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Ghost has been able to read minds for as long as he can remember.
Simon was just 5 when he tried to explain it to his parents. His mother was gentle, playing along out loud but her mind was concerned about his dishonesty. His father immediately imagined the most vile, heinous things he could. Simon didn’t talk about it again.
Simon is only 8 when he realises his father doesn’t like him, 9 when he realises he doesn’t love him either. He’s 10 when he finally realises the feeling is mutual.
At 15 Tommy is going off the rails and the spirals and tangents of his mind are all but impossible to follow.
At 15 his mother is all but gone, her mind is so clouded by Fear and cloying, consuming Terror that he can’t make out anything else.
At 15 he finally realises that his father hates him. He’s never mentioned it, but Simon knows he hasn’t forgotten that conversation a decade ago, he sends his thoughts at Simon like knives, the pain of them cutting deeper than a blade would, feelings all Loathing and Vitriol.
At 15 he finally learns to control his power, he turns it off mostly, tired of the vicious, unkind truth of humanity being hurled at him every moment of the day. He’d had a teacher once, kind and supportive, she’d been invested in his future but the constant stream of degradation and dehumanisation flowing into his mind from his classmates eventually made it so he couldn’t even bear to look at her. Too burdened by the hateful truth of people.
At 16 Simon shuts off his power completely. He joins the army and never looks back, grateful that whatever his comrades may think of him, he won’t have to know about it.
He never thinks to access it again, even during interrogation training.
Simon loses control with Roba, the relentless torture and abuse finally cracking through his control. The most terrifying part was finding that, for the first time in his life, Simon was meeting someone whose every thought matched their words and deeds exactly.
An honest monster, it was almost a relief.
After his escape the first thing he does is tighten his fist around the reins of his control and pull back, wrestling his powers back into submission and pushing them down even deeper into himself.
Only in his darkest moments does he wish that maybe he’d indulged in those last few days with his family, but he didn’t need to taint their reunion with their secret Disgust at his scars, their Pity, the loss of their respect.
The first and only time Ghost loses control starts in the Humvee.
He doesn’t even register the explosion until after his head is bouncing off the door frame, his helmet wedged uselessly at his feet.
The hot spread of blood down the side of the mask’s fabric causing it to cling to his cheek is indication enough that something is seriously wrong.
“Ghost, sir, you alright?”
//fuck, hit his head, gotta get him out, is he okay, gotta be okay, c’mon mate//
He blinks, tries to clear the dense fog in his mind, it takes him a while to realise that Gaz’s mouth had stopped moving but he can still hear him clear as a bell.
The panic is overwhelming, worse than being caught in the blast, but when he reaches for his control, ready to wrench the door in his mind closed, it's not there. The impact has rattled something loose because for all that he tries he can’t find a way to block it out again.
Gaz is clearly starting to panic and it gets worse the longer Ghost doesn’t reply, his mind a mess of //fuck, get help, radio it in, get the Captain, please mate get it together, fuck it was a hard hit//
Ghost shrinks back from the raw Concern choking him, barks out “I’m alright, Sergeant.” just to try and get his mind to settle, and it works a little, there’s a wash of Relief so strong that it's startling. He resents it when it bleeds into his own emotions and the tremble in his hands lessens.
The medics who check him over in the chopper are all business, their minds blank and focussed on their task in a way that is a credit to their training.
Gaz has eased back but he’s still radiating a mix of Tension and Anxiety that makes Ghost nauseous (he’s pretty sure it’s that and not the head injury, anyway).
When the medics tell him to stay awake he ignores them, maybe a good bout of unconsciousness will fix whatever has shaken loose in his brain. The last thing he hears as he passes out is their unified mental //fuck// .
It doesn’t fix anything, all it does is earn him an even longer stay in hospital before he’s released back to base.
Soap is away on a training exercise but both Price and Gaz visit regularly, bringing idle chat (Price) and gossip (Gaz), they also bring their thoughts. Price has a methodical way of thinking, calm and organised, like files in his mind, the confidence he radiates to everyone around him isn’t an act either, it’s there in his thoughts. He’s funnier in his mind though, allows himself to think the things his position won’t quite allow him to say. He’s worried about Ghost, constantly thinking about checking in with the doctors, making sure they’re doing everything possible to aid his recovery.
Ghost studiously ignores the other feelings that crowd around him, bullying up against him whenever Price is in the room; Affection, Care, something else that’s worryingly paternal but Ghost has no frame of reference for.
Gaz is a little more erratic, though no less worried. He projects his emotions more than anyone Ghost has met before, huge plumes of feeling crowding out every room he walks into like gas clouds, it would be unbearable if he were a worse man but Ghost is starting to suspect that he may be the best of them, negative emotions are short pulses, observed and then put back on their shelf, instead Empathy and Kindness radiate outwards.
There’s one, the day before he gets released, that he doesn’t recognise, Gaz pushes it at him the whole time he’s there, presses it into Ghost’s chest until he’s forced to let it in. He’s only a little shocked to finally place it as Friendship.
He feels intrusive, sensing his team mates feelings without him knowing, but the way he offered it, he clearly isn’t trying to keep this a secret.
“Glad you’re finally gonna be out of here, Ghost, must be sick of the piss this place calls a brew?” Is what Gaz’s mouth says but his mind says //glad he’s getting out, glad he’s better, get him a present, what tea does he drink//
“Thank you. For visiting. Didn’t have to.” It’s gruff and totally at odds with the tone of the visits so far but Gaz takes it in stride, though he looks a little surprised.
Ghost almost feels bad about that, damn Gaz must be rubbing off on him, so he pushes his own more tentative Friendship ball at Gaz and watches it land. There’s no way Gaz can see or feel it but he seems to understand it on some level, offers Ghost a warm smile.
“Of course I did mate, I wasn’t just gonna leave you to lose your mind on your own in here.” His mind says exactly the same thing. “Besides, as your second favourite Sergeant I had to try and worm my way into the top spot while number one was away.” Ghost is preparing to lie to him, tell him he likes them both equally, but he’s blindsided by Gaz’s next thought.
//that was a bit much, ease back, you dont wanna let it slip about soaps little crush//
He manages a strained “Keep dreaming, Sergeant.” which makes Gaz laugh, stays calm while they say their goodbyes, only once the door clicks shut does he allow himself to panic.
Now, he isn’t ignorant to his own feelings for his sergeant, the loud mouthed little shit squirmed his way into his heart while he wasn’t looking. Just turned around one day and there he was, well and truly past his defences.
Those feelings however were much easier to ignore when he thought the situation was impossible, that there was no way someone that charismatic and warm could ever feel something even slightly similar for him.
He has no idea how to handle the idea that it could on some level be reciprocated.
That night, finally in his own bed, is a restless one.
He intends to avoid Soap for a while, until he has his own feelings in order, until he has a plan to get over him. Not hugely practical, granted, since he’s due back from training in the morning and they work together but Ghost is a slippery bastard and he reckons he can make it work.
Satisfied, he gives up on sleep, if it hasn’t come yet it won’t at all. Sick of lying in bed he gets up to go for a smoke, could use the nicotine to settle the roiling in his stomach, and opens his door into Soap’s face.
“Fuckin Christ, Ghost can’t ye watch where yer going ye spooky bitch?” Soap grins, rubbing at his nose, “Didya miss me?”
And Ghost can’t answer him because Soap’s mind is like nothing he’s ever dealt with before.
The first thing that hits is the wall of Affection and Joy. Most feelings are like a vapour, gaseous and intangible, this is as thick as custard and just as sticky. The emotions coat his tongue and plaster against his skin. A small ball of something he doesn’t recognise swirls tightly by Soap’s belly.
There’s a hint of Desire mixed in with it all though it’s small, background noise, secondary.
The second thing is the thoughts.
//i missed ye, are you okay, heard ye were hurt, tried to come back early, i learned lots, christ ye smell so fucking good, so tall, those eyes, missed you missed you missed you//
Soap would be mortified if he knew Ghost was hearing all this but Ghost can’t help listening harder, trying to take it in, he’s never heard anyone be so genuinely, deeply Joyful about him.
He’s even more Scottish, in his thoughts, and it’s only thanks to the amount of time they’ve spent together that Ghost’s able to interpret it. Soap is standing there, looking expectant, and Ghost can’t even remember the question. Goes with a tentative “Yeah.” which he only barely manages to make a statement rather than a question.
“Yeah?” Soap’s grin widens and now, god help him, there’s Hope rolling off him. That ball at his stomach is pulsing angrily. Simon focuses on the thoughts again, which is a mistake.
//he missed us, maybe he wants us, don’t be daft, don’t hurt yourself, but maybe//
“Yeah, could actually hear myself think without you yapping in my ear, had to actually deal with my own company. Turns out I’m a miserable bastard.” He should really stop now, falling back on jokes is tried and true but it’s not going to help, he has to get away from this, just turn around and go back to bed, say goodnight.
“Nah, you’re not so bad as long as you’ve had your beauty sleep, Sir. Any less than eight hours though and you’re right, prickly as a cactus.”
//don’t need it, so pretty under that mask, even with it on, always so good to me, missed you//
Ghost feels suffocated, this is too much for 2am on a Monday. He’s not sure there’s a time it would ever not be too much.
“Well then, in the name of my temperament I guess I’d better hit the mattress.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, standing a little straighter as if he’s about to turn and head back through the door. There’s a jolt through Johnny’s mind, bright hot cutting through the thickness of the other feelings and Simon is hit with Lust and Desire like a knife to the chest.
//fuck, the way he fills that door frame, fucking huge, beautiful, could hold me down, fuck me through the mattress, would be gentle with me, would he kiss me through the mask, wanna kiss him so bad//
Simon is sweating under the mask, Johnny looks like his brain blue screened a little so he at least doesn’t notice the way Simon has to subtly shift his stance. There’s images filtering through among the thoughts and some of them are so tender Simon can’t quite look directly at them, he tries looking away but accidentally glimpses a less tender, deeply explicit, thought instead and now he really has to go or his trackies are going to be giving the game away.
“Goodnight, Johnny. Glad to have you back.” Before he can even finish turning around the Lust has all but melted away and there’s a new feeling, it strokes down his back, feels like cool hands on a hot day, it slips around his waist and wraps around him, coils with a firm pressure.
If Johnny’s other feelings are cloying, intense, this is something else entirely. It feels all-encompassing, like it’s trying to fuse to every inch of Simon’s skin. It also feels like everything he never had as a child, a teenager.
It feels like an echo of the emotion he keeps trapped within his own mind, the thing that threatens to escape every time he thinks of Soap.
“Goodnight, Ghost.” Soap says and Simon knows.
He knows.
//i love you//
The door clicks shut and he slumps back against the cheap plywood, the impact of his head softened by the soft balaclava.
The feeling around his waist slips away like the going out of the tide, and he knows that the next time he sees Soap it will wash back in to hold him again.
The thing is. The thing is that Simon has experienced love before. His mother loved him, his brother too, in his way. Their love had always felt tentative, secret, hidden away so that it couldn’t be extinguished. Theirs had felt like trembling hands, soft and brushing across his shoulder, down his arms. His mother’s had sometimes swept gently through his hair.
Always, it was tainted by the black stink of fear.
He knew that if they could have sensed it his would have been the same.
Not for the first time he wishes he’d released his control after Roba, when he was back with them, so he could have felt it unrestrained. Wishes he could have done more to show them his in return.
He thinks of Johnny, walking away, prepared to love him from a distance.
His stomach twists and he blinks. Pulls up the feelings in his mind and unravels them. The little ball that had twisted restlessly at Soap’s navel.
Yearning, Sorrow, Resignation.
They were trying to protect him, preserve his heart, stand between him and Simon like a buffer.
Simon doesn’t even know why that’s the last straw, why he can’t bear for Johnny to have to keep that shield up for even one more minute. Maybe it was thinking of his family, regret sitting bitterly in his mind. Maybe it’s the way his own feelings are clawing at his throat so hard he might choke on them.
He throws open the door so hard the doorknob cracks the plaster, tears down the hall at a pace he can only achieve because it’s the small hours and no one else is awake.
He knocks on Johnny’s door before he can second guess it, rips off his mask and crams it in his back pocket.
Soap can only just have beat him here, it takes him just moments to open the door, looking alarmed but quickly smoothing into
//happy, happy, simon, worried, facefaceprettyface//
“Simon? To what do I-”
“I got injured, again, but this time I could only think about how I wished you were there. Because if I’m going to die I’d want it to be by your side.”
The sound Soap’s brain makes is pretty comparable to tv static and Simon almost laughs.
“I love you too.” He adds as an afterthought, and then winces. He tries to push his own love outwards, like Soap had, like maybe Soap will be able to sense it somehow.
Maybe he does, to an extent because as Simon watches, the angry little ball swirling in front of Soap’s middle simply winks out of existence, like it never was.
And then the wave is rushing back, rolling over him and gripping him tightly.
“Bit presumptive innit sir? How would you know how I feel?” There’s a tease in his voice, Joy twinkling across his skin like glitter. Still smothering in its intensity but Simon realises he’s more than happy to be stifled.
“You think too fuckin loud.” Simon offers, and kisses him, hand curled in his hair and leaning down to close the gap.
Soap’s hands curl around his waist and he lets Simon guide the kiss with a possessive hand on his jaw. The chanting in Soap’s mind is a gratifying litany of
//fuckfuckfuck, so good, im dreaming, this is real, he loves me, he loves me back, neck hurts tall cunt, nose hurts, love him//
Ghost pulls back eventually, lips tingling, hands running to the back of Soap’s neck to rub soothing circles into the muscle.
Soap’s lips are reddened in a way that makes Ghost want to bite them, although he wants to bite every part of Johnny so it’s not exactly a new feeling. He settles for pressing a soft peck to them before pulling away a little further.
//no, more more, come back//
Christ, Soap is needy, it’s fucking perfect. Ghost wants to tell him just how obsessed he is, wants to goad Soap into saying all his most desperate and pathetic thoughts aloud.
“Sorry about your nose.” Is what he says instead.
“What nose?”
//what nose, the fuck ye talking about ye fuckin donkey, christ one kiss and yer a babbling fucken idiot//
“The one I rammed a door into.” Simon says, and flicks the bridge of it. God, why doesn’t he just pull his pigtails next.
//ow//
“Ow. Fuck you.” There’s a small bright flash of Pain in John’s feelings but there’s a bigger swell of Flustered which fizzes and pops around him. Simon is absolutely delighted to realise it’s reflected by a light flush rising on Johnny’s cheeks.
“Why were you outside my door anyway?” The flush deepens into a definite blush.
“Got back a little early and knew you were hurt, wanted to see you but I didn’t want to wake ye.”
“So you just stood there?” Soap mumbles something unintelligible.
“What?”
“I wanted to hear you breathing, so I’d know you were okay for myself.” The blush is even deeper, disappearing down the neck of his t-shirt.
//wanted to be where you were//
And what else is Simon supposed to do but kiss him? Crowds him into the doorframe to loom over him and is sharply reminded of Soap’s earlier fantasies about him and doorways when one of them floats back through Soap’s mind. He slides his mouth off Soap’s, skims it along his jawline, nipping and kissing as he goes, hovers just in front of his ear and is going to offer to make it come true when
//shit//
“Shit.”
Simon whips around so fast his neck clicks, hand automatically reaching for a knife that’s not there. Peripherally he sees Soap do the same thing.
Gaz looks like a deer in headlights.
There’s Shock and Confusion radiating off him but there are little bubbles of Delight floating with them.
“No need to knife me sir, I’m just headed back to my room.” Which Ghost belatedly realises is next to Soap’s, and Gaz is going to have to walk past them to get to his room. Soap is emanating Mortification but his brain is throwing out a steady stream of
//fuck off fuck off fuck off, dont see my hard on, fuck off//
“Better be careful there Gaz, it’s dark in this corridor.”
“You’re right sir, very dark, can hardly see my hand in front of my face.” He says, walking past them and to his door, sliding the key in with no problem.
“Good man, Sergeant.” Ghost says, with an approving nod. Gaz’s Delight is now infused with Amusement but Ghost chooses to let it slide.
“You have a good night, sir.” As he opens the door “You too Soap.” And he doesn’t quite shut the door in time to entirely muffle his giggles.
“Think he’ll tell the Captain?” Soap is clearly going for flippant but it comes out a little too thready.
“Not if he knows what’s good for him.” Ghost murmurs darkly, though he knows Gaz won’t, could hear his thoughts after all. He’s still not quite willing to forgive him though, not when Soap’s emotions are currently veiled behind a heavy blanket of Embarrassment. If he was being fair he might acknowledge that on some level this is probably mostly their own fault for doing this in the main corridor.
He’s not feeling particularly fair.
“Ghost?” Ghost turns back to face him, lets their eyes meet. Makes a show of letting his eyes rove over Soap’s body where he still has it caged against the doorway.
“Hm?”
“Do you think,” Soap slides his fingers into Ghost’s belt loops, pulls their hips together “we might take this somewhere more private? Like perhaps two feet to the left?”
Ghost shrugs, truly he’s not sure he’d really have cared if they’d had sex right here in the corridor, spectators be damned, and then wraps his hands around Soap’s thighs to lift and bring them around his waist.
Yes, partly because Johnny has been thinking repeatedly about how hot Ghost’s bulk is but honestly he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t also a little (a lot) just to hear the indignant squawk Soap lets out as he finds himself unceremoniously lifted into the air.
The feelings it inspires end up about fifty-fifty Outrage and Arousal. That improves significantly when he carries Johnny, who is vocally irate but has made no actual move to get down, over the threshold and kicks the door shut behind them.
He pins Soap’s back to the door and grinds their hips together slow and filthy, drags their mouths over one another wetly, snakes his tongue out to lap at that soft, pouty fucking bottom lip. Soap seems to have been pretty comprehensively reduced to whines and moans.
Ghost tunes briefly into his thoughts, determined to see what Soap needs from him and instead hears
//dont cum dont cum dont cum dont cum//
He can’t quite repress the laugh that bubbles up in his throat, grinning mouth now just pressing uselessly to Soap’s bewildered one, Simon’s cheeks hurt and he feels the start of tears beginning to prick against his eyes. He’s genuinely not sure now whether he’s still laughing or just borderline sobbing.
“Simon? What’s wrong?” It’s punctuated by a pulse of Alarm and it’s enough for Simon to pull himself together just enough to stutter out;
“I’m just happy.” Before he carries on. Soap slides a hand to fist in his hair, brings Simon’s face down to bury it in the crook of his neck and presses a kiss to his ear.
Soap’s mind is thoughtful, emotions gone soft and protective.
//he loves me, im going to show him what its like to be loved// he thinks but he says “Better not be getting mascara on ma favourite t shirt LT.”
Simon has never loved him more.
Still pinches him viciously on the side, for the look of the thing.
Soap finally squirms his way to the ground after that, although seems to be happy to stay sandwiched against the door. Maybe he has a thing for Ghost pinning him to things, which works for Simon because he definitely has a thing for pinning Soap places.
“Johnny, did you know they’ve just discovered that some fish have psychic powers?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, it’s called tilapiathy.”
There’s a long, long pause.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Si I don’t love you any more I changed my mind.”
//i love you i love you i love you//
“No take backs.”
“What’re ye twelve all of a sudden?”
“I know you are but what am I?”
And Soap’s mind is laughing, loud and joyful, even if out loud he’s letting out the longest sigh imaginable.
“That’s it, ye clearly need sleep, you’re losing yer mind.”
“I know you are but what-” A hand slaps over his mouth, which honestly he’s a little grateful for.
“Come to bed with me Si? I think we both could use the sleep. Truth be told Ah wasnae sleeping too well while I was away.”
“Bed that uncomfortable?” Soap’s eye roll looks almost painful.
“Because Ah was worried about yer brain injury, dick.” And now Simon feels bad, even though Soap’s thoughts don’t actually imply he needs too. There is a deep Tiredness now though, starting to weave through each new emotion Soap pushes out.
“Go to bed, love.” He emphasises it with a kiss to Soap’s temple, the corner of his eye.
“Come with me? Stay?” He looks just a little pathetic, pouty lipped and doe eyed, it’s embarrassing really how well it works on Simon.
“I’ve got to shower first, but I’ll stay.”
By the time he’s padding out the shower in a borrowed pair of Soap’s boxers Soap is asleep on the far side of the bed. When Simon crawls in, suddenly tired to his bones, he stirs enough to grip his wrist and pull it over his waist. Lifts the palm to press a kiss to its centre.
When Simon finally goes to sleep it’s to the soundtrack of Soap’s dreams.
-
Simon is sweating when he wakes up. He’s too hot, buried under what feels like a ludicrous number of blankets, especially when he rarely even bothers with covers, running as hot as he does. He’s also being spooned, a warm, solid mass pressed to his back, skin tacky everywhere it meets hot skin and coarse hair.
Johnny isn’t dreaming anymore, he had been when Ghost had nodded off, dreams are tricky, intangible and fleeting. Simon remembers, unwillingly, curling up in his mother’s bed as a child, one of the nights when his dad was away and he could do so without endangering them both. Him and Tommy had both climbed in and curled into her and her dreams had seemed happy, soothing.
They hadn’t really made sense, images too warped and dialogue muffled, like hearing it three rooms away, but the emotions were strong. Occasionally she would think his name, or Tommy’s, and they’d both be wrapped in a blanket of safety, the dream had felt like a picnic at the park, hot summer breeze kissing his cheeks, the scent of sun cream and strawberries thick in the air. Flashes of the red and white of gingham.
It was one of the best night’s sleeps of his life.
Last night had been like that; Soap safely in his arms, dreaming of bonfire night, which had made him laugh initially, so on-brand, the smell of cordite mixing with bursts of bright colour. It’s almost November now, and Simon makes a mental note to talk to Price, see if they couldn’t do their own display for the fifth.
Johnny snuffles behind him, buries his face harder into the back of Simon’s neck, his hand clenches a little, gripping at the soft parts of Simon’s belly. The background buzzing of his sleeping mind begins to tick over into wakefulness and Simon figures he should head-off the inevitable panic of waking up spooning one’s superior officer.
“I know you’re awake.” Soap makes a disgruntled sound at being called out.
“‘M no’.” Soap whines, Simon traces his fingers along the gnarled scars of Soap’s knuckles.
“Y’ are.” He counters, placidly.
“If I admit I’m awake what’ll ye give me?” Soap says, clearly trying to sound casual about it and doing an okay job, if his brain weren’t chanting //kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss//
“Head?” Soap sits up so quickly it’s a little startling, his face is bright pink although it’s not entirely clear whether that’s from the offer or how hard he’d had it pressed into Simon’s spine. He’s looming over Simon in a way that’s somehow both anticipatory and tentative.
“Down boy, didn’t say right now. Gotta get to the mess if we want breakfast.” Soap’s face falls a little and Simon chances a glance down to see that there is a definite tent in the (kind of slutty) white briefs Soap had put on last night.
“That’s cruel, even for you Si.” and perhaps it is a little, but it has notably done nothing to lessen the intense haze of Arousal emanating from Soap’s mind.
“You’ll still love me anyway.” Simon says and tries not to be surprised that he actually believes it.
Soap huffs, doesn’t deny it though, and instead pushes Simon’s shoulders until he’s firmly on his back, tugs the duvet down “At least let me ogle you for a bit first then.”
Simon knows what he looks like, works hard to cultivate the body he has. He’s long past being self conscious about the scars littering his body, they’re pretty much a hazard of the job and Soap has more than a few on display himself. He is aware all of a sudden though that Soap has never seen any of it, he’s never seen him in less than a t-shirt and he prepares himself for the inevitable platitudes, which never come.
//i am the luckiest fucking guy on the planet//
Well. Okay then.
Soap’s hands land firmly on his chest, sweeping through the sparse blonde hair there and up to press at the surgical scar running along his left clavicle. Soap twitches an eyebrow and Simon offers “Abseiling, line was cut.” gets a soft hum in return. Johnny’s hands slide down, right thumb scraping a little meanly at his nipple as he goes, settles on the even raised circles on his ribs.
“These?”
“Meat hook.”
“Ouch.” and astonishingly there’s no pity in Soap’s emotions; Admiration sure, Sympathy a little, but not Pity. Thank god.
He continues his explorations, running his hands over the whole of Simon’s body, asking about the scars which get his attention, skimming over the ones that don’t. He has Simon turn over so he can do the same to his back, hands lingering longer than necessary over his arse, shamelessly groping.
They both dutifully ignore the very evident bulge in his boxers when he turns back over, although at least now they're on an even playing field.
Soap pauses when he spots the ink low on Ghost’s hip, tugs the waistband of his boxers down to get a better look. Stares at the swallow flying downwards along his Adonis’ belt.
“This is… so slutty, what the fuck.”
//lick it, bite it, jesus christ this is so lame why is it so hot//
“We were all nineteen once, Johnny, and nineteen year old Simon had a bit of a reputation amongst the other privates.” It looks like Johnny is going to ask more questions so he adds “An answer to that age old question y'know. Spit or…?” and he points at the tattoo.
“Swallow.” Johnny finishes for him “That is the lamest thing I have ever heard.”
Simon shrugs, not particularly bothered. “Worked for me, I used to clean up, my nose was already crooked from being broken a bunch but this mug wasn’t half bad before the rest of these scars.” He swirls a hand in the vicinity of his face and revels just a little in the wave of indignant fury that rolls through Soap.
“Get tae fuck. Yer still hot shit and you know it, fuckin’ fishing for compliments.” and bless him he means it. “What’s yer excuse for this edgy bullshit then?” Johnny runs his hand over the full sleeve on Simon’s arm.
“I was twenty-two.” Simon offers “And edgy.”
Simon wouldn’t have taken offence anyway, Soap’s the idiot who fell in love with him despite the admittedly excessive full-sleeve but he can also hear Soap’s internal rant.
//its so fucking ugly why is it so hot, should get more ink, get matching ink, shut up thats pathetic, makes his arm look so fucking big, so hot//
“You gonna insult me all morning?”
“Might.”
“Fuckin’ hell, in that case I’ve changed my mind, let’s see if we can’t get you to shut up.” and with little ceremony Simon is hooking his hands under Soaps thighs where they’re straddling his own and hauling him up until he’s positioned over his chest instead.
“What the fuck?”
“I believe I promised to suck you off, no?”
Soap rolls his eyes, despite the Desire dripping from him, shifts a little where he’s kneeling. “Can ye at least kiss me before ye attempt to somehow punish me by giving me a gobby?”
“If you come down here, yeah.” Soap does, curling in on himself to allow their lips to meet in a heated kiss that goes from chaste to very much not in no time at all. Simon pulls back, biting at Johnny’s lip as he goes. “Can I please get on with it now?”
“Have at it.” Soap grins, leans back to let Simon get his hands on his pants, pulling them down to tuck below his balls, his cock is already rock hard, has been steadily getting there the whole morning, and slaps against his belly as it’s released.
Simon wastes absolutely no time in curling his hand around his length, swiping his thumb through the mess already dripping from his slit and bringing it to his lips to suck it off. Gets showy about it too, swirling his tongue around the tip, lapping at the pad.
His other hand strays under Johnny, pushing him up to bring his cock forwards so that Simon can finally get his mouth on it, immediately sliding about halfway down and bobbing.
“Jesus, fuck, Si.” Simon smirks as much as he’s able around his mouthful and glances up to shoot Johnny a wink. He wasn’t kidding before, he really did used to have a reputation for being good at this. Turns out sucking dick is very much like riding a bike in that you really do never forget how, although very unlike riding a bike in every other possible way.
He slides back up with a pop and gets his hand back around him, uses his other hand again to position Soap so that he can get his mouth on his balls, sucks one into his mouth and moans when that sparks a bolt of Pleasure from Johnny that travels straight to his own cock. He laves the same attention on the other as Soap weaves a hand into his hair, pressing him closer. He hums low just to hear the string of curses it pulls from Soap.
When he pulls back again Soap makes a desperate, keening sound that he decides he’s determined to hear every day for the rest of his life, thanks.
“So, Johnny, you gonna fuck my mouth?” and he doesn’t get a verbal response, Soap looks like he barely knows his own name right now, but he does get a very enthusiastic head-nod.
Simon readjusts against the pillows, allows Johnny to get himself up on his knees and then lets his mouth drop open, tongue lolling out, enjoys the way Soap’s thoughts go far beyond coherent at the sight of him. Soap slides his cock along Simon’s tongue, easing back towards his throat as Simon does his best to relax the muscles there.
There’s a pause as Soap finally bottoms out, cock buried down Simon’s throat, waiting for a sign that he’s okay to move, the answer Simon gives is to swallow around the head of his cock at the same time he gives a gentle swat to Soap’s arse. He’s not far from losing his mind himself, the weight of Soap on his tongue, the smell of him where he has his nose buried into the hair at the base of his cock, the power Soap has over him like this is all combining into a heady fog.
Soap’s first thrust is accompanied by a keening whine which Simon is startled to realise came from him.
“Eyes up, Si.” Soap orders, and who is he to deny him. He looks up, blinking away the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and meets Soap’s.
//so bonnie like this, so perfect, being so good for me//
The praise forces another whine from Simon’s throat and this seems to be the catalyst to get Soap really moving, long deep thrusts which cut off Simon’s air and threaten to choke him. It’s so fucking good.
It gets better when Simon realises that the closer Soap gets the more intense his feelings, barbs of pleasure so strong that they prick at his own flesh, his own cock which is currently untouched in his boxers, feels like he could blow any second.
He can’t let his own pleasure distract him though, he has to make this perfect for Soap. Has to make it so good that he never even thinks about anybody else again. Forgets every partner he’s ever had except Simon.
He slides the hand still between Soap’s legs forward a little, slips it beneath the fabric of his briefs, lets his thumb press into the spot behind Soap’s balls and revels in it when it draws a gasp from him. He keeps his thumb there, massaging the spot that he can tell has Soap seeing stars, and traces the other fingers back to rub against his hole. He can’t push in, hasn’t got the lube for it, but he knows well enough that the catch of his calluses should still be lighting up those nerve endings.
“Fuck, Si, I’m so close.” Simon knows, can feel how erratic his thrusts have become, less careful, more frantic. The roiling Pleasure is now so strong it’s like a phantom caress on Simon’s own cock.
“Fuck, Si, can I? I’m gonna-” Soap cuts himself off with a grown, balls drawing up tight as he thrusts forward and buries himself deep, cumming down Simon’s throat. Simon keeps his thumb pressing, coaxing him through it. Swallows a few times around Soap’s cock punching little desperate overstimulated sounds out of him.
Soap finally slumps back, sitting heavily on Simon’s chest and hand, squirming until Simon pulls his thumb away. He traces a hand back to run across Simon’s still trapped erection and that’s it, Simon’s coming harder than he can ever remember coming before, shudders wracking his whole body as he does.
Soap looks enthralled.
When he finally comes down from his orgasm he reaches up to drag Soap into a sloppy kiss that’s more spit and teeth than anything else, feels his cock give a half-hearted twitch when he realises Soap is licking the taste of himself out of Simon’s mouth.
“Steaming fucking Jesus.” Soap mutters against his lips, and yeah, that about covers it. There’s Peace and Contentment radiating throughout the room now, filling every available space. Satiation coating Johnny’s skin, too, which feels like satin when Simon runs his fingers up his spine. Soap shuffles back a little so his weight is settled more on Simon’s waist than his chest, leans down to press a peck to his chin.
“I’m not sure Jesus was involved with any o’ that.” He rasps out, cringing a little at the scrape of his throat.
“Reckon I should call ye ‘pony’ from now on, aye?” Soap has a shit-eating grin on his face from where he’s now looming over Simon. His thoughts are screaming the punchline as loud as they can but Simon isn’t about to ruin his fun, gamely says his line.
“Why’s that then?”
“Because you’re a little hoarse.” And Johnny’s laughter is utterly infectious, the part of him that is used to hiding away wants desperately to pull his mask back on, but this is Johnny and Simon would rather flay himself alive than do anything which might wipe that grin off his face. Might dampen the Love and Mischief and Devotion swirling and coiling around him.
Simon huffs a laugh as a compromise with himself, then slaps Johnny on the hip.
“Yeah, you’re hilarious, maybe leave the comedy routine to the rest of us professionals next time, yeah?” Johnny just grins at him, utterly unphased “Now make yourself useful and fuck off and get me a glass of water.”
Soap does indeed fuck off, but continues to look incredibly smug as he goes.
//you did that, his throats sore because of you, looks so good, gonna fuck him one day, gonna marry him one day//
Simon rears back at that snapping his mind closed, aware that the thought was intensly private and he wasn’t ever meant to hear it. Soap’s humming something to himself in the adjoining bathroom and Simon can hear him turn the shower on.
Simon recognises a few bars of ‘Flower of Scotland’ and makes a note to remind Soap about the (less than favourable, for Scotland) rugby score later, wonders if that’s why the song’s in Johnny’s head.
It’s only then he realises what he doesn’t hear.
No thoughts.
He can feel the feelings a little, small and fragile, like they’re underwater, but no outright thoughts. He tugs tentatively at the tether he can feel from the feelings and the thoughts wash back in.
//should be a good one though, cannae wait for breakfast, fuckin famished, simons in ma bed, christ alive he loves ye, fuckin howd ye even pull that off, better prepare that debrief for price, gotta catalogue those new detonators later//
Ghost concentrates and shuts it off again, silence. Not even the feelings this time. His control is good, just as it has been since he was a kid. No excuse to let go.
He knows, anyway, that hearing Johnny’s thoughts is an ethical minefield, makes their relationship one sided in a way Soap could never understand. Can’t help the twinge of grief in his gut at the thought that he won’t be able to feel the ebb and flow of Soap’s emotions anymore, realises he’d already been making himself a home in them. He’s never really been good with other people’s feelings, too unsure, too afraid to be wrong, too bad at picking up the cues everyone else seems to find so easy.
He’s never cared before, don’t need to know how someone’s feeling to follow an order, to kill someone.
He’s worried, all of a sudden, that if he can’t feel Soap’s emotions, his stifling, smothering, cloying feelings then maybe he’ll forget. Forget what being loved by Johnny feels like.
He only gets a couple of minutes to panic, Soap emerges wrapped in a towel a couple of minutes later with wet hair, a glass of water and a deeply fond look in his eye.
“I needed a shower, so do you,” He gestures down at Simon’s cum-streaked belly “but it’s my room so I got first dibs.” His smirk is boyish, crinkles the corners of his eyes.
“Hardly seems fair.”
“So file a complaint for insubordination.” Ghost rolls his eyes “Didn’t think so. I’ll head to the mess while you shower but help yourself to anything out of my cupboards to wear.” Soap walks to said cupboards to grab himself a change of clothes.
Simon watches him dress in silence, a little in awe of the ease with which Soap seems to be handling this.
“I know ye like that gross yoghurt and strawberries fer breakfast, I’ll pick ye out the best ones. Anything else?”
“Uh, no.” and since when does Soap have his breakfast order memorised?
Soap turns to go but stops at the threshold, spins back to face him. “I chucked yer clothes in the laundry basket but I put your mask on the side in the bathroom. Can’t have ye out there sharing that gorgeous mug wi’ all the randos now can I? Tha’s just for me.”
And why the fuck had Simon ever been worried? There is no one who knows him the way Johnny does, and he certainly hasn’t ever known anyone the way he knows Soap. It doesn’t matter if he never hears another of his thoughts, if he never feels a single emotion of his again, he’ll always know how much Johnny loves him.
Johnny will always make sure he knows how loved he is.
“I love you.” he offers anyway, in case he hasn’t made it clear enough. Soap apparently can’t help himself after that, comes back over to the bed to press a lingering kiss to Simon’s lips.
“I know that, yer shockingly easy to read, Simon. It’s why ye wear the mask right?” A kiss lands on his cheek before Soap finally moves away again. “I love you too.”
Simon allows himself one last lapse of control, one last weak moment, and listens as Soap leaves the room, thoughts fading as he closes the door.
//i love you, i love you, i love//