markusha_schavka
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Summary
“Not old.” A scar ran down the side of Ghost’s face, perpendicular to the cut of his jawline, and it shifted as he spoke, “Younger than Price.”
“Really?” Soap’s stool scraped across the floor as he tugged it closer. Far too close for two grown, military sculpted men to be to each other but Soap had had at least two tequila shots even before he’d started on his next drinks, so it felt like nothing at all to be able to smell that Ghost was clean. No blood. No dirt. Clean, washed skin underneath his clothes and mask, “I mean, that wee glance you gave us of your mug back before the raid wasn’t much to go on.”
“Thought you might have gone rifling through my file.”
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Or: Ghost and Soap are the last ones left in the bar after the final MW2 mission, knees touching, and Soap can't help himself. Can't stop the little, needling shit that lives in the back of his head and cajoles him into pushing himself into Ghost's vision. 'Just a snog, sir. We don't have to tell.' Except, it's not really that easy, is it?
Series
- Part 1 of i think i was meant to keep you warm
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Summary
Он задергался в жестком захвате, широко распахнутыми глазами глядя на темную балаклаву.
— Саймон… ты чего? — голос МакТавиша сорвался на сиплый, жалкий шепот. Он рефлекторно уперся ладонями в твердую пластину чужого бронежилета, пытаясь оттолкнуть, но его руки лишь слабо дрожали. — Ты шутишь? Это шутка такая, да?..
Гоуст не усмехнулся. Не отстранился ни на миллиметр. Его глаза под маской оставались пугающе серьезными — черные, немигающие провалы, в которых не было ни капли веселья.
Уловив чужую панику, лейтенант начал его успокаивать. Но делал он это в своем, извращенно-жестком стиле. -
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Summary
“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
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Summary
Ладно, он об этом все равно подумал. Сложно было не оценивать мужчину… “Так идеально вписывающихся в твои подростковые кинки, Джонни”, - сам себе сказал Соуп, чуть разминая шею, проводя по загривку ладонью. - “Интересно, если я скажу ему, что вот уже лет десять дрочу на Кристина Бэйла, он поймет? Или сразу надо объяснить, что у моей кровати я сменил пятый плакат с “Темного рыцаря”, потому что первые четыре уже были не такие темные?...”