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the poor thing in the road
its eyes still glistening
the cold wet of your nose
the earth from a distance
— hozier; abstract (psychopomp)
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The day had been nothing but busy work for everyone in the task force. Soap was occupied with training his own bunch of new recruits, Price was swamped with paperwork (per usual), and Ghost was off doing god-knows-what.
Sadly, Gaz was also stuck with his own group of rowdy rookies, but instead of doing drills inside a ventilated building like Soap's group had been, Gaz was stuck outside in the mid-summer heat.
He felt like he was sweating off the majority of his body weight just standing there while shouting directions.
And of course, on top of that, the recruits weren't exactly being all that cooperative in the first place. Some of them had tried to be tough and funny—maybe even show off—but only ended up making themselves look more like idiots than anything.
At some point, Gaz heard steady but almost silent footsteps approaching from behind him. He felt the shadow of a smile try to appear on his face, but bit his tongue and shoved down the urge.
"Sergeant," Ghost addressed, standing side-by-side with Gaz. His arms were crossed in front of his chest and his posture caused the recruits to stand on edge.
"Lieutenant," Gaz quipped in return.
"All of you, I need 10 laps around the track, now!" Gaz then called out to the rest of the recruits.
Once the group started setting a steady pace on the track and were out of sight, Gaz turned to his partner.
"How the hell are you wearing all that in this weather, sir? It's like 35°C (96°F) out here!"
Ghost looked down at himself. He was wearing what he usually wore—layers upon layers of dark colored clothing.
"Ghost's don't feel heat," Ghost joked. Gaz laughed in return.
"Oh yes they fucking do, take some of that off!"
"Trying to get me to strip for you, Sergeant?"
Gaz sputtered at the sudden flirting.
"No! I'm— I'm trying to make sure you don't have a heatstroke."
"Well, I'm fine."
The whispered conversations that the couple had shared made the time pass by faster, and by the time Gaz was in the middle of telling an old story from his childhood—the recruits finished their 10 laps.
What Gaz hadn't noticed while further instructing the recruits on more drills, was that Ghost had fallen unusually silent.
Normally, the man was pretty damn quiet, but Ghost was being more quiet than normal. He gave Gaz no advice or tips on what to do throughout the whole rest of training.
Ghost had been a little unsteady on his feet. The man was practically swaying ever-so-slightly side to side. For godsake, the man was dripping with sweat—he was absolutely fucking drenched in it.
It only took a couple seconds for everything to happen.
Gaz dismissed the recruits for the rest of the day, then turned back to look at Ghost, who was looking awfully ill.
Then, the man dropped like a deadweight—straight to the ground like a ragdoll.
"Simon!" Kyle called out, extreme worry in his tone.
He turned Simon's body over, so that he was laying on his back.
"Simon? Simon, are you okay?"
Simon had been panting. His breathing was quick and uneven—maybe even a little wheeze.
This fucker had a heatstroke—just like Kyle said he would.
Kyle couldn't help but feel a little smug that he had been right. But, it didn't override the worry he felt for Simon's well-being.
"We're going to my room, now . You need to cool down."
Ghost just nodded his head. Better to follow than to argue.
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The trip to Kyle's room had been a difficult one, but at least that part was over.
Now, Kyle needed to get the amount of layers Ghost was wearing off him.
He sat his partner down on the edge of his bed.
"Lift your arms," Kyle ordered. Simon followed.
Kyle stripped the man of his dozens of layers of clothing in a matter of seconds, but the fabric closest to his skin had been soaked in sweat and stuck to his skin—that made it a little more complicated.
Once that was over, Kyle moved onto stripping the man's pants.
"At least take me out to dinner first," Simon teased. Kyle scoffed in response.
When Simon was in nothing but his boxers, Kyle made the man stand up on his own two feet.
"I'm going to get the shower running."
"Alright."
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Holy fuck, the water was so unbelievably cold, but dear god was it so refreshing.
Simon stood under the cold stream feeling grateful that he no longer felt as though he was overheating.
He basked in the cool water with his eyes closed before he noticed another naked figure standing behind him.
"Holy shit! That water is freezing!" Kyle screeched. Simon let out a quiet laugh.
"What are you laughing at, sir?" Kyle asked, placing his hands along Simon's soft hips.
Simon hummed something incomprehensible.
"What was that?" Kyle leaned in, nibbling lightly at the lobe of the blonde's ear. Simon tried to groan out in fake annoyance and lean away from the man, but Kyle only pulled him in closer.
"Go away, Garrick," Simon mumbled.
"Nu uh, not happening, sir. Not until you admit that I was right."
"Right about what?" Simon turned around, wrapping his arms loosely over Kyle's shoulders.
"That you were going to give yourself a heat stroke. I was right, admit it."
Simon rolled his eyes once again.
"Come onnnn," Kyle whined out. "I was right and you know it."
"Whatever."
Kyle bit his bottom lip, staring Simon up and down with a teasing look in his eyes.
"Are you being difficult, Si? On purpose?"
Simon scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh yes you do. You are so doing this on purpose!"
Kyle's hands began to drift further down south—going from the top of Simon's hips to the ends of his happy trail.
Simon shuttered under the man's touch.
"You are awful, Simon. You are absolutely awful."
"Mmm," Simon hummed out, a half-lidded look on his face.
Oh. Oh.
Oh they were going to be here for a while.