Chapter Text
Soap hadn’t wanted to go to this unofficial work Christmas Eve do, but he’d been under the impression people from the team would be here. Unfortunately, there wasn't a single one of those fuckers in sight, and he was instead stuck socialising with very drunk, very distant colleagues, in a dingy bar in Manchester, with no easy escape in sight.
He might appear to be more sociable than most, but being surrounded by loud, drunk, and overly aggressive military types was not his idea of a good time. He was only two beers in, wondering if he could get away with executing a stealthy Irish Goodbye, when he heard two loud voices drift over the other side of the pub.
Two military police officers, whose names he didn’t know, and didn’t care to find out about, were standing near the bar, speaking about fifty decibels louder than necessary, and raucously making fun of anyone in the nearby vicinity - under the guise of harmless comedy, of course.
The obvious leader was a bulky, red faced man, who slapped the bar uproariously with every ‘joke’ he told, and let out disgusting, wheezing coughs when he overexerted himself. His audience was a tall, weedy lad, who didn’t seem to contribute much to his comedy stylings, but seemed content to absorb the other man’s dubious wisdom. Soap had taken to referring to them as Officer Knob and Rat, respectively, just to amuse himself.
“Oi, that’s one of those elite ones, one of the boys from 141. Hey Soap! Where’s the rest of you, then? Where’s your boyfriend, the one in the freaky mask?”
Soap slowly looked at them from the corner of his eye, but didn’t react. He continued his chat with a combat nurse from Wales, studiously turning his back on them. He hadn’t caught her name over the cacophony, but she was significantly more interesting company than his more excessively sauced colleagues.
Despite his best efforts to drown them out, he could unfortunately still hear the rest of the officers’ conversation. Officer Knob’s volume had only increased as the night progressed, laughing obnoxiously at every boring fucking observation made, and making sure everyone around him heard about it.
“Y’now Soap hangs around that weirdo Riley in the mask a lot. Must be a poof, no other reason they’re so close. It’s a bit fucking weird,” Knob sagely opined, taking a sip of his pint with a nod.
Officer Rat made a brilliant observation of his own. “Do you think he’s ugly, or just shy? Why’s he gotta wear that shit around us, we’re supposed to be a team.”
Knob laughed, and leant in dramatically, whispering not at all fucking quietly, “Do you think he wear it when he fucks him, or does he fuck Soap doggy to save him from having to look at ‘im?” He slapped Rat on the shoulder, wheezing and roaring, his spittle flying through the air.
Soap froze, the breath leaving him in one long whoosh. He was hyper aware of other eyes on him, wondering and waiting for his reaction. Would he pretend to not hear, and meekly continue his conversation, or would he get angry, and confirm their assumptions?
He was disgustingly unsurprised by the lack of protest or outrage on their behalf from his supposed comrades. He never should have come here alone.
The nurse to his side was staring wide eyed, looking past him at the two officers in horror. At least one person here isn’t complete scum, he thought darkly.
Soap took a leisurely pull of his beer, polishing it off, and set it down on the bar with a flourish. He gave a wink to the nurse, before spinning on his stool and bouncing to his feet.
“What was that, mate?” Soap asked mildly, smiling guilelessly as he sauntered over to the two. The cacophony in the bar had lowered slightly, sensing danger was brewing.
“Just joking,” Officer Rat coughed, smiling awkwardly, clearly not prepared for audience interaction. He turned subtly to Knob, trying to cut off Soap from the conversation.
Officer Knob, on the other hand, was not quite as cowed.
“Ah just saying mate, just curious about you two. Make a cute couple,” he laughed, sneering slightly.
“Hm. I can see you’re married,” Soap observed, nodding at the ring glinting off his sweating pint. “Might be a shot in the dark, but I assume you’re straight.”
“‘Course mate, I don’t have a problem with fags, you know, what you do in the privacy of your own homo - your home,” he joked, overcome with glee, slapping at Rat again. “Get it, home - homo? ‘Nyway, what you like to do with each other is none of my business.”
Rat looked nervous, darting his eyes around, looking for a way to escape the shit show that was developing before his very eyes.
Clearing his throat, Soap blinked disarmingly. “Have you ever considered that maybe you’re bi-curious,” he suggested cheerfully, leaning in seriously. “Because you seem to really enjoy imagining two fit, grown men fucking each other a lot in great detail for someone who’s supposed to be straight.”
The voices around them had lowered to a whisper, no one even bothering to hide their open observation of the three. He could a feminine laugh coming distantly from behind him.
Knob’s face dropped, all tracers of humour vanishing. His mouth hung open, and a vein at his temple popped. “What,” he said, dully.
Soap smiled.
“I said,” he said slowly, loud and deliberate, as though talking to someone particularly fucking stupid.“There seems to be a lot of cock on your mind for someone supposedly secure in their sexuality, isn’t there, mate?” He shook his head with a smile, adding, “No shame in that, obviously.”
Knob was heaving now, quickly apoplectic with drunken rage. Rat was backing away slowly, clearing his throat nervously.
Soap didn’t really enjoy the punch that thudded into his skull, but he did enjoy the one he threw back, twice as hard. Fair was fair, after all. Unfortunately for Knob, he observed, as the man fell flat on his back, pint shattering with him - Soap was a better shot.
When he was thrown out of the pub, and sent to the drunk tank alongside Knob for drunk and disorderly behaviour, well, that he didn’t enjoy nearly quite so much.
++
It was Christmas Eve, and Ghost was on the phone to his mother. His head was firmly in one hand, the other reluctantly holding the phone to his ear.
“Are you sure you can’t come down tomorrow, sweetheart? Uncle Rob is bringing his lovely mince pies, I remember how much you used to love those.”
He scrunched up his nose in disbelief.
Mother was very mistaken, he hated those fucking pies.
“Maybe,” he muttered, noncommittally. He stared out of his window, noting the light dusting of snow falling from the sky.
“Well do let me know, I’ll have a seat saved for you.” She paused for a moment. “I can save another one, in case there’s someone you’d like to bring?” She trailed off, and he could almost picture her hopeful, worried eyes.
“No,” he grunted, before correcting himself. “I’ll let you know if I can go, but it’ll just be me.”
“Ok sweetheart,” she murmured, her disappointment poorly concealed.
There was an awkward silence, as neither of them said anything. Then, a blessed interruption - his phone was vibrating, indicating another call coming down the line.
Thank fucking Christ.
“Have another call coming,” Ghost said quickly, clearing his throat. “Talk tomorrow.”
“Ok, goodnight Simo-”
He hung up, ignoring the immediate guilt that sprung in his chest, and accepted the other call without a thought.
“Riley.”
“Oh, um, do I have Mr MacTavish on the line, or have I got the wrong blasted number?” A confused voice asked.
MacTavish? As in, Soap?
“...Speaking,” he said slowly, curious despite himself.
“Ah good,” an older gentleman's voice chortled slightly. “Thought I had the wrong number there. I’m Constable Flynn, from the Manchester Police Department.”
Ghost blinked, intrigued.
Constable Flynn lowered his voice, and said gently, “Now this might come as a shock, y’know on Christmas Eve of all things! But I have your husband here. Had a bit of a scuffle - I hear he got a bit rowdy at the pub.” he chuckled good naturedly, “All in good fun I imagine.”
The more he listened, the higher Ghost’s eyebrows rose up his forehead.
He blustered on, “Now would you be so kind as to come and collect him? I’m sure the poor lad has learnt his lesson. And far be it for me to keep a poor man away from his husband on Christmas Eve, that would be cruel and unusual punishment, I dare say.” He laughed as though the mere idea was entirely absurd.
Ghost couldn’t help the slow smile curling up his lips.
“No problem at all,” he said, barely containing the strangled laugh that threatened to escape him. “I’ll come and retrieve my poor Johnny as soon as I can.”
Confirming the details with a grin, he swirled his coat around his shoulders and dashed out of his apartment, unbothered as the snow melted into his hair.
Well Mother, he thought, darkly amused. Looks like I might have someone after all.
++
Soap sat on his bench, glaring stonily at the floor, and flexed his aching fist.
Sent to the drunk tank, he thought, highly irritated. I had two fucking beers, unlike this wanker.
Looking up, he considered his neighbour with a sneer of disgust. His attacker slash victim was curled up in the foetal position in his own cell, sniffing and whimpering something about his wife having to see him like this. His face was still red, however this time dripping with tears and snot, rather than sweat.
Should’ve thought of that before you opened your fucking mouth, he wanted to shout at him. But he figured he’d better behave, before the night got even worse.
Soap couldn’t suppose how that could possibly happen, but he didn’t doubt it could happen to him specifically.
Constable Flynn, a bumbling older police officer with a short white beard and rounded spectacles, trotted back in the room. Soap was so busy glaring at Knob that he didn’t immediately realise the man was addressing him.
“...Good news, Mr MacTavish! Your husband is on the way now.” He sniffed slightly, sounding slightly overcome as he lectured, “He sounded so worried for you, the poor thing - you better not give him anymore grief young man, least not on Christmas Eve!”
Soap barely had time to blink, before the old fool was turning on his heel again. The good constable wandered off, humming cheerily to himself as he went, leaving him alone with the snorting tomato once more.
Jesus, he thought slowly, with dawning horror and disbelief. I didn’t think the mad man would agree to it.
When he had seen Officer Knob earlier, begging for his wife to come collect him, Soap had been unimpressed. He’d been even more unimpressed when the Constable gladly agreed, chuckling something about Christmas and togetherness as he went.
When he’d asked if he could leave, Flynn had looked sceptical. “Well, I suppose if you were missed I would feel quite obliged to release you. Otherwise you might be better off sleeping it off here, young man,” he’d said sternly.
The injustice of it all had incensed Soap. This stupid, drunken, homophobic tomato was going to get off scott-free, just because he had someone foolish enough to marry him. Meanwhile, he’d be forced to sleep off the two beers that had long since faded from his system, spending Christmas Eve in a fucking cell.
Almost immediately, the perfect spousal candidate sprung to mind.
Considering I was defending your honour, too, he’d thought with a shrug. You might as well help me out here.
Soap had expected Ghost to ignore the call, or maybe reveal his devious little plot and land him in further strife. The last thing he’d expected was his apparently very enthusiastic acceptance.
Soap closed his eyes, tapping his hand nervously as he waited.
Ghost probably won’t let me ever live this down, he thought wearily. Better than being stuck in here all night, though, I suppose.
Despite how suspicious his reaction likely was to his wretched colleagues at the pub, there was nothing actually going on between him and the lieutenant. Soap would have enjoyed the rumours much more if they were actually true, but unfortunately they served as stinging reminders of what he didn’t, and likely never would have.
There was an obnoxious throat clear that rumbled through the air, jolting him from his musings. It was Knob, and he’d seemingly recovered entirely from his pathetic snivelling, sitting upright and staring at him with an evil little smirk.
“Husband, eh?” Knob leered. “Knew you were a fag, MacTavish. Didn’t realise the masked freak was actually just your sidepiece, though.”
Soap blinked faintly in disbelief. His self imposed promise to be good went sailing out the door. When will this numpty ever learn?
“Yes, yes, we know,” Soap agreed easily. “Haven’t we already been over this? We know you’re interested in the many men I fuck, the how and where I enjoy taking cock, and the people attached to said cock.” He narrowed his eyes at him consideringly. “It’s a little bit alarming how obsessed you are, mate. Does your wife know?”
There was a distressed cough at the door, and he slowly looked up.
There the constable stood, his face beet red beneath his beard, as he stared at him in disappointed horror. The towering man at his side, however, was more cause for concern.
It was Ghost, unmasked and dashing with his hands tucked into his winter coat, his hair dusted lightly with snow. He stepped into the room, his gaze locked with his own, as he slowly approached his bars.
Judging from the amused smirk curling his lips, he’d heard every word he’d just said.
Oh sweet, steaming Jesus, Soap thought, as he felt a blush creep up his neck.
“Hello Johnny,” Ghost murmured, eyes crinkling as he took him in. “Up to no good again, love?”
Soap temporarily lost control of all higher brain function, as he blinked up at him, speechless. In his mind’s eye, he imagined his sanity slowly sinking down a drain, leaving only a sickening, certain madness.
Love? He thought, slightly hysterical .
The bars slid open, but he remained frozen, simply staring.
If he’s playing along properly, he thought, heart in his throat. I don’t think I’ll survive it.
Ghost stood by his side, quicking an eyebrow at him.
“Can you stand, or do I need to carry you home?” He asked, looking entirely too pleased at the prospect.
His brain function made a temporary reappearance, and Soap blurted, “I’m fine, I can walk.” He launched himself up entirely too fast, and began to fall forward in his haste to force himself upright. Ghost caught him easily with a laugh.
“Swooning?” He murmured, leaning down to speak into his ear, “That’s a new one for you, Johnny.”
Bury me and let no one ever find the body, Soap despaired. He pressed his forehead to Ghost’s chest briefly in a moment of pure, exasperated madness, before gingerly extracting himself.
When he finally exited his cell, the constable no longer looked disappointed, but suspiciously teary. “Beautiful,” he warbled, wiping at his eyes. “Have a lovely Christmas Mr and Mr MacTavish - I hope you have a lovely night, and a blessed New Year.” He looked ready to bawl, and Soap looked at Ghost in mounting horror.
Get me out of here, he begged with his eyes.
The alarmed strain in Ghost’s eyes assured him he most certainly would.
“Is there any paperwork I need to-”
“No, no,” the man cried, sniffling and waving at them. “Go, be young, be merry.”
Ghost abruptly took his hand, ignoring the shocked noise he let out, and pulled him up and out of the dingy police station. Neither of them paid attention to the sneering, red faced man staring at them as they went, too caught up in each other to even notice.
++
Wandering into the snowy streets, Soap felt the loss of his coat keenly. He’d left it at the pub, and was now clad only in his shirt and jeans, shivering miserably as they walked. On the upside, Ghost had yet to let go of his hand, and he was not about to shatter his own fantasies, even if it was a tragic farce.
As soon as he thought of it, though, he manifested its removal, as Ghost gently released his hand. Soap determinedly remained looking ahead, refusing to acknowledge the change, although his fingers curled slightly at the loss.
The sudden thump of warm fabric over his shoulders almost sent him flying, and he stopped abruptly, whipping his head over to look at him. Ghost had dumped his coat over his shoulders, and was now circling him to adjust the fit. Underneath his coat, he’d been wearing a deep burgundy jumper that hugged him just so, infinitely warmer than Soap’s flimsy shirt.
Wordlessly, he tugged the sides of his coat around Soap’s front, smiling slightly. “You can put your arms through if you want,” Ghost said, voice low as he fussed. “But you’ll probably look like several children stacked on top of each other,” he snickered.
It smells like him, Soap thought, stunned. This is my favourite dream and worst nightmare rolled into one.
Standing in front of the station, his heart sank, as he realised a likely cause for this bizarrely affectionate behaviour. It wouldn’t do to break character so soon after he’d only just been released, after all.
“You need new material,” Soap muttered, averting his eyes.
Ghost paused his fussing, hands resting on the lapels, and gazed at him steadily. “Alright, Johnny?”
Soap hummed absently, opting to change the subject. “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that,” he said seriously, nodding at the coat. “Or bail me out.”
Ghost smiled at him, and Soap stared at the novel expression, heart aching. “Anything for you, love.”
Ah, he thought, blood running cold. He’s gone fully method, then.
He tried not to let himself outwardly react, but Ghost’s slowly falling smile told Soap that he perhaps hadn’t been quite as successful as he’d hoped. He was definitely not making for a convincing partner, at any rate.
Pursing his lips, Ghost wordlessly took his hand again, and led him away from the shadow of the station.
++
They walked aimlessly for a while in silence, neither of them willing to break the fragile peace. When Soap noted some familiar landmarks though, he paused, tugging on Ghost’s hand to halt him.
“The pub’s just around the corner,” he realised, craning his head at his surroundings. “I can get my coat, and you’ll be free of me.”
“Trying to get rid of your poor husband so soon, Soap?” Ghost muttered, face unreadable.
“Uh, no.” Soap spluttered. “I just mean, you don’t have to walk me back if I don’t have your coat hostage.”
Ghost looked displeased, and opened his mouth as though to say something, but shook his head.
As they approached, Soap saw a thinner crowd than earlier minging inside, some of whom had witnessed his unfortunate fist fight. The same bartender was dashing to and fro behind the bar, and Soap wondered how he was going to pull this off without getting kicked out again.
“I’ll need to go quiet on this one,” Soap said, semi-seriously, as he considered his options. “Or I’ll get thrown out again. Wait here.”
And with that, he dashed across the road, completely missing the young woman waving frantically at him from the other side.
++
While Soap executed his impromptu infiltration to retrieve his jacket, Ghost pondered. Without his mask, he could feel his face stinging uncomfortably in the brisk wind, the exposure somehow worse without the other man by his side.
Ghost wondered if he was taking things too far, thinking of Soap’s crestfallen face earlier. Something about the plausible deniability of the situation made him foolishly bold, and made him say things he’d never dare to otherwise - things he wouldn’t even say in his own head. But he wouldn’t do or say anything to Johnny under false pretences.
Maybe Soap wasn’t happy to entertain any romantic overtures, even as a joke he could laugh off later. It was likely uncomfortable, being unwillingly afflicted with his obvious and raw, one-sided affection after being so accustomed to his cold aloofness.
Clenching his jaw, he wondered what he should do. He could stop, but he found he really didn’t want to - not unless he truly was making Soap uncomfortable. He found he was enjoying playing the role of doting husband far too much.
Blinking, he realised there was a young woman marching determinedly in his direction.
“Hullo,” she greeted, voice tinged with a pleasant Welsh accent. “Saw you two holding hands, you must be Soap’s partner.” She waved the jacket over her arm at him vaguely. “He left this there, well, uh I guess when he was thrown out.” She winced slightly.
He shivered slightly, hearing the word’s ‘Soap’s partner’ thrown around so casually. It sounded right in his mind, although not as deeply satisfying as the way ‘husband’ had sounded coming from the idiot policeman, he decided.
“Hm,” Ghost agreed, considering. Seeing an opportunity, he pounced. “Would you mind telling me what happened? He won’t tell me anything,” he said, affecting a put upon sigh as he spoke.
She beamed excitedly. “It was brilliant, those two wankers - military police I think - were standing there hanging shite on everyone all night.” Her face darkened slightly. “They started saying some horrible things about Soap, well mainly about him and his friend, the masked one. I don’t remember his name, sorry.”
Ghost recalled Soap’s vile little cellmate’s words at the station, and could hazard a safe guess at what had been said.
She shook her head. “Anyway, he waltzed over to them, and I was a bit scared for him, he looked so short compared to them - although he’s so much taller than me…” she trailed off, awkwardly, before continuing. “But he wasn’t aggressive or anything, he just said some stuff about one of them being extremely insecure and uh. He got punched pretty hard.” She noticed the dark look on his face, and was quick to reassure, “It was fine, well not really, but he barely even flinched, just knocked the bastard straight to the floor.”
Suddenly remembering herself, she presented Soap’s jacket to him, and he took it gladly. As he pulled it around himself, Ghost noticed the man of his thoughts wandering over, a delicious warmth settling in his chest at the sight of him.
My hero, he mused with a curl of his lips.
++
Soap walked back across the road, dejected. His jacket was nowhere to be found, and he’d almost blown his cover sneaking into the stupid pub.
When he looked back at where he’d left Ghost, he was startled to see the young nurse from earlier, chatting away animatedly. As he approached, she beamed at him.
“Hullo John,” she said brightly, giving him a little wave. “That was lucky you came back, I was wondering how I was going to return this to you.”
He stared blankly at her. “Return…?"
“Your jacket,” she said, before faltering and turning to Ghost. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name, sorry.”
Ghost smirked, and it was then that Soap noticed his change in wardrobe. He had put on Soap’s jacket, and although the fit was slightly too short on him, it somehow didn’t detract from his appearance at all.
How does it not look ridiculous, he thought wearily. Even when it’s probably a few sizes too small.
“Simon,” Ghost said simply. He offered no last name, for which Soap was grateful, but there was a tiny part of him that was disappointed.
Of course he’s not going to want to pretend in front of people we actually know.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Molly.”
Molly, Soap thought guiltily. Finally know your name at least.
Thoroughly demoralised, Soap was considering the logistics of another Irish Goodbye, even though there were only three people present, when Ghost suddenly reached down and enveloped his hand again. Soap blinked, startled.
“Thank you, Molly,” Ghost said, uncharacteristically gracious. “I’d better take him home now, it’s been a long night.”
Oi, I’m not a bloody sleepy toddler.
He barely had time to call out a hasty goodbye, before Ghost was pulling him down the street. He spluttered slightly. “Where are we going?” They were not going in the right direction for either of their apartments.
Ghost cleared his throat. “There’s a Christmas Eve market this way, according to Molly.” He said, avoiding looking at Soap. “Could be alright.”
Strange.
He opened his mouth to ask why they weren’t just parting ways now, but paused. Even though it was hurting him to play pretend, he thought maybe he could suck it up and take the nice memories for the road. Besides, Ghost seemed inexplicably against them ending the night, and Soap owed him this at least.
“Alright then,” Soap agreed easily. “Sounds nice.”
Ghost glanced at him with a small smile.
Ah fuck, he thought, somewhat dreamily. Not getting used to that anytime soon.
Despite his ready acceptance, Ghost did not seem comfortable slowing down, as though fearing Soap would grow bored and leave if he did.
Ghost’s blistering pace was unfortunately no match for his smaller gait, and the man tripped for the second time in the night. Ghost caught him yet again, this time around his shoulders.
“Don’t say it,” Soap warned darkly.
“Wasn’t going to,” He replied breezily, stroking his back once before dropping his grasp.
“As much as it pains me to ask this,” Soap said, exasperated. “Could you slow down a bit?”
Ghost paused, looking him up and down. He opened his mouth, then shut it.
“Go on, then,” Soap sighed.
He shook his head, lips twitching suspiciously. “You said I needed new material - don’t want to become predictable.”
“Since when has that stopped you?” Soap laughed lightly.
Ghost suddenly leant forward and ran his hand through Soap’s hair, dusting the snow from his locks, and messing it up beyond repair. Soap gaped up at him.
“Behave.” He smirked, hand still resting at the back of his head lightly. “Or you won’t get your reward later.”
“Reward, for what?” Soap spluttered, flustered. He was turning red again.
“Defending me so dutifully.” Ghost hummed, eyes gleaming. “What a faithful husband I have,” he added with a small smile.
Bloody Molly, the snitch.
Soap’s lips twisted into a moue of displeasure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, uncomfortable with the man’s proximity, yet thrilled all the same.
“No?” Ghost picked up his right hand, and raised his bloodied knuckles up for consideration. He brushed his thumb over the peeled skin soothingly. “Have you gone shy on me, Johnny?”
Uncertain about the trajectory of the conversation, Soap threw caution to the wind and grabbed Ghost’s other hand, pulling him along for a change. “Just show me the bloody market then.” he grumbled.
Ghost laughed in surprise, and Soap’s eyes fluttered.
This is going to be so dangerous, Soap’s heart whispered.
++
They approached a road that appeared to be blocked on all sides from traffic, a twinkling and bustling market dotting its path. There was the smell of something sweet and fried in the air, and the sound of roving carolers echoing amongst the bustle of the crowd.
Soap’s stomach growled loudly, and Ghost smiled, opting not to comment. He wordlessly pulled him towards the food stalls, and Soap darted his eyes around at the options.
“So much time spent on the inside,” Soap sighed dramatically, slightly overwhelmed by the selection. “I’ve been wasting away.”
“Poor thing,” Ghost said wryly. “I’ll take care of you.”
Ignoring the twist in his chest, Soap forced a grin. “Does that mean you’re paying?”
Ghost rolled his eyes, opening his mouth, but Soap interrupted.
“Aye I’m joking, of course. I owe you.” His eyes lit up on a stall at the far side of the street, and he raced off. “I’ll be back.”
When he eventually returned, Ghost did a double take.
“Really, MacTavish?” He eyed his steaming plate of honey puffs with amused scepticism. “I thought you wanted actual food.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Soap groaned slightly around a bite, delighting at the sugary goodness. “This is real food.”
He mindlessly chomped away at his bounty, happily licking his toothpick as he went. He speared up another puff, but paused, noticing Ghost’s intent stare. “Sorry, have some. I have another toothpick for you here somewhere.”
Soap suddenly faltered, and realised he probably wasn’t doing a good job at paying him back, if Ghost didn’t even want what he offered. “I can get something else, I didn’t even as-”
He did not expect Ghost to suddenly pluck the puff off his own bloody stick with his lips, smirking slightly at his wide stare.
“That’s unhygienic,” he blurted dumbly, staring. Soap mindlessly speared another one anyway, and proffered it up to him.
Ghost slowly leant down again, eyes locked with his as he took the offered morsel.
“I see the appeal, I think,” Ghost commented idly, eyes lidded as he leant away. He licked his lips, and Soap followed the motion, dazed. “It’s… sweet.”
Soap stared down at his plate silently, feeling strangely unbalanced, the stick lax between his fingers. Ghost chucked him under the chin gently, lips curling slightly as he looked back up at him. “Eat up, love,” he said, quietly.
He wasn’t sure what face he was making, but Ghost’s crinkling eyes told him it was probably a better one than last time.
++
Full to bursting with sugar, Soap and Ghost meandered through the busy market stalls, browsing aimlessly. The two occasionally drifted to stalls by themselves, but they inevitably drew back together every time.
Soap gleefully stumbled across a soap keychain of all things, and hissed at Ghost from across the way, trying to get his attention, “Ghost, Ghost!” The people around him were staring, and quickly began to leave the area, giving him a wide berth. Sighing sadly, he placed his prized find back on the counter, and drifted back in Ghost’s direction.
Embarrassed, Soap stepped up to his side abruptly, and declared, “I’m calling you Simon.” He decided he’d be offering no further explanation.
Ghost paused in his inspection of a wicked looking dagger, bemused. “If you like.”
Soap blinked, disarmed. He was expecting that to be a lot harder than it turned out to be.
Ghost placed the weapon down, looking troubled for a moment, before taking his hand and leading him away. It was strange, how quickly he’d gotten used to being led around so easily.
Soap observed the many patrons laden with shopping bags, and suddenly remembered tomorrow was Christmas. He hadn’t celebrated the holiday for many years, now that most of his family was long since dead and buried, and he’d entirely forgotten the concept of present giving. Or at least he had until he was standing in the middle of a Christmas themed market.
“What do you want,” he blurted. Ghost swung his head at him, slightly alarmed at his sudden volume. “Uh, I mean, for Christmas.”
Still walking slowly, Ghost looked away, ostensibly surveying the many stalls they were passing. It remained silent long enough for Soap to think that he was just going to be ignored, before he suddenly answered, “I have what I need.”
Soap didn’t think much of it, until the other man swiped his thumb around the back of his hand in a slow circle. He couldn’t help the laugh he let out, even as he suppressed the urge to run fast and far away. “Even if this was real,” he huffed a pained laugh, and shook their joined hands for emphasis. “That would be a terrible answer.”
Ghost gave him a gloomy look. “What do you want, then?”
He had expected him to ask why, not the same bloody thing.
I want this to be real. The thought was instantaneous, and hideously corrosive to his insides.
“Nothing realistic,” he said instead, looking away.
They walked aimlessly for a bit, content to observe the spectacle around them in silence. He realised they’d walked the length of the entire market, and were walking through the streets again, when Ghost broke the silence. “Have you had enough?” He asked quietly, not looking at him.
Soap’s chest felt tight, realising the night was drawing to a close. He didn’t want to force the other man to stay out just to prolong the inevitable though. He would have to be grateful for the nice night they’d had, even if they were only pretending to be together.
Why were we even still pretending, he thought glumly. We could’ve just come here normally.
“It’s getting late,” Soap said, steeling himself. The snow was falling slightly faster now, and he knew the walk to his apartment would be long and miserable.
He stopped walking, gently taking his hand back. Simon gazed at him, expression shuttered. Soap watched as snow drifted slowly onto his auburn hair, the light from the distant market reflecting back in his eyes with a soft, gold glow.
He knew with a melancholic sort of certainty that he’d never forget this night for the rest of his life.
“I really appreciate what you did,” he said, subdued. “It was ridiculous and stupid to bring you into that, and you really helped me out.”
“Of course,” Simon replied simply. He seemed stiff, his mind a million miles away.
Soap tried for a mischievous smile, and decided to hell with it. He’d already chiselled away at his own heart all night, and figured he might as well break it properly for good measure.
He rested his hand lightly on Simon’s limp arm, and leant up to his ear to quickly whisper, “Thank you, Simon.” As he pulled back, he pressed his lips quickly and carefully to his cheek, overwhelmed at the scent of him in his nose. Drawing away, he patted his arm casually, and said, “Just taking my reward.”
The sudden arm around his back blocked him from escape. Soap looked at him in alarm, and realised his frozen expression had thawed once more.
Simon closed his eyes tightly, before opening them again, eyes narrowing. He reached down and took his bloody knuckles in his hand, bringing them to his lips in a soft press.
Soap gaped at him, floored.
“I take my duties very seriously, Johnny,” he said solemnly, gazing up at him from under his light lashes. “I told you I’d do anything for you.”
“This isn’t funny, Simon,” he whispered incredulously. He tugged at his hand, chest tightening, but Ghost held fast. “It was hilarious, your whole act before, but it’s too much now - the joke's over.”
“Good thing I wasn’t joking, then.” He said lightly, a slight smirk on his lips. The flush to his cheeks softened the gravitas of his expression somewhat.
“Yer at it,” he hissed, wriggling erratically in his grip. “And all of that stuff before was not you at all.” Ghost released his arm from around him, but kept a hold of his damaged hand.
“How would you know,” he asked quietly, eyes dark and heated. “If I’d never showed you before?”
Unconvinced, Soap glared back, feeling oddly vulnerable. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”
Ghost looked at him faintly in disbelief. “Do you really think I would do all of this,” he said slowly. “Come all this way, and pretend to be someone’s husband, for anyone who asked? Me?” Frustrated, he nodded in the direction of the markets. “We had no audience watching for a long time there, Johnny. Who do you suppose that was for?”
That’s what I had been wondering, he thought. He merely stared back mutely, overwhelmed.
Soap’s thoughts turned inward, as he considered his words. He’d been so grateful that Ghost had bothered to even help him, marvelling at his overwhelming intensity, feeling so unsure as to why Ghost had seemed reluctant to put a stop to it. He’d tied his brain in knots trying to justify it in any way that meant it wasn’t real, but maybe the simple answer had been holding his hand the entire bloody time.
Even as he stood there thinking, Ghost waited patiently, quietly watching him and rubbing his sore knuckles. Soap stared at the motion, and considered all of his small gestures from earlier - his pointless, selfless, wonderful little acts, and wanted to kick himself.
You care so much, he realised with an ache, feeling the weight of his borrowed coat heavily on his shoulders. And I was too much of a numpty to put it together.
He could feel a ridiculous grin pulling at his face, and he laughed slightly in disbelief, shaking his head. Ghost simply watched him, eyes soft and fond.
“Have you figured it out the-”
Soap yanked him forward with his captured hand, amused at his startled huff, and pulled his head down with his other hand. He relished the surprised moan the other man let out as he pressed their lips together, laughing delightedly into his mouth.
Quickly recovering, Ghost took advantage of his parted lips to press his tongue boldly inside, sliding his free hand around his back and drawing him closer. Soap ran his hand up to the side of his jaw to his hair, brushing past his ear as he did. He noted the other man’s involuntary shiver with interest, and trailed his fingers over the shell of his ear again, feeling the hands on him grip harder.
Uncomfortably aware that they were getting carried away in a very public space, Soap gently pulled away, hand still cradling his face. He blinked, realising Ghost hadn’t released his hold of his other hand the entire time.
Soap took in the soft glaze over Ghost’s eyes with a smug sense of satisfaction.
“‘Course I couldn’t resist the idea of being yours for the night,” Ghost muttered suddenly, a bit breathlessly. “And you being mine. Got a bit carried away with it, but it’s all true.”
You’re a bit caught up on the married thing aren’t you? Soap thought, marvelling. He filed that thought away for later.
As was becoming a running theme with them, Ghost abruptly turned, using the hold on his hand to pull him into step with him.
“Where are you off to now,” he laughed slightly, feeling light as he allowed himself to be led.
“Back to mine,” He explained, short. Ghost’s dark, languid blink back at him made him swallow. “Want to take you to bed, and reward you properly.”
Soap tripped over his own feet in surprise, but as usual, Ghost was ever ready to catch him. Rather than release him immediately, he swarmed him up in a warm embrace, resting his nose against his hair.
“Well, Johnny?” He murmured. “Shall I take you home? You seem a bit unsteady on your feet again,” he snickered, rubbing his back warmly.
“You’re a bad man, Lt,” Soap groaned back, hiding his reddened face in his chest.
“Simon,” he corrected gently. “And you don’t know the half of it.”
++
As they turned onto his street, Soap was slightly out of breath, winded from Simon’s ridiculous pace. “Yer gonna tire me out,” he huffed, tightening his fingers slightly. “Before we even get there. What’s the bloody rush?”
Simon slowed, but looked perturbed, chewing at his cheek slightly. Are you always like this, he thought, astounded. Under that mask?
They walked up the front steps of his apartment, and Simon hurriedly turned the key on his lock. Pushing the door open, he pulled him inside, turning on a light as he did.
“Not enough time for what I want to do to you, love,” he finally explained with an aggravated sigh, dropping his keys on a side table.
Jesus. His jeans were becoming uncomfortably tight.
Before Soap had considered the implications of his words, he said, “There’s time tomorrow, isn’t there?”
Rather than look aghast at his presumption, Simon grinned a little madly, and crowded him suddenly against the front door. “Good thinking, Johnny.” He kissed him hotly on the mouth for a moment, before pulling back and hefting him bodily up into his arms.
Is this fucking bridal style? He thought, alarmed and affronted. Simon began trudging up the stairs, not at all bothered by the grown man he was hauling as he went.
“We’re not actually fucking married, you caveman,” he gasped, gripping his jumper slightly in fear the higher they went.
“Hmm,” Simon hummed absently. “Says who? The police seem to think we are.”
Soap bit out a disbelieving laugh. “Yer aff yer heid, Simon.”
Simon grinned back, unrepentant. He felt a surge of adoration at the unfamiliar sight, and couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to his jaw.
Mad man, he sighed internally.
Shouldering his way into the bedroom, Simon carried him inside, and Soap barely had time to get his bearings before he was being held above a large bed.
Bracing himself to be thrown, he was surprised as he was lowered gently, Simon’s smirking face looming in his vision as he went. He’d never been treated so delicately in his entire life, and he was oddly touched, unable to control the vicious flush that spread over his face in the wake of it.
Flat on his back, with his legs hanging off the sides, he blinked as Simon disappeared. A lamp was switched on, illuminating the space in a soft glow. There was a sudden pressure at his feet, a soft touch at his ankles, and his shoes were being gently pulled from his feet.
Raising himself up on his elbows, he watched as Simon reappeared again, immediately crawling over him and pressing him back down into the bed. Simon cradled his jaw and pressed their mouths together, legs resting on either side of his body as he leant into him. Between the borrowed coat on his back and the man himself on top of him, the scent of him was clouding his brain.
Soap moaned and ran his hands over his shoulders, tugging at his jumper ineffectually. Simon pulled away wetly, heaving slightly. “Impatient,” he whispered, before sitting up, resting his rear on Soap’s clothed cock with a smirk. Soap hissed slightly at the friction, and watched breathlessly as he leisurely divested himself of his jacket and jumper, chest exposed to his hungry eyes.
Simon leant back in as quickly as he’d left, and Soap ran his hands over his exposed skin, delighted. “I’ll fuck you properly tomorrow, since you volunteered yourself so kindly,” he promised, pressing soft kisses onto his face. “Don’t want to hurt you.”
Soap wasn’t even sure he’d mind too terribly if he did, but he sighed an, “Ok,” into his mouth as he brought their lips together again. He felt hands trailing his sides through the thin material of his shirt, bunching it up slightly as they passed. An arm abruptly reached around him, lifting him slightly so his shirt could be removed.
“Could’ve just asked,” Soap huffed, blinking as he was manhandled. He groaned as he watched Simon’s fingers unbutton his jeans, the bastard smirking slightly at the noise.
“Just unwrapping my present,” he said smugly, boldly grabbing his arse and raising his hips slightly, and pulling his jeans and underwear off in a flash. Soap gasped, the motion bobbing his hard cock against his stomach unexpectedly.
Naked on his back, he felt unbearably exposed, and fisted the soft coat beneath him, overcome. Simon ran his eyes slowly over every inch of his exposed cock, and he felt himself throb under his hungry scrutiny. A line of precum ran down his length, and he moaned softly at the sensation, watching as Simon’s eyes snapped to his.
“You’re ridiculous.” His eyes were wild, voice roughened as he sighed, “Haven’t even touched you properly, and you're ruined already.” He swept a hand teasingly across his stomach, careful to avoid his dripping cock. Soap’s abdomen jumped at the touch, and he tossed his head restlessly. Simon groaned a strained laugh, “Do I even need to?”
“You said you’d reward me.” Soap deepened his voice into a breathy timbre, fluttering his eyes cunningly up at him. “You just keep those eyes of yours on me and I can do the rest.”
Simon’s fracturing expression was everything he could’ve ever hoped for. The other man dipped his head away with a broken laugh, breathing unsteady. He looked up after a moment and sighed, trailing a hand down Soap’s cheek, dark eyes lidden as he observed him. Soap smiled dreamily back at him.
Simon slowly pulled himself off the bed, eyes still locked on him as he removed his own pants. Soap eyed his newly revealed cock with a delighted hum. Even in his most depraved fantasies, they didn’t come remotely close to the perfection of the real thing. He stared at his hefty thickness, the length of him leading up to a perfect bulbous tip, shiny with his desire, and he licked his lips instinctively.
Soap groaned at the bolt of want pooling in his spine, thudding his head on the bed roughly. “I changed my mind,” he said, turning to observe Simon’s approaching length with interest. He grabbed at his hand, pulling him closer. “Let me suck your cock, as my reward?” He pleaded, widening his eyes up at him.
“After,” Simon promised with an exasperated laugh, kissing his sternum sweetly. He glanced up at him in dark consideration, touching a finger to Soap’s closed lips gently. “Still hungry, love?”
“Hm,” he closed his lips around the pad of his finger suggestively, biting down slightly. “Aye, always,” he breathed, emphasising his accent boldly, observing his reaction as he did.
He watched Simon’s fluttering eyes with glee. You like that, do you Simon?
His overwhelming sense of self-satisfaction abandoned him though, when Simon abruptly pried his thighs apart, and leant down to lick a long, filthy stripe up his dripping cock. He gasped, staring wide eyed down at him, lips parted. He could see Simon’s smug smile where it wrapped deliciously around the side of his cock, and he sighed weakly.
Soap had no compunctions begging, not when he suspected the effect it would have on Simon. “Please Simon,” he said, flexing his hips slightly. “Don’t tease.” An arm pressed around his stomach, holding him down irresistibly, and Simon obeyed with a groan. Pressing his lips against his head, he slid himself slowly down his length, locking eyes with Soap as he did.
“Oh,” Soap said weakly, eyes rolling back. He was pressed tight to the bed, helpless to do anything but savour the hot, wet pulls running slowly up and down his cock. He felt his tongue fluttering along the underside, catching his leaking desire, and teasing the sensitive tip ruthlessly. He felt a soft touch to his balls, and he groaned as they were manipulated deftly, so close already.
Fisting the coat beneath him, he gasped suddenly in realisation, raising himself up at the torso. “Wait,” he stuttered, moaning in surprise as Simon pulled off with a slow, lucious pull. “Have to move yer coat, gonna ruin it otherwise.”
Simon’s eyes darkened at that. “Good, ruin it,” he growled, pushing him back down. “Want you to come wrapped up in my things, love.”
“Jesus, you’re deranged,” Soap said, overwhelmed and adoring. The other man just smiled wickedly, descending on his cock once more.
Watching his soft, dangerous eyes staring back at him, while he lovingly and mercilessly sucked his cock was so intimate it was almost unbearable. His senses were on fire, and he arched his back, overwhelmed at the sensation of fabric brushing his oversensitive skin. Simon was still watching him, eyes half lidded as he hummed around his cock, pace quickening slightly, but still torturously slow.
Soap trailed his hand until it reached the arm locked around his middle, and wrapped his hand loosely around the wrist holding him down. He blinked down at him, gasping desperately.
“Simon,” he pleaded, overwhelmed and not even sure what he was asking for anymore.
Simon seemed to know, though, as he increased his pace, twisting his tongue relentlessly against his sensitive glands. He hummed, the slide filthy and wet as he worked him with a single-minded purpose. It was his eyes though, crinkling at him in dark delight that unravelled him in the end.
Moaning incoherently, he arched his back as much as he could under his hold, thighs held wide as he pulsed irresistibly into Simon’s hungry mouth. His vision seemed to double, and he shuddered through every pulse, whimpering as he was drained for all he was worth.
Boneless, he sank into the coat, sweating skin sticking unpleasantly to it as he did. The pressure on his stomach abated, and he could only watch sleepily as Simon crawled up his body, eyes soft as he cradled his cheek.
He pressed his lips sweetly to him, and Soap sighed, parting his lips slightly. He jolted, unprepared for the warmth of his own release as Simon sinfully shared his spend, using his tongue to inexorably sweep every drop inside. He moaned, swallowing instinctively, and Simon hummed in satisfaction, stroking his sweaty cheek. Soap pressed his own tongue past Simon’s lips, chasing for more, and the other man laughed.
“Filthy, hungry, perfect thing,” Simon said, swiping his tongue wetly across Soap’s parted lips. “Planned to do that since the market,” he admitted softly. “You looked obscene, licking up all of that honey, but I knew you’d taste sweeter, Johnny.”
His own flavour was certainly not sweeter than honey, but the obscenities pouring out of Simon definitely were.
“Out of your mind,” Soap breathed, running a hand over his shoulder. “Could’ve warned me.”
“I did,” he murmured, nosing his cheek. “I asked if you were hungry.”
Soap groaned, resting an arm across his forehead. Bad, bad man.
Despite the syruppy, heady buzz fogging up his mind, he was still determined to get his hands on Simon properly. It would only be fair to bring him down to Earth again - he was becoming far too self satisfied for his own good.
He wrapped a hand behind his neck, pulling him in for a soft kiss. Trailing his ear lightly, he smiled slightly at the pleased groan coming from his mouth, sucking his lip slightly. Releasing his ear, he reached down and wrapped a hand around his length, grinning at the surprised sigh Simon let out.
Soap smoothly gripped his cock, oscillating in a firm glide, pulling back to watch Simon’s dazed expression as he did. He affected a guileless expression, and whispered, “I haven’t been a very attentive spouse.” Simon gasped, his cock jerking in his hand, and he rubbed a thumb soothingly over the head. “Are you hungry too, Simon?”
Soap pushed himself up and pressed him down until he was pressed flat onto his filthy coat, staring reverently up at him. Simon cradled his free hand, bringing it to his lips sweetly, and whispered, “I’ll take whatever you give me, Johnny.”
“That’s good, since it’s my reward,” Soap said huskily, running his hand down his length slowly. He leant down and pressed a wet, opened mouth kiss to his tip, running his mouth leisurely up and down the side of his cock. “I won’t be sharing. But I’m sure you’ll enjoy making a mess of me anyway.” Simon groaned brokenly, and he smiled.
Soap delighted in the hefty weight of him against his mouth, breathing him in idly as he teasingly explored him, tracing a prominent vein with the point of his tongue. Humming, he happily lapped at the steady pooling of precum at his round tip, softly wrapping his lips around his head but going no further. He stroked the rest of his length, sucking wetly at the top, wickedly locking eyes with Simon as he savoured him.
Simon’s chest was already heaving, eyes stormy as he watched Soap’s torturous, sucking mouth. He revelled in the choked off groan Simon let out as he finally let him slip further inside, feeling a hand run through his hair messily. “Johnny,” he said, mindlessly, threading his fingers through his locks. “Johnny.”
Breathing steadily through his nose, Soap’s eyes drifted shut, the musky scent of him clouding his senses. Undulating his tongue softly, he pressed further down, marvelling at the size of him, feeling a delicious twitch in his own roused cock at the pressure.
Fuck, he thought, somewhat dreamily as Simon’s thickness stretched his lips. It just keeps going.
This was a particular act Soap had always been rather good at, and he was overjoyed that Simon seemed to be in possession of a perfect specimen to play with.
Determined to fit the entire length in, he tilted his head forward, and bore down steadily, moaning when his bulbous head brushed the soft skin at the back of his throat. He swallowed deliberately, suppressing the urge to choke, and grasped a soft hand over his testicles for good measure.
The sudden harsh grip in his hair, and the surprised ‘Fuck! ’ from Simon was music to his ears.
Well worth it, he thought dreamily, treasuring the frantic thumps of Simon’s heart pulsing through his cock from where it pressed against his tongue.
Sliding experimentally back up, he replaced his mouth with his hand, not leaving an inch of him unstimulated as he moved. He repeated the motion several times, moving at an excruciating pace as he adjusted to the stretch, enjoying Simon’s garbled pleas as a result of his attentions.
When he was confident he could take him consistently without hurting himself, Soap increased his pace, slowly and steadily. He alternated between taking long pulls of his entire cock, choking deliberately on his tip to cause Simon to buck into him, and pulling almost entirely off to suck relentlessly on his weeping glands.
Simon’s hips were rocking upwards minutely, the grip on his hair tightening and loosening intermittently, as he tried to keep control of himself.
Feeling his own cock thickening in sympathy, Soap spread his legs, pressing his hips into his sheets decadently to relieve the tension as he sucked. Simon noticed the movement with a pleased groan, and gently pulled him up and off his cock by the hair. Soap refused to be fully removed from his prize, and mouthed at his head while Simon laughed brokenly, “Are you already hard again, love.” His eyes darted over him wildly, as he stroked his sweaty temples lightly. “You really enjoy this, don’t you.”
Told you it was my reward , he thought smugly, an embarrassed flush heating his cheeks. Being seen so clearly was somehow more mortifying than any of his many lascivious overtures.
“Gone shy on me again, Johnny?” Simon exhaled, looking unbearably fond. I’ll show you shy, you cheeky bastard.
Soap pulled off his head with a lewd pop. “Haud yer wheesht.”
Simon’s eyes darkened, lips parting in a soft breath. “English, John-.”
Soap slid his entire length back in, hitting his throat and smoothly sliding out, fluttering his tongue on the upstroke. No longer interested in drawing this out, he set a relentless, brutal pace, gripping his tensed thighs in a hard grip, moaning wantonly at the sounds he elicited.
Although he’d never witnessed Simon come apart before, he could tell from his twitching hips and tensing stomach that he was close. The broken, deep moans he seemed helpless to stop were becoming more frequent, his eyes dark and wild.
Just as he slid his mouth down, awaiting the rush of Simon’s release, he was quickly drawn up and off of his length. His cock bobbed heavily against his stomach, looking angry and painfully close, but he did not come.
Simon’s desperate hands grabbed at him, and pulled him until they were flipped once more. Soap glared up at him in outrage from his back. “Oi,” he griped, feeling oddly bereft. “What happened to my reward?”
“Consider this my second contribution - since you're so ready for me again,” Simon said laughingly, as he parted Soap’s thighs. “But I’ll come in your filthy mouth soon, love.”
Ah sweet Jesus, he thumped his head back, flushed.
All protests were silenced temporarily, as Simon sucked on his own fingers wetly, and gently pressed against his back entrance. Oh.
“Thought you weren’t gonna fuck me tonight,” Soap breathed, feeling his cock twitch in interest.
“Tomorrow,” he agreed, slowly sliding a finger in. He leant down and unceremoniously slid his cock inside his mouth, twisting his finger softly, and Soap gasped. He was still overly sensitive, despite his renewed hardness, and the conflicting pleasure and pain was agonising.
Simon slipped in more fingers as he took leisurely pulls on is cock, doggedly searching for his prostate all the while. When he finally found it, Soap couldn’t hold in the pained whimper he let out, feeling sweat pool at his temples.
“Simon, I don’t think I can,” he groaned, toes curling as he writhed, trying to chase and escape the feeling simultaneously. “Please, it’s too soon, too much.”
“You can,” Simon insisted gently as he spoke against his cock, pressing gently against his prostate again. He could sense he was weeping copiously, a fire building in his abdomen. “You will, if you want me to fuck that mouth of yours.”
His sudden orgasm was a deeply violent, almost painful crash, wave after wave of a choking black pleasure rolling over him. He could distantly hear Simon murmuring, a hand gently stroking him through every jarring wave.
“You’re perfect, Johnny” Simon was whispering, face suddenly much closer to his ear.
Soap blinked weakly up at Simon’s fragile expression, musing at the intensity of it, and decided he was long overdue his reward.
He reached a tired hand up to Simon’s cheek, and said, “Did you forget your vow to me, Simon?” He watched the stunned expression form on his face with secret glee.
Still obsessed with the husband thing.
“You’ve worn me out now,” he chided, deliberately leveraging his accent to evoke a reaction, and the slight slackening of Simon’s mouth told him he’d succeeded. Soap gently grasped the wet hand still on his softening cock, and directed it to Simon’s swollen length, guiding him to wrap his own hand around himself. “You’ll have to do most of the work now.”
Simon’s eyes fluttered as he immediately obeyed, sitting upright as he stroked himself, the filthy mix of Soap’s spend and his own desire facilitating a loud, slick glide. Soap grabbed at his free hand, and mirrored Simon’s own signature move, stroking his hand softly as he watched.
“I’ve dreamt of this so much,” he admitted, watching the motion of Simon’s hand as though hypnotised. “I always wondered what your cock looked like, how you’d taste, what sounds you’d make. The real thing is so much better than I imagined,” he breathed dreamily. Simon was gaping, staring wide eyed at every word. “I used to have dreams even when we first met, of you whisking me away and fucking me in some dark corner on base, in all of that bloody get up,” he laughed huskily.
“Christ,” Simon gasped hopelessly, hand slowing as he paused to breathe, gripping Soap’s hand back tightly. “Johnny.” He slowly resumed his pace, expression fracturing with every stroke.
Soap was unrelenting, watching every word hit him almost like a physical blow. “You were always a lot rougher and uncaring, when you fucked me in my dreams.” He laughed lightly, “I never imagined that this is what you were really like, though.” He smiled sweetly, stroking his hand still.
“And what am I like then, Johnny?” he gasped, leaning forward desperately, fisting his slicked cock at a brutal pace. Soap went to lift his head from the pillow, watching his approach, but Simon released his hand and gently pressed him back down, cradling his jaw.
“You’re my sweet, deranged madman, aren’t you Simon?” Soap purred, watching as his hand slowed to longer, luxurious pulls, the smell of him filling his nose. Simon laughed brokenly, gently massaging his jaw in silent direction
Soap wordlessly parted his lips, moaning when Simon slid his perfect cock straight onto his tongue, the taste of both of them heavy in his mouth. He slid forward and backwards in several smooth glides, eyes on Soap’s watering ones, before his own rolled back with a choked off moan.
Simon pulled back slightly, deliberately resting his pulsing head on his tongue, stroking his head gently as he flooded his mouth. He gently fucked his mouth through his climax, stroking his hair and cheeks as he sighed his way through it. He finally pulled out with a groan, shivering when Soap swallowed, and leant down immediately to lick the excess from his lips.
Filthy bastard.
“God yer absolutely mad,” Soap laughed, as Simon pressed lazy, opened mouth kisses down his face, the other man smiling at the noise.
“I love you,” Simon sighed in response, kissing his lips chastely once more.
Soap spluttered, blinking in astonishment. “What?”
Simon fell into place beside him, wrapping a naked leg around one of his, and leant on an elbow. “I said, I love you, Johnny,” he said simply, kissing his shoulder and collarbones sweetly. “Have for a while, obviously.”
It shouldn't have been such a surprise, after everything they’d shared, but somehow he was blindsided anyway.
I didn’t think we’d ever get this far, he thought, blinking furiously. Let alone you ever caring about me.
Simon trailed his face, eyes soft and worried. Soap blinked, and his eyes were wet.
Ah, that’s embarrassing. He thought, averting his eyes in mortification. Crying after sex.
A hand pulled his face back, and Simon sighed. “Alright, love?” The hand on his face smoothed over his cheek soothingly.
The endearment made him squeeze his eyes tightly, a laughing breath shuddering out of him. “You are a bloody menace,” Soap sniffed, leaning over to kiss him softly, gripping his shoulder loosely. “‘Course I love you, too.” He admitted wetly.
Simon’s small, brilliant smile was enough to soothe his frayed, doubting heart almost immediately. He smiled back dumbly, aware that the expression on his face was horrifically open and vulnerable, but too blissed out to care.
The other man suddenly looked sly, grasping his left hand, and Soap’s eyes widened in sudden realisation. Simon opened his mouth, but Soap cut him off.
“You’re not bloody asking me to marry you.” He laughed, slightly hysterical, swatting at him. The frown on Simon’s face confirmed his suspicions neatly. “That’s too many milestones in one night, Simon - you bloody madman.”
Simon’s withering pout was too much for him to handle, and Soap pressed him down, attacking his sullen face with sweet, laughing kisses.