The Tangle in the Wire
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It should worry the hell out of him, the way he could stare at the man’s hands as they tore through muscle, broke bone, and crave to have them running through his body, fingernails digging in and still bloody. It has made him become a part of something bigger in the worst possible way, outside of the carefully built system that saves lives and takes them, never for selfish reasons. Because he would kill for that man without an order, against an order, control slipping through his fingers like a weight tied to a rope, burning the bare skin of his palms.
For a few moments, they just sit there, side by side, the only sounds being the distant buzzing of the generator and the trickle of soft rain against the safehouse’s ventilation system.
“Soap.”
“Simon.”
Ghost looks at him. His eyes lack the usual edge, replaced by something Soap might dare to call doubt, that was directed to him in rare, quiet moments.
“Soaking my shirt up won’t dry up yours.”
Or; their car dies out in the middle of nowhere. They make the most of the time they have while waiting for aid.
Series
- Part 1 of The Tangle in the Wire
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Maybe it’s those eyes of his, rich brown and so ridiculously big. They won’t stop staring at him, half lidded even through the kissing. He wanted to see the sad edge they carry disappear, the way it does for a while after every time he and Soap get to fuck.
Maybe he’s had a sip too many, the alcohol making him clumsy and unraveling what little reservations he had left, or the fact that the mask was off because Ghost let him, that makes him drop to his knees.A hand rises up to his neck before he’s even fully on the floor, blindingly fast.
“Johnny.”
And Soap isn’t even surprised.
Because that’s the thing. Ghost is always the one who touches.Series
- Part 2 of The Tangle in the Wire
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“Fuck—“ there’s a squeeze to his cock, then, a kiss to the corner of his mouth, a lick to his lower lip that makes his jaw go lax. He makes space for Johnny's tongue to explore his mouth, as if he weren’t familiar with every nook and edge of teeth, letting it fill his mouth along with his thumb.
Eventually, Soap draws out his fingers to cup his face, leaving a wet smear of saliva up his jaw. The kiss slows down, the drag of teeth turning occasional and almost tender, a wet glide of lips on lips.
“Simon.” Soap’s knee presses up to nudge his legs open. His mouth is still brushing his, still sharing the same air. “Let me take care of you.”
Or;
Ghost is what the world made of him: an efficient survivor, light on his feet and heavy with his hits, borderline invincible.
Soap wants Simon.
Series
- Part 3 of The Tangle in the Wire