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fortheloveofkonig · 9 months

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Taste - SoapRoach

So @miilkybnn requested SoapRoach cuteness yesterday, and if my favorite artist requests SoapRoach cuteness, y'all know I have to deliver. So I whipped this little piece up in between writing today. I hope it satisfies the cravings and sends the angst away :)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.5k

Roach leaned back against the small cliff edge he was on, the cold of the snow around him somehow seeping under the heaps of gear that he wore. He gave a brief huff, trying to fight off the desire to shiver at the cold.

It was much easier to keep warm when they were moving. Either that or it was easier to ignore the cold, Roach couldn't be sure. He was always too focused on missions to pay attention to how uncomfortable his body might be. Quirks of being a soldier, you learned to ignore the pain and everything else in favor of focusing your mind on the task at hand. You had to be focused. You had to be focused or you would be killed.

Roach wasn't focused now. He knew his mind should have been on alert at least. It was dangerous to allow himself to become as distracted as he was currently. He just couldn't help himself. He was sure that anyone who had found themselves in his position would have understood, would have been equally as distracted.

His eyes, hidden by the tint of his goggles, watched the flickering red of Soap's cigar carefully. They traced the length of it, lingering over the way that his Captain's fingers wrapped around the base of the cigar. His breath hitched in his throat, heart speeding up just so as he watched the end disappear between lips speckled with white from the snow.

His eyes lingered on Soap's lips as the cigar was pulled away, and smoke was slowly released into the air. His lips parted a bit under his mask, hoping to catch some sort of waft from the smoke on his tongue. Selfishly, he wanted to taste the smoke, to have a puff of the cigar.

It wasn't because he was a smoker. No, he'd never particularly been a fan of smoking, whether it be the cigars Soap was so clearly fond of or the cigarettes that Ghost held dear. He wasn't a fan. It wasn't the smoke that he craved. It was the taste. He wanted to taste what Soap was tasting, to know the flavors that laced the other's lips and tongue.

He wanted to know the taste of villa claras because he knew it would give him a taste of his captain.

Soap's eyes trailed over to him for a brief moment before returning forward. Roach wondered if the other man could feel him looking. He wondered if Soap knew what he was thinking, knew what he wanted. He tried to brush those thoughts off.

Soap brought the cigar back to his lips just as a jet flew overhead, shaking the weak ground they were sitting on. Roach didn't look away from Soap, even then. After a short moment, Soap flicked the still-lit cigarette out of his fingers, letting it dissappear into the haze of white over the edge of the cliff.

It was one thing to have such a desperate crush on his captain. It would be another for the man to know about it.

His eyes turned to Roach. "Break's over, Roach. Let's go." He stood up, and without hesitation, Roach stood as well. He followed without question. Soap said it was time to go, so it was time to go.

Roach collapsed into a seat on their extract plane, glaring harshly at the snow mobile in front of him. He'd nearly crashed the damn thing three times, and he was sure he'd had enough of them for a lifetime. He was sure he'd had enough of the cold for a lifetime as well.

The though pulled a shiver to his body, the reminder of the cold making the feeling of it on his skin much more prevalent. Even under his gear, it was prickling his skin and making him tuck in on himself. He'd always run colder than others, so the cold air surrounding him only made things worse. He was sure that by the time they'd made it to their landing point, he'd be a popsicle.

He reached up at the thought, shaky hands tugging at the straps on his helmet until he could blissfully pull the thing from his head. Next came his goggles, the things practically frozen solid. Pulling them off sent a rush of cool air to his face, making his eyes water just a bit.

He sighed and tucked his knees up to his chest. His arms were cradled between his legs and chest, a clear attempt to warm them against his body. He tucked his chin down, burying the bottom half of his face into the jacket he wore. The move allowed his slow puffs of breath to warm his face, thought it was only a temporary help as the cold air attempted to cool even his breath.

His eyes traced along the wall of the plane before falling to Soap. His captain had seated himself on the floor of the plane, his legs sprawled out in front of him, no doubt to stretch them out from all the running they'd done. He was focused down at a little black book in one hand. His other hand held a pen, one of the ones from base, clearly well used, though. The end had been chewed at, and from the looks of it, it was sure to run out of ink soon.

Soap was tapping the pen against his thigh as he gazed down at the little book with a pinched expression on his face, no doubt trying to think of what to write next. Roach thought it was a swell idea, a pleasant distraction for them as they flew.

With that in mind, he slipped his own hands into his vest. It took a surprising amount of restraint not to hiss at the remnants of snow on his gear as they touched his hand, but he managed. Soon, he was pulling out his own little journal, one he'd been slowly filling over the past few years of his time on the team.

His last few entries had, rather embarrassingly, focused on one thing. His eyes glanced back at Soap again before returning to his journal. He flipped to the newest page before opening one of the pockets on his vest and pulling out a pen of his own.

The cap was taken off with his teeth and held there in his mouth as he gave a basic outline of the mission. He noted some things he knew he'd need to improve on, focusing mainly on his speed and endurance. Then, as usual, his mind moved to the man sitting with him in the back of the plane.

He glanced up at Soap again, this time watching him for several moments as he did. His mind called back to earlier, during that break when he'd watched his captain smoke a cigar.

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking about the wafting smoke, Soap's fingers gripping the cigar, and the way his mouth had wrapped around the end of it. He thought once again about the taste. He wanted to know the taste. He allowed his mind to wander for a moment, chasing the idea of finally getting his chance.

He imagined Soap lighting a cigar, taking a slow drag from it. He could see the way his lips wrapped around it, and his mouth watered at the thought. Smoke would haze the air, making his mind go fuzzy as Soap would gently hand the cigar over to him, letting it hang between his fingers until Roach would take it.

He imagined wrapping his own lips around the cigar, tasting the traces of his captain on the end of it. He'd take in a breath of the smoke, letting the taste of it fill his lungs and linger in his mouth until he was sure he'd never be able to rid himself of it. Then and only then would he realease the smoke into the air.

He wondered if Soap would watch him as he tasted the cigar, a small knowing smile on his face. He let himself picture the impossible, the little fantasies that he knew would never be real, but ones he couldn't stop despite that. The thought of holding the cigar back out for Soap and meeting his captain's eyes.

A small smile would tug at the corners of Soap's mouth, something small and soft. Soap would reach forward and push the hand holding the cigar away, his body would follow. A hand would grasp his chin gently, and he'd be pulled into a kiss, Soap tasting the smoke from his lips in the way Roach had often dreamed of doing.

"Where's your mind gone, eh Roach?"

Roach snapped his eyes open in a panic, his entire face going hot despite the cold temperature of the plane around him. He was quick to snap the little journal in his hands shut, fearful of Soap seeing something on one of the pages. He tucked himself tighter to the wall, his eyes trailing toward the man who must have moved in complete silence.

Soap only raised an eyebrow at his reaction, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips. Roach's eyes followed the movement, noting that most of the snow had melted from Soap's beard, leaving it glistening wet in the dim lighting of the plane. His eyes traced along the other's lips before returning to his eyes, meeting the dark browns of them.

"Captain," he acknowledged weakly, "Sorry I didn't hear you move."

"Clearly," Soap leaned back against the wall of the plane, rolling his neck as he did. "All good? You seemed a little lost in thought."

Roach gave a quick nod of his head and let a small smile cross his lips, "Yes, sir." He answered in a quiet voice. He tucked his head against his arms but turned so that he would be facing Soap as he did. "Just thinking about what I want to do when we get back."

"Yeah?" Soap chuckled a bit, "Well I hope for your sake you have a nap on that list. You look exhausted, Roach."

Roach gave a small laugh of his own. He knew that Soap wasn't wrong. With everything going on lately, he'd been more stressed than normal. The return to the hunt for Makarov had been stressful for everyone, and Roach knew it had brought back painful memories of being forced to leave Price behind for Soap. He knew his captain was likely more stressed than anyone else on the team about the whole thing. Roach had wished there was something he could do to help the man.

"What about you?" He spoke quietly, almost hesitantly, "Don't think we all haven't noticed how hard you've been pushing yourself lately."

Soap gave a sigh and tilted his head back, the line of his throat catching Roach's gaze. He followed the length of it, admiring it as it bobbed with Soap's sighs. "Not you too. You and Ghost do know that I'm the Captain, right? I'm supposed to be worried about you lot."

Roach couldn't help the grin that pulled to his lips at the words. He should have known that Ghost would say something as well. The man was never good about keeping his thoughts to himself and, more often than not, would be the member of the team to call everyone out if they were being silly about something. It seemed he'd already spoken his mind to Soap.

"We can worry about you too," Roach chided Soap calmly, the grin clear to hear in his voice. Soap leaned his head back up and met Roach's gaze once again, "You know we care. Can't have you falling apart on us, I don't think I'd be able to deal with it if something happened to you."

"Yeah?" Soap's voice was soft and, for a moment, Roach was struck by the look in his eyes. It was something he didn't think he'd ever seen from the man before, something softer and filled with things that Roach didn't think should be so familiar reflected back at him in the brown.

"Yeah," he responded quietly, his own voice filled with unspoken longing. He doubted the other man would pick up on it, so he let it slip from his lips. It settled in the quiet, sitting in the air between the two for a few minutes.

Soap shifted in his seat, moving just an inch closer to Roach, just enough that their legs were touching. "Well," he cleared his throat, "I tell you what, I'll look out for myself if you agree never to nearly fall off a cliff again, okay? Nearly gave me a heart attack with that."

Roach could feel himself go red again at the words, embarassment creeping up his neck as he sent a playful glare toward Soap. "It really wasn't my fault," he complained with a huff, "I just have the worst luck on the planet."

"Not the worst," Soap shook his head, "If you had the worst, I wouldn't have been able to catch you."

"That's true," Roach hummed and gave another smile to Soap. "I think you're just lucky enough to help both of us."

"Oh really?"

Roach nodded again, grinning at him, "You're like a lucky charm, so long as you're around, nothing bad can happen to me." He nudged the man with his arm playfully, "Guess I need to start taking you with me everywhere."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Soap gave him a playful grin and nudged him back. There was a short moment between the two as they nudged each other. It was a happy little moment, with the two play fighting in a way that had warmth blossoming in Roach's chest and little laughs escaping his lips to mix together with Soap's own laughter.

After a moment, Soap grabbed Roach's hands and hauled him fully against his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and tucking him close, Roach's hands grasped in his own. "You're freezing, you know that?"

Roach huffed a bit, "Clearly." He tucked himself into his jacket again, trying to resist the urge to lean further into Soap's body. The other was radiating wamth despite the cold surrounding them, and it was a struggle not to just bury his face in the man's chest and let himself warm up that way. "I always run cold," he muttered, "usually it's not a big deal. It rarely ever gets too cold back home."

"Well," Soap rubbed a hand over one of Roach's arms, trying to offer him a bit more warmth with the movement, "You'll have to get used to this. No doubt it won't be our last mission in the cold."

Roach couldn't help but groan at the words, "Why can't we only have missions in warmer places. You know, maybe somewhere tropical?"

Soap gave him an amused look, "I'll ask the terrorists to be a bit more thoughtful."

"Thank you."

Soap shook his head, his chest rumbling with another chuckle at Roach's words. A pleasant silence settled around them. It was nice and quiet, a brief respite from the chaos that they normally dealt with. Roach took the time to enjoy both that and the feeling of Soap wrapped around him. He knew the other was just trying to keep him warm, but he wanted to imagine that Soap had different intentions, that he just wanted to be close to him.

After several long moments, Roach could feel Soap sigh behind him, his hand twitching against his jacket. He knew the man well enough at this point to pick up the signs, and he didn't waste any time before assuring Soap, "You can smoke if you want. I really don't mind."

"Mmm," Soap tilted his head to the side, laying his face on Roach's shoulder, "don't figure the pilots would be too pleased with me if I did. And, well, you might mind a bit more when you're stuck breathing in my smoke until we land."

Roach tried to hide the way that his breath hitched at the words. It was a little embarrassing how much he'd thought of tasting the smoke that had been on Soap's tongue. He didn't think he'd ever liked someone so much, certainly not to a point that breathing the same air as them made his body thrum with anticipation.

"I don't know about that," Roach shifted in his seat, glancing at Soap nervously, "I'd been thinking of trying one of those cigars you like anyways."

Soap paused, tensing against Roach and, for a moment, the younger man wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. "Oh really?"

Roach hummed, trying to ignore the way his hands were shaking. "I've tried cigarettes before, might as well try a cigar. Besides, you seem to like them, so they have to be worthwhile."

"You've a lot of faith in my taste in things." Roach's mind supplied numerous responses about his desire to know Soap's taste, but he shoved those back into the closet of his mind with a broom in hand. "Better to wait till we get back to base, I'll let you have a taste of one of mine."

A shiver wracked down Roach's spine at the words, nearly shaking his whole body with its intensity. There was a pause as he winced at himself, cursing his body for its reaction to the words. A rumbling chuckle met his ears, and the man behind him shifted closer, pulling him tighter against his chest. "Like the idea of that?"

Roach hesitated for a moment, his words caught in his throat. Was this really happening? "Yes," he finally managed to get out around the nerves, "yeah, i'd like that."

"Would you like," Soap seemed to hesitate for a moment, his hand twitching against Roach's arm, "would you like a taste now?"

Roach took a shakey breath in, his hands shaking a bit in his lap. Surely, this wasn't what he thought it was. Still, he had to take a chance. He had to let himself take the leap. He turned his head, meeting Soap's gaze over his shoulder, "I would."

A beat passed before Soap reached up to tilt up Roach's chin, his touch gentle. He moved forward slowly, giving Roach plenty of time to stop him. Roach wouldn't stop him in any universe.

The first touch of their lips was soft, just a barely there touch, showing the careful hesitation between them. They stayed there for just a moment, their lips only pressed together so slightly. Then, just as slowly, Soap pressed closer. As though it was meant to be from the beginning, their mouths molded together, dancing in a slow and careful kiss.

As the kiss continued, the two men moved closer to one another, desperate to have no space between their bodies, to finally be close in the way they both so clearly craved. Soap tilted Roach's chin up further, pressing closer to him as they continued, not deterred by the turbulence of the plane around them. Roach grasped tight to Soap's jacket, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

After several moments, they parted for air. Their bodies were still tucked close to one another, the two practically clinging together in the cold of the plane. Soap pressed their foreheads together, the warmth of their breaths mingling. Neither of them said anything they just enjoyed the moment, sharing short little kisses as they did.

Finally, after several moments, Soap chuckled and leaned down to press another short kiss to Roach's lips. "Satisfied with your taste? Or should I pull out the cigar?"

"No," Roach responded, "it wasn't the cigar I was after." He leaned up to press another kiss to Soap's kiss, holding it for several moments. "Though I think you knew that."

"I had a suspicion," Soap responded against his lips, "I was trying not to get my hopes up."

"I still say," Roach hesitated for only a moment, "that I join you for that cigar when we get back."

"Yeah?" Soap gave a warm smile, his eyes shining in the dim lighting of the plane.

"Yeah," Roach gave a chuckle, tucking his face into Soap's chest with a grin of his own. His face was a bit red, but the happiness that was flooding him washed away any of the remaining nerves. "Maybe get a few more tastes."

Soap pressed a kiss to Roach's cheek before tracing it down his face before he could finally press several kisses to the top of Roach's throat, just below his jaw. "You can have a taste as often as you'd like."

"I'm holding you to that," Roach gave a contented sigh before tucking himself closer to Soap’s chest. "Now, keep me warm. You know you're like a furnace?"

"Demanding," Soap teased. Still, he wrapped his arms around Roach again, holding him closely in his arms.

A comforting silence fell around them, a feeling of happiness blanketing their bodies in a different type of warmth. Roach had never felt warmer in his life. Warmer and happier. He didn't think anything could take that away from him.

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