldn’t have phased him. They were all in here for some nefarious reason, and there were bound to be people who hated soulmarked people amongst them. 

And yet, he couldn’t shake the creeping chill of betrayal that washed over him. 

He’s not your friend, Soap, he berated himself, chest tightening painfully. If he knew what you were, who knows what he’d do.

The man’s oddly thoughtful gestures floated through his mind, and he shook them away.

How did I get lumped with the one bloke with a specific grudge against my kind, Soap thought, hysteria twisting up his insides.

Unaware of Soap’s panic, Ethan continued blithely. 

“I lied about the name, he’s only really called Ghost here,” he said thoughtfully. “Think the news called him The Soulmate Killer - which is a bit much, since it was just one couple, but…”

Soap ignored him, clutching his trembling hand to his side. 

Can’t let him see it, he whispered quietly to himself. Can’t let anyone see it.  

“Shouldn’t he be in Cat A, then, if he’s killed so many people,” Soap hissed, heart racing. “Why’s he down in B with us?”

Hypocrite, a voice chided him. You shouldn’t be down here either. 

Ethan shrugged, disinterested. “He’s ex-military like you, never puts a toe out of line, and the staff love him for it.” He smiled even as a mixed plate of unappealing rice and slop was deposited onto his tray. “I wouldn’t worry about it, doubt he’d care about you unless you were marked.”

Soap clenched his marked hand into a tight fist around the plastic. 

Bleeding fuckin’ Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he thought, slightly delirious as he watched a fellow prisoner slap a plastic parcel onto Soap’s tray. I’m going to be found dead in my cell before the week is out. 

Sweating profusely, he followed after Ethan as he manoeuvred around the hundreds of tables in search for their own spot. 

Is it suspicious if I don’t sit with him now? 

It’s fine, I can keep it hidden, he assured himself, shuddering from chills and watching his own feet as he quietly panicked. 

In a cavernous room of over a thousand men, he sensed one heavy pair of eyes on him, and looked up. 

Soap’s eyes drifted over to the masked man sitting in a dark corner, the luminous whites of his eyes clear to him despite the vast distance between them. 

Ghost.

The world as he knew it seemed to slow. The prisoners whooping and laughing around him crawled in a dreamy blur, the sound dulled to a distant warble as he stared unseeingly back. 

A bolt of lightning ignited deep inside his left palm, and he dropped his laden tray with an agonised cry. The food clattered loudly to the floor, and the world resumed its chaotic motion. 

Already ? He gaped.

Soap watched in horror as a blinding flash of light beamed from his hand, casting the room in a dazzling silvery light for one, mesmerising moment, before sucking back into his hand with a painful jerk. 

The cacophony of noise quietened to a low, surprised murmur as thousands of eyeballs swivelled towards Soap. 

No, no, no, he whispered internally, staring hugely at the silvery lines swirling cheerfully beneath his skin. 

“Oi, oi, is that a soulmark you’ve got there?” Yorkshire bellowed from across the way, and a roar of energised chatter erupted. “Looks like we got a live one, lads.” 

This can’t be happening. 

“Didya get yourself locked up to find your true love, pet,” a voice mocked in a cloying sing-song. 

Soap flinched, slowly curling his fingers over his mark in resignation. 

“Come here pretty boy, I’ll keep you warm for ya soulmate.” Someone pawed at his arm, and he staggered back, snarling. “Break you in for ‘em, look a bit uptight.”

Another man piped up, and hit the final nail in the coffin, “Oh, Ghost is gonna love you.”

He looked blearily up at Ghost, and the man himself was staring unerringly back, his gloved hand trembling tightly around his plastic knife. He slowly stood, eyes fixed on Soap, and something crumpled in his chest at the threatening sight. 

I’m dead, he thought with quiet certainty. 

From his periphery, two officers flanking the walls moved cautiously towards Soap, calling for calm as the men leered and jeered at him. 

He looked past his hand at the slop smeared across the floor, and distantly wondered if they were coming to make him clean it up. 

“MacTavish,” Officer Sahan murmured, and Soap gazed blankly at his terrifying, sympathetic expression. 

Don’t look at me like that, he thought weakly. Look angry, bored, anything but that. 

He gestured for him to follow, and Soap slowly shambled after him, stepping around the occasional ankle that tried to trip him on his way out. 

Soap could feel Ghost’s leaden stare crawling over his back as he was led away, heart thudding weakly in his chest. 

+

Inside of Sahan’s powder blue office, Soap sat across from his pristine desk and quietly lost his hold on the vestiges of his sanity.  

“We could put you in the Vulnerable Persons Unit,” Sahan offered wearily, the dehumanising barrier between prisoner and officer eroding as he puzzled out a solution to such a spectacularly unique situation.  

“Where all the sex offenders are?” Soap laughed bitterly, pinching the bridge of his nose painfully. “Don’t marked people get attacked there too?”

He knew with certainty that they did, because he’d spent an ungodly amount of time anxiously googling this exact scenario before he’d arrived. Soap would have to risk being violated and murdered either with the mainstream prison population or inside the VPU. 

Until he found his soulmate and closed the bond, his soul was wide open for anyone to interfere with. 

His jagged, lightning bolt mark had been cracked wide open, more of a silver chasm than a small line now, and he wouldn’t be able to close it. 

Not until his soulmate did it for him. 

Soap looked at Sahan, eyes wild. “If anyone that’s not my soulmate touches this,” he said slowly, waving his palm in his direction. “My soul could be damaged, and I won’t be able to complete the bond.” 

“We’ll get you some gloves,” Sahan said, staring at the mark in wary fascination. “Can keep you nearby tomorrow during intake, but we can’t babysit you forever.”

He thought of his limited knowledge of Ghost’s crimes, and wondered if being knifed wouldn’t be worse than being victimised in the other ways he was bound to be in another cell.

Soap could feel the noose on his neck tightening inescapably, regardless of his illusion of choice. 

“I’ll be honest with you, MacTavish,” he muttered, clasping his hands together. “We’re overcrowded as it is, and I have nowhere else to put you.” 

An idea fell out of his mouth before he could hold it in. “Could you not swap me permanently with someone else.” Soap tried and failed to keep the plea out of his tone. 

Sahan remained stone faced.“I can’t force anyone to swap cells, as the risk would be perceived as equally high for anyone else.”

They were soulmate related though? He raged, and Sahan smiled humorlessly. 

“That’s the way a crafty lawyer will see it, even though we suspect it was targeted for your kind,” he said knowingly. “And I cannot move him up to Cat A when he’s done nothing wrong.”

Sahan leaned back with a slight shrug of his shoulders, as if to say, ‘My hands are tied.’

And I’m in serious shit.

+

Once the lockdown alarm chimed, Sahan procured some frayed old woollen gloves from the commissary, and soon he was being escorted back to his cell. 

Where Ghost will be. 

When Soap arrived, Ghost was a still lump under the sheets, his back turned to him.

Soap stood, quietly confused. He’d tied himself into an anxious knot on the journey there, expecting an altercation, an attack, or at the very least just an eerie stare as he walked in. 

The cell door slammed loudly behind him, and the man stirred slightly, but still didn’t turn. 

Heart racing, he approached the bed, watching closely for any signs of movement, but there was nothing. He kept a wary eye on him as he slipped his shoes off, not stopping until he had to duck down into his own bunk.

Shivering and miserable, he clutched his newly gloved hand to his chest, huddled against the wall. He stayed awake for several hours, anxiously awaiting a late night attack, but the man above him remained as he was. 

When his eyelids drooped, he tried to shake himself awake, but eventually he was swept away, a quiet hope burning inside. 

I hope I get to finally meet you. 

+

Soap was on his back, head rested on a warm pillow, his wrist cradled in someone’s grasp. He sighed blissfully, feeling sleepy but more himself than he had in a long time.

He opened his eyes, and knew immediately that he was dreaming.

A curious, lidded gaze peered down at him, brows obscured by messy flaxen locks. 

I know you, he thought blearily. The memory of his recent illicit shower activities drifted through his mind, and the other man’s lips curled into a slow, pleased smirk. 

Oh fuck. He froze. You can hear my thoughts. 

“Just bits and pieces.” His voice was deeper than he expected, the dark timbre of it curling pleasantly around his ears. “It’ll be more when this is dealt with.” He nodded at Soap’s hand held in his own larger ones, thumb stroking over the scarred flesh. 

Soap quickly realised that his pillow was in fact the man’s knee, and shot up, almost knocking into his chin clumsily. Head spinning, he started to fall, but was caught easily in the man’s arms.

Strong, he noted dopily, as he was settled back down, this time into his lap. Warm. 

“Your exposed soul is weakening you,” he said matter of factly. “You’re not used to being the one deprived.”

Soap frowned at the deceptive lightness in his tone. And you are? 

He smiled meaningfully, stroking his palm. “You hid from me for a long time.”

Guilt suffused him, and he made to pull his hand away, but the man held fast. “Don’t run now, Johnny,” he tutted softly. “Only just caught you.”

Flustered, Soap frowned up at him. “Caught me?” he spluttered. And then his brain caught up. “ Johnny? ”

“I’m Simon,” he offered with a shameless smirk. “I could call you Soap, if you like.”

Soap startled as Simon’s voice trickled into his brain, Know too many Johns, want something just for me.

Soap thought about it for a moment, but decided he quite liked the fond way it sounded curled inside his mouth. “I don’t mind.” 

Giving in so easily, he thought distantly, but the pleased smile aimed his way distracted him instantly.  

“Waited so long for you,” he murmured, eyes darkening as they searched his face. “Did you feel compelled to find me, now that I’m in prison, Johnny?”

He’d been able to ignore the urges with some difficulty over the past few years, although he’d sensed the other man was regularly in great danger. But in the lead up to Soap’s own arrest, it was a constant, undeniable battle. 

The aching nightmares, the excruciating pain that plagued him the moment he went on leave, he needs me, he needs me, he nee -

“Shh,” Simon hushed, stroking his palm across his forehead. His eyes were soft, but his words were a gentle poison,  “Did well, bringing yourself to me. Everything will be easier now.”

Soap laughed weakly, pressing eagerly into his touch. “In bloody prison?” 

Simon’s eyes darkened, a terrible, fathomless void stretching deep into the depths of his own heart. 

“It makes no difference for me, being in here or out there,” he said quietly, looking at Soap meaningfully. “Haven’t ever felt free until now, anyway.” 

Soap could feel his own eyes widening, astonished at his sincerity. He could feel Simon’s satisfaction and hope, and a cracking, aching inky darkness swirling within. 

“I can feel you,” Soap said, awed. 

The little, honest smile twisted something gently in his own chest. Simon moved his hand from his forehead to his cheek, stroking his cheekbone. “You can have all of it,” he said earnestly. 

His thoughts and his emotions, and above all his silvery soul, peaking out through his opposing palm. 

It was a lot to offer, when they’d only just met, but he knew Simon meant it wholeheartedly. And the aching sense of rightness within himself told him all he needed to know. 

So it is you, he acknowledged in his own mind. “You’re -“

“Your soulmate,” Simon murmured,

“ - so pretty,” Soap said.

Well, that wasn’t exactly what he’d meant to say, but it had just slipped out. 

Simon’s startled, pinkening cheekbones removed any regret he might’ve felt for his carelessness. 

“How come I’ve never seen you, I would’ve thought this wouldn’t have played up unless I had,” Soap said quickly, wiggling his fingers in Simon’s grasp. 

He blinked slowly. “It was fast, wasn’t it.” He sounded inordinately pleased, stroking around the edges of his mark again. “Should’ve taken weeks, yet your soul opened so easily the moment you arrived.”

Soap spluttered, embarrassed and pinned by his knowing gaze. “Couldn’t just be me, could it,” he insisted, trying to raise himself but being gently pressed back down. “Takes two and all.”

He felt like he’d walked into a trap, when Simon’s deep, toe curling satisfaction slithered through his veins. 

“You’re right,” he said huskily. “It’s just nice to know you’re as desperate for me as I am for you, after all this time.”

Christ, he thought, staring into his warm, blackened eyes. 

“So where are you then?” Soap asked boldly, feeling his skin prick under his heavy gaze. 

“Eager,” he whispered, releasing a breath of a laugh when Soap squirmed, mortified. “I’m around, Johnny.”

Soap watched him lift his marked hand to his face, pressing his lips to the back of his hand once, before pulling away. 

“Suppose you just haven’t seen me yet.”

+

The following day, Soap lingered behind the toilet partition, not leaving until Ghost silently exited their cell. 

Not hiding, he assured himself. Just a tactical retreat. 

Following Officer Figs and Sagan was a miserable sort of drudgery, and he had the sinking sense that it was likely only going to make him more of a target in the end. The leering stares when he walked past Yorkshire told him as much,

When Ghost sucks up to them, he gets ridiculous benefits. He thought of his mask and shower time with a frown. I just get stuck in a cell with a soulmate killer and told to deal with it. 

Trailing along a group of new prisoners and the two Officers, Soap didn’t expect to encounter any issues with his venomous peers. But some inmates were truly incorrigible, and the threat of punishment was dim when they were already thoroughly caged. 

He’d read about it happening, but he didn’t think he’d witness it. Or experience it for himself. 

The cup of cold, yellow piss sent in his direction luckily, or unluckily, caught more on Officer Figs than himself, but any amount of the disgusting spray sprinkled on his person was unacceptable. The guilty inmate immediately bolted, but Sahan and a patrolling guard tackled him down, roughly smashing his face against the concrete.

Bloody fuck, he cringed, holding his tarnished clothes away from himself. When the dust had settled, Sahan grunted at him to clean himself up, and Soap was eagerly on his way.

+

The showers were occupied as normal, inmates wandering in and out of the steaming room, and Soap marched in with determination. 

He wasn’t sure if being vulnerable in front of Ghost alone or the general rabble was safer for him at this point, but he wasn’t going to wait for the man’s idiotic sign to find out. 

Sequestering himself in a curtained stall seemed a safer option than the open air ones, so he quickly stepped into the tiled cubby, hoping no one took particular note of his arrival. Chucking his soiled clothing in a plastic bag, he relished the near scorching torrent that poured over him, urgently working up a sudsy lather over his skin. 

After several minutes, the tension he’d been holding in his shoulders had seeped slowly out of him, and he rubbed his sore nape with a shuddering breath. His skin felt overly sensitive, and his brain slow to form simple connections. 

He looked at his wide open soul with a weary frown, the stall lit in a starlit, silvery haze. It would’ve been beautiful, if he didn’t know just how vulnerable it was making him. 

In a perfect world, it would’ve taken weeks for their souls to warm and open to each other, and when they were eventually ready to complete the bond, it would’ve opened. They should’ve immediately formed the bond after that - it was dangerous to have it open like this, and he knew he would deteriorate the longer his soul was left unanswered.

He hadn’t even met Simon properly, but his mere proximity had cracked him wide open. 

Soap suspected it was the years of unnatural suppression of his own instincts that had led to it happening this way, but he couldn’t afford to delay a connection much longer. The low thrumming pain in his head, and the constant ache in his muscles told him as much. 

He tied off his plastic bag and finished up quickly, pulling on his jogging bottoms with a sigh. When he grasped around for his spare sweatshirt, he blinked, realising he’d forgotten it in his cell.

Not putting on the piss shirt again, he thought with a grimace. Everyone’s just gonna get a gun show, whether they want it or not. 

He put his glove back on and draped his towel around his neck. When he twitched the curtain back and faltered.

Everyone was gone. 

Suspicious, he crept tentatively out of the showers and staggered to a stop at the entrance. 

The blasted ‘Occupied’ sign was up again, and everyone had seemed to have gotten the memo but Soap.

Turning to the hall, his stomach fluttered nervously at the sight of Ghost staring at him from where he leant against the wall. He had no towel or toiletries in sight, only armed with a weighty gaze.

What the fuck, Soap thought. You’re not even using the shower?

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he’d cleared it out on purpose, but if he’d wanted to corner him alone, waiting outside in the hallway in open view of the guards seemed to defeat the purpose.

The man’s eyes were shamelessly drifting over his naked chest, and his abdomen jumped under his scrutiny. 

Ghost stepped away from the wall, crowding into Soap and forcing him to crane his neck up at him. His voice was a deep, throaty whisper, voice cracked from apparent disuse. “Didn’t wait for the sign?”

Soap was so flabbergasted by the sound of him actually talking, he merely gawped at him stupidly, at a complete loss for words.

Ghost let out a weary sounding breath, before lifting up his hand. Soap’s heart sped up slightly, but he didn’t flinch even when the man hovered it near his head. He reached over him and plucked off the sign, the paper fluttering passed his ear as he pulled away. 

Soap couldn’t hear anything beyond the roaring in his ears, and stared after him in a daze when he turned and walked away. 

+

Come tea time, Soap was sitting alone on the fringes of the mess hall, when he realised he’d forgotten to collect his breakfast for the following day. He scrambled back up to the queue, but the unimpressed prisoner manning the counter turned him away.

“I didn’t get my breakfast,” Soap explained in exasperation. 

The man sniffed self-importantly. “Rules are rules, you get it with tea, or not at all. Prevents double-ups.” He gave a plastic smile. 

It’s a prison kitchen, mate, he thought, defeated. You’ve just gone mad with power. 

Frustrated, he wandered back to his table, and quickly realised his dinner had been upturned and smeared across the floor. The men at the adjacent tables smirked silently to each other. 

A passing guard did a double take, and Soap was soon scrubbing on his hands and knees while the men left for free time, purposefully jostling him as they left. 

He could feel a piercing stare on his nape as he cleaned, and shivered with a cold, uneasy fear. 

Ghost. 

+

When Soap woke up within the dream, he took note of his surroundings with a frown. 

He’d been too dazed and caught up with Simon to look around properly last time, but standing there now, he knew immediately where he was. 

Why here? 

He was stood outside the 141’s Barracks, looking up at their quarters in wistful disbelief. Didn’t think I’d see this place again. 

Simon was nowhere in sight, and he stepped into the building, looking around curiously. The space looked much the same, but any signage or papers blurred when he tried to read them, and the lack of people gave it an eerie, liminal feeling. 

He ignored Price’s and Gaz’s doors, knowing they’d be empty and lacking detail anyway, and beelined for his old room instead. When he touched the doorknob, he felt an eager thrum in his mark.

In here, Johnny. 

The room was not quite as he remembered it. 

His standard issue bunk had been replaced with a significantly larger bed, the lighting softer than the old harsh fluorescents he recalled. The olive green walls and hardwood floors were familiar though, as was the small window to the side. 

The beautiful man resting in his bed was definitely not something he remembered. 

Simon was shirtless, one leg cocked at the knee, and his forearm resting over his eyes. Soap roamed his eyes over his firm and muscled body greedily, flushing at the smirk that flitted across his partially hidden face. 

He lifted his arm from his face when Soap gingerly approached, eyes dark and eager. In a blur of motion, he curled an arm around Soap and pulled him heavily down on top of him.

“Aye, hello to you too,” Soap wheezed, dizzy from his open, fraying soul. He tried to rollover to the side, but Simon held fast, and he was too tired to do anything but collapse his full body weight on him. 

Simon hummed, wrapping both arms around him and rubbing along his sore back soothingly. Sensing his pain, he massaged his aching nape and Soap groaned, pressing his face into his naked chest, exposing his vulnerable skin eagerly. 

He should’ve been uncomfortable falling into bed with a stranger and letting him touch him so freely, but he felt so impossibly safe and relaxed. 

“Not a stranger,” Simon mumbled into his temple. “Your soulmate.”

The joy that bubbled in Soap was quickly ruined by the cloying shame that overwhelmed it, and Simon paused his ministrations. He nuzzled into his head, and Soap turned his face away, swallowing heavily. 

“Why do you feel like that, Johnny?” He asked curiously, resuming his gentle massage. 

Soap closed his eyes, flexing his scarred mark nervously. He didn’t want to think about him, didn’t want to sully this place and moment with his destructive hatred that had seeped into every good thing Soap had ever gotten his fingers on - 

But he was shaking with silent sobs now, embarrassed and thoroughly melancholic. Simon slowly rolled them until Soap was flat on his back underneath him, his distraught face uncomfortably exposed to the man’s wild scrutiny. 

Not here, he begged and Simon’s gaze softened, catching a leaking tear with warm fingers.  

“You’ll tell me one day,” he said darkly, and there was no question in his voice. There was a subdued, volcanic rage lashing at him from Simon’s end, the other man trying to curb himself for Soap’s benefit. 

Soap’s quiet crying ceased abruptly when his stomach gave off a mortifying growl. Simon rested his face against his rumbling middle, and Soap startled at the touch. 

“Are you hungry?” Simon muttered, eyes shuttered as he lifted his face towards him. “You didn’t eat much.”

Soap grimaced. “Saw that, did you?” 

“Did you at least eat your breakfast after lockup?” Simon asked, nuzzling into his stomach absently. Soap gave into the temptation and ran his fingers through his locks, emboldened when the other man rumbled happily. 

“No,” he said absently. “Forgot to pick it up, and they wouldn’t let me grab it afterwards.”

Simon lifted his face from his stomach, frowning up at him. “I’ll look after you, then,” he said smugly, leaning up and pressing his lips to his sternum. Soap clutched his hair at the feeling. “Since you seem incapable of doing it yourself.”

“Oi,” Soap laughed, warmed at the sentiment despite himself. “I’m perfectly capable -”

His stomach growled even louder between them, and Simon’s lips turned up.

A low, sluggish pain flipped through his body and he grimaced, as another fear lingered in his mind. “Shouldn’t we,” he trailed off, presenting his trembling marked hand to Simon, who took it eagerly, pressing it against his face. “It’s dangerous, keeping it open like this.” 

Presumptuous, he thought to himself sullenly. But it hurts -  

“Are you scared, love?” Simon murmured, sounding far too pleased by the idea. Soap gaped at the easy endearment, and the other man spoke with dark assurance, “I won’t let anyone interfere with your soul, Johnny.” 

Only I can. 

How? His brain was fogging over, Simon’s face blurring before him as his eyesight failed. When you’re never even here.

There were lips on his cheeks, and then his low voice was crooning, “I told you, you just haven’t seen me yet.” Simon’s breath was warm across his face when he leant back. “Come find me.”

+

Soap woke up gradually in his cell, and he pressed his hands to his eyes, smiling widely with his mind still lingering on Simon’s easy, relentless affection

He’d spent so long denying their connection, and after only a few dreams he was desperate to be close to him again. 

I want this, he thought quietly into his mind, resting his marked hand against his chest with a shaky breath. And no one can stop me this time. 

+

When Soap blinked, it was tea time again, and another day had passed. 

The ringing alarm ripped Soap from his sluggish stupor, and he fluttered his eyes open. He was in the library again, an open book resting in his lap.

I don’t remember what I did today. He wiped at his sweaty forehead, breath short and sharp. His mark was stinging, reminding him incessantly of his unprotected soul, demanding he find his soulmate and complete the bond - 

I’m trying, he thought, whisper soft into his mind. He’d spent so long denying it that he had no idea how to find Simon anymore. 

He joined the fray of people heading for the hall, hanging at the edges to avoid being surrounded. He spotted Ethan nearby, but the other man sank into the crowd when he noticed him, clearly no longer interested in conversation after his mark had exploded for all to see. 

Too much of a target to be caught dead with, he thought blandly. 

Entirely friendless and alone, he was so absorbed in figuring out a way to find Simon, he didn’t notice the leg that had been kicked out in front of him until he was already falling.

He staggered and fell bodily into a tall, bulky frame. Warm arms steadied him, brushing his shoulder soothingly, but Soap was already spinning in a dizzying twirl with a snarl, pointing his shaking, marked hand at them.  

“Better bolt, ya dafties, or I’ll-”  Soap stopped abruptly. The once snickering felons were already fearfully running away. 

Am I that scary, he pondered doubtfully. The warm hand on his back felt achingly familiar, and he turned hopefully, wondering if he’d finally found Simon -

His eyes travelled up a black-clad, broad chest and tilted his gaze straight up to a sinister mask. 

Holy mother of Christ, he wheezed. 

It was Ghost, the Soulmate Killer, whose hands were rubbing absent circles into his shoulder blades. 

“Hello?” Soap croaked weakly. He opened and closed his mouth, at a complete loss for words by the light touch on his shoulders. 

Why are you doing that? He thought, strangled and on edge. 

The other man blinked slowly at him, his shadowed eyes roaming silently over his face. 

Itching under the weight of his stare, an insane idea formed, and he debated for only a tiny moment before speaking. 

“Are you going to kill me?” Soap croaked, angry at how weak he sounded.

Because you are weak. He swayed dangerously on his feet, anchored by the arm around his back. Ghost huffed a breath at him, pressing harder into his aching muscles, and Soap’s eyes drooped, docile and weightless in his would-be murderer’s arms. 

Ghost slowly dropped his arms away, and Soap shivered at the lingering brush of his gloved hand near his wrist. His vision was unfocused, and when he looked into his mask, for a moment he thought he saw Simon’s concerned eyes looking back at him. 

Soap shook his head, silently pulling away and drifting towards the mess hall. He didn’t notice the figure silently following close behind him, a protective and menacing shadow, staring down the unruly inmates who circled Soap’s fragile and diminished form. 

+

Soap had been sitting at his table for an astonishingly long time before he realised Ghost was sitting right by his side. He fluttered his eyes at him, too dazed to be truly afraid of him, watching his exposed, chewing mouth openly.

When did you get here? 

He looked down at his own dinner tray, and bleakly noted his lack of breakfast again. What a stupid system. He knew he wouldn’t get it if he asked again, and ate his food in mulish silence. 

Ghost seemed to somehow have snagged two breakfasts, he noted sullenly. Some bloody special privileges he has.

“Oi is MacTavish sitting with Ghost ?” Soap cringed as Yorkshire cried out across the way. 

“Fattening him up for the slaughter?” Another one suggested, and Soap’s lips turned downward, fearful awareness creeping up his spine.

What am I doing? He thought, food turning sour in his mouth. Sitting with the known soulmate murderer, of all people. 

Ghost sighed low and long, and Soap blinked up at the sound. It was the most he’d ever heard him vocalise since he’d spoken at the showers, and he felt strangely eager for more. Ghost looked at him consideringly, and the surrounding mens jeers faded into the background.

After a moment, he winked at Soap, then went back to eating.  

Soap jolted, mark warming oddly in his palm.

What, he thought haltingly. What.  

When the bell signalling tea’s end arrived, Soap faltered as he stood, realising Ghost’s second breakfast had been nudged over by his empty tray. 

He picked it up and looked up at Ghost, who collected both of their trays without a second glance.

Soap curled his hands around the parcel as the other prisoners flowed around him, disturbed and oddly touched in equal measure. 

+

Soap collapsed into the bottom bunk, not bothering to pull the blanket over his shivering, sweating body. He drifted in and out of awareness, confused by the warm leather that occasionally brushed his forehead. He felt his glove being slipped off his hand, and he mumbled a weak protest, the silvery light peaking through his closed eyelids.

“Simon,” he whispered sleepily, grasping loosely at the hand on his face. The gloved hand curled around his naked one, and he sighed in deep satisfaction, calmed by the close proximity of their soul so close to his own. 

There was a dip in the bed, a warm body curling around his own, before the blanket was pulled up and around them both. Only then did Soap finally fall into darkness, his soulmate’s hand warm around his own. 

+

Soap had hoped he’d see Simon again in his dreams, but instead he was visited by some of the many horrors of his past. 

He was a child again, sitting at the dining room table, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“When the time comes, you will resist its pull,” His father lectured calmly as he carved the skin from Soap’s tiny marked palm with a sharp blade, scolding him when he sobbed. “It will lead you astray if you let it, but your soul must only be given to God, or you’ll burn in hell, John.” 

Soap cried silently, shame and agony licking a painful fire through him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t want to go to hell.” 

His father had only gripped harder onto his wrist, pinning him with impassioned, disappointed eyes. “My only son,” he whispered, looking right through him. “An abomination.” 

His mum stood idly by in their sunny kitchen, ignoring them both while she peacefully sipped her tea. 

Little Soap didn’t notice the man outside the french windows, an obvious anachronism, his stormy gaze staring wildly as his chest heaved with poorly suppressed rage.  

Blood seeped heavily down his palm, and the vision changed as a drop of blood fell to the floor.

Soap was standing in their garden, only months earlier, a camo green bag slung over his shoulders. He’d been on active duty for months, and he’d thought…

“Why are you here, eejit boy,” His father had scoffed, waving him away. “Get out of my sight, I told you you weren’t welcome here.” 

“But,” Soap whispered, trembling as rain pelted down on him. He gulped and blinked cold rain from his eyes. “I stopped following the mark, I haven’t been looking for him.”

‘I thought he was with the 141,’ he thought wearily. ‘I was wrong.’ 

Soap froze when he registered his own words, but the mistake had already been made. 

His father narrowed his eyes, pulling his dressing gown around him with a raised brow. “Him?” He said dangerously, “So it’s not enough to have that thing on your hand, but you’re disordered now as well - have you been lying with men, John? When you told me black and blue that you weren’t?” 

Soap blinked furiously, shivering as the wind shook his bones. He had, many times over, and he’d liked it, even if it wasn’t quite right and he felt hollow deep in his core after. 

He couldn’t do anything right. 

“I stopped following it for you,” he insisted still, crying quietly in earnest now. “Even though it hurts, you told me I had to, and I listened.” 

If he allowed his mark to seep into his thoughts, it screamed so, so much. 

His neglected soul howled at the fringes of his mind, and if he slipped up and let it seep into his brain, it overtook everything. 

He needs you, find him, find him, find him - 

His father rolled his eyes at him, the dismissal clear in his gesture. 

Soap shook the rain from his eyes, wondering why he’d bothered to come back at all. 

The choice quietly materialised in his mind, to take a chance on his soulmate again, or keep choosing his family, who never seemed to have chosen him back.

But he would, wouldn’t he? 

Something shuddered and splintered in Soap’s mind.  

“Have you let it in, John?” His father yelled over the deluge. “I know you have-”

Soap watched his mouth move in slow motion, but he was just so tired of listening to it. 

Soap had been dying a slow, insidious death by a thousand cuts, his father’s words sharp as the blades he used to flay him with. 

Trying to destroy his soul, he knew deep down. He wasn’t interested in saving him, only breaking him apart.

Destroy him, his cloying, poisonous soul crooned at him. He’ll lead you right to him, it’s not too late. 

He could visualise all of the years of his life he’d wasted, suppressing his nature, throwing himself into his training to dull the blistering agony that cut into his brain if he wasn’t strong enough to ignore it. The endless years trapped by nightmares, inflicted by this very man, who academically he knew was supposed to love him, but never once had. 

His soulmate might not forgive him for neglecting him, but they were his, and he owed him better than this. 

His mark sparked encouragingly, sensing the tide turning fully in its favour. 

Soap finally allowed himself to feel the full force of his shrieking soulmark, a festering, murky purpose slowing his heart and leaching the blue from his eyes. His father stopped mid-sentence, something in Soap’s countenance giving him pause.

He’d never seen fear in his father’s eyes before, but he liked it. 

Quite a lot. 

He took a halting step back, hand curling around the front door. Soap let his bag drop from his shoulder with a thud. 

Run, his mark hissed - only, the voice of his mark was not some disembodied, magical force, but his own, finally ringing clear with his own vile desires. 

When his father spun, fearfully sprinting back into their family home -

There was a bitter, chilling silence in his mind, a roaring howl of wind, and then.

Soap gave chase.

When he caught up to him in the dining room, he didn’t prolong his suffering - a small mercy that he didn’t deserve, when Soap had suffered so much at that very table. But he didn’t want to hear or see his bleating face alive in motion any longer than necessary. 

He unceremoniously snapped his neck, and then the figure of his nightmares was simply dead, falling heavily onto the mahogany table. 

Shivering, he allowed his foul instincts to guide him, rummaging in the kitchen for the most appropriate blade, staring blankly at its glinting edge for a moment before bringing it to the body. 

By the time Soap was done, he’d split his father’s rib cage apart, tearing through his organs until he’d found what he was looking for. 

When it was finally torn from his chest, Soap stared at the evidence of his once beating heart in vacant disbelief, the organ warm and heavy in his bare hands. He gazed at it sightlessly for a time, and the destructive, devastating inkiness faded slowly from his mind.  

‘Just wanted to see it for myself,’ he thought dully, before his numb fingers slackened. The heart fell to the floor, and Soap slowly looked at his father’s still face, frozen forever in terror. 

It wasn’t long before Soap’s own face crumpled, and he was weeping powerfully but silently over the cooling body, unable to vocalise his cries even then. 

A warm hand curled around his nape, and he jerked his head up, swivelling to find Simon by his side. 

A dreaming memory, and his soulmate had stumbled right into the carnage of it. 

‘No,’ Soap thought, trying and failing to pull away. ‘Can’t see, can’t see what I’ve done.’ 

The nightmare tore apart at the seams, Soap desperate to run, but Simon held fast. They reappeared in the 141 Barracks, tumbling into bed again. 

Soap swallowed, realising his bloodied clothing and skin were clean once more. He tried to roll out of bed, but Simon pounced on him, pressing his body down until he was hopelessly trapped on his back beneath him.

He was panicking, breath coming out too fast, fearing Simon’s judgement and disgust-

But he could only sense Simon’s silent understanding, the total absence of fear or rejection stark in his heart. Soap finally met his eyes, floored at the calm assurance he found in them. 

Simon didn’t seem bothered by his mindless and savage destruction at all. 

“He hurt you,” Simon said simply, as if that was the end of it. A possessive, dark thought swirled intently, ‘And he kept you from me.’

“Doesn’t mean he had to die - not up to me,” Soap trailed off wearily. He’d killed plenty of people, but it had never been personal like that - a pure, cathartic expression of rage, a release after years of fear. 

‘If you hadn’t,’ Simon thought, eyes black and adoring in the soft light. ‘I never would’ve found you.’

Soap didn’t realise Simon had a grip of his hand until fingers pressed into his palm. 

“Thought you’d done this to yourself,” Simon admitted quietly, trailing the jagged scar tissue of his soulmark. The thought went unsaid, ‘That you didn’t want it.’ 

“No!” Soap hissed, then faltered at his intensity. “I always wanted it. Too much.”

Soap thought of his soul opening within days of arriving in prison, his pathetic, eager heart bursting wide open, desperate despite knowing nothing of his other half. 

Simon smiled deeply. “What’s wrong with that?” he murmured, stroking his skin. Soap could feel the echoes of Simon’s own desperation, his many years of rejection curdling and spoiling his heart, and the pure relief at how easy and natural it had been once Soap had arrived.

There was a lurking, fragile instability in Simon’s soul from the years of neglect, and Soap’s own yearning had been a surprising, soothing balm. 

Simon pressed his weight down into him, and Soap hummed when he trailed kisses up his jaw, gentle at first, then increasing in intensity as he moved downward. Soap wriggled his arms out and enveloped his back, gripping his hair with a surprised breath when he sucked hard on his neck. 

Soap felt Simon’s already hardening cock through his jeans, and startled at the weight of it. Groaning, Simon pressed their hips together, eyes wild as he pulled back to watch Soap’s face. 

There was a stray thought in his mind, hazy with want as Simon slid their clothed lengths against each other. Would fuck you into this mattress, if i knew what I was doing.

Soap moaned, and Simon’s mouth parted at the noise. 

Want to be good for you, Johnny. Simon pressed his face quickly into his neck.

Soap pawed at his chest, as eager lips trailed relentlessly down his throat. “Wait,” he breathed, dismayed. “Have you never?” 

Had anyone? The question lingered quietly in his mind. 

Simon pulled away, expression inscrutable, save for the pink blooming across his cheekbones. “Why would I have?” He grumbled, rocking his hips against Soap’s deliberately. “When I had someone made for me out there."

Didn’t want anyone else, he added quietly.  

Soap spluttered in deep disbelief for a moment, before he grinned widely at him, curling a leg behind his arse and pulling him closer. He reached his hands up to cradle Simon’s flushing face. 

“Waiting for your soulmate?” Only read about people doing that in those sappy romance novels. He gave a pleased laugh, crooning huskily at him, “Are you a romantic , Simon?” 

The idea gave him a possessive little thrill. Do I get to corrupt you all for myself? 

The man blinked owlishly, pressing into Soap’s touch, eyes lidded as though hypnotised. 

Flattered and slightly bashful, Soap smiled up at him, thumbing his cheekbone. “I didn’t wait,” he admitted simply. One of us should know what they’re doing here, he reminded cheekily. 

Simon merely rolled his eyes, grumbling, “Just don’t think about them at me.”

Soap giggled madly. “That’s the worst way to get someone to not think about-”

Lips pressed heavily against his, clumsy at first, but Soap eagerly guided him close, groaning when he slipped his tongue inside. Perfect, perfect, his brain swirled. He wrapped his legs around Simon and tugged him close, moaning happily into his mouth. 

Simon settled into the cradle of his hips, grinding his cock into Soap’s and kissing him deeply as he set a slow, steady pace. Soap moaned eagerly and wantonly despite the barriers between them. 

Only think about me, a possessive plea tugged at his mind. I’ll make you forget them all. 

“Yer a weapon,” Soap huffed fondly, gently pulling away, lips hovering near Simon’s. “Bit mad, aren’t you?” 

He was not disturbed at all by that discovery.“

“For you,” Simon muttered, unashamed. “Waited a long time for you, love.” 

The endearment, and a particularly clever thrust stole the breath from him, and Simon’s lips curved up. 

Soap’s voice turned sly. “Was that your first kiss, too?” He felt the immediate affirmation in Simon’s blood. 

“Will have to kiss you properly when we’re awake, make it special,” Soap sighed, relishing Simon’s flustered pleasure, and murmuring sweet promises up at him. “Have to figure out what you like, do you want me to take you first, or do you want to try fucking me-”

Simon licked into his mouth with a desperate breath, grinding their hips together with smooth, lengthened strokes. Want to fuck you first, he begged inwardly. You can fuck me, too, if you want, I’ll take whatever you give me, Johnny.

“You will, will you?” Soap gasped roughly, their mouths parting wetly. Simon smirked at his dazed face, unrelenting in the rocking of his hips. 

He could feel his release approaching, and Simon’s eyes widened, sensing it for himself. 

Shuddering, Soap groaned, “Where are you?” He writhed under Simon’s heavy, clothed cock, the imperfect friction coiling deep in his spine. “I want to close it.”

There was a hand on his cheek, and another pressing under his back, tilting his hips up into Simon’s. “What’s that, Johnny?” he panted wildly. “What do you want from me?”

He knew he was going to come, trapped under the perfect weight of him, his reverent eyes eagerly watching his collapse. 

Soap snatched at Simon’s silvery palm, grip possessive and covetous, his eyes turning black as his soul swirled into his irises. Simon watched the change with wide, captivated eyes. 

“Give yourself to me,” Soap hissed, licking a hot stripe up his wrist and swirling his tongue over his mark, and Simon cried his name, eyes dazed in wonder. Soap’s climax crept higher at the sight. 

A confusing vision entered Soap’s mind, one of himself moaning sweetly under the hot spray of the shower, head thrown back, skin wet and flushed hotly. The movement of Soap’s arm and body was obvious, and the lewd, slick sounds of his fist stroking his cock was loud and heady in the empty shower room. When he came, he slapped a hand over his mouth, crying out wantonly, oblivious to Simon’s craven, hungry stare mere metres away. 

Here and now wouldn’t be the first time Simon had watched Soap come, but it’d be the first time he’d been directly responsible for it. 

Soap thighs clenched, and he held Simon tighter, even as his brain buckled with realisation, his orgasm pooling hotter and slicker from the devastating knowledge pouring into his mind. 

“Simon,” he questioned, voice breathy and high with uncertainty. Simon watched him back with a slight smile, eyes dark and amused, cradling his head warmly and thrusting harder. 

He laughed breathlessly when Soap moaned, eyes fluttering in confusion. “Do you see me now, love?” 

Soap’s breaths shortened, staring widely into his crinkling eyes, sensing Simon’s sick satisfaction merge with his own mortified desire. 

“You were so scared of me,” Simon cooed softly, laughing when his eyes rolled back. “Think you’ve always known it was me deep down, just look at you.”

His desperate, wide open soul, greedy for him the moment he’d set eyes on him. 

Soap wasn’t scared of him now, he only felt safe and wanted, craved him deep in his marrow. Simon’s eyes softened, and he crushed Soap against his chest, enveloping him in a warm embrace.

“Of course I wouldn’t hurt you, sweet thing,” he said, voice shaking as his fracturing soul leaked through. “Just wanted to be close to you, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Ghost,” he cried out desperately, and Simon groaned, “Yes,” rolling his hips into a smooth circle, relentlessly pushing him higher and higher until he finally fell inexorably over the edge. 

Soap tightened his legs and arms around him and arched his back, light spotting his vision, the cloying mix of Simon’s danger and love unspooling his orgasm heavily down his spine. When he came hot and slick into his own clothes, Simon’s lidded, victorious eyes watched him warmly, relishing the sight of him falling apart in his arms. 

Ghost, he thought dazedly, shaking as the waves crashed over him. It’s you. 

Soap gasped and shivered as Ghost rocked him through the aftershocks, pressing soft, lingering kisses to his cheeks, murmuring nonsense praise into his skin. 

Soap blinked up at him in a daze, eyeing his neglected, straining cock sympathetically, when the dream suddenly began to fade around them.

What? He thought, Why now?

“It’s not the end,” Ghost needled gently, and Soap shuddered when his possessive mind wrapped tightly around his own. “I told you I wasn’t far.”

Soap weakly chased after his lips, sighing when their mouths joined lazily, the dream melting away as Ghost’s thoughts swept into his mind. 

And I’ll never let you go. 

+

Soap woke up slowly, confused by the warmth in the empty space in his bunk, and an unfamiliar scent in his nose. 

Simon, he thought, mind fogged once more now that he was awake. Ghost. 

The Soulmate Killer.  

He felt no fear, he could barely muster the strength to even think with his soul groaning sluggishly but incessantly at him. 

Find him, find him, find him. 

Blinking his bleary eyes awake, he slowly unfurled the sheets from his sweating body, holding the bars on the bed to pull his weak body upright. He noted the unlocked cell with a frown, wondering what time it was, and why no one seemed to care that he was still sleeping. 

He realised there was another one of Ghost’s little signs stuck to the phone on the wall. “Stay here.” Was all it read, and Soap bristled.  

I’m a prisoner, he thought slowly. I can’t do whatever I want like you seem to. 

Another, smaller part of him was hurt that Ghost had left him alone, after what they’d shared, and knowing how weak and eager he was to close the mark. He thought he’d wake up and they’d finally be together, become one after all the time wasted apart. 

Does he not want it? He stared at his twinkling hand in growing agony, arm trembling nervously. 

What if this is revenge? His mind was spiralling, his exposed soul an open wound he couldn’t close, not without him - and the fear and haze was clouding everything in his absence. Because I took so long? 

His mark would stay open and ready for him forever, and if he didn’t take it, someone else would destroy it eventually. 

Soap wondered if that was his plan all along, to tear his soul open and let the vicious sharks around him break it apart, reaping destruction on the part of himself he’d denied for most of his life. 

He’d killed his father for the damage he’d done to his soul, but Soap knew he’d let Simon do whatever he wanted with it. 

But his is open too, a small, hopeful voice reminded him. Soap remembered the unsteady, shuddering edges of Simon’s soul, and recalled his words. He’d grown used to having his soul neglected, unlike Soap. 

It wouldn’t make a difference to him, he decided, breath coming out too fast. He could live with his soul wide open and it wouldn’t matter. 

Soulmate Killer, his brain shuddered, a devastating idea taking shape. He must hate marked people, after what I did to him. 

Even as all of the sickening conclusions overwhelmed his collapsing mind, his soul still screamed its demands at him.

Find him, find him, find him. 

A memory of Simon in his dream drifted in his fraying brain.

There were lips on his cheeks, and then his low voice was crooning, “I told you, you just haven’t seen me yet.” Simon’s breath was warm across his face when he leant back. “Come find me.”

Soap staggered forward, purposeful and terrified, clutching his exposed, silvery hand to his abdomen as he stepped out of his cell. 

I’ll find you, he promised weakly, his soul sparking dangerously as he wobbled forward. And if you don’t want it, I’ll just let them all break it.

+

Ghost strode out of the prison commissary, his bag of supplies tied around his wrist. 

He hadn’t wanted to leave Johnny alone, even for the few minutes he’d been gone, but he knew he needed to go now if he wanted their bonding to go well. 

Not that sex was a necessary part of it, but he would prefer to be over prepared than regret it later. 

Johnny’s sweet grumblings when he’d disentangled his limbs from his person had been charming to behold, but his glassy, confused stare, not so much. He’d deteriorated alarmingly over the short time his soul had been opened, and it needed to be dealt with as soon as possible. 

Johnny had been dead on his feet the day prior, the inmates eying him menacingly, and the guards turning a blind eye, unwilling and unable to fix the issue anyway. No one could, except Ghost. 

He was more himself when Ghost was near, especially in their shared dream space, where their souls were closest even without the bond completed. 

Ghost’s own soul had long since cracked and buckled over the years without Johnny, but it had been a gradual thing for him to contend with, and the opening of his own mark had oddly been more a relief than debilitating. 

He’d had wanted Johnny to come to the realisation about his identity himself, but he was deteriorating fast with his soul split wide open like it was. It was dangerous, and Ghost hated letting it go on as long as it had, but he’d feared that he’d have been rejected immediately had he revealed himself sooner. 

He risked losing him in more ways than one, if he’d moved too fast or slow. But he was buoyed by their dream, warmed to know that Johnny wasn’t afraid, and that he wanted him just as much, even knowing who he was. 

I’ll tell you everything, he’d promised his sleeping face. When you’re whole again. 

Walking into their cell, he stopped dead in his tracks. Johnny was not tucked into his bed as he’d left him, and his shoes were nowhere in sight. 

I was only gone ten minutes, Ghost thought, dread rising as he threw his purchases onto the bunk and turned on his heel. Where could you have gone? 

+

Soap had been wandering aimlessly without truly looking at where he was going, frowning at his marked hand fiercely, trying to will a link to Simon to form in his own brain. 

I used to be able to feel you, years ago, he thought, desperate and guilty. Before I cut you off.

He journeyed down to the lower levels, wondering if Simon was hiding from him, or merely working as most prisoners were supposed to be. 

Is it even work time? He had no watch to speak of, and his general sense of reality was slipping through his fingers. 

Much like his second day at prison, it wasn’t until he found himself in that familiar empty, white corridor, that Soap realised he was being followed. 

The Graveyard, he thought woozily. 

He had no time to react before he was quickly grabbed by the arms and slammed to the wall, ears ringing from the destabilising movement. 

His stomach churned ominously. Gonnae make me boke.

Soap grimaced up at Yorkshire’s sneering face, the blurry figures of the two Puddings dancing in his periphery. 

Not ideal, he noted weakly, It’s three versus one, and my soul’s in a fankle. 

“What’s wrong with ‘im?” One of the Puddings asked, and Yorkshire shook him, making him groan weakly. 

A meaty hand grasped his left arm and slapped it against the wall. “Must be this,” Yorkshire declared, and Soap realised they were looking at his bright, silvery soul, cheerfully spilling light onto their bemused faces.

“Where’s your soulmate, then?” Yorkshire asked loudly, “Didn’t want to deal with you mithering them?”

Yorkshire’s face wavered, and then it was his father staring him down, hissing about his terrible, disgusting soul.

I know, he agreed weakly, shaking as grief tore his mind apart. I know, you didn’t want it either. No one does. 

Soap hadn’t been able to find Simon - after all those years ignoring his soulmate, he’d ruined his own natural instincts, and had likely led himself to his own doom. 

“Was just gonna bray ya a bit.” Yorkshire looked between him and his mark speculatively. “But I heard it hurts, if someone else touches that thing.”

Yorkshire’s face twisted between his and his father’s face, and Soap looked away, sickened by the unsettling transformation. The Puddings mumbled nervously behind him, eyeing his exposed soul with wary awe.

“Thought we were just gonna rough him up a bit, boss,” one of them said, staring at Yorkshire’s hand, so close to Soap’s soul. “Not get involved in all that.”

“Desecrating my soul,” Soap slurred mindlessly, head drooping on his chest, too weak to keep it upright. He flopped his head up at them. “No soulmate after that.”

He could see the intrigued gleam in Yorkshire’s eye at the idea, the power to destroy him at a fundamental, cellular level so easily within his grasp. The man’s eyes glinted from the light of his soul as he stared at it, weighing the decision as the others shifted nervously behind. 

“Lighten up, Kev,” Yorkshire said slowly, distracted by the shine of his mark. “Old mate clearly didn’t want him, if he let him roam around like this.”

Soap flinched as the truth of his words sank into him. 

“If I don’t do it, someone else will anyway.” Yorkshire shrugged, and then the grip on his forearm slid upward, his decision clearly made. 

He’d tried to remain unaffected by Ghost’s disinterest, and the situation he was in, but with someone else’s hand creeping closer to his soul, he couldn’t help the stinging tears welling in his eyes.

Simon, he begged hopelessly into his mind. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t want anyone else but you to have it, I’m sorry.

All of his life, he’d been met with pain if he made a sound when he cried, and he’d been incapable of anything but silent tears for years now.  

But it was like a flip had switched in his brain, and suddenly he was weeping loudly, body wracked with shuddering sobs as fear gripped his heart. There was a strange shiver in his hand, and an odd weightlessness in his mind at the change. 

“Quit yer ruering,” Yorkshire grunted as the Puddings backed away down the hall, discomfited by his heavy distress. “Doing you a favour here.”

A strange clarity swept over his mind, and a feeling he hadn't sensed for years rushed into his mind. 

Simon.

His panic and distress, ringing like a bell in his mind. Worried about something.

Worried about me, he realised, staggered by the idea.

The dizziness and disorientation from his open soul was lessening, the fog clearing somewhat as the blocks in his mind allowed his soulmate in again. 

It’s not yours, Soap thought slowly, breath seizing in his throat as his disgusting fingers crept closer. Not yours, not yours. 

Yorkshire’s face warped into his father’s once more, and Soap’s ragged, terrified breathing turned apoplectic. The man had only a split second to take note of the change in Soap, before he was ripping his arms from his grasp. 

Soap snarled and tackled his gut just as he hooked his leg behind his knee, sending the towering man crashing to his back. Yorkshire’s startled, enraged breath whooshed out of him as he made to launch himself up, but Soap was on him, grabbing his skull and smashing it against the floor. He pulled his head back and did it again, and again. 

The man groaned, dazed, and Soap knew if he didn’t stop soon, he’d kill him.

And? The darkness hissed in his mind. He would’ve ruined everything. 

Soap hesitated for a moment, before he bared his teeth, decision made as he made to twist his neck around-

Sweet, warm arms floated around him like water, and he was ripped from the other man, pulled to his feet and held against a warm, solid chest. 

Simon. 

“Can’t do too much permanent damage, love,” he crooned, rubbing a gentle hand against his torso. “Remember where you are.” 

For a moment, he struggled in Ghost’s arms, his back pressed tight to him, wanting nothing more than to destroy the cowering man on the floor. But Ghost’s encouraging whispers eventually registered through his destructive haze. 

Prison, Soap thought distantly. No point extending my sentence further. 

Soap eventually relaxed in his arms, and Ghost hummed, his delight singing in Soap’s veins. 

Although he’d been improved by his renewed connection to Ghost, Soap felt the weariness of his exposed heart seep back into his body as the adrenaline wore off, his knees buckling dangerously. Ghost guided him, pressing him gently against the wall and allowing him to slide down to the floor. 

“Told you to stay,” he murmured as he knelt before him, stroking Soap’s cheek.

Shaking his head, Soap said, “Told me to find you.” 

Ghost let out a long, exasperated sigh, gazing at him fondly. “Are you tired, Johnny? Rest for a bit, lazy thing.”

Soap wanted to grumble in outrage, but he really was that exhausted, if he was being honest. Just resting my eyes for a second, he assured himself, as he slipped his eyes closed. He heard Ghost huff a small laugh, fingers lingering on his jaw, and a whisper of air as the other man stood. 

Soap dozed in the Graveyard, blissfully drifting as panicked, shrieking cries echoed throughout the hall, the sounds of numerous bones being systematically snapped and broken making for a grim soundtrack to his gentle rest.

He sensed Simon’s absence for a few minutes as his steps echoed away, and he almost roused himself in alarm, before he felt his return once more. 

There were additional footsteps, and the Pudding’s voices cried out in shock. 

Simon’s voice curled in the air, sleek and dark “Take him to medical,” he ordered shortly, and there was a wail of agony as someone was hefted up. “If you say a word...” He didn’t finish the sentence, before the weeping man and the terrified Puddings vacated the hall.

When it was silent once more, there were arms curling around him, gently rousing him from his stupor. 

“Where’d Yorkshr’ go?” Soap slurred, frowning at the dark patch where the man once was as he was slowly brought to his feet. “Did I hear the Puddings, too?” 

There was a heavy, baffled silence from Ghost for a moment, before he rested his masked head on Soap’s shoulder, laughing lightly. “Did you not bother to learn their names, love?”

“When would that’ve come up,” Soap grumbled, sinking happily into his embrace. “Big talk from the man who didn’t speak for days.” 

“Why bother,” Ghost snickered. “You do more than enough talking for the both of us.”

Too tired to defend his honour, Soap closed his eyes into the other man’s shoulders, swaying as he drifted dreamily away. The arms around him, and the slow, steady heartbeat vibrating in Ghost’s chest lulled him quickly into a doze, and it wasn’t long before he was resting fully into him.

The shoulders beneath him started shaking with silent laughter, and Soap groaned in irritation. “Did you fall asleep on me, Johnny?” He swept his arm up his back and leaned away, eyes glinting at him through the sockets of his mask. 

The denial was immediate on his tongue. “No,” Soap lied, blinking the exhaustion from his eyes. 

A shrill klaxon blared,and he looked at Ghost with alarm. That’s not the lunch bell. 

The lilt of Ghost’s voice was decidedly smug. “Lockdown,” he murmured. “Have to go back to our cell.” 

Oh, Soap thought, and then another realisation hit. Oh, you sneaky bastard. 

“No interruptions for a few hours,” Ghost murmured suggestively, and Soap couldn’t help the weak giggle he emitted. 

He was led gently away from the empty corridor, the hand on his shoulder warm and steadying as they climbed back up to their wing. 

“Have you seen the state of me? My heid’s mince,” Soap said around a yawn. “I don’t think I’m up for anything you’re thinking, Simon.” 

Ghost merely hummed, a cloying smugness peaking through their connection. “You’ll feel better soon, Johnny.” 

+

Once they hit the main atrium, Ghost dropped his arms away, laughing at Soap’s immediate pout. 

Soap did his best to walk without falling over, and with Ghost steadying him quickly when he wobbled, they quickly made their way back to their cell. The doors to the entire wing were soon locked, the lights shut off, with only the flickering light outside their cell and the cold overcast outdoors lighting the space. 

“Is that really necessary?” Soap muttered, jolting when Ghost pressed himself against his back, tucking his face against his neck.

His face, he realised, reaching a hand up behind him to touch blindly at his face, curling his fingers into his hair. Insistent kisses were being pressed against his jaw, and he turned in his arms, blinking when dizziness swarmed his brain. 

“Don’t think I can,” he mumbled apologetically, and Simon’s eyes softened, before he pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“Don’t have to,” Simon said, pushing him gently down onto his bunk. 

Soap bounced slightly on the fraying, thin mattress, looking at him with a raised brow. “Giving me the wrong idea here then.”

His words dissolved in his mouth when Simon knelt at his feet, a gentle question in his eyes.

“Gonna propose to me there, Simon?” Soap whispered stupidly, eyes wide in the flickering gloom. 

Simon’s lips turned up, and Soap watched the eager little gleam light up his eyes with a tiny ache. He had a sense that this mischievousness was not a typical sight in the other man’s face.

Suits you, he thought quietly. 

Soap realised Simon’s hands were behind his back, and he smirked deeply at Soap’s alarmed face. “I was joking,” he blurted quickly. 

“Johnny,” Simon said, a laugh quivering his voice. “Would you do me the honour-”

“Simon,” Soap groused, blinking hard. His mouth was open and ready to grumble, when Simon presented his closed right hand to him, stealing the breath from his lungs. There was a silvery glow peaking through the lines of his closed fingers, appearing as though he was holding a light in his palm. 

“Johnny,” he said, hushed this time, eyes serious and warm. There was a question in them, and a fragile fear drumming in the fringes of their tentative connection. “I know it’s soon, but you-” He cut himself off, eyes shuttering as he struggled to articulate himself.  

Saving him the trouble, Soap eagerly proffered up his opposing left hand, unceremoniously uncurling his fingers and allowing the shimmering silver light to illuminate their muted cell. Simon’s wide, covetous eyes latched onto his mark, physically shuddering at the sight of it, leaning instinctively towards it. 

He swallowed, looking up at Soap with pained, hopeful eyes. “Johnny,” he said roughly. “Can I?” he trailed off, before he revealed his own identical chasm of silver, adding to the overwhelming light in the space. 

Shivering, Soap didn’t realise he was leaning towards it until he fell off the bed, straight into Simon’s laughing embrace. He pressed his face into Simon’s neck, sliding his arms around him and smiling widely. 

He was half sitting on some dank prison floor in the middle of Manchester, serving out a long sentence for patricide, but he’d never felt more at peace in his entire life. He rubbed his face into Simon’s warmth, breathing deeply and evenly in his shoulder as his nape was stroked. 

Lips touched his ear, and Soap’s eyes fluttered open.  

“Sleeping again, love?” Simon snickered and curled his arms around him, one under his knees and under his back, and Soap wheezed at the shift in equilibrium as he was lifted easily into his arms. 

He stared up at him hugely, Simon seemingly content to stand with him lying heavy along his arms. “Hard to believe you were part of the 141 - enemy could have read you a bedtime story and had you down for the count,” Simon snickered, smirking widely. 

Soap gaped at him, ready to defend himself, when the words registered fully. 

“How did you know I was part of the 141?” He whispered tightly. 

Simon nosed at his temple with a huff, murmuring, “The dreams in the Barracks was a small clue.” 

“You recognised my room, though?” Soap frowned at him, even as a conclusion formed slowly in his mind.

Lips pressed against his cheek, before Soap was slowly being lowered to his bunk, groaning at the slight dizziness that lingered in his head. Simon crawled over his body eagerly, caging him beneath him with his knees flanking his hips. “It was my room first, love.” 

Soap swallowed, silent tears welling in his eyes again. He went to cover his face, but Simon held his arms down, smiling down at his miserable face. 

“I thought you’d never tried finding me, Johnny,” he admitted quietly, cradling his face in both hands. “But it looks like you’ve been chasing me for a long time.”

Soap squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering. He’d thought he’d been running from the mark when he’d thrown himself into his training, but he’d subconsciously been working his way to Simon the entire time.  

“Price told me I was supposed to have a Lieutenant I’d be working with,” Soap uttered, watching Simon’s eyes shutter at the mention of their former Captain. “But when I showed up, they weren’t there anymore.”

Chewing his cheek, Simon reluctantly murmured, “Was on leave, and it must’ve been when you left the UK, but,” he groaned and sat back on his knees between Soap’s spread thighs, pulling his hands away from his face as he moved. “I was used to being cut off from you, Johnny, but it was worse that time. Don’t know why.”

Wiggling himself up to a sitting position, Soap held his unmarked hand, listening quietly. “Was desperate, I saw soulmate specialists, and they all told me the same thing, that it’d be up to you to find me, if you ever wanted to.” He stared solemnly at Soap, gripping his hand tight. “Laswell had some intel about some human traffickers, linked to some important target of ours, something we were gonna be working on when I was back.”

He stroked the soft skin of Soap’s wrist, and continued, “They were a couple knee deep in human trafficking scandals, but I didn’t really care about that - it was the fact that they were happily marked together that really put me over the edge,” he said blandly, eyes inscrutable at the admission. “They were scum on paper, and I wouldn’t have thought twice about them during a mission, but I didn’t want to wait for that.”

Soap blinked gently. 

“He turned himself in…” Ethan’s voice echoed in his mind. 

“You got arrested on purpose?” Soap said slowly, and Simon gave an indulgent smile. 

“It was a last resort,” he admitted easily. “The danger of the military almost got you, but you still missed me by weeks.” He stroked a free hand over his clothed hip. “But I’d heard that something about being imprisoned drives us a bit mad to save each other.”

He kissed Soap’s limp, slackened hand with a deeply satisfied smile. “And here you are,” he whispered. “Delivered yourself right to me, love.” 

Soap couldn’t exactly blame him for making him kill his own father, he’d wanted to do that all by himself, in truth. But if he hadn’t done it, if Soap hadn’t allowed his mark to guide him there…

“What would you have done,” Soap asked in a tight strain. “If I didn’t come?”

He blinked at him serenely. “Nothing.” 

“Nothing ?” Soap stressed, heart picking up speed, “You would’ve wasted away here, on the off chance that I got myself arrested?” 

A vision of the Simon he’d met on his first night flitted across his mind, the silent and sombre figure in his mask, a sad spectre drifting quietly around the prison - waiting for Soap until he was either released early, or died alone in his cell, whichever came first. 

He didn’t realise he was hyperventilating until Simon’s worried eyes caught his own, hands gently cradling his face. “Why,” his voice quavered, salt brimming in his eyelids. He’d wanted to say more, but he was too distraught by the idea of Simon executing such a ridiculous, hare-brained, idea, straight from the pages of some sordid romance novel - 

“Hare-brained,” Simon laughed wetly, tears streaking down his own face. “Is it hare-brained if it worked?”

“Don’t laugh at me,” Soap threatened, blinking the spots from his eyes. He let out a strangled noise when Simon abruptly pulled him bodily into his arms. He looked down at him, gaze lidded and adoring as he whispered darkness to him.

“Would you have preferred it if I told you I would’ve gotten out,” he murmured, pressing his lips to his nose and trailing down to his eye sockets. “That I would’ve broken through your little block and found you?” He pushed Soap down onto his back, and he shuddered, parting his legs so Simon could fill the space between them. “Taken your soul whether you wanted me to or not?”

Oh Christ, Soap thought, moaning quietly and immediately covering it with his hand. He could feel himself thickening already, and keened when Simon boldly trailed his hand over the growing bulge in his sweats. 

Not some blushing virgin, he thought wildly. But an insatiable menace. 

“Could you have?” Soap whispered, voice small in the quiet cell, and Simon laughed, nuzzling into his cheek. 

“We’ll never know now, will we?” He sighed, a curl of smug satisfaction lancing through Soap. “You brought yourself to me anyway.” 

There was a sudden blackness suffusing his vision, and he blinked in a quiet panic for a moment, before Simon’s confused face swam back into view. His mark throbbed oddly, and Soap whimpered. 

It had been fine for a time, but his mark was relentless in its purpose. “Simon,” he whispered, raising himself up so he could grasp his marked arm, trailing his scarred flesh up and down his forearm, relishing Simon’s gentle shivers. “Never kissed you properly, did I?”

Simon leaned eagerly in, but Soap curled his other hand around his neck and moved his face, pressing delicate kisses first over his brow and his cheeks, humming when Simon laughed quietly, before trailing up and down both sides of his jaw. 

He hesitated above his lips for a breath, looking at Simon’s relaxed face, before he pressed them softly together. Simon groaned, sliding his free hand around Soap’s back and licking impatiently at his mouth, nibbling hungrily at his lips. 

When Soap allowed him entrance, he trailed his marked hand up Simon’s arm, not stopping until he found his hand and pressed their silvery palms together. Simon jolted, a disbelieving gasp breathed into his mouth. 

There was a single heartbeat, a breath of pure silence, and then his arm warmed. He pulled Simon closer, shuddering into his mouth as tears dripped from his closed eyes. He could feel the chasms in their palms mingling, a shining light beaming bright behind his lids as their souls became hopelessly tangled. 

Soap could sense the frayed, roughened edges of Simon’s soul - all of its gentle beauty and horrifying darkness, his desires and fears bleeding together into Soap’s heart, and he welcomed it all greedily, giving everything he had in turn. 

Johnny, Simon’s voice whispered reverently in his mind, wondering at the shape of Soap’s soul. You’re so beautiful.  

His disbelieving relief resounded strongly through Soap, and he sighed at the unfamiliar emotions rocking his body. He parted from him reluctantly, swallowing hard at the onslaught. 

Gonna take a while to get used to that, Soap thought wryly. He blinked slightly, feeling his strength fully return, as the fog lifted entirely from his mind. 

Simon’s manic, overjoyed grin filled his vision. “Will it?” he laughed, pressing happy kisses to his cheeks. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

He sent him a fond look. “Most people would think this was invasive, Simon.” 

They’re missing out. Simon shrugged, before tearing off his shirt quickly. 

Oh. Soap flung his head on his pillow, trembling faintly as his firm chest was exposed to him. You’re an insatiable menace.

Simon smirked, undoing the fastens on his own jeans slowly. Making up for lost time, love. 

Rather than pull his jeans down, he suddenly pulled impatiently at Soap’s sweatshirt, and he huffed, lifting himself and pulling it off. Simon pressed him back down, crawling over him and running his greedy hands over his abdomen, grinning when his skin jumped under his touch. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Simon lowered his head, smirking evilly at Soap’s astonished, slackened face, before he cupped his clothed cock and swiped the flat of his tongue along the length of him.

“Simon,” he gasped in surprise, and then bit into the palm of his hand. 

Can’t have the guards investigating, Johnny. His sweet laughter curled around his mind, as the fucker sucked relentlessly on his concealed cock. 

Where’d you learn that, Soap whined, writhing into his hot, eager mouth. 

Simon presented his own view, looking down at his straining prick silhouetted through the grey material of his bottoms, and the overwhelming desire to suck, to taste and consume every inch of Soap’s body. I wanted to.

Soap bit into his palm, hard. 

I wonder, is it my body now, too, technically? Simon thought darkly, mouthing at the dampness in the material. Since our souls aren’t separate anymore? 

What the fuck, Simon. Removing his hand from his mouth, Soap groaned, “Please don’t get philosophical about our souls with your mouth so close to my cock, you mad man.” 

Rolling his eyes, Simon yanked his sweats and pants down his legs, and Soap stared gormlessly, obediently lifting his hips and allowing himself to be divested of his clothes. 

Soon he was lying naked on his back before his soulmate, his leaking cock a heavy line against his middle, his skin prickling under Simon’s heavy, scrutinous gaze. 

Why do I feel more like the blushing virgin here? 

“Dunno, Johnny,” he murmured, pressing his huge hands against his thighs, pushing them wide apart. The sight of him shirtless in his jeans, looming confidently over him made his cock twitch eagerly. “Are you nervous, love?”

Soap shuddered, rolling his neck against his pillow. What the fuck is happening to me.

The subdued, silvery line of Simon’s mark was proffered to his face, and Soap read the request easily, leaning up to lick his palm, tracing his fused soul with a sigh. Simon breathed a soft groan at the feeling, before he leant back, wrapping his wet palm around Soap’s cock -

“Fuck, ” Soap cried, clutching the threadbare sheet tight in his fists, rocking himself eagerly into his fist. Soap stared desperately up at his lidded, hungry eyes, whispering his name as he stroked him. 

The small hints of light peeking from Simon’s palm as he gripped his cock twinged at something feral in his brain, and he could feel the edge of his self control breaking apart. Simon watched his strained, shuddering form with parted lips. 

So eager, Johnny. 

Soap hummed, smiling at him as he pumped him steadily, watching the motions as though hypnotised. 

Cover your mouth, love, Simon ordered, eyes dark and warm. 

Soap sighed, and obediently complied, pressing his mark to his mouth. 

When Simon licked a bead of pre-cum off of his slit and wrapped his lips around his head, Soap bit down painfully into his mark, pawing mindlessly at Simon’s hair. He felt Simon’s coiling lust and satisfaction as if it was his own, as he slid greedily down, and Soap whined into the flesh of his palm. 

If Soap’s mind wandered too much, he could feel the sensation of Simon’s tongue as if it was his own, and taste his own flavour even as he felt the delightful swirl of his tongue on his cock. Simon moaned around him, and Soap keened. Bleeding Christ.

When Simon curled a hand around his cock and slid his mouth slowly up, Soap released his palm from his mouth wetly. 

“Simon, darling, you’re so pretty,” he slurred, carding his fingers through his hair. “My pretty boy soulmate,” he garbled, humming dreamily when Simon laughed in surprise around his mouthful. “I’d call you a bonnie lass, but you’re not a woman, but you’re just as pretty, no, definitely more pretty-”

You’re rambling, love. He lapped at his head relentlessly for a moment, before he sank back down on him again. Soap moaned high and loud, uncaring of who heard it, gripping Simon’s hair tight. 

“Can I call you love, too?” Soap prattled eagerly, groaning when Simon accidentally choked on his cock. “Hng, no. That's your thing, I’ll call you gràdh.”

It means the same thing, Johnny. 

Soap beamed dopily. How'd' you know?

Simon lifted his mouth slowly off his cock, and Soap rolled his neck against the pillow, out of his mind from the filthy visual. His hips twitched up, missing his warmth already. 

“I can understand all of your,” nonsense, “interesting turns of phrase now.”

“Fucking Brits,” Soap grumbled. 

Will you tell me what you like, Johnny? He asked innocently, running his tongue wickedly along the underside of his cock. Soap’s legs trembled, hips bucking as he gasped a breathless moan. 

I like you, Soap thought instantly, grabbing mindlessly at Simon’s warm shoulders. I like you a lot. 

That’s good, love. Simon’s eyes creased at him in amusement, his lips shiny and swollen where they slid up and down his sensitive cock. Anything else? 

No, Soap sighed internally. Just you.

Simon hummed around his cock, and Soap’s mind leaked like a broken tap. 

How much, love?

Like a lot, gràdh. Soap pulled at his hair, and Simon allowed his mouth to be pulled off of his cock. He watched himself bob desperately towards his mouth with a groan. 

Soap wasn’t sure if it was his lifetime of a complete absence of any familial affection, or the numerous transactional and perfunctory sexual encounters he’d had, but he’d never felt more adored and wanted in his life.

This odd, menacing spectre with the quiet, fractured romantic heart, who’d schemed and waited just to meet him - who he knew just from peering into his mind would do just about anything to nurture what they had and keep them safe.

Simon’s quietly amused face pulled something blissfully tight in his chest, and he didn’t bother curtailing his thoughts when they popped into his mind. There would be no secrets between them, not with their minds so inexorably intertwined. 

I think I love you, Simon, he thought softly, swallowing harshly as he watched Simon for his reaction. That’s a bit soon, isn’t it? 

It was very soon, but so was indelibly merging their very hearts and minds together. This just seemed like the natural progression of things.

The amusement drained from Simon’s face entirely, leaving only a blank, eerie slate of nothing. 

Just like old times, Soap thought nervously, stroking his hair softly. Simon? 

Simon blinked owlishly, eyes fluttering delicately as he struggled to comprehend his words. 

The other man’s ecstatic disbelief suddenly danced across Soap’s heart, and he smiled tentatively. 

He ‘oofed’ when Simon crawled up his body and dropped himself heavily on top of him, Soap trapped supine underneath him. “Simon?”

Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, his laughing voice fluttered in his mind. You love me, too?

Soap huffed happily, pressing his face into his messy hair. “Aye, gràdh,” he whispered bashfully. A thought suddenly struck him, and he clarified, “You don’t have to sa-”

“Love you, Johnny,” he said dreamily, pressing his mouth on his chest, right above his heart.

His mind was invaded by Simon's many lonely years, secretly reading soulmate novels in the darkened corners of the base, tenuously dreaming of his own other half. He’d had flashes in his dreams of a deep Scottish burr, a sunny laugh, and luminous, clear blue eyes that seemed to look at him and see everything. 

Another vision, this time of Soap on his first day, sitting at Simon’s table, looking miserable and unsure. But then he looked up at him, blue eyes wide, the pupil shrunk to nothing, so artlessly beautiful, and then he spoke with that voice -

Hello, love, Simon’s mind had whispered, shaken and awed. You’re finally here. 

You knew it was me immediately? Soap thought wondrously, then frowned. Why’d you sit so far away then? 

I would know you anywhere, Johnny. Simon curled his arms around his back, breathing a shaky laugh, a suspicious wetness pooling on his skin. Didn’t want to scare you off. 

What a sook, Soap thought without heat, grinning hugely. 

Simon’s stormy face flashed in his view for a moment, before he was spreading his legs wide and gorging on his cock again. Just a few pulls of his hot, sucking mouth and Soap was ready to twist off the mattress.

The heady sounds of Simon’s suffocating, wet gasps as he sank too much of his mouth onto his cock made his hips buck inadvertently, and Simon choked harder. 

“Fuck’s sake, Simon,” he babbled mindlessly, grappling at his head until Simon pulled off, eyes watering. You’re gonna hurt yourself, pretty man. 

The sweet flush to Simon’s cheekbones reminded him just how new this all was to him, and lit something foul in Soap’s core. Soap stroked over his flushed skin, smiling soothingly as he caught his breath.

Simon’s lip twisted up wickedly, even as his eyes remained limpid and sincere. Want to be good for you, Johnny. 

The devious and sincere edge to that statement made him groan. You know exactly what that does to me, don’t you? 

“‘Course I do,” Simon said in a rough husk, and Christ was his voice that hoarse just from blowing him? He sucked absently at the underside, staring deeply into Soap’s eyes as he trailed his wet lips up and down his cock. He sucked loudly and wetly on his sensitive glands, humming when Soap pulsed small pearly lines down onto his tongue. 

Simon, he said desperately, watching with huge eyes. I’m going to come if you keep going. 

Could you come again, if you do? Simon asked curiously, eyes lidded as he mouthed downward. Soap could sense that he had zero intent to stop until Soap had come just from his mouth sucking him down. 

Bleeding fucking Christ. 

Simon curled his hand around the base of him and ran his slick head over his open mouth, eyes glazed as he sucked hot, teasing kisses to his slit. He smoothly stroked the length of him, his hand wet with spit and Soap’s own leaking desire. He wrapped his pink lips around his tip and fluttered his tongue relentlessly over his frenulum as his hand moved in a tight, slick grip, curling his free hand over an open thigh and pressing his leg further apart. 

Exposed on his back, Soap was receiving the best blow job of his life by someone who’d never even touched another man’s prick before that moment.

What the fuck is in those books of yours, you menace, Soap whined, covering his eyes with his hands, the sight of him too overwhelming for words. Too good at this. 

Dreamt of this moment for so long, Simon’s voice was desperate and fractured in his own mind, enraptured by Soap’s wild responsiveness. Told you I wanted it to be good, Johnny. 

Simon had caught onto the stray desirous ramblings in Soap’s brain - his obsession with his pretty face, choking so lovingly on his cock, his lips and chin a mess from his exertions. He was planning something, but he’d blocked it neatly from Soap’s view.

What are you up to, pretty man? Soap garbled, adoration coiling sweetly in his heart, as his orgasm rose alongside it. You’re so good at this, you’ll probably fuck me perfectly the first time too, you’re so good, gràdh.

He’d felt a tiny undercurrent of Simon’s earlier fears, that this would go terribly, that Soap wouldn’t enjoy his inexperienced overtures but -

Soap saw what Simon saw, how he twisted and turned on his back, begging him mindlessly, all of his adoration pouring desperately through his mind. Soap was a raw nerve, frantic and sensitive and everything he could’ve hoped for.

“Thank you, pretty man,” Soap rambled mindlessly, petting his flaxen locks and moaning at a particularly forceful suck on his tip. “Gonna come soon,” he breathed. 

Warn me, will you? Simon stroked faster, pressing firm circles into his jumping inner thigh. 

“I’ll try, I’ll try,” Soap babbled, smiling dazedly down at him. His lidded eyes creased at him, and his mind went deliciously blank. 

Simon, he warned - 

The other man’s eyes darkened as he watched him keenly, undulating his tongue in a persistent swirl over his glands. 

He saw a flash of Simon’s marked hand gliding hot and slick over his cock, his soulmate’s possessive eyes pinning him heavily to the bed, and his pleasure snapped like a cord in his core, back arching into the heat of his mouth as his climax shuddered over him. 

Soap let out a guttural moan as his orgasm shook his thighs, feeling his release curling up his cock, watching Simon’s swollen mouth pop off of his head- What? 

Simon directed his spilling cock to his flushed cheekbones, smirking as Soap cried out in disbelief, watching himself pulse heavy lines of his release onto his perfect, blushing face. 

He moved his throbbing cock across his face to his other cheek, before resting his twitching head against open mouth, milking the final remnants with his hand onto his tongue and moaning obscenely at his flavour. 

Simon, Simon, Simon. Soap heaved desperately, gripping harshly onto his hair and pressing his tip insistently onto his tongue with a sigh. You let me ruin your pretty face, Soap thought dopily, trailing a reverent hand over his jaw and thumbing at the pearly streaks coating his cheeks. You’re even prettier like this, Simon. 

The other man shivered bodily, and Soap could sense his bone deep pleasure, to feel the physical remnants of Soap’s lust painted warmly onto his face, and how much he’d love to do the same to Soap -

He pulled Simon off his cock, and sat up, cradling his head and pressing his mouth against his in a decadent kiss. He could taste himself overwhelmingly in his mouth and smell himself on his face, and he groaned in deep satisfaction, mark warming contentedly. 

Finally mine, Simon, he purred, pulling away and licking his spend from one of his blushing cheeks, chuckling when Simon moaned desperately. Will you fuck me now? 

“Yes,” Simon said instantly, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling against his forehead. Want to be inside you. 

+

When Johnny set his eyes on Simon's straining cock, he could almost see the other man regretting his offer. Johnny’s lidded, fearful gaze made him twitch evilly, and when Johnny curled his hand around him, Simon hummed. 

Johnny’s nervous thought trickled into his mind, You’re going to split me apart, gràdh.

He felt himself grow harder in his grasp, and smirked at Johnny’s mortified blink. 

He proffered up his commissary bag to Johnny with a minor flourish, trying and failing to suppress his pleased smile at his soulmate’s flabbergasted face. You really thought of everything, devious man. 

Soon Johnny was splayed on his back again, legs spread wide, eyes aching on Simon as he slipped his own lubed fingers in and out of himself. 

Simon knelt at the bottom of the bunk, holding his cock tight at the root to stop himself from coming just from the filthy sight of him, moaning quietly as his hole opened up slowly but surely under his own keen fingers. 

After he’d relentlessly stretched himself out, Johnny was on his knees, crawling over and kissing Simon sweetly and reassuringly as his thoughts burbled warmly through his mind. 

Are you ready, gràdh?

Simon yanked an arm around him and deepened the kiss, grinning at his startled yelp. Are you, Johnny?

Johnny patted impatiently at his shoulders and arranged him on his rear, and soon Simon was arranged in a sitting position on the pillows, his legs straight across the bed. 

Easier for me to adjust to you, this way, Johnny explained absently, watching his lubed hands intently.

Simon smirked at him, slowly massaging the slick onto his glistening cock and shifting his hips in invitation. Come sit on my lap, love. 

He watched Johnny’s eyes shutter, a sweet daze fogging his face as he crawled into his lap, curling his hands around his shoulders. Simon enveloped him in his arms, stroking at his naked spine and parting his rear suggestively.

Simon pressed on his tailbone until he landed firmly in the cradle of his hips, Johnny gasping when he slipped his slickened cock between his cheeks. He tightened his arms around his neck and cooed softly, writhing as Simon rocked up and eased his cock teasingly between his globes, fluttering his head over his slackened entrance. 

“Simon,” he mumbled, pressing kisses over his cheeks, uncaring of the dried spend on his face. “Need it.”

He grasped at his cock, pressing his mushroom tip to his hole, teasing forceful circles against his rim. Johnny squirmed, trying to sink down onto him, but Simon let himself catch on him only briefly before he slid away, sliding up and down his globes and trailing his slick across his skin.

He repeated the motion again and again, kissing Johnny to muffle his desperate pleas, rubbing his spine in soothing swipes. 

When he prodded his glossy head against his hole again, Johnny sank down desperately, expecting him to slip away, but Simon gripped his hip and pressed inside in a tight thrust, his entrance snapping slickly over his glands. Johnny cried out in surprise, blues huge and wild as his nails bit his shoulders. 

The muscles in his arms were pulled taut where they gripped onto Johnny’s hips, wanting desperately to sink inside the tight warmth of him, but cautious of hurting him. He pressed a curious finger to where they were joined, flexing his cock deliberately to watch Johnny’s stammering sigh. 

Move for me now, Johnny, he pleaded, licking the sweat from the column of his neck. Or I’ll press you down and fuck you through the pain. 

Johnny hummed dreamily, licking his lips as he tentatively eased down his cock. “You can if you want,” he breathed softly into his ear, curling his fingers into Simon’s hair, breath catching as he took more inside. “Whatever you want, Simon.”

He shuddered, his fractured soul splintering at the words. Don’t say things you don’t mean, Johnny, he warned roughly. 

Johnny pressed soft open-mouthed kisses to his face, before he paused to toss his head wantonly back, moaning long and loud as he sank inch by inch down Simon’s cock, not stopping until he was bottomed out inside of his molten, fluttering heat. 

“Jesus Chri - Johnny .”

I do mean it, Simon. 

Simon shuddered, pressing his fingers to their joining again, feeling Johnny’s stretched hole tighten at his prodding and groaning. “Took me so easily,” he laughed brokenly. “Just like your eager little soul,” he whispered smugly. 

Move for me, sweet thing. 

Johnny immediately complied, and Simon held onto his arse as he slipped himself fully up to his tip and slid easily back down again, making little grunting noise every time he bottomed out, mouth parted charmingly. 

“Should’ve been weeks, Johnny,” he needled him breathlessly, watching his cock fill eagerly against their grinding bodies. “But you were here, what, one night?” He laughed cruelly, fisting Johnny’s hair and pinning his limpid blues with his own. “And now you’re already bouncing on my cock less than a week later.” 

“Simon,” he cried weakly, increasing his pace wildly as Simon joined him, thrusting up instinctively into the sucking heat of him. 

“Is it good, love?” Simon asked roughly, grasping onto his flanks and thrusting up into him. “Like being stuffed full of my cock?” 

Simon. His face was wrecked, sweat dripping from his pores, eyes liquid and glazed. Never wanna leave.

“That’s good, there’s nowhere else for you to go,” he said darkly as he pulled gently out, finally giving into the urge and pressing him down onto his back. Johnny obediently parted his legs, and Simon laughed quietly, hooking his arm under his back and sheathing himself easily back into Johnny. 

Thought it would hurt, love? He asked innocently, grinning wildly at Johnny’s mortified cries. 

His hole was a slick, vice grip on his cock, and it unshackled his atrocious mouth to see Johnny so desperate and easy for him. 

“I could’ve crawled into your bed on the first few nights,” Simon suggested haltingly, pressing his torso down onto Johnny and pinning him with his weight. He rolled his hips in long, full strokes, whispering praise when Johnny wrapped his legs around his thrusting hips. “Would you have let me?”

Johnny gazed sightlessly at him, clenching his slick hole around him, his own cock smearing wet slimy trails against Simon’s shifting abdomen. Answer me, love.

“Aye,” Johnny stammered, shame and adoration writ large on his face. 

“Would’ve kept the mask on,” he growled, watching Johnny’s fluttering eyes. “Made you come on my hand and used it as lube to fuck you.” He grew harder at the thought of Johnny’s uncertain but welcoming body, parting so easily for him due to the undeniable link in their souls. “Wouldn’t have even hurt you that much, looking at you now.”

Johnny writhed and whined beneath him, desperate little gasps puffing out of him, eyes wide and adoring. “Bet your soul would’ve opened then and there,” Simon whispered, feeling his cock throb sickeningly at the idea as he stroked in and out of him. “You would’ve looked so sweet and confused, your soul opening up nice and wide while I stretched you nice and full with my cock.”

He pressed their lips together, catching Johnny’s sinful cries, revelling in the desperate clench of his thighs and the insistent twitch of his length trapped between their sweating bodies. 

He could sense Johnny’s second orgasm was cresting, the teasing friction on his cock and his relentless penetration teetering him close to the edge. 

“Could’ve taken my glove off and bonded you there.” Simon’s voice was a frenzied rasp, and he pounded into Johnny with reckless abandon, no longer worried about his inexperience.  “You would’ve let me do it.”

Johnny moaned an affirmation, breath harsh and fast between them, tossing his head side to side on the bed. 

Look at me, Johnny, he thought deliberately, staring into his loving, clouded eyes. Your body, your heart, everything is mine now.  

Johnny’s eyes rolled back, and he allowed the full weight of his satisfaction, his victory to pour through their bond as he joined their mouths in a decadent kiss. 

I’ll take such good care of it all, love.  

Johnny’s legs and arms clutched desperately at him as he cried out into his mouth, his hole clenching in hard pulses as he came beautifully on his cock. Simon pulled back to watch his mindless twisting, the tension in his muscles snapping as his pleasure washed over him. 

Simon fucked him relentlessly through his orgasm, curling his hand around his spilling cock and milking him even when Johnny tried to arch out of his touch, his arms falling back to the bed. His debauched wails, the slap of their skin together, and the sight of Johnny’s marked hand at rest above his head quickly put him in a tailspin. 

But it was Johnny’s sweaty smile, watching him dazedly through the throes of his own orgasm, that took him past the precipice. 

He buried his cock fully to the hilt, grinding his hips in mindless circles as he cried Johnny’s name, keeping his desperate eyes on his soulmate’s adoring smile as his hole eagerly milked him for all he was worth. 

Johnny’s fluttering hands, pressing soothing sweeps along his back added to the buzzing pleasure down his spine, and his knees buckled as he collapsed on top of him. He laid there for a time breathless and winded, heart beating rapidly in his chest.

Simon could feel himself pulsing slowly into him even then, and rested his sweaty face on Johnny’s chest, enjoying his racing pulse in his ears. 

“Are you still coming?” Johnny’s flabbergasted voice wavered through the air. 

He groaned in deep satisfaction, rocking gently into him. “Been a while since I have.” He kissed his chest, rolling his neck in delight. 

You’re not about to tell me you’ve never wanked, Johnny thought with great exasperation. It would explain your madness quite well, though. 

“I haven’t had a cellmate until now.” Simon rolled his eyes up at him. “And I don’t wank in public like you do.”

You’re about three steps removed from calling me a depraved slut, Simon.

Simon leaned up lazily, softened cock still sheathed inside of his overflowing hole, and pressed a soft kiss to Johnny’s mouth. He pulled gently away, smiling at his slackened expression, fingering the leaking spend around their joining. 

“You are a depraved slut, Johnny,” he assured him sweetly, laughing at his small moan. Not even feigning outrage. “Only for me, though.” 

I don’t think that’s what that means, thou-

Simon silenced him with a kiss, blinking away the adoring, joyous tears that threatened his eyes. He pulled away softly, leaning into the hand cradling his jaw with a swallow.

Everything I ever wanted, he thought, chest catching with emotion as he looked at Johnny’s mischievous smile. And you’re all mine.  

+

The lockdown lasted until the next day, and Simon smiled secretly at every loud gurgle of Johnny’s stomach. 

“Surely this is a human rights violation,” he groaned dramatically into his naked chest. “I’m starving.” 

Simon petted his rumbling stomach soothingly. “If you were so concerned about your meals, why’d you always forget them, then?”

Johnny flailed in his arms, but Simon held tight, smiling into his wild and matted hair. Sex hair, he thought smugly. Johnny’s sly face peaked up at him from his chest. 

“Why bother, when I had a hot, masked killer following me around, giving me extra food in bed if I was ever hungry.” 

He felt something dark unfurling in his gut, his hands tightening on Johnny’s naked body. He pressed hot kisses down his throat, humming when Johnny squirmed eagerly under his sucking mouth. He pulled away wetly. 

“Are you trying to make me jealous of myself?” Simon asked roughly, pleased and envious in equal measure. 

“No?” Johnny paused, before he grinned wickedly. “Are you?” 

Yes. The traitorous thought slipped through his mind, but that was alright. He was still working out the details of their next step, but he wanted it all figured out before he let his beloved know - as long as that stayed concealed for now, he didn’t mind these little parts slipping out. 

Johnny pulled Simon warmly into his arms, raining kisses onto his amused face. “Coorie in, mad man, I still love you just as much as him.”

He paused his barrage of kisses, gleaming eyes darkening with wry suspicion. Why do you feel more smug than usual, Simon?

“I was just thinking,” Simon said slowly. “It’s my birthday soon.”

His immediately intrigued eyes warmed him, and Simon rewarded him with a soft kiss. So eager to please me, aren't you? 

What can I give you? Johnny tilted his head. Bit limited in prison, he thought apologetically. 

“Who said it had to be in prison?” He said quietly, voice small. Johnny’s face fell, but he recovered immediately and smiled slightly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Oh, Simon.

Simon swallowed, then opened his mouth and let all of his desires spill out of him. 

“I didn’t care that I was imprisoned, not until you arrived,” he admitted honestly. “But I have so many things I want to do now that I have you, that I can’t do here.”

Johnny listened patiently, head turned to him on their pillow. If Simon blurred his eyes, he could almost imagine they were in bed in some imaginary home of their making, rather than the cold, narrow bunk of their cell. 

“I want to make love to you in the sun,” he confessed in a low murmur, watching Johnny’s lips part in surprise. “Someplace far from here, where you can move and make as much noise as you want, and I can take care of you properly.” 

He felt his ardent desire for it well in his eyes, and he sighed low and long, frustrated with himself. “That’s what I want, Johnny.”

Would you give it to me? He asked softly. If you could? 

“If I could, Simon,” he croaked wetly, before smiling widely. “Silly romantic sook, you should've thought of that before you got yourself locked up for so long.” 

Johnny pressed his teary blues into his shoulder, and Simon hummed, cuddling eagerly into him. 

Blocking his thoughts slyly, he thought quietly to himself. But I did, love. He pressed his mouth to his, relishing Johnny’s warm and easy affection, his plans slowly swirling in his mind. 

Did you really think I was going to let you waste away in here, once I had you, Johnny?