Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

First Date

     Lying prone on the unforgiving rock surface, sniper barrel situated invisibly between two imposing slate gray rocks Ghost stared down the scope taking in the scene below.  It was a tall hand crafted decorative window, hand sized diamond shapes of thick glass connected by black iron that allowed him a glimpse into the bright, festive occasion taking place inside.  Dim lamplight accentuated by flickering candles as the light danced off the shimmering glass illuminating the elegantly dressed mass of attendees within. 

     The beautiful chateau was seated securely in the embrace of the imposing mountain drop behind it.  Almost securely.  The elaborate balcony that gave guests the chance for fresh air, or more commonly to pollute the fresh air with their cigarettes, ran the center of the ballroom the gathering was taking place in.  With each new smoker an assault of classical music rushed out falling on the deaf stone and clamored to the ground far below.

     “Bet I can hit that shot glass on the balcony.” Ghost considered.  It was a bit of a distance but he was certain he could.

     “Oi.  They’ll hear it.” Soap smirked, eyes falling over his lieutenant’s backside again.  Strong, powerful thighs hardly contained in the black jeans he sported.  And that ass, he’d never before seen an ass that perfect.  The jeans only made it worse.  No uniforms this assignment.  They weren’t here.  This never happened.  There was something liberating in an assignment that just didn’t exist.

     “Any site of the target?” Ghost asked.  So long as the balcony was empty and the doors were closed there was no chance of being heard, thankfully. 

     “Not yet.” Soap confirmed.

     “Ah’m gonna hit that shot glass.” Ghost informed him, certain he could make the shot.

     “Ye kin we’ll have ta move.” Soap reminded him more than amused with his lieutenant.

     “We seem to have time precious.  Besides you gotta do something besides look at my ass all night.” Ghost smirked beneath the hard skull mask.

     “Ah cannae help it, it’s right there.” The stupid endearment swelled something in Soap’s chest that filled him with warmth.  His face flushed red hot and he was painfully grateful that Ghost was eyes on the location rather than him.  The asshole knew what it did to him, but still he persisted.  Soap stole another look before sweeping over the incoming roads with his binoculars again.

     “That’s if this guy even comes.” Ghost changed topic.

     “Intel says he’ll come.” Soap assured his partner.  “Til then Ah’m enjoyin’ the show.  Unless ye let me take the shot.”  If he was being accused of looking, he damn well was looking.  The man had a body to die for.

     “Oh, Ah’ll let ye take somethin’ sweetheart.” Ghost promised, trained eye honed in on the tiny object close to 700 meters from him.  He could absolutely hit it.  It was a beautiful night.  No clouds.  Very little breeze.  It was perfect.

     “Yer always a tease, Lt.” he toed the other man with his boot before crouching back down.  He loved the hell outta their flirting, but recently Ghost had brought it out more in person, rather than limiting it to coms.  Was he actually serious?  Fucking Christ, John hoped he was.  What he wouldn’t give to take a bite out of that perfect ass.  “When ye gonna make good an’ take me on a proper date?”

     “As much as Ah like you on your knees for me doll, you know there are rules…” Ghost reminded his partner as Soap resituated himself to maintain watch and save his aching knees.  The stone was cold and oh so unforgiving.  His ass was going to hate him just as much.

     “Piss off about yer rules, especially considering our profession an what we’re doin’ right now.” he added gesturing towards the chateau, though Ghost couldn’t see him.

     “Easy, love.  Don’t Ah take you to the best places?” he offered to soothe the hint of annoyance tipping off his sergeant.

     “Ack.” There he went again with the love.  Fucking hell.  He had to know what it did to Soap’s insides everytime he heard it. Absolutely had to.

     “Gonna take the shot.” Ghost informed him.  On the next breath he squeezed the trigger letting it out with practiced care.  The shot glass shattered into a million pieces, the bullet screaming silently into the night finding a home far from the balcony.

     “Fucker.” Soap hissed.  He surveyed the doors, the party.  No one seemed to hear a thing.

     “Come on.  Ah saw a new spot over there.  Think you’ll have better eyes on the road.” Ghost prompted him, swiftly packing up.  Rifle in hand he led his sergeant in the direction he was thinking.

     Less than five minutes later they were set up again.  Soap had to admit he was woefully grateful for the change.  There was soft soil and more give and his knees and ass loved it.  They would have to wipe their tracks here.  It was more of a pain in the butt.  Would Simon have changed their location for him?  He’d never have asked.  This was a mission, he wouldn’t have complained until they were out. 

     No, it was just him showing off and taking a rather impressive shot.  Had to be.  Was that better or worse?  Was Ghost showing off for him? 

     “You’re thinking too loud, Johnny.  They can hear you down there.” Ghost let out a little huff, breaking his thoughts.

     “Car.” was all Soap said following the new arrival with his night vision binoculars.

     “That him?” Ghost asked curtly. 

     “Affirmative.  Positive ID, passenger side. Coming into yer view in 5.” Soap confirmed.

     “In the car or wait?” Ghost asked.

     “Yer call.” Soap deferred to the man pulling the trigger.

     They had a long stretch of road that cut out and returned from what Ghost had observed.  He could take the target without a doubt.  He’d like to snag the driver as well, to buy them time to slip away.  It wasn’t necessary.

     Trailing the target through his scope, he moved the rifle with well honed precision.  It disappeared.  Maintaining the pace he made the shot as soon as they were back in his line of sight.

     “Confirmed kill.” Soap assured him, not lowering his binoculars as Ghost remained in position.  The expert sniper took the second shot.  The vehicle careened off the road.

     “Pack it up sweet thing.  Time to move.” Ghost ordered crisply despite the term of endearment.

--

     They made the safehouse without incident.  Ghost cleared the perimeter, twice, because he’s fucking Ghost, that’s why.  Johnny didn’t even ask this time.  He waited patiently until Ghost was satisfied, before they entered.  Together they cleared the quaint little house.

     It was then that Johnny got a good look at the place.  It was a little one bedroom number with a couch that didn’t look like it survived WWII, a nice queen sized bed with stocked lenin closet.  There was a small kitchen with almost decent appliances and a two seater wooden round dining table that John was pretty sure could handle his and Ghost’s weight should they sit at it.  Much better than some they’d seen.

     Satisfied the little home would be safe for their purposes both men sat down on the two seater sofa and sank in together while Ghost contacted Watcher.  Soap was indescribably happy to rest his sore ass on the very comfortable spot.  He’d spent the last 24 hours either on the hard ground on his butt or on his knees.  The brief infiltration the morning before had been his only respite.  Ghost had spent most of it splaid out on his stomach and elbows, to be fair.  How the big guy was moving around as easily as he was still confounded Soap.

     “Watcher here.” came Kate Laswell’s familiar professional cadence.

     “Ghost here, with Soap.  Mission complete.  Ready for exfil.” The lieutenant gave their response.

     “Roger.  Success?” she asked, because of course she asked.  It was her job.

     “100%.  Intel has been uploaded and received.  It’s  on your end now.” Ghost supplied.

     “Understood.  Remain at the designated safehouse tonight.  You’ll be contacted in the morning with exfil instructions.” she ordered them.

     “Rog.” Ghost replied ending the call.

      “Guess that’s that.” Soap pulled a face.  He would have felt better it they at least had an ETA.

     “Yea.” Ghost agreed.  “Ah’m gonna take a shower.  Take stock of the supplies, just in case.”

     “Aye, alright” Soap agreed.

     Ghost grabbed his bag to disappear into the one bathroom at that.  Taking the queue to confirm they were done for the night, Soap stripped away his gear to change into his comfortable joggers and a t-shirt.  Once his things were stowed in the bedroom, except for his sidearm, just in case, he started on the kitchen.

     Much to his surprise the choices for nonperishable food were a step above MRE’s.  Really their lucky night to be sure. 

--

     Simon soaked his head under the spray of the hot water longer than he probably should have.  His back was absolutely loving it, even if the nossel was a little short for him.  He should be considerate and cut it short, but fuck did his muscles hurt.  This was heaven right here.  Johnny could get his after dinner.  This place was a far cry from their normal shit hole.  It shouldn’t take too long to get the hot water replenished.

     Despite his selfish indulgent thoughts, he finished up with his hair and sadly shut it down.  There were towels.  Bonus.  Made for skinny midgets.  Minus.  It would do.  He used one to get as dry as he could before slipping into standard issue military running trousers and a fresh dark jumper. 

     Draping the towel over the top of his head, he collected his things and took them across the hall to the one bedroom.  He’d let Johnny have it, but it felt better to keep their things in here.  A knife, balaclava and his rifle in hand, he paused.

     The smell of something edible drifted down the hall, traveling up his nose and strangling any sense of reason he may have had left.  Fucking hell.  His stomach ripped out an embarrassing noise and it struck him how incredibly hungry he actually was.  And Soap found food.

     Gods he hoped he made enough for two.  For that he may just kiss that beautiful Scot.

     Bread.  Garlic?  Was it?

     Heading down the hall as surely as the rats who followed the Pied Piper, Simon stopped at the sight of their small dining area, fresh balaclava still in hand.

     The simple, sturdy, plain round table had a tea candle lit just off center.  Opposite it was a bottle of fucking wine?  No fucking way!  Two mugs sat before two heaping plates of what looked remarkably like edible spaghetti.  Johnny was pulling something out of the oven…somethings one at a time hissing as they threatened to burn his fingers.

     “How the bloody hell did you pull this off?” Ghost asked, completely amazed.

     “Got tired of waitin’ on ye ta ask me out on a date.  Figured Ah’d just take charge.” Johnny teased, turning, expecting some smartassed response.  The Ghost was standing there gaping at the table, mouth making guppy motions, face barely hidden by the towel draped over his head.  He almost dropped the plate of previously frozen, likely stale bread sticks at the sight.

     “Fuck Ah’ll take it.” Ghost huffed out a laugh coming to sit at the table.  It was when he went to rest the rifle against the table, knife by his plate, he realized he hadn’t dawned the mask yet.  Fuck his stomach.

     “Aye.” Johnny gave him a look as if he’d hung the moon and the stars.  Something about the awe in the big blue eyes clutched at his chest and he rested it on his knife.  They were in the middle of absolute fucking nowhere, and it was just Johnny.

     “Ah ferget how fuckin’ braw ye actually are, Lt.” Johnny managed when he could make his mouth move.  He set the plate of bread between them.  “Pour us some wine, ay?”

     “This looks amazing.  How did you do this?” Simon asked.  The bottle was open so he did as he was told, filling Johnny’s mug then his own.

     “Got lucky, really.  Jar of sauce, box of noodles, not sure how the bread will be.” he shrugged.

     “Looks good.” Simon offered encouragingly.

     “Well, try it already.  Someone’s gotta be certain it isnnae poisoned.” Soap teased, his smile was almost shy, but bright enough to eclipse the candle.

     Simon did as he was told, digging into the pile of spaghetti on his plate.  It was heaven, absolutely fucking heaven.  Jar sauce and boxed noodles ran circles around anything they had in their go bags.  He couldn’t have asked for more.  He grabbed one of the breadsticks and used it to help scoop more sauce onto his fork of twirled noodles.

     “”s safe.” Simon gave him a nod.

     “Sweet.” Johnny chuckled and joined him. 

     “Can’t say Ah’ve had a date cook for me before.” Simon tossed out when they were both quite for longer than he was accustomed to having his sergeant silent. 

     Facts were, Johnny had yet to peel his eyes off of his bonnie lieutenant.  Strong, ruggedly handsome, high cheeks, kissable lips painted red in spaghetti sauce, warm whiskey brown eyes.

     “No?  When was yer last date?” John invited him, finding himself humming in amusement around his fork.  Simon let out a little laugh and Johnny melted.  He always imagined, beneath the mask, the sweep of his lips, full and pink, his cheeks raising, the crinkles around his eyes bunching together, the gap of a scar through his lip exposing his canine on one side.  He was absolutely beautiful.

     “Hell, Ah don’t think Ah was thirty yet, so at least, seven, eight years ago.” Simon shared with a little raise to his shoulders as he ate.

     “Steamin’ Christ that’s a long time.” John observed.  “What happened?  Did it go anywhere?” Simon was considering talking, he really couldn’t ask for more.  He took another bite.  They were both slowing down, and both of their plates were nearly empty.  He hadn’t saved any for seconds, just split the bounty evenly.  It would be plenty though. 

     “Fuck.  Guess you might get a kick outta the story.” Simon chuckled.  He refilled their cups, catching Johnny’s crystal blue eyes.  He could lose himself in those beautiful eyes, drowning forever in their magical blue.  Did he have any clue what level of stupid he made Simon?  Bloody hell. 

     Simon leaned back, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.  “Right.  So picture this. I'm twenty-nine, just back from a pretty intense op.  Guy at the base introduces me to his friend.  Tall, gorgeous, seemed proper professional.  We agree to meet at this tiny pub in London."

     Johnny listened, fork suspended midair, already sensing this was going to be good.

     “First thing he does?  Shows up wearing matching plaid pants and jacket.  Not just similar plaid.  Exact.  Same.  Plaid.  Like he'd been cut from a curtain and sewn into clothing.” Simon's hands gestured dramatically.  “And he's dead serious.  Thinks he looks brilliant.”

     Johnny started to chuckle, imagining the scene.

     “But that's not even the worst part.” Simon continues, lowering his voice like he’s sharing state secrets.  “So, this guy?  Super handsome, like, model-level good looks, but then he shows up in this suit that screams 'Ah sell insurance' instead of 'let's get it on.'  Not exactly the vibe Ah was hoping for.  But hell, it’d been a rough mission.  Could use some… relief, so Ah went with it.  How bad could it be?”

     He leans back, shaking his head.  “Shoulda trusted my gut.  We spent twenty minutes just deciding where to eat.  One minute he’s all about sushi, and the next he’s like, ‘Nah, how about Italian?’  Then suddenly he's saying he left his wallet at home, ‘accidentally,’ of course.  But guess who ended up ordering top-shelf drinks?  Three of them!  Ah mean, come on!  The bartender must’ve thought we were celebrating something monumental.

     “Now, Ah don’t mind payin’ if Ah ask someone out.  Fine.  If we agree before hand, sure.  But to come out on a first date, basically a blind date, we’d only seen each other in passing, and just dump it in their lap, rude.  And even if it was an accident, then unless the bloke is fucking loaded, you don’t go ordering the most expensive thing you can find.  Ah don’t bloody well make that kind of money.”

     Simon rolls his eyes.  “Finally, we settle on a steakhouse.  He orders the thickest cut on the menu, the kind that comes with a side of regret, and spends half the meal whining about his ex while I’m trying to enjoy my salad.”  He mimics him dramatically.  “’She never appreciated my passion for agricultural equipment!’ And just when Ah think it can't get worse, he pulls out diagrams from a small notebook and starts illustrating combine harvester engines right there at our table.”

     He chuckles darkly.  “And as if that wasn’t enough entertainment for one night, he pivots back to his ex and then launches into this rant about how useless the military is these days!  By dessert time, Ah'm scanning for escape routes like Ah'm planning a tactical retreat.  Honestly considered texting Price for a rescue.”

     Johnny was now wheezing with laughter, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

     “Never went on another date, as Ah’m sure you could guess.” Simon punctuated each word, then took a dramatic swig of wine.  “With him.  Or anyone else, actually.  For years.”

     “That’s enough to scar ye fer life.” Johnny chuckled.

     “Alright your turn.  Come on.  Worst date ever.” Simon prompted him.

      Johnny's eyes sparkled with mischief, a grin spreading across his face.  “Oh, ye want awful?  Ah'll give ye awful.”  He leaned forward, elbows on the table.  “Two years ago.  Tinder date.  Seemed normal enough online, marine biologist, cute profile.  We meet at this trendy gastropub in Glasgow.”

     Simon was already chuckling, sensing a story brewing.

     “First red flag?  He shows up wearing these skin-tight white pants.  And Ah mean WHITE.  Like, could see everything.  EVERYTHING.” Johnny's hands gestured dramatically.  “Ah'm talkin' transparency level: medical diagram.”

     “Christ.” Simon snorted into his wine.

     “Aye.  He should ‘ave just come naked.  Gotten it over with.  But that's nothin'.  Halfway through appetizers, he starts telling me about his research.  Turns out he studies...  marine slug reproduction.” Johnny's face contorted.  “In graphic detail.  Ah'm talkin' hour-long dissertation on slug mating rituals while Ah'm tryin' to eat calamari.”

     Simon was now wheezing, wine threatening to escape his nose.

     “And then?  Then, he decides to demonstrate slug courtship by acting it out.  At the table.  With the salt and pepper shakers.”

      Simon was practically dying, his laughter echoing through the small safehouse.  “Christ, Johnny, that's...  that's horrific.”

     “Oh we're not done.” Johnny grinned, leaning forward.  “After the slug performance, he looks at me and says, 'Wanna go dancing?'  And ye know what?  Ah was done with dinner, figured why not?”

     “So, picture this,” Johnny says, leaning closer to Simon, his eyes sparkling with mischief.  “We stumble into this hole-in-the-wall club, right?  And the music, oh man, it’s like someone cranked up a factory on the fritz!  You’d think they were trying to summon robots or something.  Anyway, there’s this marine biologist, Derek, he calls himself, and the guy starts dancing like he’s got a live wire in his pants!  Ah swear, those white slacks of his looked ready to burst at any moment with every clumsy twist and turn.  It was a sight!”

     “So, you won’t believe what happened.” Johnny starts, shaking his head as he leans in closer to Simon.  “Derek was tearing up the dance floor when, bam!  His pants split right down the back seam.  Ah mean, it was like a scene straight out of Spongebob.  One second he’s grooving, and the next?  Bare cheeks on full display.”

     Johnny chuckles, remembering the moment.  “But here’s the kicker, instead of freaking out or running for cover, he just turns to me and winks.  ‘Wanna help me out of these?’ he says, totally unfazed!  Ah swear, people around us were staring like they’d just witnessed a train wreck, half horrified, half fascinated.  And there Ah am, beer in hand, completely dumbfounded at how my night took such a wild turn.”

     Simon was now full-on cackling, tears streaming down his face.  "You can't be serious!"

     “Oh, Ah cannae make this up.” Johnny laughed.  “So yer finally gonna admit ye date guys?” he teased, collecting their plates as Simon finished off the last breadstick.

     “Seems Ah’m on a date with you, so a bit obvious.” Simon mused, watching the blush bloom over Johnny’s face.  He filled up their mugs again, finished his bread and headed over to help his sergeant.  Hip bumping Johnny over, he took over, starting the water to wash the dishes.  Johnny cooked, he could at least clean up.

      “Aye.” John finally agreed.  He was standing closer than was probably comfortable for their task, but Simon didn’t fend him off.  The long line of heat that was the massive machine’s body was plenty to chase off the gradually setting chill of the evening outside.

     “Any other crazy stories?” Simon asked him as he washed their dishes.

     Johnny chuckled, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.  “Actually, Ah've got a wild one.  Back when Ah was a young paratrooper, Ah dated this bloke who thought bungee jumping would be the perfect first date.”

     Simon raised an eyebrow, already sensing this was going to be good.  He handed Johnny a plate once he rinsed it.

     “Ah was all in, completely excited.” Johnny continued, drying a plate with a towel.  “Jumped first, screaming my head off,  pure adrenaline, total blast.  Thought he'd be just as pumped.”

     His hands moved in animated gestures, soap suds sliding down his wrists.  “But when it was his turn?  Completely different story.  Dude took one leap and immediately lost his entire lunch right there mid-air.  Came down looking greener than the Scottish countryside, shaking like a leaf.” Johnny chuckled at the recollection.

     Simon burst out laughing, the sound ricocheting off the kitchen walls.  “Christ, Johnny.  Poor bastard.”

     “Ran off so fast once his feet touched ground.” Johnny grinned.  “Mortified.  Never saw him again after that day.  He wounnae answer texts, nothing.”

     The dishes clinked softly as Simon continued washing, their shoulders brushing in the small kitchen space.  After finishing off the pots and pans, they dried their hands and hung the towels up to dry.

     With the last of their little chore finished, Johnny and Simon sank into the couch, a plush oasis amid the chaos of their day.  The remnants of the wine sloshed gently in their mugs, casting a warm glow over the dimly lit room.  Johnny pulled up a movie he had downloaded on his phone, but as he leaned back against Simon's broad frame, his personal giant menace, he felt a flutter of something more than just comfort.

     To his surprise and delight, Simon wrapped an arm around Johnny’s waist, drawing him closer.  It was an unspoken invitation to share not just space but warmth as well.  As they settled in, the flickering light from the screen danced across their faces, illuminating smiles that spoke volumes.  The world outside faded away, all that mattered was this moment cocooned together.

     When the credits rolled and silence enveloped them like a soft blanket, reality nudged at Johnny’s mind.  The night was growing late, and soon they would have to part ways for sleep, a necessary evil before facing whatever awaited them at dawn.  Reluctantly, he began to rise from his cozy nest within Simon's embrace.

     “Just need to charge my phone,” he murmured, glancing back with a hint of reluctance in his eyes.  But deep down, he knew that leaving this sanctuary would be harder than any mission they faced together.  The connection between them pulsed quietly in the air, a promise lingering long after the movie ended.

     “You can go ahead and take the bed.  Ah’ll keep out here, take watch, just in case.” Simon volunteered.

     “Ah’m gonna take a shower.” Johnny dismissed, disappearing down the hall.  He wasn’t arguing with the big guy until after he’d had his chance to check their surroundings again.  In their line of work, it kept them alive.  He wasn’t about to detour it, even if it wasn’t quite how he imagined his impromptu date ending.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Sharing Space

     The hot water cascaded over Johnny's shoulders, steam swirling around him like a highland mist.  Closing his eyes he let the spray pound against his neck, washing away the grit of their mission.  The feeling was amazing, but his thoughts wouldn’t stop.  He felt as if his heart was about to pound right out of his chest, down the hallway and slap Simon on both cheeks like he’d just been challenged to a duel.

     Did that really just happen?  Did he really just miracle up a date with his antisocial murder menace?  He replayed the evening in his head, candlelight, wine, shared laughter, Simon's face, his actual fucking face, across the table.  The way those dark eyes, rich amber, oh so fucking gorgeous, crinkled when he laughed, that slight gap in his smile from the scar.  Johnny's chest tightened at the memory.

     “A date.” he whispered to himself, the words nearly lost beneath the rushing water.

     Simon hadn't flinched when Johnny called it that.  Hadn't laughed it off or changed the subject.  Instead, he'd leaned into it, sharing stories about past romantic disasters like it was the most natural thing in the world.  Like they were just two blokes figuring things out together. Simon never gave that much information.  What the actual fuck.  Maybe he’s a Ghost doppelganger.

     Johnny braced his forearm against the shower wall, dropping his head as the water drummed against his back.  He’d been orbiting Simon Riley since the day they met, drawn to his competence, his dry humor, that dangerous edge that somehow never turned on his team.  The attraction had been immediate, visceral, and completely hopeless.

     Or so he'd thought.

     “Bloody hell.” he muttered, reaching for the soap.  His hand trembled slightly.  This wasn’t some fantasy anymore.  This was real, Simon's arm around his waist, pulling him close on that couch.  The casual intimacy of washing dishes together.  The way Simon looked at him across the candlelight.  Did he want him too?  It sure as bloody fucking hell felt like it.

     Something warm bloomed in Johnny's chest that had nothing to do with the shower temperature.  It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, like jumping from a plane, that moment of freefall before the chute opens.  The possibility of them, together.

     It was almost too much to believe.  The throbbing presence between his legs reminded him of the torture he’d endured the last two hours being held by his giant sook.  The warm feeling of Simon’s arms around him, the sounds of him breathing near his ear, the wishing, longing to feel his lips just a little closer to his neck.  It sent chills up his spine.  The gremlin in his heart that wanted to surround Simon in rachet straps, bind him to the flayed open base of his ribcage and sew it back up, never to let him go.  Maybe that wasn’t violent enough…

     His treacherous hand was slowly running the length of his pained cock, offering it a slow, soothing balm of shampoo and fantasy.  Simon’s mouth, those perfect lips wrapped around his weeping head, that tongue.  Rather than making smartassed comments, it should be fileting the long, thick under vein that was throbbing to the beat of his heart, even now as his hand slid up and down.  Long, sensuous pulls, from root to tip, desperately needing the hand to be Simon’s… the mouth… the eyes.

     The most gorgeous, enchanting eyes he’d ever seen.

     Johnny braced his forehead against the cool shower tile, his hand working in a steady rhythm as he imagined those whiskey eyes looking up at him, dark with desire.  In his mind, Simon was on his knees, water cascading down his broad shoulders, that devilish smirk playing across his lips before taking Johnny into his mouth.

     “Fuck.” Johnny whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding water.  His strokes quickened, thumb circling the sensitive head on each upstroke.  He pictured Simon's calloused hands gripping his thighs, holding him steady as that wicked tongue worked magic.

     The fantasy shifted.  Now they were back on that couch, but this time there was no movie, no pretense.  Just Simon's weight pressing him down, those strong hands exploring every inch of him.  Johnny bit his lower lip to stifle a moan as his imagination conjured the feel of Simon's stubble scraping against his neck, teeth nipping at his collarbone.

     “Simon.” he breathed, the name a reverent prayer as his hand moved faster.  In his mind, Simon was whispering filthy promises against his skin, calling him "love" and "precious" in that rough Manchester accent that made Johnny's knees weak even during missions.

     He imagined Simon taking him apart piece by piece, those tactical hands that could disassemble a rifle blindfolded now working Johnny's body with the same precision.  The thought of being completely at Simon's mercy, wanted and cherished by the man who haunted his dreams, pushed Johnny closer to the edge.

     His breath came in short, sharp pants as he chased his release.  The fantasy of Simon's mouth, his hands, his body pressed against Johnny's was overwhelming.  With a stifled groan, Johnny came hard, spilling over his fist as pleasure coursed through him in waves.

     For several moments, he stood there, letting the water wash away the evidence of his desire as his breathing slowly returned to normal.  The brief satisfaction gave way to a hollow ache in his chest.  A fantasy was just that… a fantasy.  Despite the evening they'd shared, despite the arm around his waist and the candlelight across Simon's unmasked face, Johnny wasn't sure if they'd ever bridge the final gap between them.

     He finished his shower quickly, shutting off the water with a sigh.  After drying off, he pulled on a fresh pair of boxers and a worn t-shirt, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with his state of undress.

     When Johnny emerged from the steamy bathroom, towel draped around his neck, he found Simon standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.  The lieutenant's posture was casual, but there was a tension in his shoulders that Johnny couldn't quite read.

     “Thought you'd drowned in there.” Simon said, voice low and teasing.  His eyes, those same eyes that had just featured so prominently in Johnny's fantasy, tracked slowly down Johnny's body.  Bloody fucking hell if he wasn’t the most beautiful man Johnny had ever seen.

     “Ah’m good.  All yers now.” Johnny did his best to play it off, praying that Simon hadn’t heard him, hadn’t stood there listening the whole time.

     A low whistle of appreciation met him as he headed across the hall.  Grateful that he had the heat from the bathroom to blame for the deep crimson flushing from his waist to his ears, Johnny ducked back into the bedroom. 

--

     Watching Johnny disappear down the hall twisted something in Simon’s heart he didn’t really want to analyze right then.  He wanted to follow him down the hall, to strip him bare, to run his mouth over every succulent inch of his perfect body.  Bloody hell.  There wasn’t a blessed thing to kill around here and that frustrated the ever-loving fuck out of him.  Maybe there’d be some random enemy outside.  Yea.

     Slipping on his sneakers, Simon grabbed his rifle, pocketed his knife and made a quick sweep of the perimeter.  One more before lights out, just to be safe, right?  It was fucking freezing.  This was exactly what he needed.  He needed to cool the fuck down before he was fucking his sergeant into the mattress.  Now, that was a thought.  His breath shown in the cold air before him as he expelled a heavy sigh.  Another jog around their safehouse, and he gave in to the assault of the night air and went back. 

     Check the door and all the windows.  Yea.  That was productive.  Safe.  Needed to keep Johnny safe.  Did he want to fuck him into the mattress?  Absolutely.  Without a shadow of a doubt.  Would he do it tonight?  Not a chance in fucking hell.  They were well past a quick shag and this would be over.  The little firebug had wormed his way inside and wrapped himself in c-4 and twine around his heart.  The only way out… total annihilation.  Of course.  Nothing less with Johnny.

     This needed to be handled as delicately as a live detonator, or a fuse burning half a building towards raw dynamite.  Either way, it wasn’t if it blew up, it was when and how.  Could it be contained?  Could his demolitions expert make something beautiful in the wake of its chaos?  If anyone could, it was his Johnny.

     He took off his shoes, collected a book from his go bag and settled down to read.  That would keep him distracted, he hoped.  Johnny was still in the shower.  He was almost certain that he heard his name.  Maybe he imagined it, but it happened again.  Pursing his lips, he tagged the corner of the page he was on and set the book aside to go see what his sergeant wanted.

     Simon rested his hand on the door handle, listening first, to be sure he heard breathing.  Maybe he imagined it.  Was there something wrong, or was Soap just teasing him and he’d missed it?  Silently he turned the knob to crack the door slightly.  He stepped to a side to avoid being seen in the mirror, old habits.  He was there because Soap called him…  Then he heard it, saw it through the narrow fissure of light bleeding into the dim hallway.

     The most beautiful, rapturous sight he could have imagined.  Head pressed against the tiles of the shower, black mohawk plastered down by the water, muscular back bowed out as his powerful arm flexed.  Fucking hell.  The droplets of water decorating his tan skin and glistening in the light like a thousand stars.  Thick, angry cock, proud and needy disappearing and reappearing beneath the skilled manipulations of calloused hands.  And the sound.  The cut off moans, the bitten lip, fuck to kiss him.  This was… 

     Then he heard his name, silent, chanted like a sacred prayer tossed up to a god he didn’t believe in.  If that didn’t flagellate Johnny into his heart with bloody lashes drawing the poison of his own isolation out like a balsam and assuage his wounded soul, nothing would.

     Watching, he found himself grasping his own desperate cock, squeezing, wishing that it was Johnny’s hand and not his own.  He could feel the leaking moisture of precum beginning to seep through his joggers.  This wasn’t good.  Fucking hell.  He needed to step away, maybe outside and handle this problem, before Johnny noticed.  He couldn’t do it.  Couldn’t peel his eyes away, his mouth opening as if to receive the bounty when Soap finally exploded over the wall with a gasp of “Simon.”.  That… bloody hell.

     Silently, he pulled the door shut, backing away.  It took a couple of minutes before he could stop seeing stars, before the hall became a hall and not the angelic vision of those beautiful pecs flexing, his ass tightening, teeth biting down into his lip as he let out the expel of Simon’s name. 

     The door opened and it snapped him to attention.

     “Thought you'd drowned in there.” he teased, voice sounding like it was being pulled over broken glass.  God he hoped it sounded like he was teasing. 

     “Ah’m good.  All yers now.” Johnny dismissed.  And yea, he was good.  That firm round ass gripped by the slight damp of his boxers, t-shirt stretched and hung low enough to hint at his perfect physique.  And those thighs.  What Simon wouldn’t do to get those thighs wrapped around him every night from now until they died.  He was definitely good.

     Johnny disappeared into the bedroom.  A deep breath and Simon went into the steaming shower.  Maybe there would be a hint of evidence left behind.  Maybe he would just finish what he’d started in the hall and hope he could think straight.  Right now, there was no thinking about anything, except maybe wrapping his lips around that perfect cock.  Yea.  He was good.

--

     There was a pang of disappointment sitting in his chest at the fact that Ghost didn’t come in after him, or teased him.  Somehow, with the prospect of tonight being a date, it all felt different.

     When his heart finally stopped racing, he cut off the light and settled into the queen-sized bed.  It was not uncommon for a safehouse to have more than one bed.  It was rare for them to have bigger beds, but nice.  Simon was on that couch.  Granted, it was a comfy couch, he would gladly admit that.  There wasn’t enough room for the big guy.  Hell, Soap didn’t think it was long enough for him to stretch out, and Simon was a bit taller.  He, this was just silly.

     Turning the light back on, he drug himself out of bed and went back down the hall to the living room.

     “Forget something?” Simon asked him.  He’d moved his rifle near him and acquired a book he seemed to be interested in.

     “Yea, you, ye big weapon.  Lock it up and come to bed.  There’s plenty of room for us both.  Silly fer ye ta stay out here an be uncomfortable.” Johnny invited him.

     “Hum, Ah dunno.  Ah’m not the kinda girl that puts out on the first date.” Simon teased.  His smile.  Fuck if it wasn’t the most absolutely perfect sight that John had ever seen.  If that was the last thing he saw before he died, then he would die a happy man.

     “Oi!  Come on.  Put the couch in front of the door if ye really think someone may try and get in.  We’ll lock the bedroom.  They’ll have ta deal with us both if they try it then.” John persisted.

     “If Ah recall correctly, you steal all the covers.” Simon mused.  He collected his things and turned out the light, regardless of his teasing.  There had been no sign that they’d been followed.  The perimeter was still secure.  The door was locked, the windows were locked.  Soap was right, if they locked the bedroom door, there would be a lot of noise if someone did break in.

     “Umhum.  An ye complain about me being a bloody furnace, so it willnae matter.” Soap reminded him.  They’d shared much closer sleeping spaces out of necessity before.

     Ghost left Soap to lock up the room, setting his rifle where he could reach it from the bed, securing his knife under the pillow.  His partner grumbled a little at that one.  Bloody uncomfortable.  He had his own pistol by the bedside.  They would be fine, and he said as much.  Ghost still didn’t move his knife, and Soap wasn’t surprised.

     Lights out and settled in beside each other, Soap’s heart was pounding out a stadium concert in his chest.  It was just Ghost.  Just Simon.  They’d slept together before.  But they’d had a date.  It was an acknowledged, real date.  He’d cooked.  They ate, they laughed, they talked, they watched a movie, they cuddled.  A fucking date. 

     “Christ Johnny, relax.  What are you a bloody virgin?” Simon teased.  His strong arm crept beneath Johnny’s frame, pulling his back flush against Simon’s broad chest.  The forced proximity flooded Simon much more violently than he’d anticipated.  Wafts of Soap filling his senses.  The faster than normal breathing, the tattooing of his heart, it was exhilarating.

     Simon hadn't expected the jolt of electricity that shot through him at Johnny's closeness.  The solid warmth of his sergeant's back against his chest was simultaneously the most comforting and most maddening sensation he'd ever experienced.  Every breath Johnny took pressed them closer together, every slight shift of his body a sweet torment.

     “Fuck.” Simon thought, trying to regulate his breathing.  He'd only meant to help Johnny relax, to ease that nervous energy radiating off him.  But now his own body was betraying him, responding to the intoxicating closeness in ways that would be impossible to hide in their current position.

     Johnny's scent filled his nostrils, clean soap from his shower, that underlying musk that was uniquely him.  Simon's fingers splayed unconsciously against Johnny's abdomen, feeling the firm muscles beneath the thin t-shirt.  He could map every ridge, every dip of that torso from memory, had seen it countless times in training, in the field.  But touching it like this, with intent, with desire, it was entirely different.

     “Ye good back there?” Johnny murmured, his voice a low rumble Simon could feel vibrating through his chest.

     “Mmm.” was all Simon could manage, not trusting his voice.  He should pull away, create some distance.  That would be the sensible thing to do.  But instead, his arm tightened slightly, drawing Johnny impossibly closer.

     The heat between them was building, and Simon surrendered to it.  This wasn't just lust, though God knows there was plenty of that, it was something deeper, something that had been building between them for longer than he cared to admit.  Johnny wasn't just his sergeant, he was his anchor, his constant, his balance in a world that rarely made sense.

     “Simon?” Johnny's voice was softer now, questioning.  He could barely feel the raise of Simon’s chest, could hardly hear the expel of air despite feeling it whispering across his neck.  It was almost as if the big guy was holding his breath, or afraid to breathe.  He wouldn’t mention the thick staff pressing into the top of his own arse or small of his back.  The bloody weapon was packin’ it that was for sure.

     “Ah'm here.” Simon replied, his lips close enough to Johnny's ear that his breath stirred the short hairs at his nape.  “Just thinking.”

     “Dangerous habit, that.” Johnny teased, but there was an undercurrent of tension in his voice.

     Simon chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.  “About us.” he clarified.  “About this.”

     Johnny shifted, rolling slightly so he could look back at Simon over his shoulder.  In the darkness, his eyes were luminous, questioning.  “And?”

     “And Ah think...” Simon paused, gathering courage he rarely needed in the face of bullets but seemed desperately short on now.  “Ah think nothing's ever felt more right than having you here.  Like this.”

     Johnny's breath caught audibly.  For a heart-stopping moment, Simon thought he'd misread everything, the flirting, the date, the closeness.  Then Johnny's hand found his where it rested on his stomach, fingers intertwining.

     “Took ye long enough to figure it out.” Johnny whispered, a smile in his voice.

     Simon's relief was palpable, washing through him like a wave.  He pressed his lips gently to the other man’s forehead and gave him a gentle squeeze.  “Shut up an go to sleep, Sergeant.  It’s late.”

     Johnny chuckled, but leaned back against his giant menace.  He was right.  This was how they should be.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Second Date

     Dawn spilled through the thin curtains, painting the safehouse kitchen in pale gold.  Simon stood by the window, one eye on the perimeter through a gap in the fabric, the other on the steaming mug of tea between his palms.   He was already dressed, combat boots laced tight, tactical pants and a dark gray henley that stretched across his shoulders.   The skull balaclava was folded neatly in his pocket, not needed yet, but always close.

     The coffee maker gurgled its final notes, releasing a rich aroma that filled the small space.  Simon poured the dark liquid into Johnny's favorite mug.  Well, favorite of the safehouse's limited collection.  He added precisely three sugars and a splash of powdered creamer.  Milk would be better, but this would work.  Just how his sergeant liked it.

     He placed it across the table from his own tea, a simple domestic gesture that felt strangely significant after last night.  The memory of Johnny's warmth against him, the steady rhythm of his breathing as he finally drifted off to sleep, brought a rare smile to Simon's face.

     His phone vibrated against his hip.  Only one person would be calling at this hour.

     “Ghost.” he answered, voice low to avoid waking Johnny.

     “This is Watcher.” Laswell's clipped tones came through clearly.  “We have a situation.”

     “Go ahead.” Ghost straightened immediately.  

     “There's been a security lockdown across all military airfields in your region.  Nothing in or out.  Your scheduled exfil is no longer viable.” she informed him matter-of-factually.

     “Understood.  Alternative?” Ghost asked, keeping his voice steady.  His mind already racing through contingencies.

     “Sending coordinates now.  Proceed there by 1400 hours.  A different extraction method has been arranged.”  There was the briefest pause.  “It's unconventional, but secure.”

     The phone buzzed with incoming data.  Ghost looked over the coordinates, committing them to memory.  About 60 kilometers northwest of their current position.

     “Acknowledged.  Any threats we should be aware of?”

     “Negative.  But maintain a low profile.  This lockdown isn't related to your operation, but additional security personnel will be active in the area.” she responded.

     “Roger that.  Ghost out.”

     Simon pocketed the phone and settled back to enjoy his tea.  They had a few hours to get there.  The car was well-hidden off the side of the road, about three kilometers away, a short walk.  Oddly curious as to the method of exfil awaiting them, Ghost examined his phone.  Local news was pretty quiet.  Something was happening that the media hadn’t gotten wind of, that was plain. 

     The sound of his sergeant stumbling across the hall into the bathroom got his attention.  A fond smile crept over his features.  There was a very large part of him that did not want to head back yet.  They had a couple of hours to kill before making the coordinates.  From what he found on his phone it was on the edge of town.  They could probably grab a bite before making them.  Maybe a second date?  Why not?

     “Ye made coffee.” Johnny recognized the smell, despite the fact that his eyes hadn’t really pried open yet.  He poured himself into the empty chair, worshiping the offering of caffeine as the devout priest of adrenalin that he was.

     “Yea.” Simon confirmed.  He leaned forward enough to plant a sweet kiss on his sergeant’s cheek.  Slow didn’t mean nothing.

     Soap looked blurrily up at him as his entire brain completely rebooted.  Yep.  Dreaming.  Last night.  Dreaming now.  That was it.  There was no fucking way Ghost just casually kissed him.  Not in any lifetime.

     “There was just the shit powder stuff, but at least there was coffee.” he offered up half in apology for the lacking preference in his Johnny’s morning coffee.

     “Ah, is fine.  We’re at least stocked enough to have coffee, and tea.” he tilted his head, noting that Simon had his morning addiction as well.

     “True.  Sleep alright?” he asked, eyes falling fondly over the man he shared the table with.

     “Aye, like a baby.” Johnny grinned over at him.

     “Awake, screaming an’ pissin’ every two hours?” Simon chuckled.

     “Ye were there.” he laughed.  “No screamin’ last night.  It’s too bad.  Maybe tonight?  Do ye put out after the second date?”

     “Not that type of girl.” Simon dismissed.

     “Am Ah gonna ‘ave ta meet yer parents and ask fer yer hand first?” Johnny teased.

     “Naw, they’re dead.  At least three dates though.  Isn’t that what the kids say these days?” Simon dismissed easily.

     “Ack.  Ah’m sorry, Ah dinnae kin.” he apologized for the possibly depressing attempt at humor.

     “Long time ago, no worries.  Ah mean, if you want to go visit my mum, you can ask her.” Simon mused.  “Don’t think you’ll get an answer, unless you have a Ouija board or something.”

     “Yer not right in the head, Simon Riley.  Ah’m not digging up yer dead mum just ta ask if Ah ken marry ye.” Johnny found himself laughing.

     Simon just shrugged.  “Be an interesting third date, now wouldn’t it?”

     “Bloody hell.” he chuckled.

     “Got the call from Laswell.  We’re heading into town, exfil instructions to be delivered at the coordinates she provided at 1400.  No airlift this ride out.” he updated his sergeant.

     “Oh?  Should Ah be scared?” Soap considered alternatives.

     “As long as it’s not an ox drawn wagon, Ah think we’ll be okay.” Ghost chuckled.

     “Cannae wait.” Soap accepted, sipping his coffee.

--

     Time flew by that morning with a shared can of fruit, a couple nutrition bars and good conversation.  It was… nice.  Normal.  Simon inserted his comments while Johnny filled the space with everything from random tidbits around hiking woods similar to these to detailed breakdowns of different detonators.  It wasn’t until well into the last topic that Soap paused, assessing the glazed over eyes as his lieutenant stared dreamily at him.

     “Sorry.” he apologized, reaching over to squeeze Simon’s shoulder, guilty expression clouding his features.  “Bad as tractor trailers Ah’ll bet.”

     “You’re fine, Johnny.” Simon dismissed.  His long arm across the back of the couch slid over Soap’s shoulders, pulling him tightly into his space.

     “Alright.” Johnny accepted it, leaning into the embrace, strong arm slipping about Simon’s waist, taking the opportunity to run his hands over his giant menace’s firm abs. 

     “Ye’d tell me if it’s too much, right?” he asked.  The hint of his breath across the tender flesh of Simon’s neck sent a flood of goosebumps across sensitive skin.  Catching the hitch in his Ghost’s breath Johnny grinned.

     The little hobgoblin was so close Simon could feel the curve of his lips against his skin.  The hint of moisture, whether it was from his Johnny’s mouth or the rise of heat between them, he didn’t know or care.

     “Right, Simon?” he tried again.

     “You talk too much Johnny.” he observed, his natural low timber sounding as if his vocal cords had been torn open and pinned down on display.

     Johnny's lips hovered just millimeters from Simon's neck, his breath warming the skin in teasing pulses.  He couldn’t resist any longer.  With deliberate slowness, he pressed his mouth against the tender flesh, feeling Simon's pulse quicken beneath his lips.

     “Johnny...” Simon's voice was strained, barely recognizable as his own.

     The sergeant took it as encouragement, grazing his teeth along the column of Simon's throat, drawing a low, guttural groan that reverberated through both their bodies.  Johnny sucked gently at first, then with growing hunger, marking the skin above Simon's collar a deep telling red certain to bloom purple by the evening.  He savored the musky, salty taste of Simon’s skin as his tongue tantalized and explored.  This was how he wanted to know every millimeter of his Simon.

     Simon's body shuddered with barely contained desire.  His hands gripped Johnny's shoulders, pulling him closer while his head tilted back, offering more access.  For precious moments, he lost himself completely, no mission, no rank, no rules, just Johnny's mouth on his skin and the intoxicating weight of him pressed against his body.  The urge to taste those sweet lips was practically overwhelming.  Never had anyone rocked his resolve the way this little firebug could.  Bloody fucking hell.  The moan that escaped didn’t begin to do the feeling justice.

     When Johnny's hands begin to wander, sliding beneath Simon's shirt to explore the hard planes of his stomach, reality crashed back.  Yea, the third date was something stupid he read on the internet, true, but a good excuse.  With Johnny, it was going to be everything.  This was an all or bust move in their dynamic and for his part, Simon wanted all.

     With tremendous effort, Simon captured those wandering hands, redirecting them away from his body.

     “Johnny.” he rumbled out again, firmer this time.  “We need to stop.”

     Johnny pulled back slightly, eyes dark with desire, confusion flickering across his features.  “Did Ah…”

     “No.” Simon assured him quickly.  “God, no.  You're perfect.”  He pressed his forehead against Johnny's, their breaths mingling.  “But we need to clean up and start walking to the car.  It's nearly time.”

     Johnny sighed, the sound heavy with reluctance.  “Aye.  Duty calls.”

     “Always does.” Simon agreed, allowing himself one more moment of contact before gently disengaging.  “Rain check?”

     A slow smile spread across Johnny's face.  “That a promise, Lt?”

     “Sergeant, Ah never break my promises.” Simon stood, adjusting his clothing and willing his body to cool down.  He was so hard the idea of walking hurt right mow.  “Now move your arse before I change my mind and we miss exfil entirely.”

     Johnny laughed, the sound lighting up the small safehouse.  “Wouldn't that be terrible.”

     They moved in tandom despite the new tension humming between them.  Within minutes, the safehouse was wiped clean of their presence, dishes washed, bedding straightened, all traces removed.  They shouldered their packs, weapons secured and hidden beneath civilian outerwear.

     At the door, Simon paused, turning to Johnny with an unreadable expression.  For a moment, Johnny thought he might kiss him, but instead, Simon reached out to straighten the collar of his jacket.

     “Ready?” Ghost asked, his voice back to its professional cadence.

     “Always.” Soap nodded, stepping outside into the crisp morning air.

     As they walked through the woods toward their hidden vehicle, Simon reached over and took his hand, lacing their gloved fingers together.  The memory of Johnny's mouth on his neck burned hotter than any physical mark, and he knew with absolute certainty that this was going to be an amazing beginning for whatever it was they would become.

--

     The cramped little car rumbled to a stop outside Café Lumière, a quaint brick-faced establishment tucked between a bookshop and a florist on a narrow cobblestone street.  Simon cut the engine, his eyes automatically scanning the area before settling on Johnny.

     “Hungry?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

     Johnny's stomach answered with a growl that made them both chuckle.  “Starvin'.  This our second date then?”

     “Figured we might as well, before extraction.” Simon's casual tone belied the intensity in his eyes.  “Unless you'd rather wait till we're back on base?”

     “Christ no.” Johnny denied, already reaching for the door handle.  “Lead on, Lieutenant.”

     A small brass bell announced their arrival, drawing brief glances from the handful of patrons scattered throughout the warmly lit space.  Simon's rested his hand lightly at the small of Johnny's back as they paused just inside the entrance, both men performing their instinctive assessment.

     Two elderly women chatting over pastries by the window.  A businessman absorbed in his newspaper at the counter.  A young couple with a sleeping infant in the corner.  The waitress, middle-aged with laugh lines around her eyes, arranging fresh flowers on an empty table.

     Simon guided them toward a booth against the back wall, positioning himself so he could watch the door while Johnny took the seat with clear sightlines to the kitchen entrance and rear exit.  Their knees bumped under the small table, neither making any effort to move away.

     “Quaint little place.” Johnny observed, his eyes doing another sweep before settling on Simon's covered face.  They were in public, that he was wearing the balaclava wasn’t a surprise at all, just slightly disappointing.  Johnny loved getting to look at his crushes face.  “How'd ye find it?”

     “Reconnaissance.” Simon replied with a half-smile.  “Called ahead while you were in the shower this morning.”

     Johnny's eyebrows shot up.  “Ye made reservations fer breakfast?”

     “Asked if they'd be open.  Wanted to make sure we had somewhere decent to go before exfil.” Simon shrugged, but there's something almost shy in the gesture.  “Seemed like a waste not to have that second date you mentioned.”

     The waitress approached with menus and a warm smile.  “Buona giornata, signori.  Caffè?”

      “Aye.” Johnny raised his hand, then gestured towards the hulking man sitting across from him.  “Tea for him.”

     The waitress nodded and walked away, seeming to understand what he’d requested.

     Leaning forward so only Simon could hear, Johnny whispered in a voice low.  “Ye kin what this means, ay?  Third date's next.  Then Ah get to find out if ye put out.”

     “Getting ahead of yourself there, Sergeant.” Simon laughed quietly, grateful for the gray mask hiding the warm flush he felt creeping over his cheeks.

     “Plannin’ ahead.” Johnny corrected him with a mischievous grin.  His foot deliberately brushing against Simon's calf under the table.  “It's called strategy.”

     The waitress returned with steaming mugs.  With a little pointing and Johnny’s easy-going communication skills, they managed to order, despite an obvious language barrier.

     “So.” Simon began, reaching over to add too much sugar to his warm mug.  “About last night...”

     Johnny froze mid-sip.  “What about it?”

     Simon’s eyes crinkled behind his mask, the telltale sign of the devilish grin hidden beneath the fabric.  He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that only Johnny could hear.

     “About how you called out my name in the shower.”

     Johnny choked on his coffee, his eyes widening in horror as heat blazed across his face.  “What!  Ah dinnae…”

     “Oh, you absolutely did.” Simon purred, clearly relishing Johnny’s discomfort.  “Quite passionately, Ah might add.”

     Before Johnny could stammer a response, flushing deep crimson from where his neck poked out of his collar all the way to the tips of his ears, the waitress appeared with a basket of fresh bread, steam still rising from its golden-brown crust.  The aroma struck Simon like a physical force, momentarily distracting him from his delicious torment of his sergeant.

     “Christ,” he murmured, his eyes locked on the basket as the waitress set it between them.  She placed a small dish of honey butter alongside it, smiling at Simon’s obvious appreciation before departing.

     Johnny, still reeling from Simon’s revelation, watched as his lieutenant reverently lifted the loaf and inhaled deeply.  “Never seen ye look at me the way you’re lookin’ at that bread,” he grumbled.

     “Jealous of carbohydrates now, are we?” Simon chuckled, breaking the loaf apart.  The inside was pillowy white, contrasting with the crackling crust.  Steam billowed upward as he tore it, and Simon let out a sound that was almost indecent.

     He took a piece and, with careful attention, spread a generous layer of honey butter across its surface.  The golden butter melted instantly into the warm bread.  Rather than eating it himself, Simon extended the piece across the table to Johnny.

     “Here,” he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle.  “Try this.”

     Johnny took it, their fingers brushing in a moment that felt far more intimate than it should.  Simon’s eyes never left Johnny’s face as he prepared a second piece for himself.

     “So,” Simon continued, as if they had never been interrupted, “Ah was thinking about our third date.”

     Johnny swallowed a bite of the heavenly bread, struggling to maintain his composure.  “Oh?  Already plannin’ that, are ye, an ye talk about me.”

     Simon nodded, taking a bite of his own bread.  His eyes closed briefly in appreciation before focusing back on Johnny with laser intensity.  “I was thinking my quarters.  Private.  No interruptions.”

     The implication hung between them, heavy with promise.  Johnny’s mouth went dry despite the moisture of the bread.

     “That sounds…” Johnny cleared his throat.  “That sounds agreeable, Lieutenant.”

     Simon laughed, a rich sound that sent shivers down Johnny’s spine.  “Agreeable?  Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

     Their breakfast arrived then, plates of eggs, sausage, and local specialties steaming before them.  But Johnny barely noticed the food, too caught up in the way Simon was watching him, like he had been calculating the entire encounter.

     The waitress refilled their coffee and tea, glancing between them with a knowing smile before disappearing back toward the kitchen.  Simon barely noticed her departure, too captivated by the way the midday light caught in Johnny's eyes, transforming them into pools of impossible blue.

     “What?” Johnny asked, catching Simon staring.

     “Your eyes.” Simon said simply, voice low enough that only Johnny could hear.  “They're like looking into the bloody ocean.”

     Johnny ducked his head, a flush creeping up his neck.  “Ye gone soft on me, Riley?”

     “Maybe.” Simon shrugged, not bothering to deny it.  He toyed with his teacup, turning it slowly between his palms.  The playful energy between them shifted subtly as Simon's expression grew more contemplative behind his mask.

     “Listen, Johnny, before we go any further with this...  third date business.” Simon began, his voice taking on a gravity that made Johnny sit straighter.  “Ah need to be clear about something.”

     Johnny tensed.  “Ah'm listenin'.”

     Simon leaned forward, lowering his voice further.  “Ah can't do casual.  Not with you.”  He held Johnny's gaze, unwavering.  “If we're doing this, really doing this, then Ah want it to be real.  Exclusive.  Ah don’t share.  A proper relationship.”  

     The words hung between them, heavy with meaning.  Johnny's breath caught in his throat.

     Simon’s heart thudded in his chest like a drumbeat echoing through an empty hall, each beat amplifying the doubts swirling in his mind.  He’d seen it too many times before, colleagues diving headfirst into relationships that were more about distraction than connection.  The military life was demanding, constantly pulling them from one mission to the next, leaving little room for real emotional investment.  They all knew how easy it was to let someone into your bed but not your heart.  He was already so fucked.  If Johnny said no, Christ, maybe he could transfer overseas for a while.

     His gaze flitted around the room as if searching for a safe place to land, but there was none.  It always came back to Johnny.  Steady, patient Johnny with his easy smile and warm eyes that seemed to see right through him.  Simon swallowed hard, feeling the weight of unsaid words pressing down on him like a heavy fog.

     What if Johnny didn’t want what he wanted?  What if this thing between them was just another fleeting moment destined to fade away under the harsh light of reality?  The thought left a cold knot in his stomach, twisting tighter with every passing second of silence.  But despite the fear gnawing at him, Simon knew he had to say something.  If this third date was going to happen, then he needed Johnny to understand who he belonged to.  He needed clarity, a clear definition of where they stood before things went any further.

     “Ah've seen too many people in our line of work, uh, kind of use each other as, um, distractions.” Simon stammered finally, his voice barely rising above a whisper as he forced himself to meet Johnny's gaze.  Fucking SAS operator.  Deadliest they’d ever seen, can’t get a fucking sentence out.  What the fuck is wrong with you Riley?

     “That's not...  that's not what Ah want...”  His tongue felt like a lead weight in his mouth, sluggish and heavy and refusing to cooperate with his thoughts.  It was as if his vocal cords were tangled in a mess of barbed wire, each word straining to break free.   “From, uh, from you.  From us.”  His words hung in the air between them like fragile glass ornaments threatening to shatter at any moment.

     Johnny's face softened almost imperceptibly.  A gentle smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he listened.  “Ye think Ah'd go through all this trouble for a quick shag, ye daft man?” he teased lightly, trying to cut through Simon’s tension with humor.

     The warmth in Johnny's voice wrapped around Simon like a comforting embrace, a promise unspoken yet understood.  And suddenly, amidst all his fears and insecurities lay something solid.  Hope that maybe, just maybe, they could be more than mere distractions in each other's lives.

     Simon's fingers drummed nervously against the table as his eyes darted around the room, searching for the right words.  His mind whirled with uncertainty.  “Ah think...  Ah think we should, uh, be clear.” he stammered, each word a struggle to release.  “About what we're, um, stepping into.”  His voice wavered, barely audible above the background noise of the room.  “The risks.  The...  complications.” he finally managed to say, his gaze dropping to his fidgeting hands.

     “Well, Ah cannae get ye pregnant, so no worries there.” his partner teased, the curve of his lips offering some relief to the painfully awkward feeling clutching at his chest.  Johnny reached across the table, his fingers brushing against Simon's hand.  The touch sent a jolt through Simon, who looked down at their hands, his mind a blur.  “Simon Riley, are ye askin' me ta go steady?”  Johnny asked gently.

     Simon's heart pounded, and he felt heat rising in his cheeks, painfully grateful once again for the balaclava hiding all but the uncertain twitch to his lips where he’d folded it up to eat.  “Uh, Ah suppose Ah am.” he admitted, the words feeling unfamiliar and exposed on his tongue.  “Though, uh, that term makes me feel like Ah'm sixteen.”

     “Boyfriend?  Partner, then?” Johnny suggested, his eyes warm and inviting.  “In every sense of the word?”

     Simon nodded slowly, a small smile finally breaking through his anxiety.  “That's...  that's what Ah want.  If, uh, if that's what you want too.”

     “Have wanted it for longer than Ah care to admit.” Johnny confessed, his voice steady and sure.  “But Ah need to know, the mask, the distance ye keep...  will that change?  Because Ah want all of ye, Simon.  Not just the parts ye show everyone else.”

     Simon's fingers curled more tightly around Johnny's, his mind still racing but finding a moment of clarity.  “You already see more of me than anyone else does.” he said quietly, his voice trembling slightly.  “Ah'll...  Ah'll try.”

     “Ah’ll take it.” Johnny flashed him his brilliant smile that seemed to light up the entire room and suddenly the twisting in Simon’s stomach began to loosen.  He gave a squeeze to Johnny’s hand.  If he were closer, he would definitely have left a kiss over those perfect, pink moist lips.

     Their moment was interrupted by the waitress returning to clear their plates.  Simon reluctantly released Johnny's hand, his mind already missing the contact, but the connection between them remained, electric, a silent promise.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Exfil?

    Johnny pulled their borrowed vehicle into the instructed car park, finding a spot tucked away from the security cameras.  The afternoon sun glinted off the windshield as he cut the engine.

     “Reckon this is it, then?” he asked, glancing over at Simon who was already checking his watch.  They were due here at 1400, it was 1335.  Plenty early.

     “Coordinates match.” Simon confirmed, eyes scanning the bustling train station across the street.  “Not what Ah expected.”

     They climbed out in tandem, the practiced efficiency of men who'd done this countless times before.  Johnny retrieved their go bags from the boot while Simon wiped down the steering wheel, door handles, and any surface they might have touched.  No prints, no DNA, no trace.  The car would likely sit here for days before anyone realized it had been abandoned, unless Laswell’s agents picked it up before.

     “Bit odd, innit?” Johnny muttered as they crossed the street toward the station entrance.  “Thought we'd be in a chopper by now.”

     Simon shrugged, adjusting his balaclava.  “Laswell said 'unconventional', and no air exfil this time.  This qualifies.”

     The station was a hive of activity, commuters rushing to catch trains, tourists consulting maps, vendors hawking coffee and newspapers.  Perfect cover.  They blended seamlessly into the crowd, just two more travelers with duffel bags slung over their shoulders.

     Simon led the way, weaving through the throng with purpose.  Johnny followed close behind, maintaining casual awareness of their surroundings.  No tails, no one paying them undue attention.  Just the normal chaos of a busy transport hub.

     They passed the main platforms, the ticket booths, the overpriced cafés.  Simon's stride never faltered as he navigated deeper into the station, away from the most crowded areas.  Finally, they reached the far wall where a bank of metal lockers stood in neat rows.

     “Here.” Simon stopped in front of locker 247, glancing at the coordinates on his phone one last time with instructions.  “This is it.”

     Johnny positioned himself to block anyone's view while Simon examined the locker.  “Any idea what we're looking for?”

     “Passports, tickets.  Something to get us home.” Simon replied, studying the keypad lock.  He punched in a series of numbers, the last digits of their coordinates, and the lock clicked open.

     Inside was a long black lockbox for a weapon, a short, square lockbox, camera bag, manila envelope and two train tickets.  Simon quickly scanned the contents of the envelope while Johnny kept watch.

     “Well?” Johnny prompted him.

     “Passports.” Simon handed one over to his partner, pocketing the other one.  “Weapon license, here.” he shared a portfolio of exotic animal photographs.  “Train tickets.  Here we go.  We board here at 1500.  Instructions to disassemble and check my rifle and ammo, leave the side arms.  Seems like Ah’m some kind of big game hunter, escorting you, our great photographer.”

     “Someone’s creative.” Soap laughed.  “Ah’m not even sure if Ah could use that thing.” he added, reaching in to take his new camera.  He knew his way around a camera, but this was nice.  Professional.  Not at all the sort of thing he messed around with in secondary school, before the army.

     “You’ll figure it out.” Simon assured him.  He took about a minute to disassemble his rifle completely, locking it away in the required box for travel, then put the ammo into the smaller box.  As he worked, Johnny poked around in the locker, finding a wash and fold laundry bag taped securely against one side.  He pulled it loose, finding a couple changes of clothes for each of them.  Setting to securing the new clothes in his go bag he waited examining the tickets, while Simon labeled everything.

     “Looks like we’re sharing a sleeping car.  Seven days.  Interesting exfil.” Johnny commented, checking his passport and ID against the ticket, just to be safe.  “And a sense of humor, John Riley.”

     “Fucking Laswell.” Ghost laughed at him.  Once finished, he pulled out his, opening it so Johnny could take a look. 

     “Simone Riley.” Johnny grinned at him.

     “Simone?  Great, you win, Ah’m the girl in the relationship this time.” he huffed out an amused sound.

     “True, but in Italy Simone is male.” Soap pointed out.  He kept the envelope with their itinerary and they headed to check the rifle and board the train.

--

     The train station bustled with activity, a chaotic symphony of announcements echoing through the vaulted ceiling as travelers hurried past.  Simon approached the baggage check counter, his expression unreadable behind the mask as he slid his passport and ticket across the polished surface.

     “Buongiorno.” he attempted, the word falling awkwardly from his lips.

     The attendant, a middle-aged woman with warm eyes and curly black hair pinned in a neat bun, smiled expectantly.  She rattled off a stream of Italian that left Simon blinking in confusion.

     “Uh...  English?” he tried, pushing the black rifle case forward alongside his documentation.

     The woman's animated gestures and rapid-fire Italian only intensified.  Simon glanced back at Johnny with a look that clearly said 'help me.'

     Johnny stepped up beside him, their shoulders brushing as he leaned in.  “Mi scusi, signora. Parla inglese?  Un po'?” he asked, his accent terrible but his smile disarming.

     “Yes, little English.” she confirmed, her face brightening.  “You need check these?” She pointed to the black cases.

     “Si, per favore.” Johnny replied, sliding his own passport and ticket forward.  “For the train.  Treno.”

     Between Johnny's few memorized Italian phrases and her broken English, they managed to communicate the essentials.  She carefully examined the weapon documentation, nodding approvingly as she tagged each case.

     “Is legal.” she assured them, affixing the proper labels.  “You get at...  destinazione.”

     After securing the cases, she examined their tickets more closely.  Her eyes widened, and a delighted smile spread across her face.  She looked between them, her expression softening with understanding.

     “Ah!  La Suite Luna di Miele!” she exclaimed, practically beaming as she handed back their tickets.  “Congratulations!  Very romantic!”

     Johnny's brow furrowed.  “Sorry?”

     “Honeymoon suite.” she explained, enunciating carefully.  “Very beautiful.  Best car on train.  For special occasion.”  She made a gesture joining her hands together.  “Very romantic journey.”

     Simon's eyes widened behind his mask, and Johnny felt heat creeping up his neck.

     “Grazie.” Simon managed, accepting their documents with a slight nod.

     The attendant winked at them.  “Enjoy your honeymoon!  Seven days, very special.”

     Johnny couldn't help but laugh as they walked away.  “Honeymoon suite?  Bloody hell, Laswell has a twisted sense of humor.”

     “Or someone at the office is talking the piss.” Simon muttered, tucking the tickets into his jacket pocket.  “Remind me to thank them personally when we get back.”

     As they made their way toward the platform, Johnny bumped his shoulder playfully against Simon's.  “Look at it this way, at least we'll be comfortable.”

     “And we did just have our second date.” Simon pointed out.

     The platform ahead was crowded with travelers, businessmen in crisp suits, families with excited children, elderly couples moving at their own unhurried pace.  Johnny and Simon navigated through the throng toward their designated car, tickets in hand.

     “Platform six.” Johnny confirmed, squinting at the ticket.  “There it is.”

     A uniformed conductor stood at attention beside the gleaming train car, checking tickets as passengers boarded.  His face was a mask of professional indifference until Simon and Johnny approached together, presenting their honeymoon suite tickets.

     The conductor's eyes flicked between them, his expression souring like milk left in summer heat.  His lips pressed into a thin line as he examined their documentation with exaggerated thoroughness.

     “Your...  accommodations are in the last car.” he said stiffly, handing back their tickets with barely concealed distaste.  “Follow the corridor all the way down.”

     “Thank you.” Simon replied with deliberate politeness, his tone suggesting he'd noticed the man's reaction and found it amusing rather than offensive.

     “Cheers.” Johnny added with a bright smile that only deepened the conductor's scowl.

     As they walked away, Johnny leaned closer to Simon.  “Not a fan of true love, that one.”

     “His loss.” Simon murmured, his hand finding the small of Johnny's back as they made their way through the train's narrow corridor.

     The honeymoon car was noticeably more luxurious than the standard compartments they passed.  The carpet was thicker, the wood paneling gleamed with polish, and soft lighting created an atmosphere of intimate warmth.

     At the entrance to their car, a young attendant with a cheerful disposition was helping passengers settle in.  His eyes lit up when he spotted Johnny's camera.

     “Oh!  Are you a photographer?” he asked, gesturing to the professional camera hanging around Johnny's neck.

     “Aye.” Johnny replied, patting the equipment affectionately.  “Wildlife mostly.”

     The attendant's face lit up like a Christmas tree.  “That's wonderful!  I'm fascinated by wildlife photography.  What kind of animals do you shoot?”

     Johnny glanced at Simon, a mischievous glint in his eye.  “All sorts.  Met this one here,” he nudged Simon, “while on safari in Africa.”

     “Really?” The attendant leaned forward, completely invested in the story.

     “Oh aye.” Johnny continued, warming to his role.  “Ah was there photographing lions, elephants, rhinos, the whole safari experience.  Simone here was hired as my guide.”

     “Ah'm a hunter by trade.” Simon added with surprising commitment to their cover story.

     “He is.” Johnny confirmed, his hand finding Simon's arm in a possessive gesture.  “But Ah sweet-talked him into escorting me instead.  Convinced him that protecting me while Ah got close to the wildlife was far more valuable than hunting them for sport.”

     Simon's eyes crinkled with amusement behind his mask.

     “The photos are worth so much more with the animals vibrant and alive instead of mounted on some wall.” Johnny explained, his enthusiasm growing with each word.  “There's something magical about capturing that moment, the perfect light in their eyes, the power in their muscles, the wild spirit still intact.”

     The attendant nodded eagerly, completely captivated.

     “Did ye kin,” Johnny continued, leaning in conspiratorially, “that a single perfect shot of a rare leopard in its natural habitat can fetch more than any trophy hunt?  And the beauty is, the animal lives to be photographed another day.”

     Simon's eyes narrowed dangerously behind his mask, the look so intense Johnny felt it burning into his skin.  There was something primal in that gaze, something that made Johnny's pulse quicken.  It wasn't anger, it was hunger.

     “My partner here,” Johnny pressed on, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the warning signs, “was skeptical at first.  Thought his rifle was only good for one thing.  But Ah showed him how much more satisfying it is to protect something beautiful than to destroy it.”

     Simon cleared his throat.  “Johnny has a way of...  persuading people to see things differently.” he said, voice lower and rougher than usual.

     The attendant glanced between them, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere.  “Well, that's...  that's wonderful.  Your suite is right this way.”  He gestured toward the end of the car.  “It's our finest accommodation.  Perfect for, um, celebrating your union.”

     As they followed the attendant, Simon leaned close to Johnny's ear.  “You're enjoying this way too much.” he murmured, his breath hot against Johnny's skin.

     “Just playing my part, love.” Johnny whispered back, the endearment slipping out naturally.  “Gotta sell the cover.”

     The attendant unlocked their compartment door with a flourish.  “Here we are!  The Honeymoon Suite.  There's a private bathroom with shower, a sitting area, and of course, the bed converts from sofa during turndown service.”

     The suite was indeed impressive, spacious by train standards, with polished wood paneling, plush seating, and large windows offering panoramic views of the passing landscape.  A bottle of champagne sat chilling in an ice bucket, two crystal flutes beside it.

     “Complimentary for our honeymoon couples.” the attendant explained.  “Dinner service begins at seven, but you can also order room service if you prefer privacy.  The dining car is three carriages ahead.”

     After showing them the various amenities and collecting a generous tip from Johnny, the attendant left them alone, sliding the door closed with a discreet click.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Honeymoon Car

     Simon immediately dropped his bag and turned to Johnny, crossing his arms over his broad chest.  “Wildlife photographer?  Sweet-talking me away from hunting?”

     Johnny's grin was unrepentant.  “Had to give him something to believe, didn't Ah?  Besides,” he added, stepping closer to Simon, “not entirely fiction, is it?  Ah did sweet-talk ye into something, didn't Ah?" Johnny teased, moving to unpack their bags.

     Simon let out a huff of amusement and dropped onto the plush sofa, stretching his long legs out before him.  The cushions yielded pleasantly beneath his weight as he watched Johnny methodically organizing their belongings.

     “Christ, these are actually decent clothes.” Johnny remarked, holding up a tailored button-down shirt.  “Four complete changes for each of us.  Proper civilian stuff too, not just tactical dressed as casual.”

     Simon raised an eyebrow behind his mask.  “Someone went all out.  Didn't exactly expect we'd need a week's worth of date night attire for an extraction.”

     “Maybe they expected us to blend in.” Johnny suggested, examining a pair of dark jeans that looked suspiciously like they'd fit him perfectly.  “Though Ah dinnae think 'honeymoon couple' was our usual cover.”

     “It's not.” Simon pulled his mask up just enough to rub his jaw thoughtfully.  “Someone's talking the piss.  Probably Price.  Or Gaz.  Fuckin’ Price has been on me ta make a move for the last six months.” he huffed out a laugh.

     Johnny snorted.  “My money's on Nikolai.  Man's got a twisted sense of humor.”

     “Laswell wouldn't...” Simon began, then reconsidered.  “Actually, maybe she would.”

     Johnny finished arranging their clothes in the small wardrobe, running his fingers appreciatively over the soft fabric of a cashmere sweater.  “Whoever it was, they have good taste.  And knew our sizes dead-on.”

     “That's what worries me.” Simon muttered.  He sat up as he reached for the champagne, examining the label with suspicious eyes.  “Dom Pérignon?  Really?”

     “Ye thin’ it's poisoned?” Johnny grinned, closing the wardrobe and moving to join Simon on the sofa.

     “No, Ah think someone's enjoying this far too much.” Simon set the bottle back in its bucket.  “Seven days on a luxury train in a honeymoon suite.  This isn't an extraction, it's a bloody vacation.”

     Johnny settled beside him, their thighs pressing together in the confined space.  “Maybe that's the point.  When was the last time either of us had leave?”

     Simon considered this, his hand unconsciously finding Johnny's knee.  “Can't remember.”

     “Exactly.” Johnny covered Simon's hand with his own.  “Maybe someone higher up decided we deserved it.  Or maybe they need us off-grid for a while and this was the best cover.”

     “Maybe.” Simon didn't sound convinced.  He squeezed Johnny's knee gently.  “Still, Ah'd like to know who's pulling the strings.”

     The train whistle blew, a long mournful sound announcing their imminent departure.  Outside their window, the platform began to slide away as the massive engine pulled forward with a lurch.

     “Well.” Johnny said, watching the station recede.  “We've got seven days to figure it out.  In the meantime...”  

     Pulling off his boots got him a hidden raised eyebrow from his hulking menace as Simon looked him over.

     “First things first.” Johnny began, climbing onto the sofa and straddling Simon, his powerful thighs surrounding the larger man as he loomed above him.

     “Ah don’t believe we’ve had our third date there yet, soldier.  Gettin’ a little ahead of yourself now aren’t you?” Simon chuckled, his large hands coming to rest on his new boyfriend’s hips to steady him.

     “Ah did some research of my own this morning, while Ah took care of the three S’s.” Johnny assured him, resting his hands on Simon’s broad shoulders.

     “Ah thought you spent most of your time in there reading memes.” Simon huffed out a laugh.  He found himself rocking reflexively into the heat of the man settled on his lap, slowly beginning to guide his hips.

     “Ah do, but today…  See the second date means.”  He paused, leaning in close enough Simon could feel the heat of his breath through the mask.  “Second base.” He pressed a warm, solid kiss to Simon’s covered lips, his own confidence shaken with the sudden intimacy of the gesture.

     “Ah…m.  Not…” Simon responded between the covered meeting of their lips.  “So… up on … base..ball.”  He found himself getting caught up in the unexpected heated display, his lips meeting Johnny’s, the moisture of their kisses soaking through the mask.  He wanted it off, wanted it moved now, but he didn’t want to stop, ever. 

     “Umm.”  Johnny let the hum escape him, one hand sliding down to explore Simon’s massive broad chest.  “Kissing.”  He managed to get out between covered kisses.  “Everythin’ above the waist.”  Soap added, pinching one of his partner’s pebbled nipples through his shirt.

     The thin fabric barrier between them was suddenly unbearable.  Johnny's fingers found the edge of the balaclava, his eyes searching Simon's for permission.  When Simon gave a slight nod, Johnny carefully folded the mask upward, exposing those perfect lips he'd been dreaming about for so long.

     Without hesitation, Johnny crashed their mouths together, and his entire world stopped spinning.

     Simon tasted like tea and honey and something uniquely him, something wild and dangerous and perfect.  Johnny's brain short-circuited at the first real contact, every coherent thought evaporating as Simon's lips moved against his own.  The kiss was desperate, hungry, months of wanting condensed into this single moment of connection.

     “Christ.” Johnny gasped when they finally broke apart for air, his Scottish accent thicker with desire.  “Ye taste even better than Ah imagined.”

     Simon's eyes had darkened to molten amber, his pupils blown wide.  “Been imagining it often, have you?”  His voice was rough, wrecked in a way Johnny had never heard before.

     “Every bloody day.” Johnny admitted, diving back in for another kiss.

     This time Simon took control, one large hand sliding up to cradle the back of Johnny's head, fingers threading through his mohawk.  He kissed Johnny like he was memorizing him, exploring every corner of his mouth with deliberate thoroughness.  Johnny whimpered against his lips, the sound vibrating between them.

     “Wanted this…” Simon murmured against Johnny's mouth. “for so fucking long.”

     Johnny's hands roamed across Simon's chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt.  When his fingers brushed against a nipple, Simon's hips bucked upward involuntarily, drawing a groan from both men.

     “Off.” Johnny commanded, tugging at Simon's henley.  “Need to feel ye.”

     They separated just long enough for Simon to pull the shirt over his head, the mask coming with it.  Johnny's breath caught at the sight before him, Simon's torso was a masterpiece of scars and muscle, telling the story of a life lived dangerously.

     “Beautiful.” Johnny whispered, reverent fingers tracing a long scar that curved around Simon's ribs.

     “Your turn.” Simon growled, his hands finding the bottom of Johnny's shirt.  Once it was gone, Simon's palms spread across Johnny's chest like he was claiming territory, mapping every inch with calloused fingertips.

     Johnny shivered under the touch, his head falling back as Simon leaned forward to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone.  The sensation of Simon's stubble against his sensitive skin sent sparks shooting down his spine.

     “Simon.” he gasped as teeth grazed his throat.  “Fuckin’ Christ.”

     The train lurched slightly around a curve, pressing them closer together.  Johnny rocked his hips downward, seeking friction, and Simon responded with a deep rumble of approval that Johnny could feel vibrating through his chest.

     Simon's hands slid up Johnny's back, fingers digging into muscle as he pulled him closer.  His mouth found the junction where neck met shoulder, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin before biting down.  Not hard enough to break skin, but with enough pressure to make Johnny gasp and arch against him.

     “Fuck.” Johnny hissed, his hips rolling instinctively.  The friction of their clothed erections sent electric currents through both men, making Simon growl against Johnny's throat.

     Simon worked his way across Johnny's collarbone, leaving a trail of marks that would bloom purple by morning.  Each spot received the same treatment, a sharp nip followed by the soothing heat of his tongue, then suction that made Johnny writhe in his lap.

     “Everyone's gonna know.” Simon murmured against Johnny's skin, voice hoarse with desire.  “Everyone's gonna see these marks and know you're mine.”

     Johnny tangled his fingers in Simon's short hair, tugging him up for another bruising kiss.  Their tongues battled for dominance as Johnny ground down harder, the thin fabric of their pants doing little to disguise how aroused they both were.

     “Please.” Johnny breathed against Simon's mouth, his accent thicker with need.  “Need more.  Need ye.”

     Simon's hands moved to Johnny's hips, stilling his movements despite his own body's desperate desire for more.  “Second base,” he reminded him, voice strained.  “That's all you get today.”

     Johnny whined in frustration, his forehead dropping to Simon's shoulder.  “Ye cannae be serious.”

     “Dead serious.” Simon replied, even as his hands contradicted his words by sliding up Johnny's sides to brush thumbs across his nipples.  “Haven't had our third date yet.”

     “This is cruel and unusual punishment.” Johnny protested, gasping when Simon pinched one sensitive nub between his fingers.

     “Think of it as...  anticipation.” Simon countered, pressing his lips to the underside of Johnny's jaw.  “Building the tension.”

     Johnny shuddered as Simon's mouth found his ear, teeth grazing the lobe before sucking it between his lips.  “Yer a sadist.”

     “Just want to do this right.” Simon murmured, one hand splayed across Johnny's lower back while the other continued its torturous exploration of his chest.  “Been waiting too long to rush it.”

     The train rounded another curve, the gentle sway pushing them together.  Johnny couldn't help the small thrust of his hips, drawing a hiss from Simon.

     “Christ, Johnny.” Simon groaned, his resolve clearly wavering.  “You're not making this easy.”

     “Not tryin' to.” Johnny admitted, his hand sliding down to rest on Simon's chest, right over his thundering heart.  “But Ah respect it.  Yer rules.”

     Simon looked up at him, surprise evident in his eyes.  “Yeah?”

     “Yeah.” Johnny nodded, pressing a gentler kiss to Simon's lips.  “Dosnnae mean Ah willnae try and make ye cum in yer pants.” he added with an evil grin.

     “Ah’m sure you’ll break first.” Simon let out a dangerous rumble from his chest.

     Simon's hands moved to cup Johnny's face, thumbs tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbones as he drew him down into a deeper kiss.  Their lips met with renewed hunger, Simon's tongue sweeping across Johnny's lower lip before delving inside to taste him fully.  The bitter remnants of coffee mingled with the sweet honey butter from breakfast, creating an intoxicating flavor that was uniquely Johnny.

     “Mmm.” Simon hummed against his mouth, the vibration sending shivers down Johnny's spine.  When Johnny's hands began to wander southward, Simon caught his wrists, gently but firmly redirecting them to his shoulders.

     “Above the belt, remember?” Simon murmured, his voice a low rumble that Johnny could feel through his chest where they pressed together.

     Johnny groaned in frustration but complied, his fingers digging into the solid muscle of Simon's shoulders instead.  Simon rewarded his obedience by deepening the kiss, one hand sliding around to cradle the back of Johnny's head while the other moved to his jaw, tilting his face to the perfect angle.

     The kiss transformed from desperate hunger to something more deliberate, more controlled.  Simon explored Johnny's mouth with meticulous attention, mapping every ridge and contour as if memorizing him by taste alone.  His tongue curled around Johnny's, drawing it into his own mouth to suck gently, pulling a broken moan from deep in Johnny's chest.

     The train swayed around a curve, the rhythmic motion of the tracks beneath them adding another layer of sensation as their bodies rocked together.  Simon's thumbs traced Johnny's jawline, his touch reverent as the kiss slowed to something profoundly intimate.

     “Christ, Simon.” Johnny breathed when they finally broke apart, his Scottish brogue thicker than usual.  “Where'd ye learn to kiss like that?”

     Simon's lips curled into a rare, unguarded smile.  “Natural talent.” he murmured, leaning in to nip at Johnny's lower lip.  “Or maybe Ah've just been thinking about this for a very long time.”

     Johnny's eyes darkened at the admission.  “How long?” he asked, voice rough with emotion.

     Instead of answering, Simon drew him back down, his mouth capturing Johnny's in another soul-searing kiss.  This time it was Johnny who moaned first, the sound swallowed by Simon as his hands slid from Johnny's face to cradle the nape of his neck.

     The compartment filled with the sound of their ragged breathing and the distant clickety-clack of the train's wheels.  Outside their window, the Italian countryside blurred into streaks of green and gold, but neither man noticed, too lost in each other to care about the view.

     Simon's hands moved to Johnny's shoulders, then traced a tantalizing path down his arms before returning to frame his face once more.  His thumbs brushed across Johnny's cheekbones, the gesture achingly tender compared to the heat of their kiss.

     “You're beautiful.” Simon whispered against Johnny’s lips.  “Most beautiful person Ah’ve ever known.”

     Johnny froze, the words hitting him with unexpected force.  The raw emotion in Simon's voice, the tenderness in his touch, it all suddenly clicked into place.  This wasn't just desire or attraction.  This wasn't just about setting boundaries for a physical relationship.

     This was why Simon had insisted on having that awkward conversation about exclusivity first, before they'd even shared a proper kiss.  The stammering, the nervous energy at breakfast, the insistence on doing things right, it all made perfect sense now.

     Simon Riley was utterly, completely in love with him.

     The realization stole Johnny's breath away.  Looking down into those whiskey brown eyes, unguarded and vulnerable in a way he'd never seen before, Johnny could read everything Simon hadn't said aloud.  It was written in every touch, every kiss, every mark left on his skin.  There was no hiding it now, no mask to conceal what had probably been there all along.

     “Simon.” Johnny whispered, his voice catching.  His hand moved to cup Simon's cheek, thumb tracing the scar that cut through his lip.  “How long have ye felt this way?”

     Simon's eyes flickered briefly with uncertainty before meeting Johnny's gaze directly.  “Does it matter?”

     “It matters to me.”

     Simon exhaled slowly, his hands settling on Johnny's hips.  “Since Las Almas.” he admitted quietly.  “When you took that bullet and still managed all you fucking did.”  He swallowed hard.

     “That was the day we met.” Johnny breathed.

     “Yea.” Simon's voice was rough.  “Not exactly quick on the uptake, am Ah?”

     Johnny leaned down to press their foreheads together, overwhelmed by the implications.  “All this time...”

     “All this time.” Simon confirmed.  “Watching you, wanting you.  Trying not to want you.  Failing miserably.”

     Johnny's heart hammered against his ribs.  “Is that why ye insisted on the relationship talk first?  Before we even…”

     “Because Ah need you to understand.” Simon interrupted, his voice suddenly urgent.  “This isn't casual for me.  It can't be.  If we do this, if we're doing this, you need to know what you're getting into.  Ah can’t go back.”

     The intensity in Simon's eyes made Johnny's breath catch.  This wasn't just Simon being cautious or setting boundaries.  This was Simon laying everything on the line, offering his heart with trembling hands, terrified it would be handed back to him in pieces.

     “We arennae goin’ back, mo ghràidh.” Johnny whispered against his lips before pressing an achingly tender kiss to them. 

     Simon melted into the kiss, his hands sliding up to cradle Johnny's face.  Everything he couldn't say with words, he poured into this connection, months of wanting, days of wondering.  Johnny tasted like coffee and possibility, like home and salvation wrapped into one perfect package.

     “Ah've been yours since the moment we met.” Johnny murmured against Simon's lips.  “Just took me longer to realize it.”

     Simon's fingers traced the contours of Johnny's face, memorizing every plane and angle as if he might never get another chance.  His thumb brushed over Johnny's lower lip, slightly swollen from their kisses.

     “Johnny.” he breathed, the name a reverent prayer.

     They came together again, the urgency of before transformed into something deeper.  Johnny's hands roamed across Simon's broad shoulders, down his chest, feeling each scar, each mark that told the story of the man beneath his fingertips.  Simon's hands slipped around Johnny's waist, pulling him impossibly closer as the train swayed beneath them.

     The gentle rocking motion only intensified the sensation as their bodies pressed together.  Simon's palm slid up Johnny's spine, fingers splaying across his shoulder blades, holding him as if he were something precious, a jewel never to be parted from.  Johnny shivered at the touch, his own hands moving to tangle in Simon's short hair.

     Heat built between them again, slow but inexorable, like a tide rising.  Johnny rolled his hips unconsciously, drawing a groan from Simon that vibrated against his lips.

     “Thought we were stayin' above the belt.” Johnny teased, his voice rough with desire.

     “Technically.” Simon murmured between kisses.  “We are.”  His hands slid lower, resting just at the small of Johnny's back, thumbs tracing circles across his bare skin.

     A sudden shrill ring cut through the moment like a knife.  Both men froze, years of training kicking in automatically.  The burner phone in the envelope on the table continued its insistent demand for attention.

     “Bloody hell!” Johnny muttered, reluctantly pulling away.  “Who even knows we're here?”

     Simon's eyes narrowed, his tactical mind already running through possibilities.  “Only Laswell.”

     Johnny climbed off Simon's lap, immediately missing the warmth as he reached for the envelope and extracted the phone.  Simon quickly pulled his mask back down, years of habit impossible to break even in this moment.

     “Hello?” Johnny answered, putting it on speaker.

     “Bravo 7-1, this is Watcher.” Laswell's crisp voice filled the compartment.  “Confirming your secure extraction is underway.”

     Simon leaned forward.  “Affirmative, Watcher.  Though Ah wouldn't call this standard protocol.”

     There was a pause, then what almost sounded like a suppressed laugh.  “The situation required creativity, Lieutenant.  Your cover is solid.  You're simply a honeymooning couple traveling through Europe.”

     Johnny and Simon exchanged looks.

     “Roger.  Any other objectives?” Lieutenant Riley questioned.

     “Negative.  If that changes you’ll be updated.  Keep under the radar and have a safe trip.” Watcher advised.

     “Acknowledged.” Ghost answered and the phone went dead.

     “Do ye think they’ve got the room bugged.  Ah shoulda looked for cameras when we got in.” Soap considered, now scoping out the room for any trace of hidden surveillance equipment.

     Ghost stretched out like a king on his throne, legs spread wide, his complete interest in his partner on full display in the dark jeans.  Broad, muscular chest splotched in reds of differing shades threatening to fade into deeper purple.  He grinned at Johnny despite the mask.

     “Well, if they do, then they’re going to be in for a show after our third date.  It’ll sell the cover.” He chuckled.

     “Use yer phone would yea?  Ye’ve still got the app, might trigger something.” Soap prompted him.

     Reluctantly Ghost did as he was asked, fishing his phone out of his pocket and opening up a communications app to search for anything in the immediate vicinity.  After a giving it a couple of minutes, while Johnny poked his eye into every potential hole he saw, making funny faces and drawing back with a grin each time, he shook his head. 

      “Nothing love.  Unless your intense visual inspection has uncovered anything, we’re good.” Simon assured him.

     “Nothing looks out of the ordinary.  Yer a tall fucker, check the light above.” Johnny pointed to the ceiling.  Simon turned it off, dimming the room to only what cascaded in through their window and climbed on the sofa to have a proper look.

     “Nothing.” he confirmed, hopping back down.

     Taking Johnny’s hands, he pulled the smaller man back into his warm embrace.  The mask was folded up before he realized it and their lips met again in a slow, amused entanglement.

     “So, romantic dinner tonight, for our third date?” Soap tried, gasping for air when they parted again.

     “Thought we agreed, my room, when we got back.” Simon teased him.  The curve of his kiss swollen lips on full display simply melted John’s heart.

     “That was when we were home in a day.  Now, we need to adapt to the new plan.” Soap encouraged him.

     “Do we now?” Ghost chuckled.

     “Aye.” he gave a determined nod.

     “Humm.” he put on the air of giving it considerable thought.  “Well, they can’t all be on the same day.  Gotta wait until at least tomorrow.”

     “Breakfast tomorrow?” Johnny tried hopefully, eyebrows lifting towards his hairline in his enthusiasm.

     “Nope.  Ah want a beautiful, romantic dinner, with you all dressed up in those fancy clothes for me.” Simon insisted.  The mischievous grin almost set Johnny off, but the blush flooding Simon’s features held him back.  He actually meant it, teasing or not.

     “Aye, alright.  Romantic dinner, tomorrow, and yer mine after.” Johnny chuckled.

     “Sounds like a date.” Ghost nodded.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Dining In

      The train rumbled gently beneath them as Simon settled deeper into the plush sofa, one arm stretched across the back while Johnny rearranged himself.  With familiar ease, the Scotsman laid back, resting his head in Simon's lap and swinging his legs up to drape over the arm of the sofa.  His feet dangled over the edge, the furniture clearly not designed for someone of his height.

     “Comfortable?” Simon asked, his voice warm with amusement as his free hand naturally found its way to Johnny's mohawk, fingers gently combing through the short, dark strands.

     “Aye.” Johnny replied, eyes closing briefly at the tender touch.  “Though they really should make these things for proper-sized people.”

     Simon chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.  “Probably the best they could do on a train.  Besides, you're hardly a giant, love.”

     “Says the human tree.” Johnny retorted, poking Simon's stomach playfully.  He gazed up at his partner, still marveling at the sight of Simon's face without the mask.  The golden afternoon light streaming through the window caught in his eyes, turning them to amber.  “Still cannae believe we're doin' this.”

     “The mission or...” Simon gestured between them, his meaning clear.

     “Both.” Johnny admitted.  He shifted slightly, getting more comfortable as Simon's fingers continued their gentle exploration of his hair and scalp.  “Reminds me of summers back home, actually.”

     “Yeah?” Simon encouraged, genuinely curious.  Johnny rarely spoke about his childhood.

     “Mmm.  Most people thought basic was too much, ye kin, no privacy.  Ah thought it was a bit of relief.” Johnny nodded, a distant smile playing on his lips.  “Growing up in the highlands, near Inverness.  We had this old sofa on the porch.  Too short for anyone but my ma, really.  Used to lay just like this with my head in my sister Alex's lap while she read to me.”

     Simon's hand stilled momentarily.  “Never mentioned you had sisters before.”

     “Five of 'em.” Johnny confirmed with a grin.  “And one brother.  Poor Ma and Da never stood a chance with seven of us runnin' wild.”

     “Seven?” Simon's eyebrows shot up.  “Christ, Johnny.  No wonder you're so good at handling chaos.”

     Johnny laughed, the sound light and carefree in a way Simon rarely heard.  “Alex was the oldest.  Then Evie, Claire, Elsa, Sarah, Malcolm, and me." He counted them off on his fingers.  “Utter madness, especially in a house that size.”

     “I can imagine.” Simon murmured, resuming his gentle stroking of Johnny's hair.

     “There was this one summer, must've been twelve or so, when Elsa and Ah decided we were gonna build a proper fort in the old oak behind the house.” Johnny began, his accent growing thicker with the memory.  “Not just any fort, mind ye.  This was gonna be a masterpiece.  Two levels, rope ladder, the works.”

     “Da thought we were daft, but he gave us his old tools anyway.” Johnny continued, eyes sparkling with the memory.  “Said if we were gonna break our necks, might as well learn something useful first.”

     Simon watched Johnny's animated face as he spoke, mesmerized by the way his lips curved around each word, the Scottish burr growing more pronounced with each childhood memory.  The setting sun streaming through the train windows caught the flecks of azure in Johnny's eyes, turning them into something otherworldly, like staring into the deepest parts of the highland lochs he described.

     “Elsa was the brains, ye know.  Drew up proper plans and everything.  I was just the muscle.”  Johnny's hands moved expressively as he talked, painting pictures in the air.  “First day, Ah hammered my thumb so bad it turned purple as a plum.  Didn't cry though, not with four sisters watching.”

     Simon's fingers continued their gentle exploration of Johnny's hair, occasionally tracing the shell of his ear or the strong line of his jaw.  He found himself utterly captivated, not just by the story, but by the man telling it, this fierce warrior laid out vulnerable and open in his lap.

     “Took us three weeks.  Da had to rescue us twice when we got stuck.  But when it was done...” Johnny's face softened with pride.  “Two platforms, a roof that didn't leak, and a pulley system for hauling up snacks that actually worked.”

     “Sounds impressive for a couple of kids.” Simon murmured, his thumb brushing Johnny's temple.

     “Aye, it was.  Named it Castle MacTavish.” Johnny chuckled.  “Spent that whole summer up there, reading comics, planning adventures.  Alex would bring us sandwiches when Ma wasn't looking.”

     Simon felt something warm unfurl in his chest, something he'd kept tightly controlled for so long he'd almost forgotten it existed.  Here was Johnny, ferocious and deadly in battle, speaking with childlike enthusiasm about a homemade fort.  The dichotomy was staggering, beautiful in its complexity.

     “What happened to it?” Simon asked, genuinely wanting to know more, to absorb every detail of Johnny's life before they met.

     “Storm took it the following spring.  Massive gale swept through, took half the oak with it.” Johnny's expression turned wistful.  “Da said it was a miracle it hadn't fallen with us in it.”

     “Always were lucky.” Simon said softly.

     “Luckiest day was when Ah met ye, even if ye were a right bastard at first.” Johnny's eyes found his, suddenly serious.  

     “Had to be.  You were too bloody perfect.  Couldn’t let you think Ah liked you or anything, ‘cept alive of course.” Simon laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.  

     The train rounded a curve, golden sunlight shifting across them as the Italian countryside rolled by outside their window.  In this moment, suspended between missions, between their old lives and whatever this new thing between them would become, Simon realized with perfect clarity that he would follow this man anywhere.

     “The guy said we could eat in.  Let’s.  Ah don’t want to go out with the mess of things yet.  Not tonight.” Simon decided, thinking that it was getting on dinner time.

     “Aye.  We’ll go out tomorrow night, definitely.  Ye owe me a date.” Johnny agreed.  “Suppose that’s yer way of sayin’ ‘Figure out how ta order food, Sergeant.’”

     “Well, considering it’s not a date, Ah don’t have to be the one setting it up, right?” Simon teased, fingers still carding through his partner’s hair.

     “Ah did the first date, thank ye very much.  Not to bad fer improvising, if ye ask me.” he gave a smug little nod.

     “Best first date Ah’ve ever.” Simon assured him, grasping one of his animated hands and bringing it to press his lips lovingly to it.

     “Mmmm, speaking of food.” Johnny reached for the leather-bound menu on the side table.  “Let's see what they've got.”  He flipped it open, eyes widening as he scanned the offerings.  “Bloody hell, this is fancy.  Five-course meal options.”

     Simon leaned over to peek at the menu.  “What language is that?  Italian?”

     “Aye, but there's English translations underneath.” Johnny pointed out, brow furrowing in concentration.  “They've got proper steaks, pasta...  Christ, look at the wine list.”

     “Dom Pérignon was just the welcome gift.  They've got bottles here that cost more than our weekly pay.” Simon whistled low.  

     “Good thing we're not paying.” Johnny grinned wickedly.  “Whoever set this up can foot the bill.”

     “In that case...”  He tapped a finger on the most expensive steak.  “Ah'll have that.  Rare.” Simon's eyes narrowed playfully.  

     “Ye sure that's enough?” Johnny teased.  “Might want to order two, just to be safe.”

     “You know what?  You're right.” Simon nodded seriously.  “Two steaks, the lobster appetizer, and whatever that fancy mushroom thing is.”

     “Ye cannae possibly eat all that.” Johnny snorted.  

     “Watch me.” Simon challenged, eyes glinting with mischief.  “If Price is paying, Ah'm making it worth his while.”

     “Yer ridiculous.” Johnny laughed, shaking his head as he reached for the call button.  Simon moved enough to reach his mask and settle it back on for the impending intrusion.  It was fine, sitting here with Johnny, not at all for strangers.

     “Says the man who once ate an entire box of MREs on a dare.”

     “That was different.  Ah had something ta prove.”

     A young attendant appeared at their door moments later, knocking politely before sliding it open.  “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

     Johnny flashed his most charming smile.  “We'd like to order dinner, if that's alright.”

     “Of course, sir.  Would you prefer to dine in the restaurant car or here in your suite?” the young man asked politely.  He didn’t want to notice the half-naked, incredibly well built men in the room.  One wore a mask, it was just odd.  And the last thing he wanted to know about were any guests’ honeymoon activities.

     “Here, please.” Johnny glanced at Simon, who nodded in agreement.

     “Very good.  What would you like to order?”

     Johnny consulted the menu again.  “Ah'll have the...  risotto ai funghi to start, then the bistecca fiorentina, medium.”

     “Excellent choice, sir.” The attendant turned to Simon.  “And for you?”

     Johnny spoke up.  “He'll have the lobster antipasto, two of the bistecca Fiorentina, rare, and the truffle pasta.”

     “Two steaks, sir?” The attendant's eyebrows rose slightly.  

     “That's right.” Simon confirmed without hesitation.  “And whatever dessert you recommend.”

     “Very good.”  The attendant made notes on his pad.  “And to drink?”

     Johnny glanced at the wine list.  “What would you recommend with our selections?”

     The attendant's eyes lit up with professional enthusiasm.  “For the bistecca fiorentina, I would recommend our Brunello di Montalcino.  It's a robust Tuscan red that pairs beautifully with the steak.  For the seafood and pasta courses, perhaps our Vermentino, crisp, with notes of citrus that complement the delicate flavors.”

     “Perfect.” Johnny nodded appreciatively.  “We'll take a bottle of the Brunello.”

     “And could Ah get an iced tea as well?” Simon interjected unexpectedly.

     The attendant blinked but recovered quickly.  “Of course, sir.  With lemon?”

     “No thank you.” he declined.

     “Very good.  I'll have your first courses brought in about thirty minutes.  Will there be anything else?”

     “No thanks.” Johnny replied, returning the menu to its spot on their side table.

     As soon as the door slid shut behind the attendant, Johnny turned to Simon with a smirk playing across his lips.  He reached over, moving the mask out of his way, claiming a kiss now that they were alone again.

     “Iced tea?  With all that steak?  What happened to making Price pay for the good stuff?”

     “Just fancied something cold.” Simon shrugged, running a hand through his short hair.  

     “Ye ordered two steaks but drew the line at wine?” Johnny's eyebrows shot up in amusement.  “Never took ye for a teetotaler, Lt.”

     Simon's lips quirked into that half-smile that made Johnny's heart stutter.  

     “Ah may have pretended ta be a little more dainty, if this were a date, like a proper girl an' all.” he drawled, exaggerating his Manchester accent.  “But since it's not...”

     “So ye'd drink wine for me if this were our third date?” Johnny snorted, shifting closer on the sofa until their thighs pressed together.  

     “Might even let you pour it for me.” Simon murmured, his voice dropping to that dangerous rumble that sent shivers down Johnny's spine.  “Hold the glass to my lips.”

     “Christ.” Johnny breathed, leaning in until their foreheads nearly touched.  “Ye cannae say things like that when we've still got twenty-four hours to go.”

     “Can't Ah?” Simon challenged, one eyebrow raised.  His hand found Johnny's knee, thumb tracing small circles through the fabric of his pants.  “Thought ye liked it when Ah talked.”

     “Ye know damn well what yer doing.” Johnny muttered, but there was no heat in his accusation.  His eyes dropped to Simon's lips, still slightly swollen from their earlier kisses.

     “Second base, remember?” he whispered, leaning in to brush his lips against Johnny's jaw.  “Plenty we can do within those parameters.” Simon's smile widened into something predatory.  

     “Thought ye wanted to wait.” Johnny's breath hitched as Simon's mouth found the sensitive spot just below his ear.  

     “For the main event, yes.” Simon murmured, his voice a low rumble against Johnny's skin.  His lips traced a path down Johnny's neck, gentle yet possessive, marking territory with each press of his mouth.  “But Ah never said we couldn't enjoy the journey.”

     Johnny's hands found Simon's shoulders, pushing him back against the sofa cushions.  

     “My turn.” he whispered, eyes darkening with intent as he shifted their positions, straddling Simon's thighs.

     Simon looked up at him, surprise and desire mingling in his amber eyes as Johnny leaned down to claim his mouth.  The kiss started slow, deliberate, Johnny taking his time to explore every contour of Simon's lips, the slight gap where his scar cut through, the sharp edge of teeth that had left marks on his own skin.

     When they broke apart, Johnny's gaze dropped to Simon's chest, to the network of scars that mapped his history.  The most prominent was the Y-shaped mark that ran from his collarbones down to his sternum, branching outward, a permanent reminder of his partner’s dark past, of a time when Simon had nearly been lost to him forever.

     “Can I?” Johnny asked, fingers hovering just above the raised tissue.

     Simon nodded, throat working as he swallowed.  “Yeah.”

     Johnny lowered his head, pressing his lips to the top of the scar where it began near Simon's right collarbone.  He traced the line with his tongue, feeling the difference in texture, tasting the salt of Simon's skin.  Simon's breath hitched, his hands coming to rest on Johnny's hips, gripping tightly.

     “Johnny,.” he breathed, the name barely audible.

     Johnny continued his reverent exploration, following the path of the scar down one collar bone, up the length of the other and back to where they met at his sternum.  Tongue tracing the old scar down the length of his sternum.  His hands splayed across the broad expanse of Simon's chest, feeling the thundering heartbeat beneath his palm.  “Yer here.” he murmured against Simon's skin.  “Ye survived this.”

     His fingers found another scar, this one along Simon's left side, a jagged entry wound where a hook had pierced through his ribs in beneath the third rib, out at the seventh.  What the man had gone through to earn them sent shivers through Johnny’s spine.  How he was still here, breathing could be nothing short of a miracle.

     Pressing his lips to this scar too, kissing it with such tenderness that Simon shuddered beneath him.  Johnny's mouth lingered there, as if his kiss could somehow erase not just the physical mark but the trauma that created it.

     “Ken Ah ask how?” he probed tentatively, his tongue chasing his lips around the lazy starburst of penetration marking it as different from a bullet.  A slow entry.  Painful.

     “Well, Ah didn’t ‘ave the curtesy to die like they wanted, so they thought they’d help me along.” Simon chuckled, brushing the back of his hand over the beginning of Johnny’s five o’clock shadow.  “Hung me up from a tree by one of those hooks you see pigs on in a butcher shop.”

     “Oi!  How the fucking hell did ye not die?” Soap’s eyes seemed to bug out of his head, breaking the reverence.

     “Stubborn Ah guess.” Simon shrugged.  “Passed out, thankfully.” he gave it a moment’s thought before answering.  “This one.” he reached over and traced his sternum, still damp from Johnny’s sweet adoration.  “They were cutting me open, thought Ah was dead.” he let out a dark laugh.  “You shoulda seen their faces.”

     Johnny couldn’t help it, he knew he shouldn’t, but he laughed at the dark humor anyway.

     “Fuckin’ hell.  Kin there was a reason ye were the Ghost.” he leaned down and bit playfully at Simon’s ribs.  The graze of his teeth, the heat of his breath, it was enough that the big guy squirmed beneath him, doing his best not to giggle.

     “That was the clawing out of my grave thin…” he laughed, because Johnny didn’t stop, as soon as he caught wind of the idea his Ghost was ticklish, he took full advantage.

     Johnny's eyes widened with delight as Simon squirmed beneath him, trying to suppress the laughter bubbling up from his chest.  “Oh my God, yer ticklish!” he exclaimed, fingers dancing along Simon's ribs with newfound purpose.

     “Johnny!  Don't you dare!” Simon gasped between involuntary bursts of laughter, his body twisting beneath the smaller man's determined assault.

     “The great Ghost, felled by a wee bit of tickling?” Johnny's grin was positively wicked as he targeted the sensitive spots along Simon's sides, nuzzling and nipping at his ribs with gleeful precision.  “Wait till the lads hear about this!”

     “They won't… because you'll be… dead!” Simon managed between helpless fits of laughter, his hands desperately trying to capture Johnny's wrists.  His impressive strength was useless against the tactical tickle assault, his body betraying him with each touch.

     Johnny pressed his advantage, straddling Simon more firmly as his fingers found new vulnerable territory.  “Who's breaking first now, eh?” he teased, delighting in the rare, unguarded sound of Simon's laughter filling their private compartment.

     With a growl that was half-amusement and half-determination, Simon finally managed to catch Johnny's hands, gripping his wrists and using his superior strength to flip their positions.  In one smooth motion, Johnny found himself pinned against the sofa cushions, Simon looming above him with dark eyes, chest heaving.

     “Gotcha!” Simon panted, his face flushed with exertion and mirth.

     “Aye, that ye do.” Johnny admitted, not struggling against the restraint.  The playfulness between them shifted, electric tension crackling as their eyes locked.

     Simon lowered his head slowly, claiming Johnny's mouth in a kiss that started gentle but quickly blazed into something more urgent.  Johnny strained upward, meeting Simon's intensity as their bodies pressed together.  The teasing laughter gave way to something deeper, hungrier, as Simon released Johnny's wrists to frame his face instead.

     Johnny's freed hands immediately slid up Simon's back, tracing the powerful muscles there, pulling him closer.  The kiss deepened, Simon's tongue sliding against Johnny's in a dance that sent heat spiraling through both men.  Johnny's leg hooked around Simon's thigh, eliminating any remaining space between them.

     “Christ, Johnny.” Simon breathed against his lips, voice rough with desire.  “What you do to me...”

     A sharp knock at the door froze them both mid-kiss.

     “Room service.” called a voice from the corridor.

     Simon dropped his forehead to Johnny's shoulder with a groan of frustration.  “Bloody perfect timing.”

     Johnny chuckled, his chest still heaving.  “Ye did order half the menu.”

     Another knock, more insistent this time.  “Your dinner, gentlemen?”

     Simon reluctantly pushed himself up, extending a hand to help Johnny to his feet.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Plans for the Future

     Time melted away with the gentle rhythm of the train, dinner plates long cleared and the sky outside their window transforming from brilliant orange sunset to the deepest midnight blue.  Stars twinkled against the velvet darkness, unobscured by city lights as they traveled through the countryside.

     Johnny stood by the window, mesmerized by the celestial display.  Simon had already turned out their bed for the night.  Sprawled beneath the sheet, wearing nothing but his boxers, he was almost afraid to turn back from the window.  It had been bad enough, having the man get in bed beside him the night before, when nothing had happened between them.  He wasn’t sure he could take the sight.  Now he could touch… but only above the waist.  What in the bloody hell was that even.  Fucking hell.  Simon was a sadist.  That was all there was to it.  The man enjoyed his god forsaken pain.

      Turning away from the window, his eyes drawn irresistibly to Simon's figure stretched out on the bed.  The lieutenant's body, a masterpiece of strength and resilience, lay exposed under the thin sheet that barely concealed him.  Moonlight poured through the window, casting an ethereal glow over Simon's skin, illuminating every scar like a badge of honor earned through countless battles.  Each muscle was defined in stark relief, a testament to years of discipline and dedication.

     As Johnny stood there, he couldn't help but stare at the man before him, Simon was everything he’d ever fantasized about and more.  The intimacy of this moment struck Johnny with surprising force.  Sure there were showers and shared rooms but those came with strict boundaries.  Here they were, almost naked in each other's presence, and those boundaries had been blow to smithereens with their fallout littering the train tracks behind them.

     Every inch of Simon seemed to call to him, beckoning him closer.  His heart swelled with an overwhelming affection as he took in the sight before him.  His lieutenant was waiting patiently in bed for him.  It was more than just physical attraction, it was an appreciation for everything Simon represented, the courage, loyalty, and unyielding spirit that defined him.

     Johnny felt completely overwhelmed by this man who had become much more than just a fellow soldier.  In this quiet moment bathed in moonlight, he understood how deeply he valued not only Simon's strength but also his companionship, his friendship and unwavering support.

     “You joining me or planning to sleep standing up?” Simon asked, his voice a low rumble that did inhuman things to Johnny’s insides.

     “Budge over, ye great lummox.” Johnny chuckled, quickly shedding his own clothes down to his navy boxers briefs. 

     “Make me.” Simon challenged, a playful glint in his eyes as he stretched deliberately, taking up even more room.

     Johnny shook his head in mock exasperation before climbing onto the bed.  With Simon spread-eagled in the center, Johnny had no choice but to slide in close, their bare skin meeting with electric awareness.  The train swayed gently, the rhythmic clickety-clack beneath them creating a hypnotic lullaby.

     “This yer subtle way of getting me to cuddle ye?” Johnny murmured, fitting himself against Simon's side, head resting on the broad shoulder, one leg draped over Simon's thigh.

     “Nothing subtle about it.” Simon admitted, his arm curling around Johnny's back to hold him close.  His fingertips traced idle patterns on Johnny's skin, raising goosebumps despite the warmth between them.

     They lay in comfortable silence for a while, watching stars streak past their window like silver comets.  The intimacy of sharing this quiet moment felt almost more profound than their heated kisses earlier.  Johnny could feel Simon's heartbeat beneath his cheek, strong and steady, the most reassuring sound in his world.

     “You can see Orion.” Simon said softly, pointing toward the window with his free hand.  “And there, the North Star.”

     “Dinnae take ye for a stargazer.” Johnny followed his gaze, surprised.  

     “Did a lot of night ops, Johnny.  When you're lying in position for hours, waiting for a target, you learn the stars.  They're good company.” Simon's chest rose and fell with a deep breath.  

     Something in his tone made Johnny raise his head, studying Simon's profile in the moonlight.  The planes of his face seemed softer somehow, the hardened edges of Lieutenant Riley momentarily at peace.

     “Show me more.” Johnny whispered, nestling closer.

     Simon's fingers continued their gentle exploration across Johnny's shoulder as his other hand pointed toward the window.

     “See that bright one there?  That's Jupiter.  And just above it, those seven stars in a pattern?  That's the Pleiades.  The Seven Sisters.”

     “Like my family.” Johnny smiled.  “Seven of us wild MacTavishes.”

     “Exactly like that.  The Greeks believed they were placed in the heavens for protection.” Simon turned his head, pressing a kiss to Johnny's forehead.  

     “Did a lot of reading during those night ops too, did ye?” Johnny teased gently.

     “Had to keep my mind sharp somehow.” Simon admitted.  “The stars...  they're constant.  No matter where Ah was deployed, what hellhole Ah was lying in, they were the same stars Ah could see from home.  Maybe moved a bit, but the same stars.”

     “What do ye think about, when ye look at them now?” Johnny's hand traced the contours of Simon's chest, following the ridges and valleys of muscle and scar.  

     “The future, sometimes.  What comes after all this.”  Simon was quiet for a long moment, his breathing steady beneath Johnny's palm.  

     “After the 141?”

     “After the war.  Any war.  All of them.” Simon's voice dropped lower.  “Used to think Ah'd just keep going until a bullet found me.  Never saw much beyond the next mission.”

     Johnny propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Simon.  

     “And now?”

     Simon's eyes, dark and reflective in the dim light, met his.  

     “Now Ah think about after.  About waking up without having to check for threats first.  About having tea that doesn't taste like dirt.”  His hand came up to cup Johnny's cheek.  “About you.”

     The admission hung between them, fragile and precious.  Johnny turned his face to press a kiss into Simon's palm.

     “Think about ye too,” he confessed.  “About us, together.  Somewhere quiet maybe.  Scotland.  Or anywhere, really.”

     “Anywhere?” Simon's eyebrows raised.  “Even Manchester?”

     “Christ, that's asking a lot.  But aye, even there, Ah suppose.” Johnny grimaced dramatically.  

     “Generous of you.” Simon chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest.  

     “Ah'm a giver.  Long as yer there.  That’s the important part.” Johnny quipped, leaning down to brush his lips against Simon's.  The kiss was gentle, unhurried, a contrast to their earlier hunger.  When they parted, Johnny rested his forehead against Simon's.  “Do ye think we could have that?  After?”

     “A life together?” Simon's arms tightened around him.  “Ah think we could.  If we wanted it badly enough.”

     “Ah want it.” Johnny said simply.  “Have for longer than Ah care to admit.”

     Simon pulled him down for another sweet, lingering kiss.

--

     Morning light filtered through the dining car windows, casting a golden glow across the white tablecloth where Simon and Johnny sat facing each other.  Simon's soft gray balaclava was rolled up just enough to expose his mouth as he sipped his steaming tea.  Johnny nursed a large coffee mug, his eyes still heavy with sleep despite the early hour.

     “Sleep well?” Simon asked, breaking off a piece of warm croissant.

     “Like the dead.  Something about the train motion, rocks me ta sleep like a babe.” Johnny grinned over the rim of his cuppa.  

     The dining car was only half-full, other passengers speaking in hushed tones over their continental breakfasts.  An elderly couple sat near the front, a businessman typing furiously on his laptop, and a mother trying to coax her young daughter into eating something besides jam.

     “Scenery’s changed.” Simon observed, nodding toward the window.  Where yesterday there had been rolling green countryside and scattered villages, now dramatic mountain peaks rose on all sides, their tops shrouded in wispy morning clouds.  Steep granite faces dotted with pines created a majestic backdrop as the train curved around the mountain passes.

     “Must be in the Alps now.” Johnny remarked, leaning closer to the window.  “Beautiful, innit?”

     Simon hummed in agreement, eyes scanning the landscape with professional assessment.

       “Good place for an ambush.” he noted quietly, then caught Johnny's amused expression.  “What?  Old habits.”

     “Nothing.” Johnny chuckled.  “Just thinking how ye can make even the most gorgeous view sound like a tactical scenario.”

     “More coffee, signore?”  A waiter approached with a silver pot.  

     “Aye, please.” Johnny nodded enthusiastically, holding out his cup.

     As the waiter topped off Johnny's coffee, Simon's eyes continued their surveillance of the dining car, noting exits, potential threats, escape routes, an automatic process he couldn't turn off even here, even now.  The waiter moved away, and Simon's attention returned to Johnny, who was spreading a generous amount of honey on a piece of toast.

     “Try this.” Johnny insisted, reaching across to offer Simon the sweet morsel.

     Simon accepted it, their fingers brushing in the exchange.  “Thanks.”  The honey was rich and floral, complementing the buttery toast perfectly.

     “So.” Johnny said, lowering his voice.  “Ah was thinking about our date tonight.”

     “Were you now?” Simon replied, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

     “Aye.  The concierge mentioned there's a formal dinner service at eight.  Proper fancy, with a set menu and wine pairings.” Johnny's eyes gleamed with anticipation.  “Thought we might dress up a bit.”

     “Trying to make an honest man of me, Sergeant?” Simon teased.

     “Just want to see ye in those nice trousers they packed for us.” Johnny replied with a wink.  “Show ye off proper.”

     Simon took another sip of tea, considering.  “Might be nice to dress up for a change.  Been a while since Ah've worn anything but tactical gear or joggers.”

     As if summoned by their conversation, the young attendant who had shown them to their suite yesterday appeared at their table.  His dark hair was neatly combed, and he wore casual clothes rather than his uniform.

     “Good morning, gentlemen!” he greeted them cheerfully.  “I hope you found your accommodations satisfactory?”

     “Morning.” Johnny replied with a warm smile.  “Everything's perfect, thanks.”

     The attendant beamed.  “I'm glad to hear it.  I'm actually not on duty until this afternoon, just having my own breakfast.”  He gestured vaguely toward another part of the dining car.  Then, noticing the camera resting on the table beside Johnny's plate, his eyes lit up.  “I was wondering, if you don't mind me asking, what's your next photography subject?  Any exciting animals on your list?”

     Johnny's entire demeanor changed, his face lighting up with enthusiasm.  “Oh mate, ye woulnnae believe what I'm after next!  The Iberian lynx, absolutely magnificent creature.”  He leaned forward, hands already moving animatedly.  “Most endangered feline in Europe, maybe only 400 left in the wild.  Beautiful tawny coat with these distinctive black ear tufts and beard-like facial ruff.”

     Simon settled back, hiding his amused smile behind his teacup as Johnny launched into full passionate mode.

     “They're smaller than most lynx species, about half the size of the Eurasian lynx, but they're perfect ambush predators.” Johnny continued, completely oblivious to how his eyes had widened with excitement.  “Got these incredibly powerful hind legs that let them leap up to three meters to catch prey.”

     The attendant nodded, clearly not having expected such an enthusiastic response but finding himself drawn in nonetheless.

     “Planning to take Simone here to the Sierra Morena mountains in Spain next month.” Johnny gestured toward Simon.  “There's this guide Ah've been corresponding with who knows exactly where a female and her cubs have been hunting.  If we're lucky, we might catch them at dawn when they're most active.”

     Simon's eyebrows raised slightly at this elaborate fiction, but he played along.  “Johnny's been obsessed with this trip for months.  Won't stop showing me pictures.”

     “It's the eyes that get me.” Johnny continued, pulling out his phone and quickly finding a photo to show the attendant.  “See those amber eyes?  Like liquid gold.  Almost hypnotic.”

     The attendant leaned closer to examine the image.  “Wow, they are beautiful.”

     “But that's just the warm-up.” Johnny declared, pocketing his phone again.  “The real prize is waiting for me in Russia, the Amur lynx.  Even rarer, even more elusive.  Still waiting on my permits and visas for that expedition.  The Russian authorities are...  particular about who they let into the northeastern territories.” Johnny continued, his passion building with each word.  He turned abruptly to Simon, a challenging glint in his eyes.  “Think ye could actually track these ones, love?  Or would they be too quick even for the great hunter Simone?”

     Simon's lips quirked into a dismissive smile.  “Those little cats?  Hardly worth the effort, are they?  Not much bigger than housecats with fancy ears.  Could probably find better sport chasing after the neighbor's tabby.”

     The attendant's eyes widened at Simon's casual dismissal, looking nervously between the two men.

     Johnny's face flushed with indignation.  “Housecats?  Are ye daft?”  He leaned forward, voice dropping to an intense whisper.  “These are apex predators, Simone.  Wild cats with bloodlines going back thousands of years.  The Iberian lynx can bring down prey three times its size!”

     “Still just glorified mousers.” Simon shrugged, clearly enjoying Johnny's reaction.  “Cute little whiskers and all.”

     “They're not!” Johnny stopped himself, noticing the attendant's uncomfortable expression.  He took a deep breath.  “My husband doesn't appreciate the majesty of true wild felines.” he explained, forcing a tight smile.  “Thinks anything smaller than a lion isn't worth his time.”

     “Only because Ah've tracked real predators.” Simon added, sipping his tea with infuriating casualness.  “Bears, wolves...  creatures that actually present a challenge.”  It wasn’t a piece of fiction.  He’d been on several hunting trips with Price.  He had to have a hand in this ‘cover’.

     Johnny's knuckles whitened around his coffee cup.  “The lynx has survived in Europe's most hostile environments for millennia while being hunted to near extinction.  Their stealth and adaptability make them nearly impossible to spot without expert guides.  Just because they're not charging at you like some bloody rhinoceros doesn't make them any less magnificent!”

     The attendant cleared his throat.  “I, um, should probably let you enjoy your breakfast...”

     “No, stay.” Simon said, his eyes never leaving Johnny's flushed face.  “My husband gets quite passionate about his cats.  It's quite endearing, really.”

     Johnny narrowed his eyes.  “When we're in Spain, and ye've spent three days crouched in a blind without seeing so much as a paw print because these 'housecats' are too clever for ye, we'll see who's endearing.”

     The attendant glanced between them, clearly sensing the tension.  “They do sound fascinating.  I've only ever seen big cats in zoos.”

     “That's because they're masters of camouflage and evasion.” Johnny explained, still glaring at Simon.  “Unlike some people who think stealth means wearing all black and stomping around like a bloody elephant.”

     Simon's eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter behind his mask.  “Perhaps.” he conceded, reaching across to take Johnny's hand.  “Ah need to be educated on the finer points of these...  wild cats of yours.”

     “Damn right ye do.” Johnny agreed his emphatically serious expression holding firm.

     “All very exciting.  If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to your breakfast.” the young man took the moment and ducked away.

     Simon sipped at his tea watching his ‘husband’ completely amused. 

     “Ye kin they can run upwards of 80 kilometers per hour.” Johnny nodded in his fervor.

     “Fast little buggers.  Good thing bullets travel over 2000 kilometers per hour, on a slow day.” Simon goaded him on.

     “Ye just dinnae appreciate real beauty when ye see it.” John dismissed with a wave of his hand.

     “Oh, Ah disagree about that.” Simon caught his bright blue eyes with that holding them long enough Johnny felt the heat rising in his cheeks.

     When their audience abandoned the dining car, Simon stopped making any attempt to school his response, laughing at Johnny’s antics.  Looking around in faux innocence their eyes met again.

     “What?” the younger man asked, before losing himself with the laughter of his partner.

     “Ah give.” Simon leaned in close enough not to be overheard. 

     “Hum?”

     “How do you know so much about a damned lynx?” Simon asked, rather impressed with the random knowledge.

     “Ah was in the photography club in secondary.  Took a trip to a preserve.  Got a ton of great photos of them.” John shared with a smug grin. 

     Simon nodded and chuckled at the revelation.

     “Did most of the yearbook activity photos actually.” He shared, not feeling any reason to keep that quiet.  Wouldn’t hurt his cover any.

     “Impressive.  That and you’re sketches.  Just an artistic guy.” Simon offered him.  He set his tea down, reaching over to simply hold Johnny’s hand.

     “Dunno if Ah’d go that far, but Ah liked it.  Ye have hobbies, outside of shooting that is?” he prompted the big guy.

     He wanted to say killing, but there were too many ears.  They probably wouldn’t take it well.  “Nothing you don’t already know love.” Simon offered genuinely.

     “Ye finished?” Johnny asked, noting the empty plate and abandoned cup.

     “Yea.  Let’s go look at the little shop in the next car.  See what supplies they have.” he suggested.  He wiped his hands on his napkin and slid his black leather gloves back on.  The morning was nice, if not a little chilly.  With that they slowly made their way forward to the next car.

     The walkways were narrow, no real surprise there.  Simon had to turn sideways through the dining car and into the next.  As they entered there were a couple of rows of unassigned seats with nice window views for socializing that gave way to a long thin bar.  It wasn’t set up for drinks, but as a little shop.  A variety of personal items were available from aspirin to toiletries. 

     Simon perused the options as an older attendant eyed him and his partner.

     “Books and magazines are two cars up.  Alcohol is the car behind the dining.” he provided without any preamble.  He spoke English, so there was that.

     “Got any Vaseline?” Simon finally asked.

     “Lip balm.” the man produced a small tube.

     “See anything you need Johnny?” Simon asked, getting out his wallet.

     “Ah’m good.” Soap declined, not hiding his amusement as the transaction finished and they headed on to check out the next car.

     “May have ta get creative after the third date, or we’ll run your guy back there outta lip balm.” Simon mused one they were away from the counter as they passed on down the car.

     Johnny laughed, glad the big guy was ahead of him.

     “Dinnae ye worry, Ah came prepared, love.” he offered.  That got Simon to stop and stare at him.

     “You were planning this?” he demanded.

     “More like wishful thinking.” Soap have a nervous response.

     “Um hum.” Simon let it go for now.  When they were alone…

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Third Date

     The afternoon slipped away in a haze of anticipation, Johnny barely able to focus on anything but the evening ahead.  After exploring most of the train, they'd returned to their compartment, where Simon had promptly claimed the bathroom with a mischievous wink and a promise that Johnny wouldn't be disappointed.

     Now, as the golden light of sunset streamed through their window, Johnny stood before the small wardrobe mirror, adjusting his tie for the third time.  The charcoal slacks fit him perfectly, hugging his muscular thighs without restricting movement, a rare combination in formal wear.  His crisp azure blue dress shirt stretched pleasantly across his broad shoulders, accented by a deep blue silk tie that brought out the color of his eyes.  He'd spent more time than he'd admit taming his mohawk into something slightly more elegant.

     “Ye about done in there?” Johnny called, checking his watch.  “Reservation's in twenty minutes.”

     “Patience, Sergeant.  We’re walking three cars down.” came Simon's muffled voice from behind the bathroom door.  “We’ll get there in plenty of time.”

          “Yer worse than my sisters before prom night.” Johnny rolled his eyes, fighting a smile.

     The bathroom door finally clicked open, and Johnny turned, a teasing remark dying on his lips as Simon stepped into view.

     The burgundy dress shirt clung to Simon's powerful frame like it had been molded to him, the rich wine color making his amber eyes glow with warmth.  Perfectly tailored black slacks accentuated his long legs, ending at polished leather boots that somehow managed to look both sophisticated and dangerous.  He'd left the top two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his throat and collarbone.  His mask was gone, face bare, freshly shaven except for the perfectly maintained stubble along his jaw.

     “Jesus wept.” Johnny's mouth went dry, the words barely audible.

     “Worth the wait?” Simon's lips curled into a knowing smile.

     “Ye know damn well it was.” Johnny replied, his accent thickening as his eyes traveled slowly up and down Simon's body.  “Dinnae even know ye owned clothes like that.”

     “Ah don't.” Simon admitted, adjusting his cuffs.  “Someone packed them for us.  Seems they know my measurements quite well.”

     “Remind me ta thank them.” Johnny stepped forward, reaching up to smooth an imaginary wrinkle from Simon's shoulder, needing an excuse to touch him.

     “You don’t clean up so bad yourself there Sergeant.” Simon's eyes darkened as he took in Johnny's appearance, his gaze lingering on the way the blue tie brought out the color of his eyes.

     “High praise, coming from you.” Johnny teased, though he couldn't hide the pleased flush creeping up his neck.

     Simon caught Johnny's hand as he started to pull away, bringing it to his lips for a brief kiss that sent electricity shooting up Johnny's arm.  “Third date.”

     “Third date.” Johnny echoed, the words carrying the weight of their promise.  His pulse quickened as Simon stepped closer, one hand coming up to cup his cheek with unexpected tenderness.

     “Nervous?” Simon asked, his voice low and intimate in the small space between them.

     Johnny let out a breathy laugh.  “Me?  Never.”  But the slight tremor in his hands betrayed him as they came to rest on Simon's chest, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath the fine fabric.

     “Liar.” Simon murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against Johnny's in a kiss so gentle it was barely there.  The featherlight touch sent shivers down Johnny's spine, so different from their heated exchanges of the day before.

     “We’ve got all night.”  Simon reassured him gently when Johnny pressed forward, seeking more.  Rich amber meeting crystal blue, locked in a moment that neither felt the need to shatter.

     “Aye.” Johnny nodded, swallowing hard.  “All night.”

     Their lips met again, this time with more certainty but the same exquisite tenderness.  Simon's hand slid to the back of Johnny's neck, fingers threading through the short hair at his nape.  Johnny sighed into the kiss, his body melting against Simon's solid frame.

     When they finally separated, Simon rested his forehead against Johnny's, eyes closed as if memorizing the moment.  “Been waiting for this for so long.” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

     “Worth the wait?” Johnny asked, echoing Simon's earlier question.

     “Every second.” Simon whispered, his eyes opened, amber depths filled with such naked affection that Johnny's breath caught.

     With visible reluctance, Simon stepped back, reaching for something in the wardrobe.  “Almost forgot this.” he said, holding up a plain black surgical mask.  “Can't have the whole train seeing my pretty face, can we?”

     Johnny smiled, watching as Simon carefully secured the mask in place.  It was more discreet than his usual balaclava, covering just the lower half of his face rather than his entire head.  His eyes remained visible, expressive enough to convey both his anticipation and amusement.

     “Ready?” Simon asked, offering his arm like a proper gentleman.

     “Aye.  Lead on Lieutenant.” Johnny laughed, linking his arm through Simon's.

     They made their way through the narrow corridors of the train, nodding politely to other passengers they passed.  Johnny couldn't help noticing the appreciative glances thrown their way.  They made a striking pair in their tailored clothing, Simon's imposing height and Johnny's confident stride drawing eyes despite Simon's masked face.

     The dining car had been transformed for the evening service.  White tablecloths draped over every table, each set with fine china and crystal that glinted in the warm lighting.  Fresh flowers adorned every setting, and soft classical music played from hidden speakers.

     “Ah, Signori Riley.  Your table is ready.”  The maître d' led them to a secluded table by the window, perfectly positioned to catch the last rays of sunset painting the Alpine landscape in hues of gold and crimson.  The table was set with understated eloquence.  A single white rose stood in a slender crystal vase at the center, flanked by two tapered candles whose flames danced in the gentle motion of the train.

     “Your server will be with you momentarily.” the maître d' informed them with a slight bow before retreating.

     Johnny settled into the short booth across from Simon, taking his napkin from the place settings to rest across his lap.  He caught Simon’s eyes, gazing into them until he felt a faint heat rising in his cheeks.  With that he forced himself to look away, hoping that he didn’t seem too creepy with his flood of interest in his new boyfriend. 

     Dates were a trip to the pub, or maybe, if the guy seemed like he might not be a complete asshat, a quick bite at some restaurant chain.  There would be loud music and beer or maybe scotch.  He preferred scotch, but it wasn’t always a good idea to take the filter off on a date.  Most people couldn’t deal with his line of work or his sense of humor.  Simon.

     There was nothing he had to change, or tone down for Simon.  He just had to be, him.  If he laughed at something inappropriate, it was probably Simon who’d said it.  If he mentioned wanting to kill or maim someone, that was friendly dinner conversation.  If he went off on long tangents about lighting or fuses or chemistry or politics, Simon would let him.  He may check out for part of it, but that was forgivable.  He never detoured him, not seriously anyway.

     “Good evening, gentlemen.”  A sommelier had approached their table, startling Johnny back into the moment.  His manner formal yet warm.    

     “May I suggest a wine pairing for your dinner this evening?”  His accent was melodic, his English impeccable.  “Our chef has prepared a special five-course tasting menu featuring regional specialties from each country we pass through.”

     “What would you recommend?” Simon nodded, his eyes crinkling above his mask.  His voice was low, like crushed velvet as it caressed Johnny’s ears.  He seemed so polite, the epitome of civilized Englishman.  Who would have thought he could fake it like that, even if it was just for a wine server?

     “For the first courses, perhaps our Gewürztraminer from Alto Adige.  Notes of lychee and rose petal that complement the delicate appetizers perfectly.”  He gestured toward the wine cart beside him.  It reminded Soap of the serving carts the flight attendants came around with on actual civilian flights.  A luxury that they never saw on most of their infils, or exfils for that matter. 

     “And for the main, a robust Barolo with excellent structure and depth.” the sommelier's face brightened.  

     “Sounds perfect.” Johnny agreed, exchanging a glance with Simon.  He didn’t have a fucking clue, but the guy made it sound good.  He suddenly wondered if Simon did know.  Maybe he had more exposure to this sort of thing than Soap was giving him credit for.

     The sommelier beamed, uncorking the first bottle with practiced precision.  The pale gold liquid caught the candlelight as he poured a small amount into Simon's glass for approval.

     Simon lifted the glass, inhaling deeply before moving his mask up enough to take a careful sip.  His eyes closed briefly, and Johnny found himself watching the subtle play of expressions visible above the mask.  The slight relaxation around his eyes, the almost imperceptible nod of appreciation.  He could spend the rest of his life staring at this man, and that thought scared the ever-living shit out of him.

     “Excellent.” Simon pronounced, and the sommelier proceeded to fill both their glasses before departing with another bow.

     A server arrived moments later with a basket of fresh bread.  It was a crusty sourdough, delicate rosemary focaccia, and dark rye rolls still warm from the oven.  The rich aroma mingled with the wine's floral notes as he placed a small dish of herb-infused olive oil and another of sea salt beside it.

     “I will give you a few minutes to settle in before the first course.” the server informed them, his eyes lingering momentarily on Simon's mask before politely averting his gaze.  “Please enjoy the bread and wine.”

     As they were left alone, Johnny reached across the table, his fingers brushing against Simon's.  “This is... not quite what Ah imagined for our third date.”

     Reaching over, he patted Johnny’s hand lightly before pulling back.  Choosing a strip of rosemary focaccia from the basket, he tore it in half, dousing the soft side with the olive oil and lightly dabbing the salt.  Noticing as his dates eyes watched in earnest, waiting for him to say, literally anything, Simon allowed the silence to hang.  Instead he reached across the perfectly set table to offer his partner a bite.

     Watching the flickering candlelight in those beautiful eyes was plenty of conversation for the hulking menace.  Then the dusting of rose over his high cheekbones, the settling of resolute across his expression, the slight lift of his shoulders in not quite a shrug of acceptance, Johnny took a bite.

     Flavor exploded over his tongue.  The faint bite of rosemary rising up and teasing his nostrils the hint of olive oil dashing over it to sooth and the twang of salt following it up.  It was simple and amazing.  Or maybe it was the luscious whiskey eyes locked on his, or the crinkling beside them with the hidden smile.  He knew what that smile looked like now.  Mask or no mask, he knew exactly the expression that his Ghost was wearing.

     He was being fed by his Ghost.  Fucking fed.  You know, big ass lieutenant bad ass killing machine?  What the actual fuck.  Yep.  He was dead.  This was some sort of fevered you just excused yourself from life dream and fucking hell he hoped he never work up.

     Simon brought the bite back to finish it off, savoring the bit of a morsel left by his partner, before preparing the other side.  Sharing it just as intently, waiting patiently for the remainder so he could sample a hit of Johnny on his bread, he couldn’t be happier. 

     “To my wonderful husband.” Simon raised his glass, the candlelight brightening the faint yellow of the liquid.  “Ah never would have come up with such an incredible idea for a honeymoon.  But then, you always have been the creative one, haven’t you.”

     “Aye, Ah have my moments.” Johnny raised his glass to clink them together with a chuckle.  He gave up on trying to hide his embarrassment with all of it.  He was going to spend dinner as a cherry red tomato, that was all there was to it.

     “Ah can’t wait to see which ones you have planned for tonight.” he teased over the glass before pressing it to his lips. 

     Fucking hell.  He was absolutely the most gorgeous human being Johnny had ever encountered.  He needed the scars.  Without them, he was too damn pretty for words.  At least with them he took on a rugged handsome that broke up the boyish charm of his adorable smile.  And the damn curls. 

     “Your first course, gentlemen,” came a voice at Johnny's elbow, making him jump slightly in his seat.  The waiter appeared with two delicate porcelain plates, each bearing what looked like a miniature work of art.  “Pan-seared scallops with saffron foam and microgreens from the Alps.”

     Johnny blinked, tearing his gaze away from Simon's face.  Had he been staring that long?  Christ, he hadn't even noticed the waiter approaching.  He straightened in his chair, clearing his throat.

     “Looks fantastic,” he managed, his voice slightly rougher than intended.

     The waiter placed the plates before them with theatrical precision, each movement practiced and fluid.  Johnny forced himself to look at the food instead of Simon, though his awareness of the man across from him remained acute, like a magnetic pull he couldn't resist.

     Simon, noticing Johnny's momentary discomfort, smiled behind his mask.

     “Excuse me,” he said to the waiter, his voice carrying that polished tone he'd adopted for the evening.  “Would you mind refilling my husband's glass?  He seems to have finished his already.”

     Johnny glanced down, surprised to find his wine glass indeed empty.  When had that happened?

     “Of course, sir,” the waiter replied, reaching for the bottle.

     As golden liquid cascaded into Johnny's glass, Simon's eyes never left his face.  There was something unbearably intimate about the way Simon watched him, as if memorizing every flicker of expression, every micromovement.

     “Thank you.” Simon dismissed the waiter, who bowed slightly before retreating.

     “Ye need to stop looking at me like that.” Johnny murmured once they were alone again, his accent thickening with emotion.

     “Like what?” Simon asked innocently, though his eyes betrayed his amusement.

     “Like ye want to devour me instead of the food.”

      “And if I do?” Simon's eyebrows rose.  He lifted his fork, delicately spearing a scallop.  “Try the food, Johnny.  It's almost as delicious as you look right now.”

     Johnny felt heat creep up his neck again but followed Simon's lead, cutting into the perfectly seared scallop.  The first bite was exquisite, buttery and sweet with just a hint of the sea.  He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the flavor.

     When he opened them, Simon had pushed his mask up just enough to eat, exposing that perfect mouth Johnny couldn't wait to taste again.  The lieutenant took a bite, his expression shifting to one of pleasure as he chewed slowly, deliberately.

     “Good?” Johnny asked, his voice lower than he intended.

     “Mmm.” Simon nodded, taking another bite.  “Though I'm finding it hard to concentrate on the food with you sitting across from me in that shirt.”

     “That so?” Johnny smiled, feeling a surge of confidence.  Two could play this game.  He leaned forward slightly, loosening his tie with one hand.  “Too warm in here.”

     “A shame.  Ah was hoping to drag you to bed by it.” the mischievous curve that played on Simon’s lips sent shivers up Johnny’s spine.

     Johnny glanced around at the other diners, then leaned in closer, voice dropping to a sultry whisper.  “So, Lieutenant...  about tonight.  What exactly do ye have planned for me after dinner?  Ah've been wonderin' all day.”

     Simon's eyes darkened behind his mask, the amber depths seeming to catch fire in the candlelight.  He reached across the table, capturing Johnny's wrist as the sergeant lifted his fork.  With deliberate slowness, he guided Johnny's hand toward his own mouth, taking the bite of scallop Johnny had prepared for himself.

     “First,” Simon murmured after swallowing, his voice dropping to that dangerous rumble that sent shivers racing across Johnny's skin.  “Ah'm going to take my time undressing you.  Button by button.  So slowly you'll be begging me to hurry.”

     Johnny's breath caught, his pulse quickening as Simon released his wrist only to offer a bite from his own plate, holding it to Johnny's lips.  He accepted it, never breaking eye contact.

     “Then?” Johnny prompted, lips closing around Simon's fork with deliberate sensuality.

     Simon leaned closer, so his next words were for Johnny alone.  “Then Ah'm going to explore every inch of you with my mouth.  Every.  Single.  Inch.”  He emphasized each word, watching Johnny's pupils dilate.  “Going to map out your body like it's uncharted territory.  Learn what makes you gasp...  what makes you moan...  what makes you scream my name.”

     “Fucking Christ, Simon.” Johnny nearly choked on his wine, heat flooding his body at Simon's explicit promise.

     “Too much?” Simon asked, voice like liquid gold as he prepared another bite from his plate and offered it across the table.

     Johnny shook his head, accepting the morsel with slightly trembling lips.  “Not enough,” he managed after swallowing.

      The waiter approached with their second course.  A delicate ravioli filled with wild mushrooms in a brown butter sage sauce, interrupting their intense exchange.  Simon sat back, eyes never leaving Johnny's flushed face as the plates were set before them.

     Once they were alone again, Johnny reached across, boldly taking Simon's fork.  He speared one of the perfect little pasta pillows, dragging it through the sauce before offering it to his lieutenant.

     “My turn.” he murmured.  “Tell me more.”

     Simon's eyes crinkled with amusement as he accepted the bite, chewing thoughtfully before answering.

     “After I've memorized every sensitive spot on your body,” he continued, voice dropping even lower.  “Ah'm going to take you apart so slowly you'll forget your own name.  But you'll remember mine, because you'll be saying it over and over.”

     Johnny's fork clattered against his plate, his fingers suddenly clumsy.  Simon chuckled, the sound dark and promising.

     “And when I finally let you come,” Simon whispered, leaning in so close Johnny could feel his breath through the mask, “it'll be so intense you'll feel it all the way to your toes,” Simon continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.  “Every nerve ending in your body will light up like Christmas, and you'll see stars, Johnny.  The kind that make those constellations Ah showed you look like cheap fairy lights.”

     Johnny drained his wine glass in one desperate gulp, the cool liquid doing nothing to extinguish the fire Simon's words had ignited within him.  His collar suddenly felt too tight, his skin too sensitive against the fabric of his shirt.

     “Need a refill already?” Simon's eyes gleamed with wicked satisfaction as he signaled the waiter.  “Thirsty work, isn't it?  Listening to what Ah'm going to do to you later.”

     The waiter appeared, refilling Johnny's glass before disappearing again with practiced discretion.

     Simon speared another perfect ravioli, sauce dripping tantalizingly from its edges as he extended it across the table.  “Open,” he commanded softly.

     Johnny complied without hesitation, accepting the offering.  The explosion of flavors, earthy mushrooms, nutty brown butter, fragrant sage, barely registered through the haze of arousal clouding his mind.

     “Good?” Simon asked, watching Johnny's throat work as he swallowed.

     “Aye,” Johnny managed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

     “Something wrong, Sergeant?  Those trousers getting a bit restrictive?” Simon's eyes tracked the movement, a predatory smile playing at the corners of his lips.

     “Ye kin exactly what yer doing.” Johnny glared, but there was no heat behind it.

     “Ah do.” Simon agreed, entirely unrepentant.  “Just imagine how uncomfortable you'll be by dessert.”  He leaned forward, lowering his voice.  “Might have to walk you back to our compartment with my coat in front of you.”

     “Ye wounnae dare,” Johnny hissed, though the idea sent another jolt of heat through him.

     “No?” Simon's eyebrows rose in challenge.  “What if Ah told you exactly how Ah'm going to open you up?  How Ah'll use my tongue first, get you nice and wet before Ah even think about my fingers?”

     Johnny nearly upended his wine glass, catching it at the last second.  “Simon.” he warned, glancing around to ensure no one was within earshot.

     “Too much?” Simon asked, his expression all mock innocence despite the heat in his gaze.

     “Just enough,” Johnny admitted, taking another fortifying sip of wine.  “But if ye keep it up, we willnae make it to dessert.”

     The waiter appeared with their third course.  It was a perfectly seared duck breast with cherry reduction, saving Johnny from further torment.  As the plates were set before them, Johnny took the opportunity to compose himself, adjusting subtly in his seat.

     “Everything to your satisfaction, gentlemen?” the waiter inquired.

     “Perfect,” Simon replied smoothly.  “Though my husband might appreciate some cold water.”

     As the waiter departed, the sommelier appeared with a new bottle, its deep burgundy label catching the candlelight.

     “For the duck, gentlemen, a robust Barolo,” he announced, presenting the bottle with a flourish.  “From Piedmont, 2015.  An exceptional vintage with notes of cherry, rose, and tar that will complement the game perfectly.”

     Simon nodded approvingly as the sommelier poured a taste.  He took a moment to savor it, his eyes closing briefly in appreciation before giving his consent for the glasses to be filled.

     “Duck hunting,” Simon mused once the sommelier had finished pouring and stepped away.  “Reminds me of last autumn in Norfolk.  Went with some mates from the regiment.”  His voice took on a nostalgic quality, eyes fixed on some distant memory.

     Johnny looked up from his plate, surprised.  Not quite the conversation piece he was expecting.   

     “Sunrise over the marshes,” Simon continued, adjusting his mask to take another sip of wine.  “Cold enough to see your breath.  We had these hides set up along the water's edge.  Perfectly still, waiting for the birds to fly in.”

     The details were vivid, specific, the way the early light had filtered through the reeds, the weight of the shotgun, the perfect silence before dawn broken only by distant waterfowl calls.

     “Got four birds that day.” Simon concluded, cutting into his duck with precision.  “Good eating, but Christ, cleaning them was a nightmare.  Feathers everywhere.  In my hair, my clothes.  Found some in my boots three days later.  That's always been the worst part for me.  The bloody feathers.”

     Johnny listened, captivated.  There was something eerily authentic about the way Simon described it, the casual expertise, the specific complaints about the mundane parts that only someone who'd actually done it would know to mention.

     “Never took ye for the hunting type.” Johnny remarked, studying Simon's face.

     “Man's gotta have hobbies outside work.” Simon shrugged.

     The sommelier returned briefly to top off their glasses before moving to another table.

 Johnny waited until they were alone again, the wine warming his blood and loosening his tongue.  He leaned forward, voice dropping to a private murmur.

     “Why d'ye assume it'll be me getting opened up tonight?” he asked, the question blunt in its directness.  “Could just as easily be you.”

     Simon's hand stilled mid-cut, his eyes lifting to meet Johnny's with startling intensity.  For a moment, the mask of civility dropped completely, leaving only raw desire in its wake.

     “Is that what you want?” Simon asked, his voice a dangerous purr.  “To have me beneath you?  To watch me come apart?”

     “Just wondering why ye made that assumption.” Johnny swallowed hard, not backing down.

     Simon set down his cutlery with deliberate care, hands folding on the table's edge as he leaned slightly forward.  “Not an assumption, an offer.”

     “Fuck me.” Johnny breathed out, not expecting the answer. 

     “That is the idea.” Simon retorted, eyebrows waggling in delight.

     Johnny cut into the perfectly seared duck, the knife gliding through the rich meat with minimal resistance.  The first bite melted on his tongue, gamey and sweet from the cherry reduction, the crisp skin adding textural contrast.  He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the complex flavors.

     Simon watched him with undisguised pleasure, taking his own bite more deliberately.  The duck was cooked to perfection, pink and tender, the fat rendered to a buttery richness that coated his palate.

     “Good?” Simon asked, voice low, intimate.

     “Incredible.” Johnny confirmed, taking another bite.  “Better than any MRE, that's for certain.”

     They ate in companionable silence for a few moments, the tension between them shifting from playful teasing to something deeper, more contemplative.  The train curved gently around a mountain pass, moonlight streaming through their window in silver ribbons that danced across the tablecloth.

     Simon set down his fork, his eyes finding Johnny's across the candlelight.  “Earlier this afternoon.” he began, hesitation evident in his voice.  “Did you mean what you said?  About being prepared?”

     Johnny's fork paused halfway to his mouth.  Heat bloomed across his cheeks as he set it down carefully.

     “Aye,” he admitted, meeting Simon's gaze directly despite his embarrassment.  “Been carrying condoms and lube in my go bag for the last four months.”

     “Four months?” Simon's eyebrows rose, genuine surprise evident in his expression.

     “Since Budapest.  When ye took that bullet for Gaz.” Johnny nodded, swallowing hard.  His fingers traced the condensation on his water glass, eyes dropping momentarily.  “Watching ye bleeding… something shifted.  Couldn't keep pretending anymore.”

     “That you wanted me?” Simon prompted gently.  He’d been ass over tits for his sergeant since he walked onto the tarmac so many months ago.  The flirting, the teasing, the tiptoeing around the idea of them being together. 

     “That Ah was in love with ye, ye dafty.” Johnny corrected, voice barely above a whisper.  He looked up, vulnerability and determination warring in his eyes, and maybe more than little bit of liquid courage at this point.  “Been carrying them ever since.  Hoping.”

     Simon's breath caught audibly.  His hand reached across the table, capturing Johnny's with surprising gentleness for such a powerful man.

     “Four months of hoping,” he murmured, thumb tracing circles on Johnny's wrist.  “And never said a word.”

     “Neither did you.” Johnny pointed out.

     “No.” Simon agreed.  “We've both been bloody idiots, haven't we?”

     The waiter approached with their dessert course, a delicate chocolate soufflé with vanilla bean crème anglaise.  He placed the dishes carefully before them, explaining something about the preparation that neither man registered, too lost in each other's gaze.

     When they were alone again, Simon leaned forward.  “Four months,” he repeated, shaking his head with fond exasperation.  “All that time wasted.”

     “Not wasted,” Johnny disagreed.  “Just...  preparation.”

     “Is that what we're calling it?” Simon's eyes crinkled with amusement.

     “Aye.  Yer always one fer being prepared.” Johnny pointed out.

     “Ye finished with that?” Johnny nodded toward Simon's empty glass, his own already drained.

     The waiter materialized as if summoned by the thought, whisking away their wine glasses.   “Perhaps the gentlemen would enjoy our special coffee digestif with dessert?  A house specialty, espresso with Frangelico and a touch of cream.”

     “Perfect.” Simon nodded, his eyes never leaving Johnny's face.

     Moments later, two elegant glasses appeared before them, the layered concoction steaming gently, topped with a delicate swirl of cream.  Their hands found each other across the table, fingers intertwining naturally as they savored the rich chocolate soufflé.

     “So.” Simon asked, voice casual as he stirred his coffee.  “Who knew about this photography talent of yours in secondary school?  Must've impressed someone.”

     Johnny's spoon paused halfway to his mouth.  “No one,” he said, then reconsidered.

     “Not exactly.”  He set the spoon down, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.  “Laswell knows, actually.  Ah've taken a few photos on missions.  Sold some too, but they had to be cleared first.  Nothing classified, obviously.”

     “Seriously?” Simon's eyebrows rose.  “You never mentioned that.”

     “Never came up,” Johnny shrugged, squeezing Simon's hand.  “What about ye?  This hunting story, who else knows about that particular hobby?”

     “Price.” Simon replied, taking a sip of his coffee.  “We go a couple times a year.  Started after that mission in Kazakhstan.  Said Ah needed something normal in my life.”  He chuckled softly.  “Normal for him involves sitting in freezing mud before dawn, apparently.”

     “Price hunts?” Johnny looked genuinely surprised.  “Can't picture the old man with a shotgun instead of his rifle.”

     “Different skill set entirely.  Had to teach me proper stance, wing shooting technique.” Simon's thumb traced lazy circles on Johnny's palm.  “Man's a bloody artist with a side-by-side.  Makes it look effortless.”

     “All this time working together, and Ah never knew.” Johnny shook his head in wonder.

     “That's the point, isn't it?” Simon's voice softened.  “We all have our compartments.  Work.  Past.  Hobbies.”  His eyes locked with Johnny's.  “But Ah don't want compartments with you.  Not anymore.”

      “No more compartments,” he agreed, voice rough with emotion.

     “So.” Simon leaned forward, his coffee temporarily forgotten.  “Any other hidden talents Ah should know about?”

     “Well,” Johnny's lips curved into a mischievous smile.  “Ah'm quite good with my hands.  Not just with a camera.”

     “Is that so?” Simon's eyes darkened.  “Maybe you could demonstrate.  After dessert.”

     “Patience, Lieutenant.” Johnny teased, deliberately taking a slow, sensual bite of his soufflé, tongue flicking over the top.  “Good things come to those who wait.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Almost Firsts

     The door to their compartment closing behind them was an alarm sounding like a siren in both of their heads.  Simon was pressed against the door so quickly he’d hardly had time to turn the lock.  Johnny fisted his burgundy dress shirt with enough force it was pulled from his waist where he’d neatly tucked it in.  If the man had been any taller, Simon would have been off the ground.  He almost was anyway. 

     There had been a mask.  He knew he’d been wearing a mask.  Gone.  Replaced by the hard press of Johnny’s lips bearing the lethal weapon of his tongue bullying between Simon’s own.  The hint of the coffee liquor and cream lacing over the succulent taste of his partner’s kiss was divine.  Simon made no attempt to restrain the deep groan rumbling from his chest into Johnny’s.  He simply accepted the barrage of passion, draping his long arms about his partner, pulling him into an even tighter embrace, if that was at all possible.  Hint’s of copper drifted between them.  He’d bit or sucked something too hard.  That knowledge had the bigger man’s hips rocking forward.  Evidence of his own arousal pressing against Johnny’s middle.

     Lips slotting together like there was no tomorrow, Simon lost himself in the passion of the moment.  This was something.  Incredible and real and overwhelming.  He’d spent months since Las Almas dancing around his own feelings.  Flirting and laughing with this man like he hadn’t in over a decade.  Hiding from what he’d desperately wanted to start, only to have his doggedly stubborn sergeant hunt him down and pick up right where he’d tried to leave off.  This was right.  People he loved died.  He honestly didn’t think he could handle it if he lost his Johnny. 

     A firm grasp along his cock choked out a deep guttural sound from the giant murder machine and the trail of his own thoughts was blazing into fiery ash.  The only thing that was left was this inferno of a sun shinning in his arms.  His sergeant.  His Johnny.  This belonged to him, and he was taking it.

     Almost certain that his shirt was torn open, he knew it was being forced down his arms.  A shame, it was a nice shirt, but fucking hell was Johnny strong.  He made no moves to resist, shirking himself free of the sleeves.  Feeling powerful hands running back up his arms, squeezing, grabbing his biceps, pushing him hard against the door as his breath was stolen away in another onslaught of kisses.  That beautiful, masterful tongue.  He had talents that were much more useful than his constant jabbering.  That thought made him chuckle, not that Johnny noticed.

     Undershirt being forced up his chest, Simon went to move his arms, to help his partner get him undressed when there was a sharp sting of pleasure through both of his nipples.  He groaned at the sensation.  Little fucker, playing with his nipples now.  Umm.  And that mouth, that insolent mouth, left his.  Biting hard down his throat and collar to latch onto one of his nipples as his thumb and forefinger rubbed and played with the other.  He hoisted his t-shirt off over his head, before he ran one hand up the back of Johnny’s head.  Fingers laced in his rebellious mohawk, pulling him closer.  Simon reveled in the sensation of teeth grazing over his sensitive nub, hugging Johnny closer.

     “Fuckin’ hell Johnny.” he murmured.  It was enough of a positive response that his partner switched sides, adorning his other nipple with just as much affection.

     “Like that, do ye?” Johnny whispered over his nipple before returning his lips to the scene of the crime.

     “You know Ah do.” Simon confirmed.  They’d done plenty of exploring over the last two days.  His partner knew exactly what it did to him.

     The jolts of pleasure spiraled outward from Simon's chest as Johnny worked his nipples with ruthless precision.  Each teasing flick of tongue sent electric currents racing down his spine, pooling hot and heavy in his groin.  He couldn't control the sounds escaping him, low, harsh groans that seemed to encourage Johnny further.

     “Christ,” Simon gasped as Johnny's teeth grazed the sensitive peak, sending a particularly sharp spike of pleasure through him.

     Johnny hummed against his skin, the vibration adding another layer of sensation.  Then his mouth was moving lower, hot kisses blazing a trail down Simon's sternum, tongue dipping into the ridges of his abs.  Simon's head fell back against the door with a thud, eyes half-lidded as he watched Johnny worship his body.

     “Been dreaming about this.” Johnny murmured against his skin, lips tracing the defined muscles of Simon's abdomen.  “Tasting ye like this.”

     Simon's hands cradled Johnny's head, fingers threading through the short mohawk as his partner descended further.  A startled laugh escaped him when Johnny's tongue darted along his side, finding a ticklish spot near his ribs.  But Johnny was merciful, not lingering there, seeming to catalog the reaction for later use as he continued his downward exploration.

     The first tug at his belt buckle sent a tremor through Simon's entire body.  This was it.  He’d put his partner off, want to wait, wanting to savor this moment.  He wanted, needed to know they were a solid thing, not some random one night stand.  He couldn’t have Johnny like this and go back.  There was no going, no undoing this if it happened.  And fuck did he want this to happen.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted anything so badly in his life.  Not ever, not even close.  This was it.  His world.  His everything, and he was scared shitless. 

     Johnny's fingers worked with deliberate slowness, blue eyes locked on Simon's face as he unfastened the leather strap.  He waited until he had those beautiful amber eyes locked on his own.  Waited for the slight nod, the consent to push through to their rewards for their third date.  

     He didn’t understand why Simon wanted to wait, but he had.  They’d talked everything to death as far as he was concerned, but who knows.  The big guy didn’t have any friends he’d seen outside of the unit.  He didn’t have a family, which hurt Johnny to the core for him.  The idea of not having his large chaotic clan to go home to was something he couldn’t imagine in his worst nightmares.  Seemed like, at some point, this guy had lived those.  He was horny as all get out, but if Simon needed more time, then he could have it.  The fact was, he’d wait forever for this man.  Do anything for this man. 

     Whether it was the nod, or the slight tug at his mohawk, Johnny wasn’t sure, but it was enough to kick his fingers back into gear.  The metallic clink of the buckle coming undone seemed impossibly loud in the quiet compartment.

     “Johnny.” Simon breathed, the name half-plea, half-warning.

     “Patience.” Johnny replied, his Scottish brogue thickened with desire.  His fingers moved to the button of Simon's trousers, popping it open with practiced ease.

     Simon's breath caught as Johnny lowered the zipper, each tiny metallic click of the teeth releasing sending vibrations against his straining erection.  The pressure was exquisite torture, not enough to satisfy, just enough to make him ache for more.

     “Ye've no idea how long Ah've wanted to do this.” Johnny whispered, hot breath ghosting over the thin fabric of Simon's boxers.  “How many nights Ah've lain awake thinking about getting ye out of yer uniform.”

     “Show me.” Simon managed, voice strained with want.

     Johnny hooked his fingers into the waistband of Simon's trousers, dragging them down powerful thighs with agonizing slowness.  Simon toed off his boots, with a little help from his partner, and stepped out of his slacks, kicking them aside.  He stood before Johnny in nothing but his black boxer briefs, his arousal straining against the fabric.

     “Look at ye,” Johnny breathed, reverence in his voice as he remained kneeling.  His hands slid up Simon's thighs, fingers digging into hard muscle.  “Fucking gorgeous.”

     Johnny's gaze fixated on the impressive bulge straining against the black fabric, his breath quickening as he traced a finger along its considerable length.  The solid heat beneath his touch sent a shiver through him.  Simon's massive cock twitched visibly in response, the outline perfectly defined against the stretched material.

     “Christ, you're huge.” Johnny whispered, a wicked smile playing across his lips as he leaned closer.  His hot breath ghosted over the fabric-covered erection, deliberately teasing.  Each exhale made Simon's cock jump in anticipation, the responsive movements fueling Johnny's confidence.

     Looking up to catch Simon’s eyes, Johnny pressed his open mouth against the covered tip, letting his tongue explore the shape through the thin barrier.  The material dampened immediately, clinging to the contours of Simon's cock as Johnny applied more pressure.  He could taste the faint saltiness of precum already soaking through.

     “Fuck.” Simon growled, the hand on Johnny’s head tugging at his mohawk.  His hips jerked forward instinctively, desperately seeking that wet heat.

     Johnny hummed appreciatively, taking more of the covered length into his mouth.  His teeth grazed lightly over the sensitive head, tongue working against the slit where he could taste more of Simon's essence seeping through.

     “Johnny.” his name spilling out over a filthy groan, his grip tightening as he rolled his hips forward.  “You're killing me.”

     Pulling back slightly, Johnny grinned up at his lieutenant.  “Want more?” he asked, voice rough with desire.

     Simon's answer was a desperate nod, his amber eyes dark with need.

     Johnny hooked his fingers into the waistband of Simon's boxer briefs, pulling the front down to expose his prize.  Simon's cock sprang free, thick and heavy, curving slightly upward.  Johnny's breath caught at the sight.

     “Fucking beautiful,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers around the base.  The difference between his hand and Simon's impressive girth was striking.

     Without hesitation, Johnny leaned forward, taking the head into his mouth properly this time.  The taste was intoxicating, pure Simon, and Johnny groaned at the first proper taste of him.  He swirled his tongue around the sensitive crown, dipping into the slit to collect the precum beading there.

     Simon's hips stuttered forward, his control rapidly slipping.  “Sorry,” he gasped, trying to hold still.  He knew he was big.  The last thing he wanted was to scare off the man whose lips were only moments from showing him what heaven truly was.

     Johnny pulled off with an obscene pop.  “Don't hold back,” he commanded, eyes blazing with challenge.  “Want to feel you.”

     Before Simon could respond, Johnny took him deeper, relaxing his throat to accommodate the impressive length.  His hands gripped Simon's hips, encouraging him to move.

     Simon groaned, a sound torn from deep in his chest as he carefully began to thrust.  His hands cradled Johnny's head with surprising tenderness despite the desperate need coursing through him.

     “Look at you,” Simon breathed.  Looking down, Simon was met with the most intoxicating sight he'd ever witnessed.  Johnny's eyes, bluer than sapphires in the dim light, gazed up at him with such raw devotion it stole his breath.  Those perfect lips stretched around him, cheeks hollowed as Johnny took him deeper.  Simon couldn't tear his gaze away, utterly captivated by the connection between them.

     Johnny hummed around him, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure shooting up Simon's spine.  He'd imagined this moment countless times, but reality obliterated fantasy.  The wet heat, the suction, the way Johnny's tongue pressed against the underside of his cock, it was perfection.

     “Ah could die happy right now,” Simon murmured, voice rough with emotion and desire.  “Just like this, with you looking at me like that.”

     Johnny's eyes crinkled at the corners, a smile impossible around his mouthful but visible nonetheless.  He took Simon deeper, relaxing his throat to accommodate the impressive length, determined to take all of him.  The weight of Simon on his tongue, the musky taste, the sounds of pleasure from above, it was everything he'd dreamed about.

     As Johnny worked him with dedicated enthusiasm, he reached down to palm himself through his trousers, desperate for some friction.  His own arousal strained painfully against the fabric, begging for attention.  He wanted to free himself, to stroke in time with the rhythm of his mouth on Simon, but a different pressure made itself known.

     Johnny shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of his full bladder.  They'd shared that bottle of wine at dinner, plus the coffee digestif, and now the inconvenient reality of biology was intruding on his perfect moment.  He tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the silky hardness filling his mouth, on Simon's fingers gently cradling his head, on the breathless moans above him.

     The pressure grew more insistent.  Johnny squeezed his thighs together, trying to concentrate on Simon's pleasure rather than his own discomfort.  He hollowed his cheeks, taking Simon to the back of his throat, feeling the thick length pulse against his palate.  He couldn’t ruin their first time like this.  This was… Ugh!

     “You alright there sweet’art?” Simon gruffed out.  The squirreled up expression Johnny wore screamed of discomfort.  It wasn’t too much of a surprise.  Simon couldn’t remember the last person that could take him like this.  There wasn’t one.  It was just an unfortunate reality.  At least Johnny was willing to try.  Gently he petted the head kneeling before him, nudging him slightly back.

     Reluctantly, Johnny pulled back allowing the trail of saliva to linger before sadly sucking the tip of Simon’s perfect cock clean.  He reached up for the larger man’s hand, accepting help to his feet and the tender kiss that followed.

     “It’s alright.  Ah’m sure we’ll find plenty of ways for us both to be satisfied tonight.” Simon whispered over his lips as they parted.  He pulled the front of his boxerbriefs back up, locking himself away for now.

     “Ack.  No.” Johnny’s face was flushed a resounding shade of red that lost itself in his collar.  “Ah need ta take a piss.  Ah’m sorry, Ah tried ta wait.” he explained himself sheepishly. 

     With that, Simon huffed out a laugh.  It was more relief than he wanted to admit.  The fear that he was just too much for the man of his dreams had threatened to squeeze his heart dry.

     “Dinnae ye make fun of me.  That wine’ll hit ye too soon.” Johnny defended himself.

     “It’s fine, love.” Simon chuckled, and pulled him forward for another sweet kiss.  “We’ve got what, five more days of our honeymoon.  No rush at all.”

     “Aye.  Ah’ll be right back.  Why dinnae ye get the bed ready?  Let’s see if we cannae break it, ay?” Johnny grinned up and nipped at his chin before reluctantly pulling away.

     “Ah like that plan.” Simon agreed, swatting the other man’s ass as he turned to leave the room.

--

    Johnny let himself into the tiny bathroom, closing the door with a soft click behind him.  The space had been barely large enough to turn around in, the train’s gentle swaying forcing him to brace one hand against the wall for balance.  He hadn’t had that much to drink.  It was just the train.  It was like a boat on land, he just wasn’t used to it.  His fingers fumbled with his belt buckle, his hands trembling with a maddening combination of arousal and impatience.

     “Bloody thing,” he muttered, finally freeing the belt only to struggle with the button of his dress slacks.  His erection strained painfully against the fabric, making the simple task unexpectedly difficult.  When he at last managed to unzip his pants and free himself, he faced another problem entirely.

     He stood before the toilet, hand braced against the wall, and realized with frustration and embarrassment that he was far too aroused to aim properly.  His cock jutted upward at an angle that made relieving himself practically impossible.

     “Fucking hell.” he grumbled, heat rushing to his cheeks despite being alone.  With an exasperated sigh, he turned and sat heavily on the toilet seat, shoving his pants down out of his way to pool about his ankles as he adjusted himself.

     Sitting there, the idea he should at least make use of his position occurred to him.  Johnny began unbuttoning his dress shirt, his fingers still clumsy with desire and the persistent rocking of the train.  “Get it together, MacTavish,” he whispered to himself.  The cool air against his chest as he opened his shirt brought a momentary relief from the heat consuming him.

     “You okay in there love?” he heard through the door.  It sounded like it was right outside.  He had to be turning the bed out.

     “Yea, solid.” Soap responded.  He must have said it much louder than he intended.  Fucking hell.  He wasn’t some god damned virgin.  This wasn’t his first time.  He needed to pull his shit together and be good for his Ghost.  This needed to be perfect.  They’d had the absolutely perfect, right out of some kind of Hollywood set up date.  He couldn’t blow the closing.

     He tried to will his arousal down, thinking of mission briefings, cleaning weapons, anything but Simon waiting for him just beyond the door.  It was no use.  Every thought circled back to those amber eyes, those powerful hands, that mouth that had been wrapped around him moments ago.

     The train lurched around a curve, nearly throwing him off balance even while seated.  “Christ,” he muttered, gripping the edge of the tiny sink for stability.  “Couldn’t even take a proper piss.”

     He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, striving to focus.  Eventually, the urgency of his bladder won out over his arousal, allowing him to finally relieve himself.  The release of pressure brought another kind of relief, though his body still thrummed with want.

     After washing his hands, Johnny splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection in the small mirror.  His cheeks were flushed, pupils dilated, lips swollen from Simon’s kisses.  He looked thoroughly debauched already, and they had barely begun.

     “Pull yourself together.” he told his reflection, straightening his partially unbuttoned shirt.  “You’ve survived firefights and explosions.  You can handle one night with Simon Riley.”

     But even as he thought it, Johnny knew this was different.  This wasn’t just physical desire, though God knew there had been plenty of that.  This was something deeper, more terrifying than any mission he had ever faced.  This was Simon.  His Ghost.  His.

     Taking one final, steadying breath, Johnny unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, pulling the dress blue off and hanging it on the hook on the back of the door.  It was very clear what was about to happen, and he was way over dressed for it.  Maybe naked was too much.  He should rinse everything off, make sure he was good for his Ghost.  Then maybe something simple like his joggers, easy to get out of the way when it happened.  Ghost said he was going to eat him out, he would be impolite if he didn’t freshen up.  This was something he absolutely wanted to have happen. 

      His and Simon’s joggers were both still in the bathroom from the morning.  It was too bad he hadn’t packed anything sexier for the bedroom.  Going with the thought, he stripped down, turning on the shower.

     “Johnny, what in the bloody hell are you doing in there?  Did you miss?” the voice was teasing through the door, but slightly impatient.  That Simon was as excited about this as he was, was amazing.

     “Nae.  Just tidying up fer ye.  Be out in a jiff.” he called back, letting the brightness of his anticipation shine through.

     “What are you on about?  You know damn well Ah’d fuck you, after a mission, covered in blood and sweat, grease paint running, waiting on exfil and not give a fuck.” Simon laughed at the preposterousness of it.  Johnny loved his laugh.

     “Yer the one that keeps pushing patience.  Now take some of yer own medicine.” Johnny answered, attending to his own hygiene.  He would be perfect for his Ghost.