Chapter Text
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You're about four chapters deep into the latest novel you've nicked from Price's office when two figures decide to invade your space and ruin. Everything.
Well, okay, maybe 'ruin' is too strong of a word, you are sitting in the rec room, so really it's your own fault for not taking the book somewhere quieter like Price's office or your bedroom… and besides, you'd heard the faint thud of the side door shutting a few minutes ago. Like a lot of things that happen in the barracks, this too was inevitable, you just hadn't expected this particular flavour of interruption.
Not that you mind it any. At least, not at first—the second you hear their voices you perk up, thumb wrapped around the fore edge of the book to mark your place as you shift your gaze to greet them—
—and short circuit at the sight that greets you.
Your gaze catches on Johnny first—only because he tends to just fill the room with that rumbustious laugh, bright and warm like sunshine and mischief all at once—head thrown back, throat bared and showing off the light sheen of sweat that leaves his quite frankly sinful cut-off tank clinging to his abs…
Holy fuck.
He's flushed from whatever he's just been up to, arms bare with every line of solid muscle on full display like some kind of personal vendetta against what little remains of your sanity. His tags swing loose over the fabric of his shirt, hair mussed curling in that way that makes your fingers twitch with the urge to tangle them into the strands—
—and the best worst part is he's not even looking at you, he's still focused on whatever Kyle said to make him laugh like that!
Illegal. All of this should be illegal, you think. It's not fair. There is absolutely nothing fair about this entire thing, because the second you go to glance away your entire brain melts as you accidentally make eye contact with your other boyfriend—
Yeah. There's no way you're making it outta this one alive. You've been shot at, interrogated, nearly kidnapped several times, almost blown up, attacked… and somehow it's Kyle fucking Garrick and Johnny fucking MacTavish that are going to do you in.
Kyle leans against the doorframe like he owns it, and for a second you really contemplate calling him an insufferable bastard and fleeing while you still have some sense of dignity. He's shirtless. Of course he's shirtless. He's shirtless with a towel slung around his neck, sweat dampening the waistband of his shorts as it tracks down the line of his unfairly perfect abs—
—his mouth curls.
A strangled noise escapes your throat.
Which, unfortunately for you, is enough to capture Johnny's attention as well, his laugh quieting as those brilliant blue eyes turn on you.
"Ah," he grins, nudging Kyle with an elbow. "Seems we've got an admirer."
"That we do," Kyle hummed, stepping closer. "See something you like, babe?"
You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again, and right now you really can't find it in you to care that you look more like a fish than a sparrow because Kyle is still walking towards you with that… that fucking prowl of his, like he knows he's got you cornered and has all the time in the world to toy with his bloody meal—
Of course, never one to be outdone, Johnny falls into step beside him, grin a little more feral at the edges, and suddenly there's two of them and one of you and the couch is a Very Poor Place to continue residing because unless you vault backwards there is no way out.
Shit.
"I—" you falter, swallowing hard. "You're both—"
"Hm?" Johnny all but drapes himself over the arm of the couch, drawing so close you can feel his breath on your lips yet just far enough that you'd have to move to close the distance, and if you initiate you have no defence aside from maybe pleading temporary insanity—
Johnny tilts his head, all faux innocence. "We're what, wee birdie?"
"Unfair," you manage weakly. "You're… mean."
Kyle huffs a laugh at that, leaning down on your other side with a hand braced on the couch just behind your head.
He's close enough that you can practically fucking smell him.
"Mean?" he echoes, eyes going all soft and sad. "Babe, we haven't done anything to you! Aren't you happy to see us?"
"Perhaps she's mad we distracted 'er," Johnny nods down to the book in your lap, at the way your fingers have curled so tight against the fore edge that your knuckles are white. "Good book?"
You blink. For a second, you really want to respond, to tell them off because yes they were interrupting your quiet time—
—except you suddenly have no idea what the book is even about.
Johnny's grin widens. Kyle's smirk deepens. And you? You're well and truly trapped.
Not that you'd trade it—or them—for anything.