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Soap had miscalculated and now Johnny was paying the price.
Soap, in all his infinite fucking wisdom, had suggested the stupid idiotic moronic cover story and, now, Johnny was sat on a barstool in a grimy underground bar that was simultaneously too loud to think and too quiet to think of anything but the glint of Simon’s teeth in the purple neon as he laughed darkly at something Johnny had stammered his way through.
So, Johnny was fucked.
And it was all his own Goddammed fault.
***************
It had seemed clever at the time.
Price had stomped into the meeting room seven and a half minutes late with a barely disguised limp—a blushing Gaz and gleeful Nik in tow—and slammed a dossier in front of Ghost and Soap.
“We have a lead,” Price had glowered, somehow managing to stare the pair down without actually being able to meet their eyes.
“I’m sure you do,” Soap smirked, just quiet enough for Price to ignore him and loud enough for Ghost to choke on a gravel encrusted chuckle.
The brief was simple. Go in, confirm the target was actually there, leave. Simple. So fucking simple… it set Soap’s teeth on edge.
“What’s the play?” Ghost asked, gloved fingers slowly running up and down the edge of a sheet of paper. If it weren’t for the gloves, Soap was sure he’d draw blood. He refused the think about why that splashed liquid gold into his gut. “I doubt we have time to get a job behind the bar?”
Soap looked down at the photo of the ‘bar’. And if it was a bar it was a fucking low bar. The picture seemed to suck any glimmer or glamour from the pitiful underground club and Soap could already feel his heels sticking to the grime-thick floor. “We could always be punters.”
Gaz grimaced and Soap stifled a smirk. He knew he was unsuccessful when Gaz shot him a murderous look. “I’m not pretending to be a stripper again.”
Nik’s head snapped up loud enough for the echo a crack around Price’s dim office. “I—I am sorry I missed it.”
“I’m sure you’ve seen it all before.” Price muttered, rubbing his temples with enough force it seemed that the Captain wanted to physically pluck the memory of this conversation from his mind before it festered. “No, we don’t have time to infiltrate fully. I say we go in, grab a few beers, maybe gamble. Do as the criminals do.” He spread his huge palms out in front of himself with a faux-magnanimous flourish.
“Russians?” Nik asked, peering over Gaz’s shoulder and nodding towards a stack of roubles behind the bar. His hand slotted over Gaz’s waist gently. Like it belonged there. Maybe it did.
Price cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not coming. You’re not even supposed to see this. It’s classified.”
Nik held his free hand up with a deep rich chuckle. “Apologies, родной. I over stay my welcome.”
“It’s not in Russia,” Price said, folding his arms and watching Nik meet his eyes carefully. “We believe they’ve been working with organised crime units from across the world. The Russians will be gone by the time we arrive.”
“See.” Nik smirked, but his eyes were cold. “I knew I was not useful.” His hand patted Gaz’s waist, twice. Price watched movement with a clenched jaw.
“You’re gonna give us a lift though, right?” Soap asked, lightness forced as he glanced between the triad.
“We’ll need the best pilot this side of the Dead sea to stand a chance.” Ghost offered, dropping the paper he’d been caressing to flip through the surveillance photos. If Soap didn’t know him well enough, he’d have guessed that Ghost had just overlooked the tension simmering in the room. But Soap knew him better. And he caught the cold glare Ghost pinned Price with, as if daring him to argue.
Nik waited for a long moment before shrugging with a fond chuckle. “And who do you know on the other side of the Blackness?”
Soap grinned, all teeth and charisma. “I’d never give up a source, old man.”
“That’s settled then,” Gaz said, tone flat and bored. “Nik flies us in then we have a nice cold pint and wait for this to all blow over.”
“How’s that for a slice of fried gold?” Ghost finished with a slow drawl.
“Now you are all talking Russian,” Nik grumbled with a shake of his head.
Soap chewed his lip for a moment. “We’ll need cover stories.”
“What did you have in mind?” Price sighed, finally relinquishing the phantom control he’d been pretending to hold over the operation.
“Gaz should dance—not as a stripper.” Soap added when Gaz’s ears turned red. “Just on the floor, it’ll give us a better view of the exits. Cut off any ambushes.”
Ghost nodded, thoughtfully, and surveyed the buildings blueprints. “The dirty old man can sit in the corner.” He added, pointing to a shadowy section near the far side. It was the most protected visually but if shit went sideways, it was as good as being caged.
“That you or Price?” Soap said, turning a predatory grin to Ghost’s blank skull mask. But the liquid ambrosia eyes beneath were crinkled with mirth.
“I’m still here,” Price muttered, defeated. “And I’m still your superior.”
Soap stifled the ‘I’m sure you’re on top, sir’ comment with a choked splutter. He jabbed a finger at the bar before meeting Ghost’s eyes again—but only after regaining some semblance of control over his smirk. “How about we get that drink after all? A nice whiskey?”
“Bourbon.” Ghost corrected, out of habit more than anything else.
“I could always ask for a cup of tea?” Soap offered, ducking his head when Ghost’s eyes turned sharp.
“I’d have to go in unmasked. Might put you off your drink?” It wasn’t supposed to be a question; Soap was sure of that. But Ghost’s eyes flicked away just long enough for Soap to hear the insecurity burrowed like mites into Ghost’s mind.
“You’ll fit right in,” Gaz noted, not unkindly. “If anyone’s gonna stare at you, it won’t be them.” He nodded to the photo of the bar’s illustrious heavily-scarred clientele.
It was a rude mean cruel thing to say.
And it settled Ghost quicker than any platitude could have.
“Right,” Price clapped his hands together and glanced around the room. “We leave in the morning. Oh-six-hundred. Pack your finest debauchery.”
“And sharpest knives.” Ghost added to himself with a bloodthirsty glee that had no right to set Soap’s pulse hummingbird fast in his jugular. No right at all.
But Ghost’s eyes flicked to his throat all the same and Soap hoped he hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew.
*************
Soap caught Gaz the next morning in his room, bag half packed. He was stood watching, unseeing, out of the window; teeth nipped at the tender skin of his thumb.
With a careful hand, Soap tugged the digit out of Gaz’s mouth.
“Don’t.” Gaz whispered, like a plead, prayer, and promise all at once.
Soap nodded. “You ready to go?” He asked instead.
“It’s Nik’s fault.” Gaz answered the question that Soap hadn’t asked. The question that Soap knew Gaz was going to answer anyway.
Soap shrugged and sat on the window sill. If he turned his head, he could force Gaz to meet his eyes. Instead he just folded his arms and looked into Gaz’s unusually messy room. “Is it?”
“Not really,” Gaz sighed. “It’s Price.”
Soap hummed, eyes floating around the room as he let Gaz stumble towards his point.
“It’s me,” Gaz settled on with a crack.
Soap kept waiting.
He let the silence slide into an uncomfortable fizz before it flattened back into fond safety.
Gaz chewed his lip before he spoke, softly. “Nik said something.”
“He does do that,” Soap offered, more to let Gaz know he hadn’t fallen asleep than to actually say anything.
Gaz huffed a laugh regardless and bumped their shoulders together. “I thought… I thought I knew what I was doing.”
Soap hesitated.
Because Gaz did know what he was doing.
Or—
He had to know.
Because he was the only one of them who did.
Nik was an ex-Russian pilot who laughed through bullet wounds and had once told Soap that he didn’t remember how old he was. He’d said with vodka on his breath and blood in his teeth that he’d stopped counting after thirty-something. That every day was borrowed. Every day lived was a debt he was sure he would have to pay. Soap still had nightmares about that conversation sometimes. At the look in the Russian’s eye. The one he knew all too well.
Price was rough-hewn from iron and drenched in salt from a dark depthless ocean. He was cruel, in his way. Ruthless. And he never looked more lost than when someone touched him and it didn’t hurt.
Ghost was legally dead and haunted just the same. He was fire and ice and he hurt to look at. Like looking at the fucking sun. Or plunging into a frozen lake and not even trying to swim for a surface you couldn’t see.
And Soap was… well. Soap was Soap. And that was enough of a problem to over shadow the traumatised pyromaniacal ex-catholic boy who wanted his Lieutenant with enough hell fire it made him crave confession. Or crucifixion.
Gaz had to have his shit together.
Because if he was as broken as the rest of them…
Soap shuddered.
Gaz ploughed on, fingers pale from the knot of a fist he’d twisted them into. “Nik and Price are together.”
“Okay?” Soap offered when Gaz seemed to think that explained enough.
“It’s them two.” He said, making less sense than before. “They’re in love.”
Soap’s eyebrows shot up. The ‘L’ word was a curse so potent he couldn’t even say it in his own mind. “Oh?”
“I’m just…” Gaz shook his head, slowly.
“Oh,” Soap sighed, sadly. “Mate, I—I think you might be in that. And if you’re…. if you don’t feel… that… then—”
“I love them too,” Gaz snapped, anger shocking Soap enough to make him hold his hands up placatingly.
“Right… and that’s… bad?” Soap hedged.
“Obviously!” Gaz yelled, hands thrown in the air.
Soap nodded, quickly. “Yeah, obviously. Yeah. Totally obvious.” He chuckled before frowning softly. “And if… if it wasn’t… obvious…”
Gaz sighed and finally met Soap’s eyes. It was a relief to see frustration winning over the sorrow still clinging to his lash line. “I love them and they love each other.” Gaz said like it made perfect sense. Soap gave him a confused look and Gaz rolled his eyes. “They love each other. Not me.”
Soap’s mouth dropped open before he closed it slowly to give Gaz a chastising look. “And they said that?”
“Nik was…” Gaz chewed his lip. “We were… you know?”
“You can say that you love them but not that you were fucking?” Soap pinned Gaz with a lazily cocked eyebrow when he just flushed beetroot.
“I—fine. We were fucking and then we got done fucking and I had to go to the bathroom because… you know?” Gaz gestured to himself vaguely.
“Cum’s gross when it gets cold.” Soap nodded sagely.
“Yeah.” Gaz sighed, despondently. “So… off I go and then Nik says…”
Gaz’s lower lip clamped between his teeth nervously and Soap could practically smell blood already.
“Nik said ‘you must be getting tired of the spare’.” Gaz whispered.
“What did Price say?” Soap heard himself snarled, hackles raised and blood boiling.
Gaz shot him an embarrassed grimace. “He didn’t get a chance to say anything. I was… I was shocked, okay? And kinda of hurt.” Gaz huffed out a derisive snort when Soap made a disbelieving noise in his throat. “I was very hurt. And I’d been… I broke the sink.”
“Sorry?”
“I ripped the basin off the wall and it shattered on the floor.” Gaz admitted, eyes closed as if he could picture the firing squad. His eyes flew open when Soap started cackling. “It’s not funny!”
“It’s kinda funny.” Soap tried to get out in between gasped breaths as he clutched his ribs. “You had ‘A Feeling’ and turned into the hulk.”
Gaz snorted out of his noise and that was all it took for Soap to dissolve into full tears as his laughter ricochet around the room.
It felt good.
To physically feel Gaz relax a little.
To watch the weight of it slip from his shoulders for a moment.
But then the laughter petered out.
And Gaz gripped Soap’s shoulder gently. “Thanks. I know you’ve got your own shit going on and—”
“My own shit?” Soap asked with a bemused tilt of his head.
“With Ghost?” Gaz clarified, like Soap was the idiot.
And Soap took it back.
Gaz was a dick.
“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Soap sniffed, jutting his chin out like it could shield his pride.
Gaz smirked, too fond for Soap’s delicate pride. “Oh really? So you’re fully prepared for Ghost to wander over to you in a bar, wearing his best slutty mob boss outfit, and buy you a drink?”
Soap’s eyes widened. “Shit. Oh…. Shit. Shit! Fuck. Fucking shitting shitting fuck.” Soap felt ice slither across his nerves and turned to Gaz. “Swap with me.”
“You’d rather watch Ghost flirt with me?” Gaz gave Soap a lazily cocked eyebrow to rival Soap’s own.
“No.” Soap admitted, bitterly. That would be… that would be so much fucking worse. “I’m so fucked. He can’t know that I… you know?”
Gaz nodded, strangely solemn. Like he did know. Like he understood and wished he didn’t. “Just remember the mission, yeah? Don’t focus on him. Keep your head and you’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I—I can do that.” Soap lied.
Luckily, Gaz didn’t call him on it.
Instead, Soap ran off to pick a different shirt. A pale blue silky one that clung to his biceps and showed off his hairy chest.
He was fucked.
And it was all his fucking fault.
*****************
The bar was simultaneously better and worse than Soap had imagined.
It was markedly cleaner. Almost like someone had needed to scrub the countertops with bleach to get rid of the liquor stains. Or blood. Probably blood.
It was also packed.
Heaving.
Abso-fucking-lutely chocka-block.
Soap had to push past the writhing mass of bodies on the dancefloor towards the bar. Two people grabbed his arse and he was sure he saw the tell-tale glint of Gaz’s canine before he felt a hand slide over the swell of his pec.
Price was already in the corner somewhere, nursing a bottle of piss-coloured lager and muttering into their shared comms line. “Head to the bar, Soap. Far right, by the wall. Keep your back covered.”
“’Sn’t my back I’m worried about.” Soap muttered, smiling ruefully at a pretty twenty-something blonde woman who had somehow already managed to undo his jean button.
“Need a hand, Johnny.” Ghost practically purred over the open line and Soap felt his dick twitch as he fasted his fly back up.
He’d very very much like a hand from Ghost right now.
Maybe in the bathroom.
He’d prefer a mouth from him though.
“Nah, you should see Glasgow nightclubs on Hogmanay. This is nothing.” Soap deflected as he finally sat on a too new bar stool. He shuffled until his back was against the wall and his right arm was resting on the sleek marble bar.
He managed to flag the bartender down with minimal difficulty. Although the guys eyes were glue to the fur covering his pecs; he’d decided to only do up two buttons of his shirt and they were closer to his navel than his clavicle.
Eventually, a frosted bottle of the same poor excuse for lager that Price was complaining his way through appeared in front of him.
It might have been weaker than Graves on leg day but it gave him something to do with his hands as he scanned the crowd for their mark.
Stavros Galanis. A Greek slum lord who’d been seen with Makarov’s right-hand man, Nolan. A piece of work and a nice piece of ass that Soap was sure would look more at home on the cover of GQ than cutting drug deals.
But then Soap saw Gaz writhing against the most beautiful woman Soap had ever seen—besides Farah, of course—and he realised that Stavros would be harder to pick out than previously anticipated.
“See something you like,” a voice, deeper than desire and sharper than steel, rumbled into the shell of Johnny’s ear.
He turned slightly to say… something to Ghost.
But then Johnny actually saw Simon and the noise he made was much less dignified than intended.
Simon looked…
Johnny had been to church since he was a kid.
He’d taken communion.
He’d breathed in the incense and sang the songs.
He’d seen enough of God to know divinity when he saw it.
Simon’s short blonde curls were a halo atop his crown. Deep burgundy—holy shit, see-through-- fabric clung to his chest and shimmered under the neon lights.
But Johnny could only look at his lips.
Kinked to one side by a deep scar that exposed a sharp golden canine tooth.
Johnny could feel it against his tongue already.
The crinkles at Simon’s eyes faltered, humour turning self-conscious. “You need to barf?”
Johnny shook his head, words still clogging his throat. Words or love. Or both.
The bar man was already in front of them, eyes greedy as the roved across the oil slick fabric the tugged every time Simon’s bicep flexed.
“I didn’t order this.” Simon said in reply to the vodka-on-the-rocks that slid towards him.
“Consider it a freebie, big boy.” The bar tender winked.
Simon’s eyebrows shot up and his soft pink lips parted just slightly.
Johnny had to clench his fist to stop frons hovering two fingers against the deep red sheen of Simon’s tongue and showing the bartender who the fuck he belonged to.
“Flirt back,” Price growled, like he was trying to solve a frustrating crossword. Johnny shifted his hips to try to hide how tight his stupid jeans had grown.
Then, the strangest thing happened.
Simon did.
His eyes darkened as his gaze darted to the bartender’s lips. His huge biceps bulged as he leaned forwards slightly. “Everything you make taste this good?”
Johnny’s mouth went dry.
The bartender said something smarmy back, or Johnny assumed he did because he couldn’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears.
Simon laughed, head thrown back and corded muscle of his neck on display.
Johnny’s hand shook slightly as he reached for his bottle; a huge thick hand closed over his wrist and he blinked to see Simon watching him expectantly. “Uh, yeah.” He agreed to whatever Simon had apparently asked him. Would always agree if Simon was the one asking.
Simon’s other hand slipped onto Johnny’s thigh as he leaned in close.
The bartender stole a glance of Simon’s ass before the call of potential tips became too great and he disappeared to serve more customers.
Simon ducked to the side and his lips brushed Johnny’s ear as he spoke. “You solid?” His voice was gentle. All false bravado long gone. Just sweetness remained and Johnny pulled back to flash him a bright cocky grin he knew didn’t reach his eyes.
“Course, just didnae wanna blow ya cover,” his voice was too hoarse. He knew it the second Simon’s eyebrows pinched in the middle. Like he was solving a Rubik’s cube that had too many of the same colour. And Johnny couldn’t fuck the mission up this soon. He couldn’t. So, he slid a hand up Simon’s chest and glanced over his shoulder to the crowd. “I haven’t seen the guy yet. But night’s still young.”
Simon’s jaw flexed, pale silver scar jumping with the motion and oh-so-close to Johnny’s lips.
“Could be another hour or two,” Price grumbled from which ever dark corner he’d settled. “Gaz?”
“Fuck yeah.” Gaz gasped from the middle of the crowd and Johnny heard a glass shatter from the aforementioned dark corner.
Simon chuckled, the sound molten molasses through Soap’s gut. “I think Gaz’s okay with staying a little longer, sir.”
The answering silence was answer enough.
Two glasses of deep amber appeared by Soap’s elbow.
“I’d be okay just watching,” the bartender shrugged, easily.
Simon smiled, wide and pointed. “I don’t share well.”
The neon glinted in his eyes and Johnny forced a choked-out moan through his teeth.
The bar was loud enough that it should have been lost but Simon’s turned to drag his eyes over Johnny’s lips regardless.
Johnny just pinned the bartender with a smug smirk as he pushed a hand up the tight fabric covering Simon’s thigh to rest his thumb an inch shy of Simon’s groin. “He’s got my name tattooed at the base. Think it’s safe to say you ain’t winning this one.”
“Shit,” Simon grunted, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
The bartender grinned, wide and a little manic. “Oh, I’d be happy to lose. Maybe you could teach me a lesson. Choke me a little?”
Simon just grabbed Johnny chin and turned his head until he forced their eyes to meet. His thumb was so gentle as it brushed over the swell of Johnny’s lower lip.
The bartender sauntered away, once again pulled by the increasingly thick wads of cash waved his way.
“He’s gone,” Johnny whispered, breathlessly.
“Is he?” Simon asked, voice gravel as his finger tightened on Johnny’s jaw. Possessively. “You’re sure?”
Johnny could see, without a doubt, that the bartender was at the other end of the counter. He was making a cocktail that seemed endlessly complicated and it was demanding his full undivided attention.
“No,” Johnny lied. “’not sure. Could still be—” He swallowed, adam’s apple bouncing against Simon’s palm. “—could be watching.”
Simon’s shifted his hips, slightly. It pushed Johnny’s palm impossibly higher on his thigh. “Don’t wanna blow our cover.”
Johnny dragged his eyes off Simon’s shining lower lip and met his eyes.
It was a mistake. Simon’s pupils were blown wide. He looked like he did just before he killed someone. Single minded and possessive.
“Fuck,” Johnny muttered, pushing into Simon’s grip to close the gap between then as he slid his palm to cover the hard-hot length of Simon’s cock.
“I’ve got eyes on Stavros,” Price grunted.
They both froze, lips millimetres apart and alcohol breath dancing across plump shining lips.
“Shit, he’s—I need back-up,” Price said, clearly moving through the crowd. And moving at pace. “Gaz?”
Simon’s hips pushed into Johnny’s hand slightly. Like he couldn’t help himself. Like he needed pressure and it needed to be from Johnny. His eyelashes fluttered slightly at the movement and Johnny felt his own dick dribble precum into his jeans.
“I—hey, woah—stop—I—get off me—” Gaz muttered, words panicked.
And that got them both moving. Soap’s head snapped around the dancefloor, eyes wide and searching for Gaz.
“Get Gaz, I’ll follow Price.” Ghost growled, dangerously, already striding towards the shape of Price disappearing through a doorway across the bar.
Soap was also half-way across the room, if in the other direction. “Hey, Nik? I know you’re listening in and—”
“Excuse me,” Nik’s voice purred over the line and Soap turned to see the Russian in the entryway, every tooth visible in a hungry smile. “That’s my lover, where do you think you’re taking him?”
The guy who had been trying to drag Gaz towards the exit was clearly A Bad Guy TM. And if it hadn’t been obvious before, when he shoved Gaz to the side and grabbed for a pistol, it became abundantly clear.
Soap reached out and yanked Gaz out of the way. They both hit the floor with a grunt and turned with wide eyes towards their assailant just in time to—
Just in time to see Nik grab the guys throat and slam their foreheads together.
The guy crumpled. Dead.
Nik just turned with a bloody toothy grin and threw his hands out. “That was very impressive of me.”
Soap laughed; the sound punched out of him by the absurdity of it all. “Yeah, mate. It really was.”
“Now, do I need to save my other lover?” Nik asked, joyfully.
“No,” Price growled, coming to a stop at the edge of their little group.
Stavros was slurring swear words in Greek through a broken noise and three missing teeth.
“Where’s--?” Johnny asked, eyes searching the crowd.
A hand slid under his shoulder and hauled him to his feet. “Right here, Johnny.” Simon muttered, arm holding Johnny a little too close.
Johnny didn’t move away. “What happened to ‘do not engage’?”
Price smiled, fond and wild-eyed. “I’m allowed to break a few rules every now and then. I’ve earned it.”
*************************
Nik had flown them all home.
And Simon had sat on the opposite side of the chopper to Johnny.
And Johnny was trying really hard to not let it hurt his feelings.
He was failing.
Spectacularly.
“It was all for the mission, Gaz,” Soap growled, eyes following the ball he was tossing up and down as he lay on his friend’s bed. “I told ya, meant nothing to him.”
“To him?” Gaz noted, voice soft as he folded his laundry. It was more Price and Nik’s clothes than Gaz’s but Soap was being charitable and not mentioning it. “But it meant something to you?”
Fuck being charitable.
“You fucking the old men again?” Soap grunted, catching the ball and gesturing to Price’s long sleeve t-shirt currently half-folded in Gaz’s hands.
“Yeah, I am.” Gaz replied, easily. “You gonna answer my question?”
“I thought they didn’t love you?” Soap pushed, unkindly. It was a testament to his and Gaz’s undying soul bond of a friendship that Gaz didn’t punch him. But he could tell from Gaz’s eye twitch that it was a close thing.
“Nik thought he was the spare.” Gaz answered, eyebrow cocked. “Turned out Price thought he was. We worked it out.”
“Fucked it out more like.” Soap grumbled, resuming his pointless ball tossing with a disgruntled sniff.
“Tav.” Gaz said, softly.
Soap threw the ball against the far wall. Hard.
Gaz caught it before it even made contact.
“You’d think he’d at least come and fuck me!” Soap yelled, hands thrown up in the air. “It’s the least he can do. It’s rude he hasn’t.”
“Tav.” Gaz repeated.
“What, Kyle?” Johnny barked.
“Why don’t you just go ask him?” Kyle countered, arms folded and hip cocked against his chest of drawers.
“Ask him to fuck me? Seems a bit desperate.” Johnny grumbled.
“No, you—” Kyle sighed, long suffering and frustrated. “Ask him if it meant anything. If he feels the same.”
It was Johnny’s turn to sigh. Although, it came out rather more like a scoff. “I’m not going to ask Simon fucking Riley if he wants to hold hands and kiss behind the bike sheds.”
“Do you want to?” Kyle asked, like it wasn’t a heart-breaking thing to say. “Do you want to hold his hand and kiss him? Bike sheds notwithstanding.”
Johnny didn’t have an answer.
Not when he felt like throwing up.
“Look, Tav, I know it’s difficult—” Kyle started, sympathetic expression plastered on his stupid pretty face.
A knock at the door cut off his words and Johnny wanted to kiss whoever it was for helping him avoid the pain of Gaz’s pity.
“I’m busy.” Gaz shouted.
“I—is Johnny there?” Ghost called and Johnny winced at the truly evil look Gaz gave him.
“Say no,” Johnny whispered, desperately.
“Yeah!” Gaz called. “Come in, Ghost.”
Johnny snarled at Gaz. “I’ll fucking gut you like a pig, you shit—hey, Ghost.” Johnny swung his legs off the bed and pushed himself to standing. “I’ll let you and Gaz talk since you came here to talk to him.”
“Actually, I—” Ghost started, huge frame blocking the door even as he tried to make himself as small as possible.
Johnny thought about just throwing himself out of the window.
“I’ll leave you two to it.” Gaz grinned as he ducked under Ghost’s bulging sexy-as-hell biceps.
Johnny sighed and promised himself that he could piss in Gaz’s pillow for the betrayal.
Simon stepped into the room and let the door click shut behind him. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Johnny parroted, smile genuine at least.
His phone buzzed and Johnny saw that Gaz had texted him ‘Condoms and lube in the top drawer.’
“I’m gonna piss in his pillow.” Johnny informed Simon.
He just nodded, nonplussed. “Seems fair.”
“Si, look I—”
“Can I?” Simon cut him off, gentle but firm. Johnny gestured for him to go right ahead.
But Simon didn’t say anything.
Not a first.
He just pulled his mask off reluctantly and scrubbed a hand over his face roughly.
He looked like he hadn’t slept since they’d got back to base.
Johnny sympathised.
“I’m sorry,” Simon said, voice soft and broken.
“Why?” Johnny asked, carefully. He took a few careful steps until he was gazing up at Simon’s exhausted face. He was still the most beautiful thing Johnny had ever seen.
With a heavy sigh, Simon worried at his gold canine with a pointed tongue. It was a nervous habit that—while unerringly endearing—never failed to pour gasoline on the fire in Johnny gut. “It wasn’t fair of me. To put you in that position. I—”
Simon cut himself off with a slightly wobbly huffed sigh.
“What position?” Johnny tried to focus of Simon’s words but with the threatening glint of teeth and the talk of positions… he’d rather lost the thread of the conversation.
Simon raised an eyebrow at him, fond and exasperated. People needed to stop looking at him like that. “I made you uncomfortable and—”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Let me fucking finish.” Simon growled.
“I’ll help you finish if you want.” Johnny said, immediately.
“I’m trying to apologise for being a creep about my feelings and you’re making a jizz joke?” Simon threw his hands in the air.
But Johnny’s brain had already stopped working. “Feelings?”
“I know you don’t feel the same and I just—I let myself believe it was real and I got carried away and I’m sorry.” Simon said in one long rush. “And now I’m gonna go tell Price to write me up for harassment.”
“But you haven’t even harassed me yet?” Johnny tried, frantic when Simon turned to leave.
“Yet? Jesus, do you think that little of me?” Simon muttered, voice cracking.
“Si-- stop!” Johnny launched himself between Simon and the door. “My turn to talk. Oaky? Don’t leave before I get to say my piece, yeah?”
Simon nodded, squaring his jaw and setting his shoulders. Like Johnny was a fucking firing squad.
And suddenly, Johnny had Simon’s entire undivided attention for the first time since that night.
“Kiss me.”
It wasn’t really wanted he meant to say.
Simon’s eyebrows shot up and his plush pink fucking perfect lips parted in shock. “Kiss you?”
“Yeah.” Johnny swallowed, throat clacking together. “Kiss me.”
And Simon had always been so good at following orders.
Johnny’s back slammed against the far wall and all of Gaz’s carefully folded laundry tumbled to the floor.
But then that sharp gold canine sank into Johnny’ lower lip and all he could do was shove a hand into Simon’s hair and moan into his mouth.
“The--fuck-- still feel you.” Simon growled, huge hand pushing Johnny’s shirt up until he could roll his nipple between his thumb of forefinger as his teeth nipped at Johnny’s sensitive lips.
“Yeah?” Johnny panted, already ruined for anyone else.
Simon dragged his teeth down the column of Johnny’s neck before running his tongue over the trail of sweet fire it left. Soothing it and sending the heat further south and Johnny could only cling to Simon’s huge shoulders and gasp.
“Your fucking palm.” Simon pushed his own palm over Johnny’s already hard cock and ground down.
It was harder than Johnny had ever been with himself. Rough. Almost painful.
His hips stuttered as his vision nearly whited out with need.
Precum drooled into his boxers as Simon kept the pressure, just the right side of too much and not enough all at once.
“Wanted—wanted you—” Johnny tried to match Simon’s words with his own.
He was always the mouthy one.
But he couldn’t think past what Simon was doing to him.
Couldn’t form words that weren’t ‘Simon’, ‘please’, and the one he had to chew his lip to stop from crying out.
“Fuck, Johnny. You’re so much. All the time. Want you every time you fucking breathe.” Simon continued, unmoved by Johnny’s pleading. “In that bar. When the bartender—” He cut himself off with a low dangerous possessive growl and Johnny shoved him backwards. Hard.
“Fuck him,” Johnny spat, teeth bared.
Simon grinned. Gold tooth glinting in the light and Johnny needed to feel it against his cock. “There he is.”
Johnny practically vaulted the gap between them and fisted a hand in Simon’s hair.
He yanked it back to expose Simon’s jugular. The gold in Simon’s eyes was swallowed by black need as Johnny finally shoved a hand down his pants and sunk his teeth into the pale scarred skin of Simon’s throat.
“Please. Johnny. Fuck, yeah. Don’t stop.” Simon whimpered, rolling his hips against Johnny’s hand even before he fully managed to wrap his fingers around the thick hot length of him.
He had something witty to say back.
He was sure he did.
But then Simon tore Johnny’s shirt in two and ducked to suck a deep dark bruise into his clavicle.
And instead of something witty, Johnny could only plead: “Please.”
It was almost sweet the way Johnny felt thick precum drip over his knuckles.
His back hit Gaz’s flimsy mattress and Simon was on top of him before he even bounced.
Johnny had always been the big one in a relationship.
Towering over women and men alike. He’d never really given it much thought beyond the warm feeling in his gut when he could stand protectively behind his partner.
But now, with Simon covering him and engulfing him.
He felt safe for the first time in a long time.
For the first time maybe ever.
Simon was massive.
In weight, height, and—if the hot heavy cock twitching in Johnny fist was any indication—basically everywhere else.
Simon’s enormous hand slid around his throat. Not to choke. Just to hold. To cradle. Johnny pushed forwards to kiss him so quickly, their teeth clacked together.
Long thick fingers undid Johnny’s jeans and yanked them off in on fluid move. The other hand on his jaw never moved. Simon’s tongue still licked into his mouth greedily.
And Johnny was shivering with a need to deep and urgent he wasn’t sure he’d ever really satiate it.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to when Simon carefully tugged Johnny’s hand from his cock and took them both in his hand.
“Just hold on, baby. I got you.” Simon whispered against Johnny’s lips.
And if Simon was good at following orders, Johnny was perfect.
His hands fisted in Simon’s halo of curls of their own volition. And Johnny kissed Simon until the hot desire in his gut became too much and he could just pant into Simon’s mouth.
The foreheads were slick where they rested together.
Breathe, hot and quick, passed between spit slick lips as Simon’s hand pulled them both apart.
“Si, I—” Johnny tried. The words he needed to say too much for his lips to wrap around.
“Yeah, I—me too. Me too.” Simon panted back, voice smooth like vodka on the fucking rocks. “Let go. I’ll catch you. I’ll always catch you.”
Simon was still talking. Lips brushing Johnny’s with every sweet word.
But Johnny’s could only hear buzzing as his brain was pulled from his very soul.
He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not when his vision was swallowed with white and he spilled over Simon’s fist.
Pure blinding pleasure built further. Tipping into delicious overstimulation as Simon kept going.
Fist twisting with each stroke and Johnny felt the very last vestiges of his consciousness splutter pathetically as he came—impossibly—again.
When his brain had ran through its system updates and deigned to boot back up, he was tucked against Simon’s chest and carefully being coaxed into short sips of cool water.
He clumsily patted Simon’s somehow still clothed pec and muttered: “Cheers, pal.”
Simon huffed a laugh out of his nose and shook his head, jaw brushing against Johnny’s forehead. “Yeah, thanks.”
“I meant for the water,” Johnny clarified, unnecessarily.
Simon’s arm tightened around him and Johnny snuggled closer. “Damn, the sex was that bad? I thought it was a good sign that you passed the fuck out.”
“Sex was good,” Johnny muttered, suddenly engrossed in trying to trace the silver scars across Simon’s face with soft kisses.
He made it to the one that clipped Simon’s lip and just kissed the glinting gold of his canine instead.
“Not too off-putting then.” Simon half-teased, chasing Johnny’s lips with his own.
It was a sweet kiss that Johnny got lost in for a while. But then Simon’s words actually registered and Johnny pulled back. He slid a thumb over Simon’s lower lip as he cupped his jaw, forcing Simon’s to meet his eyes. “You’re the bonniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Liar,” Simon teased, smiled pulled into a smirk by cords of precious scars.
“Never,” Johnny whispered, sealing the promise with another press of lips.
They passed soft words and sweet kisses between hem for a while. More so because Johnny couldn’t really feel his legs yet which made standing a difficult endeavour.
“Hey, Johnny?” Simon whispered eventually, voice tinged with the blue hue of sleep.
“Yeah?”
“How long we got until Gaz comes back, sees the jizz on his sheets and kicks us out?” Simon chuckled, a little guiltily.
“He’ll be fucking Price and Nik by now. Doubt he’ll show ‘til morning.” Johnny yawned, jaw cracking. “Besides, I did say I was gonna piss on his pillow. Jizz is probably better.”
“You’re so—”
“Amazing, sweet, hot?”
“Sure. Let’s pretend that’s what I was going to say.”
“Si?”
“Go to sleep, Johnny.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”