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It’s not the first time Soap and Ghost have to go separate ways in their mission. It is the first time, however, since their relationship took
that
turn — in hindsight, not unexpected at all, despite it disregarding what a sergeant and their lieutenant are supposed to be to each other.
Johnny’s heart twists at the thought of not being able to watch Simon’s six this time — he’s always done that, even before getting so close to Ghost, and the thought of not being there this time chokes him in anxiety. What if something happens? What if he gets in trouble and he’s not there to help? To hold him if he gets hurt, or worse—
He shakes his head, chasing his worst thoughts away, and sighs, resigned, knowing that he cannot change the orders they got. They still have a little bit of time left before they get deployed — not nearly enough, half an hour at best before they depart, but Johnny is dead set to spend it next to Simon. He still isn’t ready and his gear still needs some adjustments, but he acts on pure instinct when he leaves his room and reaches Simon’s, sneaking inside — he is able to pick those kinds of locks in seconds, but there’s no need. Simon left his door unlocked, as if he were expecting him. He’s there, checking on his own gear, tightening the straps, going through pockets and zippers making sure it’s all in the perfect order he wants from himself on the battlefield.
He isn’t wearing his mask yet, and the faint morning sunshine filtering through the small window gets caught into blond hair, refracting on sharp features and scarred skin. He doesn’t even have to raise his head to know who’s there, a slight crooked smile bending his lips — he doesn’t know much about art, but to Johnny’s eyes the scene unfolding before his eyes looks like the most beautiful painting he has ever set his gaze on.
« Aren’t you supposed to get ready too? », Simon’s voice is just a bit more than a whisper forming an empty question that really doesn’t need an answer — it’s already there, he already knows Johnny wants to be with him, because they share the exact same wish.
It’s all it takes for Johnny to snap out of his bewitchment, mesmerized by the other’s presence, and as he steps forward he meets no resistance in getting into Simon’s personal space. His hands run up his hips, his back, until they’re cupping his face and pulling him down, kissing him, unexpectedly soft and warm lips pressing pliant on his own.
« What do you think I’m doing, Si? », he whispers, still only a breath away from Simon, and he pulls out his throat mic from a pocket to place it right into his palm. He steps back, lips curling in half a smile, baring his neck in a silent request that goes granted at once without even uttering a single word, with just a smoldering gaze settling on his face. Simon still isn’t wearing his gloves and the cold tip of his fingers make Johnny shiver — it lasts a second, but he’s used to his hands being freezing and a familiar, welcome warmth soon takes over his body. He’s still smiling when Simon settles the mic around his neck, gestures so confident he doesn’t even need to look, and he tightens it just a bit more than it’s necessary. Johnny’s breath catches in his throat and his eyes flutter closed as he sighs, while his hands clutch on Simon’s arms and his heartbeat quickens, perfectly perceptible under Simon’s fingers still on his neck.
« Don’t get all worked up now, Johnny— keep it for when we get back. Help me with this instead », Simon whispers, and he puts his black face paint in Johnny’s hand. Their fingers brush together when Johnny takes it, and every gesture, even the smallest ones, is charged with that tension, that subtle temptation to just run from their mission to be together somewhere far from the battlefield — both of them know, though, that it’s just a flimsy fantasy, only lasting for the blink of an eye before remembering that theirs is the only life they know, the only one they belong to.
Johnny dips his fingers in the black paint, raising his thumbs to smear it on Simon’s eyes – he flutters his long, pale eyelashes closed, letting Johnny smudge the paint on his face. His touch is feather light, soft despite his hands being so rough, and he’s slow in his work, as if he wanted to buy some more time for the two of them, so careful in painting over Simon’s eyelids, tracing a finger over the bridge of his nose. Johnny hesitates halfway through, letting his hands slide down on Simon’s scarred cheeks as his Lieutenant opens his whisky brown eyes to stare right at him. Johnny lightly runs his finger over marks of old wounds and an instant is all that it takes for him to capitulate and reach once again for Simon’s lips, placing soft kisses that soon turn to sweet, tender nibbles that send a shiver up Simon’s spine, despite him being the one telling his Sergeant to hold it back until their mission is finished.
« Keep it down, we have to be out of here in five », Simon forces himself to murmur between kisses, even if it requires him more effort than he ever thought possible. He earns a disgruntled groan in reply, frustrated for not having the time Johnny wants to claim for them. Nonetheless, he obligates himself to pull back, finishing painting Simon’s face, with a sigh when he looks at his work of art, lips curling in a satisfied smile.
He then reaches for Simon’s balaclava on his bed, unfolding it between his fingers before making him wear it, taking his sweet time with carding through his blonde hair, as if he’s trying to postpone the moment in which Simon will be gone from before his eyes, the Ghost taking his place. Soap loves the Ghost, just as much as Johnny loves Simon, but there’s always a tug to his heart when he hides his chiseled features, scar-tainted but still so handsome he cannot breathe.
Before Johnny is done hiding his face underneath his balaclava, Simon grabs him by the straps of his vest, almost reading Johnny’s mind when he pulls him close against his chest, famished, crashing their lips together, as if he hadn’t kissed him in forever, as if he was kissing him for the last time — both of them know that is very much a possibility in their line of work, but none of them need to say it as it echoes around them clear and deafening loud.
The kiss breaks, even though they both could have kept kissing forever, but they stay as close to each other as they can possibly be, their forehead touching, hands resting on each other’s body. Johnny, still dazed by the kiss, by Simon’s very presence, finally finishes to set his balaclava over his face, unhurried, lingering, and runs his fingers over the skull mask, caressing it with a touch as sweet as he were caressing the skin underneath. He gets lost in it, losing the train of his thoughts into his memories, remembering that this very skull mask was the first thing he ever saw of Simon.
« It’s time to go, Johnny », Simon– no, it’s Ghost now, takes him back to the harsh reality and it’s written all over Soap’s face how much he wishes he could bask in those stolen precious moments for a little longer. He sighs and reaches up, to place an adoring, gentle kiss at the top of Ghost’s mask.
« For good luck », he murmurs, taking one last, long moment to stare into the Lieutenant’s dark eyes – their fears, their hopes, their love are all in that last gaze they exchange, before he steps back and heads toward the door, his fingers intertwining with Ghost’s for just a second before letting go.
« Don’t blow yourself up out there », Ghost’s voice stops him in his tracks, and while the Lieutenant is already slipping into his fearsome persona, he still has some tenderness left for Soap — he always does, always will. His words may seem harsh, almost cold, but to Soap’s knowing ears, they sound so full of love and worry, giving him the strength to finally step out of the door, not before turning back one last time before disappearing down the corridor, a bright smile on his face.
« And you– just come back alive, Lt »