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They both retired, not wanting to tempt fate. No more than necessary anyway. Soap, now simply Johnny, always believed they both were on borrowed time already. They had enough money saved, and they would have been provided with a pension as well. Nothing too crazy, but enough to live the rest of their lives decently. So they left.
After all those years of service, they thought they didn’t know how to be anything other than soldiers; after all, for both of them, it was all they had known. But they made it work.
It was a challenge at first, a change to a full-time civil life. And they were different people, their bodies decorated with scars from their former life, a life of service. Scars in their heads, too, present after they experienced things no one else should ever have. But they did. Because if they knew one thing, it was how to follow orders.
They don't have any kids. Well, excluding the dog they adopted 3 years back — a retired K9. It was Johnny’s idea, naturally. At some point during their retirement, somewhere between knitting and bird watching, he took an interest in dog training. It wasn't anything new for him, having grown up in a house always full of pets.
He had plenty of time on his hands now, enough to take that hobby a tad more seriously. Somewhere along the way, his research led him to working dogs... Service dogs, herding dogs, military working dogs… he could remember some of the missions when he had a chance to work, firsthand, with those smart beasts.
And that's when an idea was born.
"No," Simon said, not even glancing from his iPad. He didn't seem disturbed in the slightest, just relaxing on their bed. Reading glasses resting on his bridged nose as he was solving a random crossword. Old man activities.
"Oh come on, Si," the Scot whined and scooted closer to him, resting his head on the blond's shoulder. He hoped a smooch under the man's jaw would get a reaction, but to no avail. "It's a perfect opportunity. There are so many pups searching for a home after serving. A home where they would be able to spend the next few years they have left."
"You're acting like a brat. Spoiled one, for that. Do I have to explain how big a responsibility that is?" His tone held no real bite. He took his glasses off and sighed, quite dramatically. "We're not exactly young. Dogs are like children. You should know that."
"Aye, I know." Johnny propped himself on an elbow to look down at his partner. "That's why I believe we should get an older dog. I read about that, they need some proper conditions to thrive, obviously, but let's be honest, who could be a better fit than two retired dogs such as ourselves?"
The Mancunian didn't reply. Simply raised an eyebrow.
"It could be good for us too." Soap's voice was softer now. He reached out to take Simon's hand in his, calloused skin under his fingertips. "The dog would help us stay active. Would give us a sense of responsibility. Of- of purpose."
Simon really tried not to fold. He had become soft during the last few years, as his partner loved to point out with a smug grin.
And there was some truth to that. Because how could he possibly deny anything the man beside him, when he looked at him like he was his whole world?
Simon knew the soft spot he had for Johnny would be his downfall one day. But he'd be damned if he ever stood in the way between Johnny and happiness. Within reason, of course. He knew the man inside out, and he knew he took his responsibilities seriously.
And so they got the pup, after a long process and many preparations, having wanted to provide the dog with the best care.
Bear was a retired Dutch Shepherd who served at an Air Force base. He completed explosive detection training and lived a career full of accomplishments. A career that was cut short by a diagnosis. Luxating patella, also called a trick knee, causes the kneecap to dislocate while running.
They'd make it work — the three of them — just a bunch of old dogs seeking peace after years of fighting.
Johnny fell in love first, as one would expect. But Simon? Despite initial doubts and reservations, he couldn't keep his front up. Bear slowly but surely found all the cracks in his composure and found a way straight into his heart, where he set up home.
They love walks, all of them. It's just one way to stay active — one of the fundamental things in their lives. So Simon and Johnny have a schedule, one they stick to strictly. Just another remnant of their previous life, but in this case, more than welcome.
Three walks a day. Every morning, afternoon, and evening. They'd probably push for more, but there was no need with their yard. Johnny didn't want to push Simon too much either.
Because of situations like today.
Simon heads to the kitchen upon entering their house, and Johnny’s eyes follow. He knew that something wasn't quite right when the blond suggested the shorter route home earlier today.
"You’re limping, Si," he remarks. He pets the dog, now completely freed from the harness, as he stands up. "Is it the leg again?"
"Yeah," he sighs heavily and stops to glance at the other man over his shoulder. "You know how it gets. I might have overdone it today." Simon offers a shrug and is back on his way, obviously favouring one leg.
Johnny does know how bad it gets. It’s one of Simon’s latest injuries of the service — a bullet through his thigh, which thankfully, passed any major arteries. Not so fortunately, it has damaged some nerves in the process. It left a keloid scar, right above his knee. Just another one to the collection.
The doctor explained to them that it was a femoral nerve injury, which would result in chronic neuropathic pain. They were ready for the worst possible scenario, but as the leg healed, the affliction became less and less severe.
Simon still has better and worse days. Sometimes the pain doesn’t let him sleep through the night, and Johnny always stays up with him, comforting him in every way he can. Sometimes, when the weather gets colder, Simon complains about the wound flaring up. Sometimes, he has to spend some extra time in the mornings to wake his leg up, due to the numbness. Johnny is always there, helping however he can.
It doesn’t take long for Soap to catch up with him. Their loyal dog follows, claws clicking against the wooden floor.
"How’s the pain today?" He asks and busies himself with pouring some water for Bear.
"6 out of 10." Simon takes his prescribed medication from a cabinet. "Not too bad, but it comes in waves. Burns." He quickly gulps down the pills.
Johnny often wishes he could take the pain away from Simon. Simon, who always seems to carry too much on his shoulders, never complains.
He joins the other man by the marble countertop and takes a moment to study his face. Simon's gotten older, and Johnny is grateful every day he gets a chance to see that. Even though the bastard has some good genes, because despite his age, he doesn’t look even remotely close to his age. He’s greyed at the temples a tad, sure. His prominent eye lines are a testament to many laughs and dad jokes shared. But at the same time, it's like nothing has changed at all.
This time, however, Johnny notices an additional slight crease between the man’s brows. The expression that appears whenever Simon is even moderately uncomfortable.
"Hey, why don’t you go to bed? Rest for a bit?" The Scot suggests, his hand rubs the man’s back in a comforting manner. Simon doesn’t argue; he knows the pain will only get worse the more he burdens the leg. So he nods curtly and presses a fleeting kiss to the shorter man’s temple. He goes alone, and Soap only tracks the movements from his spot by the counter. When he’s in the clear, he starts preparing all the stuff he’ll need. Because, obviously, he already has a plan for how to make his partner feel better. It’s only a matter of time until meds kick in, and he’s going to help Simon last that out.
In the bedroom, Simon has already managed to change into something more comfortable before he collapses on the bed. A familiar scent greets him, his own mixed with Johnny’s. It has an instant effect; the tension in his body gradually evaporates. The pain is still there, but strong meds would provide him with some much-needed relief soon enough. Maybe in the meantime, he could take a nice nap-
But, of course, before he can close his eyes, Johnny appears in the door, smiling from ear to ear. Simon reacts with a quirked eyebrow, a silent question. His gaze falls to a little wooden box and a towel in the man’s hands.
"I have just the thing to make you feel better, love." He approaches the bed, still beaming. "Strip."
Simon is well aware of the fact that Soap’s mouth works fast, and his mind works even faster. He doesn’t question; instead, he sits up, and an exasperated sigh leaves his lips. "I’ve just changed."
John sniggers and his eyes roll playfully. He gently grabs Simon’s chin and makes their eyes meet. "I’m pretty sure massages are supposed to be skin-to-skin." He smooches the blond’s scar on the nose and occupies himself with unpacking the kit. Simon’s corners curve upwards at the suggestion.
Massaging is just another hobby Johnny took on after retiring to keep himself busy. He thought that this one would be worthwhile, given the state of their bodies. Bodies that by no means were getting any younger.
As Simon takes off his pants and boxers, Johnny takes the opportunity to spread out the towel, not wanting to mess up their sheets.
"How do you want me?" Simon asks.
"Huh?" Johnny turns around, his eyes instinctively seek the man’s lips.
Regrettably, Soap has his own cross to bear. His hearing. Or lack thereof. He gets by good enough, but having spent years as a demolition expert, he was left with a memento. Hearing loss, slightly worse in one ear than the other.
"Back or front, Johnny?" Simon repeats evenly.
"Let’s start with the front." He gestures to the bed with a warm smile, clearly proud of himself.
Ghost nods and follows the suggestion. He lies down flatly against the mattress with a sigh. Johnny, not wasting any time, pours some oil on his hands. It smells nice, jasmine and sweet almond, one of Simon’s favourites.
"I’ll start with the thigh straight away. Let me talk you through it." Johnny winks, a smug smile on his face. Simon rolls his eyes, but his cheeks redden noticeably.
Johnny’s hands find the thigh, and he starts stroking it, his grip firm, hands gliding over the flesh. "We’re starting with warming this area up. This technique is called effleurage. It pumps blood through the muscles."
His response is a soft grunt. He glances at Simon. The man’s eyes are closed. He can feel him gradually relaxing under his touch, except for that one stubborn knot.
"Now… to petrissage," the Scot announces, and his hands start kneading the thigh. "Just to stretch the muscle tissue." He’s careful, but he adjusts to Simon’s needs, and he knows the man during days like these needs a firmer hand. His hands and fingers work methodically, both lengthwise and transversely. He increases pressure, focusing mainly on the knots, working them loose. He can only hear soft grunts from the man, the sound of blissful relief.
"Feeling better?" He checks up, his hands still working. The man only nods, not bothering to speak. "Good."
Johnny retracts his hands to pour some more oil on them. The sound of the bottle being squeezed makes Simon open his eyes and give the Scot a quizzical look.
"Well, you know. Since I already got you on a silver platter, it’d be a shame not to make the best of it, aye?" Johnny grins as he warms the liquid in his hands.
"Fucking hell, of course. It probably was your plan all along, eh?" Simon’s tone is ostentatiously disapproving. As if the mere idea doesn’t make his cock twitch.
"Duh," the man affirms, and his hands are working again, sliding on the other thigh. But this time his touch isn’t strictly professional. He lets his hand wander, manipulating the pressure — sometimes his grip makes Simon groan under his breath, while his teasing touch, especially on the inner thigh, makes the blond shiver. Johnny knows all the right spots, and in no time, there’s no denying Simon’s arousal with his cock already semi-hard.
John leans down to press his lips to the man’s groin, then brushes over his length with the tip of his nose before he commands, "Roll over."
Simon does so. But not before letting Johnny know, with some attitude and an exaggerated sigh, that he obliges but not so lightly. He was quite comfortable in the previous position.
Simon lies down on his stomach, and Johnny’s eyes darken at the sight before him. He has laid himself out for his man like a feast, with a leg bent up, presenting and exposing his arse.
The Scot sits between the spread legs, his fingers already itching to dig into the hard muscle. But he’s going to prolong this moment.
Not too much because he never was one to deny himself pleasure.
His fingertips graze over thighs as they move upwards. He grabs Simon’s waist, and his lips find the man’s sacrum — the small of his back. Simon momentarily tenses at the touch in surprise. Johnny smiles against his skin and travels with his lips and teeth higher and higher, along his spine until he reaches the nape of the man’s neck. He kisses him there, slowly, taking his sweet time, blond curls tickling his nose. His hands are now greedily roaming over the strong back. Johnny moves with his lips to the man’s ear, his teeth graze over the lobe before he whispers, "Fuck, how I love having you spread beneath me like that. So submissive, open, and waiting." He seals his words with a fleeting kiss behind his ear, then his lips brush against his cheek, jaw… and when he dives for the neck, that’s when he gets a reaction out of Simon — a soft moan. Johnny smirks, and his hands are already on their way where he wants them the most. His fingertips once more graze over the man’s sacrum, which causes Simon to arch into the man’s touch.
Once more, he settles between his spread legs, his mouth waters seeing how Simon is fully hard for him now, just from some innocent touches. Finally, he cups his ass, strong globes fitting perfectly in his palms. He kneads the flesh for some time until he loses patience. He presses his lips to the small of his back, then lower, to each of his cheeks, each one lingering. His hands part the cheeks, and the next kiss lands on the hole.
Simon goes rigid in surprise. The shock, however, is short-lived, and he presses his arse against Johnny’s face, which makes the Scot grin. He teases the man’s ring of muscle with his tongue. And it works — Simon’s breathing grows more laboured, some curses spilling from his mouth.
The position isn't quite satisfactory for Johnny, though. "On your knees. Head down," he rasps, and with a steely grip, he helps Simon present his arse in all the right ways, with his heavy, leaking cock hanging between his thighs. Johnny feels like the air has been knocked out of him and takes a moment to appreciate the view, his hands back on the man’s arse.
Simon groans impatiently. "Come on, Johnny."
"'Come on, Johnny,' what," he demands with a smug expression, though Simon can’t see it, with his face pressed against a pillow.
"You know bloody well," he growls, shooting him a glare over his shoulder.
"Oh, I know, but I need you to say it." And how he loves pushing Simon’s buttons, especially when he has the upper hand. He reaches out to wipe some precum from Ghost’s red tip, and as he tastes it, he almost moans out loud at the sensation. Simon’s breath hitches at the scarce contact, his hips falter, and instinctively, he tries to follow his hand.
He snarls, his patience running thin when he’s oh so desperate. "Fine. Make better use of that mouth, for god’s sake, and eat me out."
Soap’s smile widens, and he presses small kisses to the man’s thigh and cheeks. He decides to push his luck a bit more. "Say please."
Simon’s jaw is set, though he can’t help but feel butterflies at the delicate touch. He loves being manhandled, but what makes him weak is the way Soap treats him, worships him, even. As if Simon could break at any moment if Johnny isn’t careful enough. Doesn’t matter if Simon's body has been through hell and back; Johnny treats it like a temple.
"Please," he finally pleads, still with some attitude. But god, he really needs Johnny to finish what he started. "Or else."
"That’s my man." Johnny squeezes the man’s arse, grinning, before diving right back to the place Simon needed him the most. At the same time, his hand, still coated in oil, palms the heavy balls. He kneads and rolls them over in his hand before it moves lower and starts sliding over the shaft. He pays extra attention to the tip, which emerges from beneath the thin layer of skin with every stroke. Simon reacts, vocally, whenever Johnny’s thumb grazes over his frenulum; it takes all of his might to stay in place and take it.
Johnny’s tongue runs a slow, teasing lick over Simon’s clenching hole, just to tease the other man, to reduce him to nothing more than a desperate mess.
And sure enough, Simon loses his patience —he reaches back and pushes Soap’s face against his ass. Johnny groans, having understood the message, and continues the assault on Ghost’s hole — he licks, sucks, kisses, his tongue working overtime around the tight muscle. The room is filled with obscene sounds of Johnny’s slurping and suckling, mingling with Simon’s sweet, needy sounds.
And those moans, god, that’s the best possible reward he could ask for. He knows damn well he’s doing a good job, even though Simon is too lost in pleasure to verbalise it. He can feel it in a subtle movement of his hips against his face, fine-drawn thrusts into his hand.
Johnny’s lips and scarred chin are drenched in his own saliva; he can feel a steady stream of precum coating his fingers with every brush over the head.
"Fuck, I’m close," Simon warns, his voice vulnerable as ever. Johnny’s aware; he can feel that in the way the man’s cock twitches in his palm, in the way the man’s greedy hole is clutching around nothing. And thank god, because Soap feels some growing discomfort deep in his wrist from the continuous, unnatural movement. He doubles his efforts, feasting like a man starved, his hand matching the intensity, pushing through.
Simon’s breath hitches; it seems like time stopped for a moment, just for them, and his body tenses. Just when the time renews its course, the man lets out a guttural moan, and Johnny can feel the warm, sticky cum on his fingers, dripping on the towel beneath them. He can’t help but moan as well, sound muffled by Simon's flesh. He milks the man until his body starts trembling.
He lets go, presses a lingering kiss to one of the man’s cheeks, and guides the man to repose on the bed. He lies down next to the panting blond and collects him in his arms.
"Everything okay?" He whispers into the greying curls.
Simon fully relaxes, practically melts in the embrace, and his head rests on the man’s shoulder. He’s feeling too boneless to move, so all Johnny can do for now is hold him steadily, to be an anchor while Simon is finding his way back to him.
"Bloody hell," Simon manages after a while, still catching his breath.
Johnny lets out a deep chuckle and, gripping Simon's jaw, he makes their eyes meet. He can see exhaustion in the brown depths, but also undeniable satisfaction. Johnny leans down to press sweet kisses all over the man's face. The Mancunian closes his eyes and almost purrs, bathing and thriving in his partner's affection.
"Love you," Simon murmurs and brushes his lips against the man's, in reaction to which the Scot grins.
"Love you too. Now take a nap. You'll feel better."
And he holds him like this, in his arms, rubbing his back, until Simon's breath evens out.