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Chapter Text

In all honesty, Johnny can't pinpoint when exactly his obsession with touching Ghost begun.

...That's bullshit, actually. He totally can.

He remembers it with surprising clarity, when he and Ghost had just escaped the very center of Las Almas by the skin of their teeth. Johnny had been dirty and shaky then, fairly out of it from all the blood loss, and by all means shouldn’t have even been aware of his surroundings when his heart still hammered against his ribcage and his ears felt like they were stuffed full of cotton. But he did. He did notice and that was the start of it all.

It was a gentle touch from rough hands on his wrist, just over his pulse. Ghost's eyes were laser sharp on the road, his balaclava hid any and all expressions he could've been making, but it was the way his gloveless hand gently squeezed Soap's wrist, a juxtaposition for a fella of his size; the way his fingers carefully pressed against his skin and caressed it dearly when he found Soap's heartbeat. Fast and erratic. Quicker than a moment before, even.

Soap had almost choked right then and there. He had also tried and failed to get his hand to fucking move and wrap around Ghost's. To reassure himself as well that he wasn't hallucinating and they were both there, alive and as well as they could be, or maybe just to hold him. But before he could even attempt to, the other man had already let go of him, seemingly satisfied with what he found and leaving Soap to quickly freeze without the gentle contact.

If Johnny hadn't been weakened and battling a festering infection he knew he would've whined over the loss. Would've done something as embarrassing as asking his superior to hold him again. Thank God he got shot.

The careful touch had lasted barely four, maybe five seconds. It shouldn't have been enough to make a lasting impression on Soap but it did.

Because the moment Ghost had found Soap's skin, cold and bloodied, and glided his thumb over his pulse, Ghost relaxed. His strung up body melted back into the seat, his grip on the wheel relaxing from the knuckle-white grasp, and- Because Soap is Soap and he was far too observant when it comes to his Lieutenant- he had breathed a quiet, barely audible sigh. Relieved.

Johnny's heart had fucking soared.

Maybe it was the adrenaline slowly seeping out of his system or the ever growing feelings that seemed to duplicate during his perilous journey through Las Almas, but Soap committed that small interaction to memory and replayed it whenever he could like a video on loop.

Which was far more times than he will ever admit.

That was the kick-start to his fascination. The trigger to something stubborn and quite frankly unstoppable.

Because ever since Ghost had bloody grounded himself by touching Soap, Johnny kept wanting more. He'd tap his CO's elbow, brush their shoulders as he walked by, slap his back when he was feeling risky, and eagerly steal the seat by his side whenever he could. Just so Soap could bump his knees with Ghost's.

It should be worrying, Soap thinks, this need to constantly touch the Lieutenant. It should probably creep him out and make him feel weird about himself because Johnny is professional, contrary to the general opinion of his fellow soldiers. But the thing is, Ghost doesn't mind. Much the contrary, since he more often than not ends up leaning against John. Hell, that tank of a man could snap Soap's needy limbs in half, but he doesn't. And that only encourages Johnny's boldness. And neediness.

"Hey, Lt.," The Sergeant grins, looking at the masked man standing by his side. They were both under the shade of a large tree, looking over the recruits training. A rare change of pace for the usually active duo.

"Yes, Serg?" Ghost answers noncommittally, eyes focused on the soldiers.

"When ye're singing in the shower and ye get soap in yer mouth, what's it called?"

The Lieutenant is silent for a second, before slowly turning his head towards his partner, "What?" He squints, almost daring.

And of course, Johnny bites, "Soap opera."

The snort is predictable and not at all a sound The Ghost should make, but the beautiful thing about Ghost is that he's a myth, a story told to spook cadets, a cryptid you can only see at the base one-four-one is currently settled at, if you ever see him at all. He walks in the shadows and only speaks if he deems needed. He's terrifyingly skilled with a body count list longer than any man should hold. He may even be, according to enemies and allies alike, the devil himself.

But Simon loves dad jokes and expensive tea. He combs John's hair when he's too sleepy for it, buys Price's unique cigars when he's deployed far away, and lends Gaz several self-help books on how to deal with the guilt and the weight they all carry. He takes their K-9 unit on walks, calls them sunshine, and sends Laswell congratulatory gifts for her and her wife's anniversary. He takes his therapist's advices to heart, as hard as it is, and puts it into practice.

He's a beautiful and complex aquarelle. He likes being alone yet he never seems to mind when his teammates seek his company. And he's standing right here, a couple of inches apart from Soap, hand over his mouth, and chuckling quietly.

"That wis a good one, eh?" Johnny smiles brightly as he bounces on his feet, energized, and scoots closer to his Lieutenant.

"You're getting better," Is all he says, but Soap can hear the smile in his voice.

"Not like ye can dae any better," The Sergeant snarks, now close enough for his bare arms to touch Ghost's, skin pressing against the rough padding of his jacket. "Ah still remember the half dog joke from Las Almas."

Ghost doesn't seem to notice Soap's proximity, so used to it at this point that his ever present awareness isn't alerted even as Soap presses their arms and hips together like a dog giving a hug. He barely blinks, body slowly relaxing fraction by fraction as he subconsciously leans back against Soap.

"It kept you entertained, didn't it?" The older man huffs and pulls at his balaclava, wiping the sweat accumulating around his neck.

Johnny eyes the salty droplets running down the visible scarred patch of skin. He wants to bite him.

"Aye, right! It traumatized me, is what it did,"

"More than getting hunted by a small army?"

"That's just another day for us. Yer puns, though? Deeply disturbing."

"The lads enjoy it," Ghost shrugs with a small grin under that stupid fucking mask of his, hand going up to wipe under his cheeks and going down smudged with black grease. He's the only lunatic in the base who thinks wearing a full get-up, mask and all, in this steaming hot weather is a good idea, no matter what anyone else says.

Trust Soap, he's seen Price try.

"Lads?" Johnny asks offhandedly, still eyeing the piece of skin at the back of Ghost's neck left uncovered to get some air. Being so close to him, he can see a few stray blond strands stuck to his skin.

"Garrick and Price,"

"Pretty sure Gaz hates it,"

"He nearly suffocated laughing yesterday,"

"Ye caught 'im off guard."

"Sure, Sergeant," Ghost snorts and drops his hand to wipe it on his thigh before shouting something at the recruits. Johnny really doesn't care about what they're doing under the scorching heat at this point, all he wants is-

"Can Ah help?" Soap suddenly asks, blue eyes stuck on his CO's neck, and moves his hand deliberately slow so Ghost can track the path, stopping just under his ear, fingers brushing the hem of the raised balaclava.

Ghost turns and stares for a second, eyes giving out nothing, "With what, exactly?"

Johnny allows the tip of his cold finger to lightly brush the pale wet skin, drawing a fascinating full-body shiver from the Lieutenant, who closes his eyes with a sigh. Soap's other hand clenches and relaxes in rapid succession beside him, yearning for more of that blistering hot skin.

"Wit the small river ye been growin' back here, Lt.," He manages to say once he knows he won't keel over right there in the open at such a beautiful sight.

"Why're your hands always so bloody fucken' cold, MacTavish?" Ghost grunts yet doesn't move a centimeter, allowing Soap to press and caress as he wishes.

"Ah dinnae ken, my sisters used to call me a vampire," He smiles, the scar on his chin stretches with the movement and Ghost's gaze fall on it, "Ran away from me a lot cause Ah wanted to shove my hands on their backs."

"You're a threat," Ghost breathes lowly, his dark eyes mapping all of Soap's little scars and beauty marks, the flaw on his eyebrow and the nice curve of his lips. Soap basks under the attention like a sunflower seeking the sun.

"Of the worst kind," With that, Johnny allows his hand to lay flat on the older man's neck, once again pulling a shiver and a hiss from him, but this time Ghost simply tilts his head down, allowing him to do whatever he wanted.

An unfathomable show of trust coming from him. One only Soap gets to see.

And fuck, that does things to him.

Johnny drinks in the way his skin is many shades darker than Ghost's, the way his body feels almost unnaturally hot against the weird coldness of his hand. He glides his hand freely, scooping the gathered sweat running down his shoulders and neck and shaking it away, before doing it again. It's useless, in a way, because the Lieutenant runs hot and the heat of the weather won't let up any time soon, and sorta gross, but it's addictive.

It's addictive to be allowed to touch him, to press his hand against his nape and feel the tense muscles. It almost gives Soap a head rush to think he's candidly touching Ghost in the open, where anyone can see them. It's even more addictive when he realizes Ghost is relaxing even further under his careful ministrations, leaning backwards against the cold hand of his Sergeant.

Like a cat. An overgrown, mean old cat.

"'Dunno how ye can handle staying under all these layers when ye sweat like this," He whispers as he finally wipes the last visible bit of moisture on his pants, but doesn't stop touching, leaving his hand to rest on his neck.

"'Gotta stay tactical at all times," Ghost doesn't mumble but it's a near thing when his words drag down his tongue and shoulders shiver at the scratch of the Scotsman's nails down his nape.

"Think we're gonna get attacked in our home, Lt.?" Calling their base of operations 'home' is a bit of a stretch, but when you've been living in the same place for almost a year now you're bound to grow familiar with it.

"The worst type of enemy are the ones we see every day, Johnny," Maybe Ghost is a bit cynical, maybe he still has a lot of his childhood left to unpack, but when he opens a relaxed yet tired eye to look at him, Soap can't help but agree. Especially after the shitshow with Graves and Shepherd.

'People you know can hurt you the most,' indeed.

Standing there in cargo pants and a green tank top, John laughs. "Then Ah guess Ah gotta up my game, aye?" He grins with a tasteful scratch just shy of Ghost's jaw, under his ear, making the older man's eyes flutter shut. He retracts his hand and takes one step away when he sees the recruits coming closer, cursing violently in his head.

"Negative," Ghost breathes and swallows, blinking away the relaxation before stiffening once again and standing up to his full threatening height, making Soap grin at the effortless switch, "I'm enough for both of us, Sergeant,"

He doesn't quite say "I'll protect you." but Johnny hears it anyway and feels his heart swell with so much sweetness he may just end up dying. Dying of love. For his scary Lieutenant.

"A'll hold ye to that, Lt.." 

Sometimes, Soap finds himself in Ghost's quarters.

Not for any obscure or perverted reasons. He just... likes spending time with him. To be in the same space as him.

It started when Ghost promised to lend him one of his favorite books, yet another small piece of himself he was willing to share with Johnny, after enough pestering. It was a romantic thriller, funnily enough, and it narrated the story of a wronged wife on her path of getting revenge on her cheating husband and finding love in the rough hands of a beautiful widow who, Soap excitedly found out later on, killed her own abusive husband.

He'd been quite delighted then, rushing right after showering to where his Lieutenant resided and not bothering to dry up properly. Maybe, looking back now, Johnny had been embarrassingly thrilled at the simple prospect of sharing interests with Ghost, of earning one more knot that tied their string of fate a little tighter, but who could blame a fool blinded by love?

When Ghost answered his knocks he truly expected to be handed the book and told to shove off, since the older man is rather paranoid about his privacy, but Johnny was pleasantly surprised to be welcomed instead. Well, Ghost's version of welcomed, anyway, which is to leave his door open and return inside.

"Yer room feels as cozy as ye, Lt.," He'd joked the moment he saw a neat array of knives sitting on the walls, sharp and deadly, ignoring the pitter-patter of his heart and the fact that the bedroom smelled entirely of Ghost.

Slightly sweet, with a mix of gunpowder, nature and metal. Solely unique to his Lieutenant and far too comforting than it had any right to be.

"Made a house into a home," Ghost said with a roll of his eyes before he suddenly pushed Johnny on his bed, bigger than the ones in the Sergeants' quarters.

Johnny almost had a heart attack, his mind descending into a half-crazed state of too many fantasies for a moment or two before he sat straight to look at Ghost, to try and read what were his intentions, only to find the man walking towards him with a towel and a scowl on his pretty, mostly covered face.

"I'm not letting you touch my things while you're dripping wet, Sergeant," He'd growled in half-feigned annoyance, stopping just before Johnny, standing shy of one step from being in-between Soap's legs.

Johnny, who'd found himself almost blue screening when Ghost lifted the towel and draped it over his head, hands gently moving in patting motiond to dry the dripping mohawk and the growing fuzz around it, barely managed to move his mouth, "No need to be such a worrywart," He'd tried to be normal about it, to cool his warm face down with sheer willpower and occupy his shaky hands by grasping the sheets, "C'mon, A'll take care of yer stuff, Lt.. Promise,"

Ghost, maybe blessedly, hadn't relented, proceeding with his ministrations despite all the yapping, "Gaz told me you ripped the hoodie he landed you last week, Johnny. Can't blame me for being too careful,"

"It wasn't my fault! One of the K-9 jumped on me and Ah panicked!" John's voice didn't waver, but it was a near thing when Ghost's hands were so frustratingly soothing for how easily they could kill.

"They're highly trained dogs, they don't attack unless they're told to."

"They certainly looked like they were about to attack me."

The banter had been good to distract Soap from falling asleep as the, honestly rough, towel dried his hair. Ghost is not a gentle being, much less careful as he's more than content to ram his body against enemies and rush into an active battlefield, but there's just something about the way he touches his teammates, the way he touched Johnny.

Like he cares. Like Johnny is breakable. Precious.

"Done," Ghost had suddenly broken the comfortable silence between them and walked towards his desk, picking up the book that seemed well-loved and handed it to Soap, "Here, rip or stain it and you're a dead man."

"Ah wouldn't dream of it, Lt.." Johnny grinned sleepily and allowed himself to inspect the pages, shuffling through them and finding little scribbles, comments, annotations and theories Ghost had written down between lines and on the side of the pages, "Ye really love this one, don't ye?"

"Laswell introduced it to me a few years ago," He'd shrugged as he rested on his desk, looking away from the Sergeant in a moment of... Shyness? God, Soap wanted to grab him and shove him in his bloody pocket, "Don't bother looking at the mess I made, it's mostly just nonsense,"

"A'll try, sir," He'd take special attention to read and memorized every little doodle and comment on the worn out pages.

Then, without a word, he boldly made himself comfortable in Simon's bed, propping the book on his lap. Ghost had stared long and hard enough to almost make Johnny cave and leave with his tail between his legs. Keyword; almost.

"What are you doing?"

"Reading the book ye recommended me, Lt.."

"In my room?"

"The other Sergs are loud," They both knew that was a lie, Gaz and the others are as disciplined as they come when it comes to the noise guidelines of the base, "Plus, yer bed is comfier than mine. Ah can't believe they play favorites."

It was quiet for a good minute, like his Lieutenant was processing something. It had been scary, honestly. For every second it went by with no words spoken, Johnny grew more and more antsy, ready to just bolt out of the door with a quick apology for pushing the limits. For going too far as to think Simon would ever tolerate that kind of behavior.

Then, Ghost chuckled, low and airy, and walked behind his desk, taking a seat in the large office chair. He had another book in his hand, hardcover and intimidatingly thick, "You should see Price's."

It was permission, his words and his actions.

He allowed Johnny to inappropriately claim a place in Ghost's domain, to invade his space with eager emotions and a greedy heart. He could've kicked Soap out as easily as he could breathe, could have called out his lack of manners and broken him in two with a harsh rejection. But he hadn't.

He hadn't. So Johnny never stopped going back.

Soap would leave the books behind every time so he'd have an excuse to go back and stay as long as Ghost allowed him to. At some point, he started showing up with little to no reason. To borrow another book, to pick up the jacket he left behind the other day, to show pictures he took of the place he was recently deployed to, to talk aimlessly about his past and hobbies and a bet he lost against Gaz.

Sometimes he invites himself just to nap on Ghost's bed while the older man deals with paperwork. No words exchanged.

He's not overbearing. Doesn't visit Ghost every night and every day like his heart demands him to, but he does it as much as he thinks Ghost can handle and just enough to soothe the never-ending hunger in his belly.

Johnny's grown comfortable enough in his Lieutenant's quarters to have his own spot on the man's bed and know his way through most of the objects in the room. He knows Ghost has about eight different hidden guns and the snacks stay on the highest shelf, there's a metal box filled with dog tags, stained and broken, in the small closet by the bed and the antidepressants stay behind the painkillers in the bathroom and in the third drawer of the nightstand.

He never snooped around, not really, but when you spend a certain amount of time in a specific space you're bound to find those secrets on accident. Plus, Ghost never actually hid them like Soap knows he can. They're not secrets, truly, just strategically placed in a Ghost-like fashion.

But spending time in his Lieutenant's quarters made Soap realize just how lonely his own room feels. How he usually spends time outside, trying to do anything else than stay inside in the cold, isolated bedroom. He tried decorating, tried bringing something back from his missions, but it barely works. You rely on people to live, his therapist said when he talked about the uncomfortable hole he feels in his chest whenever he's alone for too long, you needs their warmth and their presence to feel alive. It's not a bad thing, John, it's just you being human. And a few pictures, ornaments and gifts aren't the same. 

It leaves him aching, sometimes.

Which leads him to where he is now. Standing before Ghost's door at two in the morning, in sweatpants, a sweater and socks. His hands are trembling where they clutch his sleeves, pale and sweaty. He's cold in a way that doesn't concern the temperature of the HQ. No, the freezing sensation comes from the inside, eating away at his thoughts and heart, his liver and his lungs.

Johnny feels lonely, so fucking lonely like he's by himself and there's not a single person around, not in the whole world. It's crushing. Suffocating. Unbearable.

But he stands there. Unable to bring himself to knock even as his teeth chatter and his limbs shake. Johnny doesn't want to bother Ghost, doesn't want to show this pathetic side of thim, a side that cannot handle being by himself for too long. He'd been working on it, following his therapist's advice but his heart craves and yearns for the warmth of another human. A very specific human.

Johnny doesn't know when the want for Simon Riley's unnatural warmth turned into a need. He's not about to try and find that out, either.

The door opens before he falls into another self-made rabbit hole of doubt and loathing, scaring the shit out of him. Ghost stands at the door, bundled up in layers and masked, radiating a sleepy daze and so much comfort Johnny feels weirdly choked up.

"Are you going to stand there or come in already?" He grumbled in a deep, raspy voice, clearly not been awake for too long as his blinks drag for a second.

For once, Soap feels a little speechless. Ghost is inviting him, all fuzzy from sleep, far too alluring for the Sergeant to even begin processing the situation. He first showed up here to see the older man, yes, that was the plan, but the doubt and the crushing cold froze him in place, rendering his feet and mouth useless. Will Ghost think less of him? Is John bothering him? He really shouldn't have come, right?

But Ghost isn't having it, especially with how Johnny can see him growing impatient with every second, bordering on desperate as his hands fidget with the strings of his hoodie, shifting his weight from one feet to another, entirely unlike the usual way he carries himself. This snaps Soap's dark little cloud away, settling his mind on something much easier to do; worry about his Lt..

"Alright, mate?" He asks with a low timber, heavy accent weighing the pitch of his voice.

Ghost sighs and scratches his cheek, not looking at Soap when he says, "Coming or not, Johnny?" 

In the low light of the corridors the younger man catches a glimpse of sunken, dark eyebags and blond strands sticking out of the mask's eye holes. Ghost is a little bit of a mess and Soap doesn't know if it's due to being woken up during witching hours or something else.

Johnny bites his bottom lip, "Dae ye want me to come in?" The question leaves his mouth a little weaker than he expected, a bit fearful and insecure. He hates it, but he doesn't hate how Ghost's dark eyes soften at the sound.

"Wouldn't be askin' if I didn't, Johnny," He leans on the doorway, letting Soap get a look at the bed he knows for a fact still feels toasty from the other's body heat. Almost seductive in the comfort it provides.

He steps closer, not trusting himself to speak when he's barely holding back the urge to laugh and spout some nonsense just to go back and suffer in silence. Ghost seems to catch onto his hesitation and with a quiet sigh he grabs Johnny's shoulders and hauls him inside in a startlingly quick movement, sending him stumbling on the bed.

"What the fuck," He groans as he tries to gather his senses, disorientated from the sudden change while the Lieutenant closes the door, the room only illuminated by the moonlight. 

"It's three in the fucken' morning, Johnny, shut up," Ghost replies with a growl before he sits on the bed, looking at his Serg. with a menacing look.

No. Not menacing. Worried. Because Soap clearly didn't look okay and Ghost is nothing if not a perceptive bastard.

Johnny sighs and wipes his face, trying to calm his heart down, "Didn't need to throw me around," He members under his breath half-heartedly.

"What's wrong?"

The question comes directly with no sugar to it. Ghost knows something is bothering Soap and as always feels the need to take care of it, or at least wants to guide him through whatever it is. Soap doesn't know if it's due to his sense of responsibility as a superior or if Ghost just cares about him, but either way he feels like being difficult. Just because he can. And maybe because he doesn't appreciate being thrown around.

"What dae ye mean?"

"Don't be daft, Soap, I saw your shadow stand in front of my room for half an hour."

"Maybe it wis a ghost."

"Soap."

"Okay, it wasn't that long."

"Johnny."

"Okay! Okay," He raises his hands with a weak smile, shoulders heavy with exhaustion but heart ramming against his ribcage. Ghost cares. He knows he does. He's shown it multiple times before, is showing right now as he sits in front of Soap, knees brushing. He doesn't want to doubt his affection, doesn't want to take it for granted. So, he admits, "Ah, uh, Ah missed ye, is all." 

Ghost is quiet for a moment and Soap sort of wants to punch him for the dramatic pause. He also wants to mess him up and make him cry, but that's because he looks pretty when he's all sleepy and showing concern for Soap. The urge to punch him is definitely bigger, though.

"Going soft on me, Sergeant?" There's a hint of a smile behind those words, husky and teasing. It's a tone he uses whenever Soap is spiraling, something to breaks through a tense moment and get their head in the game.

"Away n' bile yer heid!" Johnny sputters a laugh and scoots up in the bed to throw the blanket over himself, taking a moment to gather his thoughts but his face heats up, reality crashing down as he realizes what he's doing; basically clinging to Simon as if he were his boyfriend or something- acting like a child in need of his parents, "Fuckin' shit, A'm black-affronted," He mutters in his hands, accent deepening.

A rough hand takes one of his, separating it from his lips. Careful yet firm. It makes Johnny's lungs seize.

"English, MacTavish," Ghost says quietly once Soap finally looks at him with his burning face and unfocused eyes.

Johnny swallows. Simon's undivided attention rests solely on him. All-consuming and feverish. He knows he can leave at any moment, force himself to go back to his quarters and call his therapist tomorrow, knows Ghost wouldn't take offense to being pushed away. But if there's one person he wants to bear his soul to, it's to Simon Riley, whose hands shyly brush his knuckles. It's more than enough to break him.

"A'm embarrassed. Can't handle being on mah own these days, Lt., feels like A'm gonna get swallowed by the walls anytime mah mind decides to go a little bonkers," He laughs, far too self-deprecating, "Ah needed to- Ah dinnae ken, see ye? Make sure ye're here, alive. Just- Fuck." Soap breathes and wipes his hand over his mouth, shutting his eyes tightly. "Just need ye, Ah guess."

Ghost brushes his fingers softly, keeping it constant and patterned. It's grounding, like everything he does, and it allows Johnny to breathe a little easier.

The raw confession doesn't add any uncomfortable tension between them and for that Soap is grateful.

Without saying a word, the Lieutenant finally moves entirely in the bed, covering both of them with his large blanket, and throws an arm around John's shoulder to knock him down from his sitting position, making him fall on the pillow just by his head. He barely stops himself from gasping.

"War changes you, Johnny. It makes you crave other people because you never know when they'll be gone," Ghost mutters, dark eyes distant and solemn, "It's not a shameful thing, Sergeant,"

"It feels shameful."

"That's because you're a grown man treating me like a teddy bear," The older one seems to smile at Soap's flinch when he realizes he unconsciously brought his hands over Ghost's waist, tugging the warm body towards him, "Feeling lonely is inevitable in this path, just another thing to deal with. Not something you should feel embarrassed for."

Soap can feel his back muscles. His arm curves around the surprisingly slim waist and tugs. There's something in his throat that stops him from speaking. Ghost- Simon doesn't look him in the eyes when he speaks, he rests his gaze on Johnny's lips, nose and cheeks, but the hand that once grasped the other's shoulder lays between them, holding Soap's sweater.

Their legs intertwine without a second thought. Johnny feels warm. Warm, warm, warm. The cold void inside his chest fills up with Simon, his sleepy eyes and husky voice and soothing heat. It's dangerous. It's everything Johnny wants to feel every night for the rest of his life.

"Yer therapist's words?" He whispers with a small smile, hearing the way Simon seems to be quoting someone.

"Hers and Price's," He admits with ease, like the seasoned veteran he is, "Needed to be reminded that I'm not a machine. Learned the hard way."

"What d'ye mean?"

"Went on a solo mission for a few months, classified, with no contact. No support or exfil, just me in the field, completely dark," Simon breathes and shuts his eyes, "Finished it successfully but I couldn't speak for a month after, lasting psychological effects, and got sent on leave until I got my head straight. It made me realize how I can break like anyone else," Opening his eyes, he finally looks at Johnny, clear and honest. Open, "So don't treat yourself like a soldier alone, Johnny. You're also human,"

Hearing about Simon's past always throws Soap off. The man has gone through so much, he knows Simon is most likely minimizing whatever awful experience he went through, but he's opening up just to reassure John, to make him feel less of a failure. He's using his own story and experiences to help him, and now Soap kind of wants to cry.

He doesn't. Instead, he boldly burrows his face under Simon's chin and hugs the man close, seeking and drinking every last bit of warmth. His usually cold body feels pleasantly heated, all cozy under the blanket and pressed against his Lt.. It makes his body and mind feel the hours and lost sleep, suddenly weighing his eyelids down and relaxing his shoulders.

His hand graze under Ghost's shirt and glides shortly around his firm back, pulling a shiver from the man.

"Your hand is bloody cold, MacTavish," He hisses under his breath, squeamish when the still freezing hand presses against his skin, soaking up heat. Johnny laughs quietly.

"Shut yer pus," The younger grins in his sleepy haze, snuggling in his Lieutenant's embrace without an ounce of shame, "We're havin' a moment."

"You just can't be arsed," Simon grumbles at the laughter, but hugs him back just as tightly, almost as if he's trying to smother Johnny with his warmth.

It's the best feeling in the world.

"Awrite, mo chridhe, tapadh leat," Soap mumbles after a moment of quiet, lips a hair away from Simon's neck, who shudders minutely.

He feels Simon breathe in as his chest shudders. Feels how his strong arms wrap around him, safe and firm. How his body relaxes entirely in Johnny's hold. His clothed lips press against the soft mohawk in a barely-there touch, and Johnny slowly slips away.

"Good night, Johnny," He whispers and finally manages to fall asleep.

When Soap wakes up with Ghost in his arms, wrapped around him like a damn octopus and entirely too happy to be snuggled up with his Sergeant, he wonders if, just like Johnny, Ghost had been waiting for him to come to his room.

If he couldn't sleep as soundly without Johnny around.

He wonders if Simon needs him just as much as Soap does.

Chapter Text

A week later Johnny feels electric.

Rushing past Gaz without a thought, Soap steals the seat to Ghost's right with a cheeky grin. To anyone else, the larger man looks like he barely noticed his arrival, but Soap is the resident Ghost expert. He watches with keen eyes as the man's gaze flutter towards him, checking him over for any kind of injury from yesterday's training, and his body subconsciously relaxing further in the wooden chair.

Soap bites back a smile. It's exhilarating to know his presence has such positive effect on the very man who plagues his dreams and fantasies.

"Morning, Lt.," Johnny says cheerfully before he discreetly drags his chair closer to the man and bumps their knees together.

Ghost stares for a moment, eyes giving away nothing, but by the way his own knee pushes against Soap's ever so slightly the Scotsman knows he appreciates the touch, or isn't against it, at least, "Awfully chipper, aren't you, Sergeant?"

"Yer just a bitter bastard," Soap snarks right back, his body turned towards the other man the slightest bit, almost gravitating towards Ghost.

He sees Simon roll his eyes under his mask, now that he's taken to wearing the simple balaclava instead of the full skull mask around one-four-one, and Soap bites his lip to stop himself from grinning foolishly. But, oh, bite him, he just can't stop this giddy feeling that fills his chest with warmth whenever he notices his CO's progress in becoming more comfortable and expressive in the open.

Especially when Soap is one of the reasons for said progress.

"Because you are so sweet," Ghost growls playfully, his voice shooting bolts of heat right into Johnny's stomach, who snorts with an annoying smirk.

"Ladies, it's seven in the morning. Less flirting, more eating," Price groans from behind his mug of coffee, watching with sharp eyes as Ghost twitches.

"Finally someone said something," Gaz mutters as he sits by their captain, probably already done with his teammates' bullshit.

"If this is what you call flirting then I'm sorry for any poor bastards you two dated," Simon glowers as he shoves his... his fucking pancakes in his mouth. Because the team had found out about his sweet tooth a couple of months ago and the fact that he hadn't eaten anything he genuinely enjoyed in years, keeping to MREs and bland crackers, which led to them adding one or two sweet recipes to their menu.

Because Simon Riley is a cute bastard who's gone through far too much and both Price and Soap will beat the living shit out of anyone who tries to shame him for the few things he enjoys. Soap has even seen Gaz almost make a recruit shit their pants for poorly commenting on Ghost's mask.

They're not protective, God knows the man doesn't need any coddling at his grown age, but their Lieutenant goes far and beyond for all of them whether he's on or off duty. He drags their asses to safety, takes the brunt of the downfalls, helps strategizing, and pushes through until their enemies are nothing but bodies to be buried. He lends a supportive shoulder and stays with them when he feels something is wrong. He cares, even though he tried to hide it in the beginning.

So, it's only fair they introduce him to the small joys of life, be it pancakes or shitty movie nights. Give him a taste of normalcy, allow him to be more like Simon and less like Ghost.

Although Ghost definitely looks like he's about to kill someone, it's the slightest hint of a splotchy blush visible from under his mask that lets Soap know he's not angry, just embarrassed. And Simon being Simon, any emotion he's not comfortable with just yet immediately turns into feigned anger. Slightly defensive, a tad childish.

It's endearing, in John's entirely biased opinion.

"Cute," Gaz says in response, grinning when Ghost glowers at him. It's been a long time since the Lieutenant's glares worked on any of the one-four-one, and Johnny wonders if he regrets softening up to them.

Who is he kidding? He totally doesn't. 

"We'll tone it down for ye, Captain," Soap grins and doesn't groan when his Lt.'s foot hits his shin, instead kicking him right back.

It's comical how neither of their upper bodies really move while they play footsie under the dinner table, but Gaz catches the joyful look in the Sergeant blue eyes and bites back a groan because please, he's just trying to eat breakfast. Stop fucking flirting at seven in the bloody morning.

"You two should pack your bags once we are done here," Price comments as he sips on the remains of his coffee, eyeing the message on his phone and choosing to ignore whatever is happening in front of him.

"Are we being deployed today, sir?" Ghost asks with a low tone, one that makes Soap want to press his ear right against his chest so he can feel the vibrations that gravelly voice makes. He hasn't cuddled Ghost since that one night and his body feels it.

"Yes, Laswell will call you two for briefing but it's a get in, get out kind of mission," The Captain answers if only to appease the Lieutenant's ever frazzled nerves. "Sensitive intel, lots of scouting and staying low 'til you see an opportunity. Mind numbing stuff," He passes Gaz the sweetener and doesn't catch the way Ghost's hand twitches around his teacup.

About a month or so ago, Soap and Ghost had been in different missions, in completely different squads, in opposite sides of the world. Soap had been part of an exfil team near Russia, working tirelessly to extract a group of their soldiers who got themselves kidnapped and locked in an underground jail. His orders were clear cut, blow up the walls, get the squad in and get the hostages out. Kill as many as they could.

It was supposed to be easy, yet John still managed to find himself nursing a nearly deaf ear and a sprained wrist at the end of it all, despite the overall success.

And Ghost? His squad was tasked to capture a hostile in charge of information gathering for the enemy who was supposed to give them info on Makarov's whereabouts. It goes without saying, there were about forty more men than they were supposed to engage with, one of his soldiers almost ended up KIA, and Ghost, although he did capture and complete the mission, shouldered all blame from the higher ups.

Which was bullshit, because intel given to them was wrong and that was the only reason why his squad's skilled snipers' arm was blown right off. Ghost himself had thrown her over his shoulder and carried her through an active battlefield and into safety, protecting them both and shouting orders all the while.

Given the circumstances, both physical and psychological, Price had ordered both of them to stay grounded in the compound for a few weeks and focus on training the different units of recruits. At least until Soap's wrist healed and Ghost's hand didn't shake every time someone mentioned the mission. It wasn't a mandatory leave trapped in a far away flat with nothing to do but the daily routine of the same old drills was close to maddening.

John's only salvation was the fact that he could spend as much time as possible with his Lt. during that time. And touch him. A lot.

Laswell, the angel that woman is, is most likely only sending them out at all because she knows otherwise Soap will "accidentally" bomb a third of the recruit's quarters and Ghost will snap someone's neck during training. While healing is nice and Price definitely had a point, wild dogs can't stay inside for too long without craving the woods.

Even though it definitely does sounds like anyone else could do this and putting both the Sergeant and the Lieutenant is an overkill for a simple recon mission, Soap knows for a fact they both need some fresh air.

"Sounds like we'll need to take a deck of cards wae us, Lt.," John says over the rim of his mug and boldly hooks his feet behind Ghost's right ankle to lock the man's leg between his, effectively getting his large thigh draped over his own, "Hope ye ken how to play blackjack."

Steaming Jesus. This man's body is as hot as a bloody furnace.

Soft too, despite being packed with muscles. Fucking hell.

Simon, because this is not Ghost right now, not when Johnny can see the slight tremor of his fork and the blush burning under his worn out mask, grunts with feigned indifference and shifts minutely so his thigh is comfortably laying on top of John's, "I know my way around patience."

When Price said "Mind numbing stuff" he really wasn't lying, Soap thinks.

Ghost, Soap and their small unit had settled in the outskirts of a large gated community, scattered inside abandoned buildings and tall hills. Ghost explained to them all in the plane, with that gruff, sexy voice he uses whenever he was in his "Lieutenant zone", as Gaz put it, that the mission could take up to a week to be completed. They have to learn the enemies' schedule first, gather information from the locals, infiltrate, slowly make their way up to the target location, get what they need and leave. Slow and quiet.

Easy, in a way, but decidedly boring... if Soap didn't have Ghost stationed right by his side.

"Didnae think ye'd put us together," The Scotsman says with a low voice, lips pulling into a smile as he notices how stiff and ready his Lt. is, even though they both know nothing is going to happen for a while, "Since, ye ken, ye love whining 'bout how annoying Ah am."

Ghost is silent for a moment. No matter how many times Soap has seen it, it's still fascinating how inhuman his CO looks sometimes. He can barely, barely see his chest shift up and down in controlled breaths, his hold on his sniper unwavering as he watches people come and go. When he's satisfied, it's his eyes that move first, so dark under the moonlight it makes Soap want to drown in them. If he hasn't already.

"We are in the open, Sergeant. Two-man units are important for covering ground and each other," Ghost says, using a matter-of-fact tone, before stretching his back like a damn cat by lowering his shoulders to the ground and arching his back ever so slightly. Even though it's not actually dirty or raunchy enough for anyone else to even blink at it, Johnny feels his mouth dry up and blood rush to his head, which one he doesn't know.

For one, now he knows how Ghost can go hours on end behind a sniper without getting up and risking his position. The trick is that he doesn't get up at all, the brilliant bastard. Keeping low and using his surprising mobility to his advantage.

For another, Soap wants to know how far Simon can bend. How far his legs will go and if he'd be happy if John covered those hips in kisses and bites. Wonders if he'd trace the marks with his scarred fingers and sigh Johnny's name. Dreams of waking up wrapped around him again.

"Ye sure ye're jist not playin' favorites?" Is what Soap settles on, fingers gripping his rifle tightly and voice strained. Cool it, MacTavish.

"Even if that's the case, it's not like they can complain about it," At that, his heart stutters wildly, staring as Ghost's eyes melt from Ghost to Simon ever so slightly, "I am their Lieutenant, after all."

He's cheeky. So cheeky. 

He's smiling under that damn mask of his, his eyes wrinkling the black paint he applied before getting on the plane, too endearing for someone who just admitted to favoritism. Soap wants to rip the thing off, wants to see how his lips thin and his nose scrunch up when he grins, wants to kiss his cheeks, his eyelids and the little scars he knows take place right on the corners of his mouth, pinpricks and little rips he's memorized from the few times Soap's seen him take off the mask.

He wants to mess him up so badly it makes him tremble.

"So ye dae like me," John's voice is a little breathier than he intended, a tad bit awed and horribly soft, but it keeps Simon's pretty eyes trained on him, alert, bright, and warm.

Although Ghost tends to avoid eye contact, Simon has a bit of a staring problem, but it doesn't bother John as much as it did before. It can be unnerving, like he's reading all of your secrets and cracking your soul open, but John has grown to love it, to crave it.

Whenever those beautiful eyes stare at him Johnny feels nothing short of exhilarated. He wants Simon to look at him, to read in-between the lines and discover all of Johnny's deepest secrets and darkest memories. Sometimes he sputters the dumbest shit he can possibly think of just so that earth crushing attention will fall back on him, leaving him breathless.

"Maybe I do, Johnny," And oh, does Simon leave him breathless.

The Sergeant's breath hitches quietly, his free hand flexing around nothing. The guarded man he's grown to like with each passing day, to love every single flaw and scar, is right in front of him; showing uncharacteristic softness on field and a hesitant opening, a crack for John to finally, finally breach open and settle this constant tension and yearning between them both.

It's terrifying. Gut wrenching.

It's thrilling. Intoxicating.

It feels all too different from when Simon held him in his arms, coddling and protective. This time, instead of a soft blanket and cozy emotions inside his chest, John feels like he's been thrown inside an angry ocean.

Blood is rushing through his veins like violent waves. His heartbeat, something usually slow and peaceful, now thundering, erratic. Scared yet hopeful. Johnny knows his face is red, feels the warmth burn beneath his skin, growing in intensity as the older man's eyes sets him alight. Waiting patiently.

But Soap is not known for his patience in the field, and neither is John MacTavish.

The kiss is softer than either of them could have expected.

In all of Johnny's fantasies, their first kiss would be something desperate. Ghost would cling onto him, pulling gasps from Soap as they slammed against a wall, sometimes in a dirty bathroom, sometimes in an abandoned house during a mission, sometimes in one-four-one's secluded training room.

Because they are living on borrowed time and addicted to the rush of adrenaline. They're fast, rough and precise. Slow is not word anyone can use when it comes to either of them.

But when John pulls Simon's hand towards him, gently, and lays another on his neck, playing with the hems of the balaclava, the Sergeant doesn't rip it off. No. Because no matter his fantasies or daydreams, he wants to do this right. Wants to treat Simon the way he knows he was never properly treated.

He looks into his partner's eyes, silent, seeking permission. Consent.

His Lieutenant turns his head minutely and takes John's gloved hand, bringing it to his clothed lips. He presses the ghost of a kiss on his open palm with a smile, his gaze so warm it might as well melt Soap into a puddle. 

He's shaking, Johnny can feel it. He's just as scared as he is. Excited and apprehensive all the same. Probably terrified, because opening up is something Ghost struggles with, and the Sergeant would rather get shot a hundred times over than let go of this opportunity.

Soap grins foolishly at the small sign of approval and feels the butterflies in his stomach flutter. Carefully, oh-so carefully, he takes off the mask, taking his time even though his heart slams against his ribcage and his fingers shake. He can barely breathe. Can see Ghost hold his own breath.

The mask slides off, showing scarred, dry lips, a crooked nose, pretty eyes and messy, pale blond hair grown far past the grooming guidelines set for the military. His small, hesitant smile pulls at the rips around his mouth, the black makeup is smudged, and there's a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.

He's the most beautiful thing John has ever set his eyes on.

"Yer a right bonny lad, Simon," Johnny breathes, thumb brushing under the other's eye in reverence. He doesn't think he will ever get tired of seeing his bare face.

Simon closes his eyes, unconsciously pushing his face in Soap's hand with a sigh. So open, so earnest, "You've seen my face many times, Johnny." He whispers, voice deep and husky. Faint.

"Ah dinnae ken," His finger caresses the bump of his nose, sliding down his scarred cheek and finally reaching the corner of his lips, adding just enough pressure to pull them down to see a chipped lower incisor. "Far from how much Ah wanna see it everyday."

"Think about me that much?"

"'Been haunting mah mind since forever, Lt.."

Now unmasked, it's much easier for Johnny to pinpoint the moment a bad pun blooms in that pretty little head of his, even as his white skin turns blotchy with red blush. He wants to groan as much as he wants to laugh, loud and high in euphoria.

"Maybe that's why they call me Ghost." Simon's warm breath hits his lips, the two of them slowly gravitating towards each other. Guns and mission forgotten, only seeing and feeling each other.

Johnny brushes his cold nose against his cheek, kissing it immediately after. Soft and short. His partner shivers, eyes falling shut once more and hands come up to grasp Soap's wrists gently. Not pulling or push, just holding. "Ye're horrible, Simon, jist horrible." 

Ghost's breath shakes when he sighs, "Then shut me up, Johnny," It's an order and a plea all the same. His voice drips with want, dipping into desperation.

Desperation, just for Soap.

"Dae ye want me to kiss ye, sir?" Johnny asks, lips brushing scars, cold and adoring. His eyes slides shut, trying and failing to control his breathing as his entire being focuses solely on the warm feeling of Simon's skin. The texture, the temperature, the way it presses against his hand, seeking his affecting like a starved man.

"Please," Ghost, the Lieutenant, Simon asks, almost tortured, "Please, Johnny."

At first it's barely a touch. A brush of warm and cold skin, both of their lips dry. It makes his stomach churn, as if he's going down a roller-coaster. Then Ghost fists the soft mohawk, pulling Soap so they're locked together and lightly scratching his nape with his other hand, moving so slowly and gently it makes Johnny want to cry.

He's warm, so warm. Simon has always run hot like a walking human heater, and now that Soap presses more and more, moving in synch, his hand find its way into blond curls, his warmth spreads into Johnny. Heating him up from his lips to the very core of his soul.

The hand on Ghost's cheek falls to his waist, pulling him easily to sit on top of Johnny's thighs. The Lieutenant's breath hitches as he moves along and bites Soap's lower lip gently, making him groan before he quickly captures the older man's lips again. 

It's only when Simon is properly seated on top of Soap that Johnny licks his lips and finally breaks contact for air, taking a moment to focus on his love.

If Simon was pretty before when composed, now he looks downright otherworldly.

He's panting softly, chest moving against Soap's with every breath. A bright blush kisses his pale skin from his cheeks, down to his neck and up the tip of his ears. His lips, throughly kissed, are plump and red with a shine of spit just on the bottom lip. Pretty brown eyes hazy with want. He looks like the proper definition of sinful, of bewitching.

It makes Johnny want to profess his feelings from the rooftops. It makes him want to devour him and love him until he's a mess.

"Finally," His Lieutenant whispers and presses his forehead against the Sergeant's, eyes still closed. Unwilling to break contact.

Soap laughs, light and airy. He squeezes the man, pushing them closer, and kisses both of his cheeks. Then his nose. His eyelids and his forehead. He peppers Simon with all the little kisses he's been wanting to shower him with since the day he stayed behind to save Johnny in a city swarming with enemies.

"Been wanting to kiss me that much, Lt.?" He teases with a smile pressed against the corner of Ghost's mouth, fingers scratching his scalp softly while the bigger man slowly melts with every touch.

"Since forever, Johnny," Simon answers truthly, body relaxed and pliant, so unguarded. Like he's finally home.

To that, John can't say anything. His eyes sting and his lungs are not cooperating. He's so filled with warmth, with love and security and adoration that it's overwhelming, choking him up in a frankly humiliating way. But he can't help it. Not when the man of his dreams and nightmares lays on top of him, trusting him with all of his broken pieces and jaded edges, with the softness he tries to bury deep inside of him, so fragile and wanting.

It's enough to make a grown man cry, okay? Fuck you.

At his silence, Ghost finally opens his eyes. A small frown scrunches his forehead, but there's a smile on his lips and it's so tender it breaks Johnny apart and builds him back up in a matter of seconds. 

Simon takes his face between his hands, now gloveless, and kisses Johnny's lips for three seconds, huffing softly when the Sergeant tries to follow him when he parts.

"Don't cry on me, Johnny," Ghost kisses his eyelids, wiping the stray tears away with his lips. "You're too pretty for that."

"Ye're the pretty one, Lt.," Soap whispers with his eyes closed, soaking the affection in greedily.

Ghost huffs a quiet "Sod off." under his breath, interrupted only by Johnny finally kissing him again. And again. And again and again and again. Tongues clashing, teeth scraping lips, their moans are muffled and deep, only hidden by each other swallowing it up.

They're both red when they separate, starlight bright in their eyes, breathing heavily.

Simon's eyes dart between John's own. Jumping back and forth then looking down. He wants to say something, his hand grasp Soap's uniform tightly. He's nervous, so unlike himself, but he tries. "I- Johnny, I..." His lips part multiple times, opening and shutting rapidly until he clicks it shut with a frustrated groan, choosing to lay his head on Soap's shoulder instead, huffing.

Johnny laughs and kisses his blond locks, tightening his arms around his partner. "Me too, Simon." He feels more than he hears the hitch in his breath, feels his head bury heavily in the crook of his neck; kissing just over his pulse, softly and adoring.

Simon is kissing Johnny's heart.

And it's more than any words could ever say.

The mission is an expected success. The other units had done their jobs with exemplary efficiency and with Soap and Ghost providing overwatch, they were backed up with as much protection as they could have once they breached the target location and quickly secured the desired intel.

They had been so efficient, in fact, that they had to stop by at a dodgy hotel to spend the night since their exfil was not yet prepared.

Soap isn't complaining, not when he hangs back with Ghost, sneakily holding his hand in-between them as their teammates rush to their rooms. Most likely to finally get a damn shower and sleep in a real bed after days of crawling around. His heart is all over the place with all consuming happiness and he honestly feels like he may explode.

It's probably not healthy to feel this elated, right?

"Pushing the limits, are you, Sergeant?" Ghost's husky voice reaches his ears, low and slightly amused, but he doesn't drop Soap's hand, keeping it snugly secured under his bigger one.

Whatever, Soap thinks. He's willing to die at any moment if it means he gets to feel this way every day.

"Ah don't hear ye complainin', Lt.."

"Would you stop if I complained?"

"Probably."

"Probably?" The Lieutenant raises an eyebrow as they both ascend the stairs to the floor where their room takes place. Yes, their room. Because Simon wasn't about to let go of Johnny any time soon and Johnny would probably just sneak into his room anyway.

"If ye asked acause ye dinnae want the others to see, then Ah would let go," Soap explains before grinning, "But if ye're jist being a shy bastard, then A'm not."

Ghost huffs, but squeezes his hand, "Your accent is getting proper heavy," He takes the room keys once they see their door down the hall, "Might need a bloody dictionary to decipher whatever you're saying,"

Johnny scoffs and brings their intertwined hands to his lips just to kiss the back of Simon's, "Like Ah haven't seen the many books ye have on Scotticism, Lt., ye need to hide those better if ye dinnae want me to see."

The older one is silent for a moment, focusing on unlocking the door, before he glances down at the Scotsman, smug, "Who said I was hiding it?"

That's all it takes for Johnny to push him inside the dimly lit room and slam him against the wall, pulling his mask off swiftly.

He easily captures Simon's lips, swallowing his groans when he palms under his tactical vest, feeling his muscles clench under each cold touch. The older man doesn't stay idle, biting Johnny's lips and licking, scratching perfectly at his neck just enough for Soap to gasp, giving him entrance.

Soap moans unashamedly under him, holding Ghost's hips tightly as their jaws work tirelessly. Making out with his Lt. is now definitely one of his favorite activities, he thinks as he starts to feel heady, unwilling to leave Simon's mouth even as his lungs start to scream and saliva slips past the corner of his lip.

It's up to Ghost to break apart, and he does with a gulp of air, plump lips red and shiny.

"Jesus, cannae believe how beautiful ye are," Johnny whispers and pushes Ghost's turtleneck down to lay wet kisses on his neck, licking and sucking at the white skin. Peppering him with small, frantic smooches, "Ye're drivin' me crazy, Simon."

Simon's breath hitches quietly, a small, low moan escaping his mouth when John bites at his jugular, with just enough pressure to leave it red, but not enough to hurt. Soap wants to record it, for when he's far away and yearning.

Ghost suddenly pulls him by the hair with a yank and the younger doesn't try to muffle his own moan, instead letting it be eaten by the other's lips in a deep, yet short kiss, "You're the one who can't keep his hands to himself, Sergeant," He growls breathlessly, his hand caressing Johnny's lips with a tender touch. Softly, almost adoring.

"Does it leave ye all hot and bothered, sir?" Soap asks with a grin, tightening his grip on Ghost's hip and snuggling his face on the scarred hand, his eyes dripping with mischief.

The Lieutenant groans from the back of his throat, hiding his expression in Johnny's exposed neck, kissing it tenderly, "I've went through torture many times, Johnny, and what you do to me may just be worse than what I went through,"

To that, Soap halts. His hands move to his lover's face, insisting on pushing it back until he can see him properly, even though Ghost is blushing maddeningly. As though he just confessed something terribly embarrassing.

"Ah thought ye liked it, Lt.?" He murmurs with a small frown, brushing the others face with his thumbs. Maybe he read it all wrong and Simon wasn't as comfortable as he thought with his touches? Or was he overreacting and ruining the mood? But, torture- Ghost has gone through a lot and-

Simon closes his eyes and holds Johnny by the waist, sighing, "Sorry, not like that, Johnny. I-" He clenches his jaw for a moment, relaxing once Soap presses against it, rubbing his thumbs along his bones, "I do like it. To the point it's fucking torture when you don't properly touch me," His voice is faint, embarrassed and entirely too self-conscious for Soap's taste.

He opens his eyes, dark brown irises looking just under the Sergeant's blues. He can see him struggling for a moment, but chooses to continue to caress him and kiss the lips being bitten. Soap lets him gather his thoughts and keeps him grounded with soft touches, just the way he instinctively knows his Lt. likes it despite the traitorous thoughts in his head.

"It's torture when you touch me because I keep wanting more, and it's torture when you don't because now I need it. Need you," He breathes and smiles in a way that crushes Soap, loving yet sorrowful, as if John is his entire world, "It's a mess. I'm a bloody mess without you, Johnny," 

He can't stand it. Can't stand to look at his Lieutenant looking like he somehow doesn't fucking deserve Johnny. Doesn't deserve to love or be loved by Johnny.

And that can't do.

He squishes Ghost's face, a heavy frown taking over his expression, "Ye're not a mess, Simon, ye're a great fucken' man, is whit ye are," Soap presses a hard kiss against the older's lip, "Ye act like wanting me is a sin," 

"Eve wanted the one fruit she shouldn't eat and look at what happened." Simon says against his lips, yet doesn't stop himself from pressing himself against Soap when the man bites his bottom lip in light reprimand.

"Ye a religious man, Lt.?" He whispers and swipes a thumb under his eye, over a faded scar.

"Not anymore."

"Then dinnae treat me like a bloody forbidden fruit, Simon. Acause ye'd find mah fantasies a lot more sinful than whatever bullshit must be goin' through this pretty little head o' yers" Johnny murmurs and captures his lips in a slow kiss.

Slow, heated and deep. He turns the burning want in his gut into a low simmer, the frantic beating of his heart slowing down. Soap wants to take this at their own pace, wants to love Simon in the way he deserves, and as much of an ego boost that knowing his Lieutenant is as crazy about him as Johnny is, he wants Ghost to realize it's more than okay to love Johnny.

Breaking apart with a small groan, he rests his forehead against Simon's, both of their eyes closed.

"Got it, Lt.?"

"Yeah, I got it," Ghost huffs a laugh, and it's so surprising it immediately splits a blinding grin across Johnny's face. It's always a lovely sound, Simon's laughter, "We should take a shower, though, exfil will be here early in the morning."

Soap drops his head on the taller man's shoulder, exhaling loudly, "Ye can go first, sir, A'll go second,"

Simon cracked his eyes open, raising an eyebrow, "Not too keen on showering with me, Sergeant?" There's humour in his voice and this time, Johnny does bite him. Just under his ear and adores the way Ghost shudders and grasps his neck. Not pushing away, just holding.

"A'm only a man, Lt.. There's no lube around and A'm not fucking ye in a shitty hotel in the middle of nowhere," He kisses the bite before forcefully moving himself away from the other. It takes more will than it probably should.

Simon looks at him softly, mischief melting away into something... Into something adoring as he bends down to steal one last quick kiss before picking up the baggage they both dropped upon entering the room.

"A proper gentleman, are you?" He asks with a smile as he walks to the bathroom.

"Just for you, Simon," Soap grins, cheeks aflame and laughter escapes his throat when Ghost trips a little and rushes inside, his own ears red hot. So unlike the usual composed man he is. So fucking cute.

Then, left alone, giddy and on cloud nine, Johnny drops to the floor, shoving his hand on his face as a smile threatens to break his face. He couldn't feel happier than this, not even if he tried.

His chest is filled with all types of emotions. Elation, excitement, a little bit of fear and just so much adoration. He sort of feels like throwing up at the same time he feels like crying.

They are dating. That's one thing he won't let himself doubt now. He could call Simon his fucking boyfriend, and isn't that just bonkers? Though, it does sound a little childish, Ghost being in his thirties and John in his late twenties. Boyfriends didn’t quite fit them, so, lovers? Partners? Husbands would sound delightful, one day.

He shakes his head, chuckling to himself, and moves to grab his journal. Ghost would take his precious time hogging all the hot water like the cheeky bastard he is, so Johnny takes his time writing down everything that happened, and pays special attention to drawing Simon's bare face, with each new expression he pulled from him. Over and over again.

Drawing his lover's face.

His lover. His partner. His Lieutenant. His Simon.

His.

Johnny bites back a loud laugh, doesn't even try to squish down the childish giddiness he's feeling, and draws an arrow pointing at a specific spot on Ghost's neck.

"Sensitive here." He notes down. And draws a little heart.

Once they're wrapped around each other, both properly showered and exhausted, Simon just stares at Johnny's squished face against the pillow. His mohawk is soft now, growing longer each day, and it allows Ghost to play with it softly, making Soap incredibly sleepy.

Johnny snuggles himself in Simon's chest, body pleasantly warm from hogging his Lieutenant's own heat, and sighs happily.

"Anyone ever tell ye yer body is steaming hot, Si?" Soap mumbles, eyes barely open. So cozy and comfortable.

Ghost huffs a laughter, air hitting Johnny's hair, "Only you, Johnny," He replies with that lovingly husk tone of his, amused and relaxed.

That pleases Johnny in a horribly irrational way, bringing out a small grin he hides against Ghost's hoodie, "Good," He squeezes his waist.

It's quiet for a minute or two, the older one pressing gentle kisses on his head every other moment, hand never stopping his ministrations on his hair. Johnny is a second away from falling deep asleep when Ghost speaks once again, "What do you call a fancy bar of soap?"

The Sergeant's sleepy brain barely processes the question, but he mumbles a quiet, "What?" And immediately wishes he had faked being asleep.

"Soap-histicated."

Johnny groans and hugs Simon tightly, who laughs quietly in his ear.

"Go to sleep, Lt.."