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How is it decided if one is deserving of love? Of loving, and being loved? Is it a decision one makes on their own? Or is it one forged from an omnipotent, all knowing being— picking and choosing at Its mercy who will be simultaneously blessed and cursed by such affliction?
If it is a choice made by oneself… How is it done? If it’s a requited emotion from both parties, but not one half of the affected is able to return for one reason or another, is that a sin? Would that not be pure selfishness in its truest form? To be capable of such a feeling, but unwilling to provide it…
Well, that would be just heartbreaking, wouldn't it?
Ghost had seen others return and reject and repent on those emotions in the past. Countless times. Longing stares, soft touches across a worn photograph, jealousy so potent and viral it was practically visible across facial expressions. Envy. Hurt. Joy.
Rebellion.
Though he’d been privy to both the good and the bad of such happenings, it wasn’t something he was particularly concerned about for himself. It didn’t used to be, at least. There was no time for that, no emotional vacancy. No want, no craving. On occasion, however hard pressed he would be to admit, he’d try to satiate a dim curiosity on what it would be like. The closest he had ever been were playground crushes as a child, and years later quick fucks outside of a dirty alleyway or cheap motel after a few too many glasses of bourbon.
But those were nothing but surface level, pointless moments of relief. It was grating, honestly, like he was scratching an itch that wasn’t even there over and over and over until it was hypersensitive and sore. Picking at a scabbed wound until it bled once more. The proverbial horse wasn’t dead, because it never existed.
At least, that’s what he thought. Until he was rudely, unceremoniously woken up. As if he’d been blindfolded his entire life until the moment it was ripped off without care or remorse.
Rude indeed, being forced into awareness— real consciousness in the form of a fist bump and “ Let’s get ourselves a win, yeah, L.t.?”
Ignoring the logistical issues of being absolutely smitten by your subordinate— In the fucking military, no less— Ghost wasn’t built to love. Which, again, brings up the crux of the matter: does he deserve it? His initial instincts scream No! , and nintey-nine percent of the time, his instincts were right. There’s no way he would have survived and persevered as long as he had if he didn’t trust his gut feeling. He had learned the hard way what happens when he ignores it.
But there was that little voice, just under the undeniable fear… What if?
What if his feelings were returned?
What if he is allowed to love and be loved? To find intimacy outside of quick fucks and sore knees in a wet and dirty pub bathroom?
There was no denying there was some semblance of mutual attraction between the two. Johnny wasn’t exactly shy with his friendly physical interactions with others— but that’s exactly all it appeared to be. Friendly. Handshakes, heavy palms clapped on shoulders, broad shoulders wrapped around in a warm hug. But it was different with Ghost, and he knew that. If Ghost was sitting, Johnny would immediately plop down right next to him. If they had a long, difficult mission— Johnny’s head would eventually find its way perched on Ghost’s shoulder as he slept. Not that he wouldn’t end up nearby the others, but it was…. different. All Ghost ever fucking did anymore was watch Johnny, study the differences between interactions.
He never saw Johnny’s leg sit flush against Gaz’s when they were next to each other.
He never saw his body tilt the way it did towards Ghost when he found reprieve on Price’s shoulder.
He never saw his fingers “accidentally” brush against the hand of whoever the fuck that Private was in the mess hall that seemed to take a liking to the Sergeant, why was he always following Johnny around like that anyway, and he never addresses him by his rank— who the fuck does he think he is, I mean seriously—
Ghost’s jaw clamped shut. He was getting distracted again. Not that that was unusual at this point, but irritating it still was. He had long since given up on his trivial attempts on staying away from Johnny, of denying his feelings. But he couldn’t figure out how exactly to go about… Solving it. While he was certain Price probably wouldn’t care about fraternization, there was still a precedent to be set. Still a risk.
One that every single fucking day he damn near threw all caution to the wind and took it.
And then, just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse…. It did.
It was subtle, the little changes. Nothing that Ghost would give much thought to if he wasn’t as enamored with Johnny as he already was. If he wasn’t so achingly aware of every single move the man made.
But subtle as they were, Ghost noticed.
It started about the same time Ghost noticed Johnny had stopped averting his eyes every time he lifted his mask for access to his mouth. He used to look away from Ghost in an attempt to give him some privacy. Ghost appreciated the sentiment, of course, but thought it was a little silly since Johnny had previously begged to see his face before he had revealed it in front of the entirety of 1-4-1 and Los Vaqueros.
He didn’t look away now. Not even for a second. Ghost’s skin would practically tingle as Johnny’s gaze swept across his features.
But with the now long forgotten avoidance came the absolute biggest test of strength and self control Ghost had to muster up to keep himself from going absolutely fucking insane.
—-
It had been years, years since Ghost found himself in the mess hall eating with his fellow soldiers as often as he did now. Probably all the way back in basic, honestly, when he pretty much had no other choice. He had a choice now. Had one for a long time.
His choice used to be spending his meal times alone in his room.
Now it was sitting with the rest of the 1-4-1 at a small table, the hustle and bustle of lunch break loud around him. He used to pretend he sat with them only because he was their Lieutenant, and Captain Price sat with them, too, and he needed to set a good example on teamwork et cetera et cetera. He worked alone for so long, it would be good to find companionship, right?
It wasn’t a complete lie, at least.
The real reason was currently sitting to his right, explaining some complicated demolition shit with Gaz. Johnny was good at keeping still when needed. He was just as skilled at sniping as Ghost was, so that’s a given. But when not given something to do with his hands, he found something to do with his hands. He’d long finished his food, scarfing it down like it was the last time he’d eat like he always did. There was a sheet of notebook paper with sketches of what was probably some kind of bomb or other explosive that caught Johnny’s fancy, and he appeared to be explaining the mechanics of building one from scratch to Gaz.
Ghost met Price's gaze, who was sitting directly in front of him next to Gaz, slowly enjoying his meal similar to the fashion Ghost was. Price quirked an eyebrow up, and Ghost just rolled his eyes. Price had known Johnny longer than Ghost had, and had gone through the right of passage of the Sergeant's ramblings on his specialty long ego. Gaz at least did seem genuinely interested, asking all the right questions. Johnny was responding with excited, but informative answers. He was a good teacher, there was no doubt about it. Did well with new recruits. Hard enough on them so they wouldn’t be blindsided by the reality of war, but kind enough they still maintained a sense of humanity and reason for being there.
What Ghost didn’t admire, however, was the fact that while Johnny’s right hand was holding a pencil and pointing out important whatever’s on the paper between him and Gaz, his left hand was resting directly on Ghost’s knee. Fingertips trailing lazy doodles into the fabric of his pants. Setting the skin under the material on fire.
Ghost was one of, if not the best at not breaking under stress. He could just gently remove Johnny’s hand. But he didn’t want to. It felt nice. And it wasn’t as if he couldn’t keep a straight face under the pressure. He absolutely could. No one had any possibility of knowing what Johnny was doing, especially considering their table was in the far back corner of the room— no reason for anyone to walk behind them and see.
It wasn’t even necessarily a suggestive touch either. In any other circumstance, it would have been calming. Ghost knew that. They had woken each other up countless times with night terrors interrupting already poor sleep on grueling missions. The motion was incredibly similar to the way Johnny would run his palms down Ghost’s arms and back in an attempt to ground him back into reality. He didn’t mind Johnny’s touch. In fact, he looked forward to it. Time and time again. Just because he doesn’t like people touching him the vast majority of the time didn’t mean he was immune to feeling lonely. Touch starved.
It was almost as if Johnny knew that. Knew he had years and years absent of the memory of hands that would provide something other than pain and bloodshed. Knew that, maybe not as deep down as Ghost liked to pretend, he ached for genuine connection.
Ghost let out a little quiet sigh. While Johnny continued uninterrupted with his impromptu lesson, his fingers stilled against Ghost’s knee— as if he thought the sigh was in annoyance. Ghost carefully lifted his knee up, just a little, back into Johnny’s palm and knocked it just barely against Johnny's own leg. Permission.
Or, honestly, a beg. While Ghost was about three seconds away from spontaneously combusting on the spot, he also was too weak to deny himself the intimate feeling.
Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Johnny give him a little side eye— and the corner of his mouth tilted up in a small smile Ghost knew was unrelated to the in depth conversation he was involved in.
A little private one, just for him.
Johnny’s palm squeezed against his knee. Warm. Tantalizing. Comforting.
The other two’s conversations carried on, uninterrupted by anything aside from talking over each other by accident. Ghost knew he saw sides of Johnny that other people didn’t, a fact he held close to his heart— so there was no jealousy when he watched Gaz and Johnny interact. The two Sergeants were practically a match made in heaven. Both intense, passionate, and fed off each other's energy in such perfect synchrony it would be understandable to believe they had been born from the same womb.
Ghost, in an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability, had fallen completely deaf to the room around him. He continued to slowly pick at his food, not really tasting it— not that there was much he was missing in the way of flavor in the first place. He couldn’t focus on anything but the warmth emanating from the man beside him. The sensation of the palm firmly on his leg.
He didn’t hear the almost childish beg coming from both Johnny and Gaz, asking their Captain something, nor did he hear the quiet shout of excitement when Price rolled his eyes in unspoken permission to an unheard question.
He did , however, hear Price say “Don’t get yourselves hurt!” over the two Sergeants sounds of giddy anticipation–
And then felt the scorching heat of Johnny’s hand sliding up his leg, dangerously close to the quickly tightening material of his jeans– dipping to caress the sensitive area on the inside of his thigh before he shot up in unison with Gaz, the two making a quick exit out of the mess hall as they talked over each other.
Ghost was frozen in his seat. He was mid chew, jaw stuck half open as he felt his face flush. Price grumbled something, then glanced at Ghost– who had what almost certainly appeared to look shell-shocked.
“You alright, Lieutenant?” He asked, his firm but calming voice snapping Ghost out of his stupor.
“Affirm.” He mumbled after swallowing, quickly regretting as the half chewed food slid without mercy down his throat.
—
Breaking previous habits seemed to be a new habit Ghost had picked up working with the 1-4-1. He knew damn well it was because of Johnny, there was no denying it. He enjoyed the presence of the others, of course, and never regretted spending time round them– but there was no doubt he wouldn’t have found himself being as sociable as he now appeared to be if it weren’t for Johnny’s insufferable ability to drag Ghost out of the cave he called his barrack. No one ever said anything to him directly about it, thankfully, but he didn’t miss Price’s nod of appreciation every time he made himself a spot in the middle of whatever hijinks the others had up their sleeves during their down time.
Even Gaz had taken to giving Ghost a broad smile that seemed to take slight resemblance to the bright one Johnny nearly always sported. Gaz hadn’t ever seemed to be afraid of Ghost, not like the way new recruits did for example. But he did come out of his shell– one that Ghost never realized he even hid behind– and was comfortable around Ghost, even in the rare moments the two of them found themselves alone together. Gaz however– unlike Johnny– never seemed to have the urge to fill the silence with mindless chatter. Almost like he knew the only person that Ghost could stand to listen to for more than five minutes at a time was Johnny. It didn’t appear to bother him, and he and Gaz had found themselves more often than not offering small shows of camaraderie in the form of making the other tea and silently setting a fresh cup in front of the other. Ghost appreciated it.
Tonight was another one of those new found habits coming to head. Ghost leisurely strolled into the rec room where the 1-4-1 and some of the others on base had converged. Many of them had just gotten back the night prior from a long, grueling mission– Price and the other higher ups on staff blissfully ignoring the amount of liquor and spirits that had miraculously found their way into the hands of some already too drunk soldiers. It may have something to do with those exact higher ups having their vice of choice nestled safely in their own hands.
Ghost wasn’t going to complain. They had a hard job, all of them. If letting loose every once in a while helped them maintain some resemblance of sanity, then so be it. Ghost had been there before and would certainly end up there again.
He just didn’t know exactly how fucking soon the need to grasp onto his last remnants of sanity would be– and certainly didn’t expect it to be tonight.
It only took Ghost a few seconds to realize that Johnny was surprisingly missing from the group. He sat down next to Price where a few other officers were, taking a quick moment to listen in on their conversation. They were chatting fondly about some of the other soldiers, a few names Ghost recognized and a few he didn’t.
“Lieutenant,” Price tilted his chin toward him, holding a glass in his hand. A few empty cups were sitting stacked upside down on the table in front of him, and Ghost eyed a half empty bottle of bourbon that was sitting not far from him.
“Captain. Everyone behaving?” He asked, settling his elbows on the table and clasping his hands in front of him. A little bout of… Well, feeling exposed shot through him, but he simply acknowledged it and squashed it down. He’d been pushing a lot of his own personal boundaries lately– this being one of them. Surrounded by different members of the SAS, new recruits, the 1-4-1 (sans Johnny, seriously, where the hell was he?) – all in various states of inebriation. He had on a simple, clean balaclava, the hardshell set he usually sported safe in his room. No skeleton gloves, no hoodie. Just a fitted henley that, in his opinion, complimented the muscles in his back quite nicely; soft joggers that were just a smidge too tight around his ass; and a pair of well loved boots he had cleaned up and kept for casual outings like this. Was this considered an outing? He was out of his room, so. Surely it did.
“For the time being.” Price responded, taking a heavy sip from his drink.
“You don’t sound confident it’s going to stay that way.”
“With the way Gaz and Soap were shouting earlier? I’d be a fool.” So Johnny was here.
“Speaking of, where is Soap?”
Price let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Ghost raised an eyebrow, mostly hidden underneath his mask, but dropped it, settling back in to listen to the conversation around him. He was surprised that, underneath the initial feeling of exposure– he did feel unusually content. He was safe. Everyone appeared to be in a good mood, especially considering the difficulty of their last assignment– but they hadn’t lost anyone, and that itself was as good a reason to celebrate as any.
I’ve gone soft. He thought to himself, casually watching the men and women around him enjoy each other's company. A year ago, I’d have never even entertained the idea of being here.
He valued his alone time, which he still frequently had. But this wasn’t so bad.
Or so he thought.
From where he sat, his back was to the door. A motion he’d have never allowed had he not been surrounded by the best of the best. As it were, he didn’t see who caused the door to swing open with wild abandon, causing it to slam dramatically into the wall– nor did he see what caused loud whooping and hollering accompanied by a few wolf whistles. He sighed at the sudden burst of noise in an already loud room, and laid sights on the bourbon that was looking more enticing by the second.
He saw Price twist in his seat next to him, stare for a second, then turn back– huffing in feigned annoyance.
“Didn’t think the daft bastard would actually do it.” He muttered into his glass, polishing off the last bit with a quick gulp.
“Ye hackit fuckers doubted me!” An awfully familiar voice yelled, words thick from a Scottish accent Ghost had grown achingly attached to. Ghost suppressed sighing again, not quite sure he really wanted to know what Johnny was yelling about– his shouts as he continued ribbing into the others almost getting drowned out by continued cat-calls and laughter. His curiosity got the best of him, though, because Ghost was anything if not nosy as fuck when it came to Johnny– and immediately regretted it.
His head was turned over his shoulder, mouth open as he gaped dumbly at the sight behind him, his entire body going instantly stiff.
There was Johnny, cheeks flushed pink– the first sign Ghost had learned he was well on his way past tipsy but not quite out of control from all of his faculties. He had his arms raised up in the air, like a man victorious, that bright lopsided grin of his plastered across his face.
Ghost couldn’t fucking breathe.
One of the first things one would learn about Sergeant John MacTavish was that he was a proud Scot, through and through. Though never in Ghost’s wildest dreams– or nightmares? – would he imagine it went this god damn far.
Johnny standing there, smug as all get out, looking absolutely obscene in Ghost’s humble, horny opinion. He had on a kilt, one that was obviously fitted to him– the deep reds and blacks of the material striking against his skin.
Which there was a lot of. Not his lower half, no. The kilt came down to his knees, which where barely exposed from the knee high socks that he had on under his boots– the ones that he normally wore out in the field, fuck, Ghost would never be able to look at them the same way. But his upper half was completely bare, broad chest built from countless hours in the gym and the general exertion being in the military required on a daily basis. The expanse of his skin looked beautiful, even in the awful fluorescent lighting that accentuated the pale white scars that interrupted– but didn’t take away from– the tan flesh. He looked like a perfect little gift, wrapped up in a pretty bow, just waiting for Ghost to rip him apart.
“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” Ghost gritted through his teeth, turning his head back away from Johnny, facing back to the table.
“You can say that again.” Price said, obviously mistaking Ghost’s internal torment with exasperation. Ghost reached over and grabbed the bourbon, not bothering with a glass- just taking a healthy swig straight from the bottle after he pulled the bottom half of his mask up. He realized a little too late that he could feel the tell-tale heat across his face– blushing because of Johnny once again– but no one was paying him any attention.
His prayer to hopefully drink away the memory of the way Johnny’s arms and abs looked was quickly squashed just a few minutes later, when those exact arms wrapped themselves loosely around Ghost’s shoulders– dangling in front of his neck and chest. He could easily feel the way the heat from Johnny’s bare skin burned through the material of his shirt and onto his back, warming his own body in both a pleasant and sensual manner. Ghost took shallow breaths, trying– and failing – to avoid the scent of Johnny’s choice of cologne that mingled with his natural scent.
Ghost glared at the tattoo that adorned Johnny’s forearm, slightly faded with age but obviously well taken care of. The urge to lean down and lick a long stripe up the ink until he found his way to Johnny’s mouth was insatiable.
“How are we doing tonight, gentlemen?” Johnny said, his words slurring ever so slightly. Ghost wondered, idly, if the rumors were true about going commando under kilts– and was thankful for the sporran that lay across the fabric directly in between Johnny’s legs preventing him from being able to tell.
“Just fine, Sergeant.” One of the officers said, humor lacing his tone. “Though if you don’t stop man-handling Ghost, that might change.”
“Ach, awa’ an’ bile yer heid. Nothing Ghost can’t handle.” Johnny responded, and Ghost had to fight with every ounce of his being to suppress a shiver the way his chest rumbled against his own body with Johnny’s laughter. “You don’t mind, do you, Ghost?”
Ghost rolled his eyes, well versed in keeping an impenetrable poker face, drinking out of his commandeered bourbon once more. Price was having a difficult time stifling a chuckle from behind his hand. Ghost scowled, seeing his Captain wasn’t going to come to his rescue any time soon.
Zero loyalty here, is there?
“He gets handsy when he’s drunk,” Ghost answered, voice even and steady– not giving away the fire burning in his chest. “Just feel lucky you’re not the one he’s tormenting.”
“Tormenting!” Johnny scoffed, and Ghost felt him rest his cheek against the top of his head. “Can’t let you forget who my favorite Lieutenant is, is all.”
My favorite Lieutenant. My favorite Lieutenant. My favorite Lieutenant.
“I’m your only Lieutenant, Johnny.” Ghost grumbled.
“Aye, but you’d be my favorite regardless!” He said cherrily, planting an over-dramatic and sloppy wet kiss on the top of Ghost’s head.
He’d never been more thankful for the mask in his fucking life. The rest of the table roared with laughter, obviously taking the kiss as a drunken joke– but Ghost’s entire body was taught and stressed and he was four fucking seconds away from turning around and–
“Bourbon, eh?” Johnny murmured in his ear, his hands sliding up Ghost’s chest and to his shoulders– the others still distracted and cackling from his overt display of affection.
“I love Kentucky.” Ghost answered, only for Johnny to hear, head spinning from the way his breath felt like a caress across Ghost’s exposed chin.
“Hmm. Like a good ol’ boy.” Johnny’s voice had dropped to what could almost be described as a growl– or a purr, a cadence Ghost had only heard a few times in the past. “By the way– that shirt looks nice on you, Sir.”
With that, Johnny lifted up, his crotch pressing into Ghost’s back in a way that would appear to others like he was just shifting– or losing his balance from the booze, maybe– and continued the mutual torment being shot through words and jokes with the others at the table before he bounded off back somewhere in the room.
If someone had asked Ghost– which, no one would, of course– what had happened the rest of the night, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. The remainder of his time spent before he polished of the rest of his whiskey was spent with every single nerve of his body alight in flames, throat dry and lungs breathless as he scrambled to keep some semblance of the sanity he once thought he kept tightly controlled.
Johnny, however, was an expert at digging into pressure points– and had Ghost exactly where he wanted him. Ghost didn’t know if he knew that or not, or if he just enjoyed torturing Ghost in any way he possibly could.
And Ghost was ready to break. To give in. Provide intel to his captor. One that just so happened to sport a silly fucking mohawk, one Ghost found himself pleading to dig his hand into and fucking pull.
—
The thread snapped at some point. Ghost wasn’t sure when, and honestly didn’t know if he even cared to figure it out. All he knew was that Johnny’s incessant teasing had finally gotten to him, and that he had finally, finally resolved on fucking doing something about it.
Except the thread wasn’t just a thread. It was a rope, torn and frayed. Stressed from overuse. And that rope had been doused in gasoline, with a lit flame— just inches away from it— waiting to set it ablaze.
That fire, obviously, being Johnny— who was currently clad in nothing but all too short workout pants and a loose muscle tee that was covered in sweat. Dripping. Stuck in an almost lewd manner to his back and chest, exposing the defined planes of muscle that weren’t already exposed in the first place.
There was no way in hell Johnny didn’t know Ghost was burning holes in the back of his head with his stare. Zero. Ghost had spent his fair share of his free time watching Johnny in the gym late at night. It wasn’t unusual for the Sergeant to find himself with an unwanted bout of insomnia. A common occurrence for everyone on base, honestly, and more than once had Johnny not been the only one here trying to burn off the last remnants of energy enough to force his body to finally give out and rest. Occasionally, Ghost would join him, giving in to a deep seated urge to not only to provide Johnny some sort of comfort and companionship— but also in order to fulfill his own selfish desire to be around him.
But not once in the past was it like this.
The two of them were alone, nothing but the sounds of soft grunting and the clanking exercise equipment echoing around the room. Johnny liked to show off— he looked good and knew it— but nothing came close to the way he postured for Ghost. If it were anyone else, he’d have thought it was cheesy, an unnecessary and empty display of masculinity.
With Johnny… It was making Ghost’s mouth water.
Droplets of sweat pouring down his temple, noticeable even from the distance between the two as Ghost worked on his own sets. Strong muscles, bludging against his skin in a show of both strength and discipline. That tight, perky fucking ass of his that strained the fabric of his shorts every time he sunk into a squat. The way he tilted his body— just enough for Ghost to catch the barest of glimpses— and lifted the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face, exposing the sharp V that sunk under his waistband.
The way, when Johnny caught Ghost’s eye— who at this point was unabashedly staring— canted his hips forward and winked.
Cheeky fucking bastard.
Ghost chewed on the inside of his lip, growing increasingly frustrated– but finished his workout as intended. Johnny had disappeared to the communal gym showers about ten minutes prior– and Ghost knew he was playing with fire as he walked into the locker room. There was no reason for him to be here, his officers quarters provided him with his own private full bathroom, but with the rest of the base certainly being tucked away in their military-issued blankets hopefully getting as restful sleep as possible… He felt comfortable taking the risk.
More than comfortable. Eager.
His footsteps were silent, indicative of his callname as he rounded the corner, leaning against the wall. His clothes and mask were sticking to his skin from sweat, and the feeling was irritating– but it was the last thing on his mind.
The main thing on the forefront of his mind were the obvious scratch marks down the flesh of Johnny’s back, and a few very interesting placed hickies that were trailing down his lower stomach and hips, more certainly hidden by the towel he had tied loosely around his waist– and the violent possessive anger that surged through Ghost at the sight. He was looking at himself in the mirror, one hand running through his hair– before he caught Ghost’s gaze in the reflection. The glint in his eyes was obvious– he knew what Ghost saw and was happy about it.
Ghost knew some of the soldiers found solace in touch from either each other or whatever willing civvie they could find off base– and it never bothered him. Not until now.
And he couldn’t stop himself from the words that slipped out, stern and aggressive– ones that held a completely different meaning than they would otherwise as Johnny carefully turned and grinned at Ghost.
“You need to learn to use your words when you want something, Sergeant.” He said, the unbridled suggestion obvious despite the way Ghost tried to prevent them from coming off that way. He needed to regain control over the situation, and that control was quickly slipping out of his grasp no matter how hard he tried.
And Johnny fucking knew.
“On the contrary, Lieutenant. I’m very good at using my words when I–” Johnny paused, his eyes trailing slowly down the length of Ghost’s body and back up. “Want something.”
“That so?”
“Yes, Sir. You just have to know what to listen for.”
Ghost studied him, fighting an internal debate– before his mouth opened and he spoke before his brain could catch up. “Twenty minutes, my room. So you can enlighten me on what to… listen for.”
With that, he pushed himself off the wall, gaze lingering on the pink and red marks on Johnny’s stomach– and walked off.
He stood under the warm spray of water longer than he cared to admit, eyes screwed shut as he fought to calm his pounding heart. His invitation was a huge risk, but… He found he honestly didn’t care.
The only thing he cared about was exacting his revenge. Showing Johnny exactly what his weeks and weeks of teasing was doing to him. Repentance in the form of Ghost’s wandering hands, figuring out how Johnny liked to be touched— did he like it rough? Gentle? Did he have the same ache, deep in his bones, just like Ghost did? Would he writhe in the bedsheets as Ghost’s tongue teased at the skin behind his ear, his inner thighs?
Whatever made him squirm, moan, scream— Ghost was going to find out.
Once he finally finished cleaning himself off in an almost obsessive, methodical way, he wrapped a towel around his waist to catch any stray water droplets that might try to find their down his body and stepped out of the bathroom.
It only took a split second to notice, recognize, and process the shock of Johnny splayed out across his bed like he owned the damn place— thumbing through one of them many books Ghost had stacked on his dresser across the room. It should have surprised him Johnny snuck in— he had left the door unlocked, and Johnny could be damn near just as silent as Ghost was if he chose to be. Wouldn’t have made it as far as he had, as quick as he had if he wasn’t.
Ghost expected some kind of remark or sarcastic quip from the other man, especially as Ghost stood frozen in literally nothing but a damp towel. No mask, nothing. Johnny had seen his face once before, a long time ago— and never failed to make it clear how much he wanted Ghost to take the damn thing off. But now, Ghost stood, staring at Johnny lounging in his fucking bed, acting like Ghost wasn’t even there.
Ghost didn’t know what to say. What to do. It was alarming how out of his element he felt in his own space.
Johnny stood up, leisurely walking back over to the dresser— standing between Ghost and putting on something that was better suited for covering up the excitement pulsing between his legs— and sat the book back in place, adjusting it until it was exactly the way he found it. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing around the room in a clinical way. Avoiding where Ghost stood. His shoulders were relaxed, completely in his element— confident in a way that Ghost admired him for.
His arms lifted up and he stretched, holding his wrist with the opposite hand, a quiet groan escaping as a bone popped— but all Ghost could focus on was the way Johnny’s shirt that was probably one size too small lifted up and exposed his lower stomach.
And those fucking hickies.
“What are you doing?” Ghost spoke, his voice low— yet somehow also a strange combination of threatening and inviting.
Johnny didn’t respond immediately, just finished his stretch, and folded his arms behind his back. After what felt like hours, he finally turned to actually look at Ghost, his eyes following the same trail they had in the locker room— albeit being privy to a lot more skin than they were prior.
It wasn’t lost on Ghost that their positions were suddenly swapped. Ghost being the half naked one, and Johnny being fully clothed in his too-tight shirt and jeans that surprisingly looked awfully comfortable. He noted that, thankfully, Johnny’s boots were sitting beside the bed and that he hadn’t put his dirty shoes on Ghost’s clean sheets.
“I was gonna teach you a… lesson, remember?” He said, his head tilting to the side. The hand that Ghost had securing the towel to his hips tightened against the fabric.
“I think you’re the one that needs a lesson taught, Johnny.”
“Oh?” Johnny straightened up, and the air in the room shifted.
Patience was not a word in Ghost’s vocabulary, not right now. He couldn’t tell the meaning of the word anymore, especially not as he strode in three long legged steps across the space and crowded into Johnny’s space. Johnny didn’t flinch, just watched Ghost come closer, and closer— and Ghost brought his free hand up to grab a fist full of Johnny’s shirt and pull him close enough that their breaths mingled together in the charged air.
But Johnny was steadfast, and didn’t react. Simply observed, his lips quirking up into a small and satisfied smile.
Yep. He had Ghost exactly where he wanted him. Ghost had fallen right into his trap and didn’t even fucking know it.
One of Johnny’s hands came up, fingertips trailing along the arm and wrist that was attached to the hand grasping at his shirt. It felt nice. It felt right. It felt… like the motion went directly to Ghost’s dick.
Johnny continued the movement, just stroking up and down Ghost’s arm until Ghost’s fist loosened and eventually fully let go of his shirt. His hand made one more pass, then slid all the way up Ghost’s arm, across his shoulder, then down to trace the line of his collarbone. His other hand rested gently on the fist Ghost still had gripping the last shreds of his privacy. Johnny’s thumb massaged smooth circles into his skin as if he were trying to comfort Ghost. Or provide a suggestion.
Or both.
Probably both.
Ghost took a deep, shuddering breath— and opened his fist, allowing the towel to fall to their feet.
“Ghost?” Johnny asked in a near whisper, both of his hands ever so achingly slowly trailing across Ghost’s body until they met on his torso— one on his chest, the other cupping his waist.
“Yeah?” Ghost breathed out the response, his eyes locked in Johnny’s gaze— one that hadn’t left his face since they first set on it.
“Tell me if you don’t want something?”
“I will.”
“Good.” Ghost didn’t have time to respond before Johnny shoved him backward, causing him to stumble. The backs of his legs hit the bed, and Johnny continued forward until Ghost fell on the mattress with a huff— his feet still planted firmly on the ground, his back pressed into the bed sheets.
A little part of him felt embarrassed with how exposed he was, especially now— but that quickly melted away as Johnny’s eyes finally dropped from his face and raked down his naked body. He wasn’t particularly self centered, and he also didn’t particularly enjoy wallowing in self hatred— however he knew how enticing he had to look right now. Pale skin that encased his own well used muscles, an expanse of various scars that told a thousand stories, an achingly hard cock throbbing in the cool air as it curved up from between his legs.
One of Johnny’s fit came out to nudge Ghost’s ankles, spreading his legs further apart. A drop of precum leaked from the tip of his dick and slid down his shaft, but it went unnoticed by Ghost as he was enraptured by the hunger that was clear as day across Johnny’s face. It was almost scary, but it sent a thrill of anticipation through Ghost’s core regardless.
“You’re beautiful.” Johnny murmured, placing both of his palms on Ghost’s thighs and squeezing. Ghost’s cock twitched at his praise.
Ghost wasn’t a man of many words, but right now, he was truly speechless. There wasn’t a single thing he could think to say aside from Johnny and please , so he kept his mouth shut, choosing instead to chew on his bottom lip that he had caught between his teeth.
Johnny continued squeezing and groping at the meat of Ghost’s thighs before reaching down and grabbing at the backs of his knees— yanking him forward and closer to Johnny so that his ass was just barely hanging off the bed. He somehow managed to spread Ghost’s legs even wider and sunk down to his knees. Kneeling before him, looking at him like a starving man in front of his last meal.
“Been wanting to get myself between these thighs for a long time,” Johnny said, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin on the inside of Ghost’s thigh— and Ghost couldn’t bite back the moan that had been sitting in the back of his throat. As rough and tumble as the man was, Johnny’s lips felt like silk against his skin.
“Is that right?” Ghost managed to say, fighting to keep his voice from wavering against the unabashed want that was coursing through every cell in his body.
“Mhm.” Johnny confirmed, his eyes locked on Ghost’s bare face, looking up the long expanse of Ghost’s body from where he was using his mouth to love on Ghost’s leg. He parted his lips and carefully bit down, not hard enough to bruise or actually hurt, but enough that Ghost could feel each of his teeth pressing into his flesh. After a moment, Johnny unlatched himself— and began sucking and licking his way further up Ghost’s thigh, the featherlight brush of his lips a stark contrast to the way his fingertips were digging into the meat of Ghost’s legs.
It seemed as if his tight grip was just as much a means of steading himself as it was keeping Ghost from slamming his legs shut. Though Ghost couldn’t say that he wouldn’t mind wrapping his thighs around Johnny’s neck and shoulders and choking him on his cock.
Speaking of… Much to Ghost’s dismay (and honestly, excited pleasure), Johnny seemed to be diligently ignoring the elephant in the room… Being Ghost’s very prominent, obvious arousal steadily leaking.
After Johnny deemed Ghost’s left thigh sufficiently marked, he switched over to his right— giving it the exact same treatment. It was all Ghost could do to prevent squirming in Johnny’s grasp, against his touch. It had been longer than he cared to admit since he had his own tryst inbetween the sheets, but even then he was always the one to take control and lead the way— with only a more than willing partner, of course. As many fantasies that he’d had at this point regarding the man driving him absolutely fucking insane between his legs, this was not at all how he’d imagine it would go. Not in a million years.
Not that he was complaining, of course. The idea of relinquishing control like this always filled him with fear— reminders of past nightmares that were unfortunate real memories. But he felt nothing but safe. Content.
Impatient as all get out.
Well, perhaps safe wasn’t the right word? He trusted Johnny, and wanted him here. But the mischievous glint in his eyes gave an unspoken promise that had Ghost nervous for his own sanity. He was in the best kind of danger he could ever ask for.
And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Achingly slowly, Johnny’s lips finally made their way to the juncture between Ghost’s hip and leg, his tongue slithering between the crease of his crotch and thigh, and Ghost could clearly see the hickies blooming against the pale of his flesh. He was never really one for marking a partner— at least, not until this moment. He couldn’t deny how pretty the pink and red looked against his skin which could really only be described as porcelain from the lack of sun. A stark contrast to the beautiful tan Johnny’s skin naturally sported.
Ghost didn’t have the best of self esteem, nor did he tend to wallow in self loathing, but God if he didn’t feel anything but wanted and gorgeous from the way Johnny was touching him… Looking at him. If he could bottle this feeling up and have it at the ready whenever he needed it, he would.
Johnny continued his exploration of parts of Ghost’s body no one had ever really bothered with paying attention to. Giving his own undivided attention as if there was nowhere else he’d rather be, nothing else he’d prefer doing over this. Every press of his lips, every gentle caress of his tongue was like fire and ice— burning yet soothing. Painful, yet relaxing. Like a deep tissue massage forcing years of tension and stress out of worn down muscle.
Ghost’s cock was achingly hard, throbbing with each beat of his heart, begging for the release he so desperately needed. But he didn’t want it to end yet. He couldn’t let it end yet. It was the only reason he hadn’t reached down to palm himself yet. Johnny obviously had plans he wanted to see through, and who was Ghost to stop him? He certainly wasn’t strong enough to, not right now. Every ounce of strength had been sapped away effortlessly at the mouth of this godforsaken loud mouthed Scot that had him in a boneless puddle as if he’d done it a thousand times before and knew exactly which buttons of Ghost to press.
“You look so pretty like this,” Johnny murmured, his tongue millimeters away from brushing against the base of Ghost’s dick. Ghost’s breath hitched, anticipation pooling deep in his core— then being ripped away as Johnny moved his mouth up the other side of Ghost’s hip and tonguing along the V on his abdomen.
“Johnny—“ Ghost groaned, letting his head fall back against the mattress. “Johnny, please.”
He wasn’t sure what he was begging for. Not for him to stop, no. But not for him to continue his incessant teasing , either.
Johnny smirked against Ghost’s hip, a spiteful little smile— coming from a spiteful little shit.
“You need to use your words when you want something, Lieutenant.” Johnny mocked Ghost,
“Fuck you,” Ghost rasped, his hands clenched together into tight fists against the bedsheets.
“That’s the plan.” And before Ghost could do anything but stare open mouthed at him— or thank whatever God he could think of that it was going to happen— Johnny’s hands slid underneath his thighs and pushed his legs up into the air, bent at the knee and still spread obscenely wide.
Then he dove down, his nose brushing against Ghost’s balls, and licked.
And suddenly, Ghost felt a little bit ashamed that he’d never allowed himself this type of pleasure before. And a little bit embarrassed at how immediately addicted he was.
The shock of such a foreign feeling faded away almost as quickly as it had appeared, swept away by Johnny’s alarmingly skillful tongue lapping at his hole. Previously untouched, virgin skin— his metaphorical cherry popped by none other than Johnny himself, and Ghost was glad he had unintentionally saved himself until now.
There was no denying he was absolutely fucking ruined at this point.
He couldn’t find within himself the energy— or emotional availability— to be jealous of the obvious skill and practice Johnny had with the way his tongue circled Ghost’s rim and carefully pushed in. Nor could he be surprised at how immediately Johnny seemed to clock the exact movements that Ghost enjoyed, wanted, needed.
But he had.
Ghost didn’t notice of Johnny’s hands carefully sliding off the back of his leg, nor did he notice him grabbing Ghost’s hand to continue hold his leg up— and he certainly didn’t notice Johnny reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a small bottle of lube, fumbling with the cap to open and awkwardly one handedly squirt some into his palm, massaging it over his fingers. But he did notice the first finger teasing, sliding in effortlessly alongside his tongue— working Ghost open and relaxing the muscle until a second finger slid in with little resistance.
And Ghost was gone.
The feeling of Johnny’s fingers and tongue scissoring his hole open, dripping wet with saliva and lube, was almost too much to deal with. His breath was coming in quick pants, punched out of his lungs every time Johnny brushed against his prostate, teasing. Ghost’s cock was steadily leaking at this point, drops of precum drooling and cooling on his skin. He wasn’t going to last long at this point, and felt minor disappointment that he couldn’t even make it to the big finale— and wanted nothing more than to feel Johnny inside of him while he finished.
But every time he latched on to that building heat, ready to explode— Johnny retreated, pulling back slightly, slowing his movements and waiting to continue until the lines of Ghost’s impending pleasure relaxed back out of his body.
He’s not sure how long he laid there, being brought to the edge and back with such precision it sent him reeling. But he knew he’d occasionally start begging again— desperate pleas of Johnny and don’t stop and please spilling from his mouth.
Eventually— how long had it been? Hours? Days? Who knows, Ghost sure as fuck didn’t— Johnny lifted up, having long since fit four thick fingers inside of Ghost, and began finger fucking him slowly and deeply. Pulling sounds from Ghost he never thought he could make, but was too far gone to try to prevent.
“Johnny,” Ghost gasped, barely able to come to his senses now that his tongue wasn’t reaching as deep inside of Ghost that it possibly could. “Please— I want to— on your cock—“
“Oh, sweet boy.” Johnny purred, sending another jolt of pleasure through Ghost as his fingers brushed his prostate. “You will. Don’t worry. Poor thing, let me take care of you.” He tutted after the words poor thing , eyes dropped to Ghost’s swollen cock.
Then Johnny lifted up just enough to lick a long stripe on the underside of Ghost’s cock, causing Ghost to jolt after finally getting touched— but his fingers didn’t let up, just continued fucking inside Ghost with obscene squelching noises that had Ghost’s cheeks burning red.
Johnny showed some semblance of mercy, taking the head of Ghost’s cock into his mouth and tonguing his slit— before sinking down slowly and taking him all the way down his throat.
His movements were slow, but not lazy, Ghost’s head and thoughts quickly becoming even more jumbled than they already were. He was sure he had never felt this kind of pleasure before in his life , and any trepidation he had being so exposed before Johnny was gone— ripped away, overtaken by the way the other man seemed to worship Ghost’s body and the sounds that were choking their way from his throat. His fingers moved with purpose inside of him, mirroring the way his tongue massaged along Ghost’s length as he enveloped him in the moist heat of his mouth.
Distantly, Ghost noted how nice Johnny looked with his lips wrapped firmly around him, taking him in deep and swallowing around his cock like his length and girth wasn’t a challenge at all.
Despite everything, Ghost managed to without his impending orgasm long enough to enjoy the sensations of wracking through his body— then Johnny moaned against his cock, the first true sign he was enjoying this as much as Ghost was, his eyes slipping shut briefly—
And Ghost. Was. Gone.
His legs fell, wrapping around Johnny’s shoulders just like he had imaged before, his back arching impossibly high off the bed. One hand shot to Johnny’s head, not to hold him there but to ground himself, the other twisting into the bedsheets so tight they nearly ripped. It didn’t surprise him that Johnny kept steady, fingers and mouth working him through the strongest orgasm Ghost had ever had in his life— prolonging the pleasure as he shot hot ropes of cum down Johnny’s throat. He stood it in stride, tongue pressing and rubbing against each throb that left Ghost writhing.
Finally, Johnny lifted off Ghost’s cock once he started whining from the eventual overstimulation— drawing himself up to his feet and pressing one hand on the mattress next to Ghost’s head. His mouth was shiny with spit and semen, tongue flicking out briefly to lap up any of Ghost’s spend that spilled out— and his fingers continued to slowly work their way in and out of Ghost’s hole.
“You ready for me?” Johnny asked, sounding just as breathless as Ghost felt— and Ghost nodded enthusiastically. Johnny’s fingers finally pulled out completely, lifting up to unbutton his jeans and slide both them and his boxers far enough down to free his cock. Had Ghost had control over even a single one of his factualities, he’d have make some snarky comment regarding Johnny’s size— which damn near rivaled Ghost’s— but before he could, Johnny was slicking himself up with the lube that was dripping off his digits and sliding himself inside Ghost in one smooth motion.
It was a blur after that, reminiscent of a fever dream. Ghost couldn’t think of anything but the way Johnny filled him up, stretching him out in such a delicious way it left him wondering why he hadn’t done this sooner. Johnny was rocking into him, beads of sweat rolling down his temple and onto his neck— and a deep blush finally warmed the tops of his cheeks and ears. He was panting, seemingly unwilling to slow his deep thrusts inside Ghost despite the way Ghost could tell he was so close , the tops of his thighs slapping into the backs of Ghost’s. He could tell they were both trembling with exertion and pleasure, and Johnny’s eyes kept snapping from Ghost’s face down to where the two of them met— to the way Ghost was clenched around his length like a lifeline he needed to stay alive.
Johnny fell forward, bracing one forearm against the bed— his other sliding between them to take Ghost’s cock in his hand, expertly jerking him off in tune with the snaps of his hips. Ghost scrambled, arms wrapping around Johnny’s back as his fingernails dug into his shoulders.
He was close again, already, gasping—
“Johnny—“ He moaned, and bright blue eyes met his own, burning with want and care and like Ghost was the only thing in the world, the only thing he ever wanted, ever needed.
“God, fuck— did you know your cock turns such a pretty shade of pink when you’re about to come?” Johnny gasped, his hips beginning to falter, becoming sloppy and desperate.
As a matter of fact, no, Ghost did not know that, but filed it away for later.
“Oh, fuck. Simon—“ Johnny’s voice pitched down to that godforsaken growl , and his lips crashed against Ghost’s own, swallowing the desperate mewl that Ghost moaned as his cock throbbed once, twice, and he came for the second time as Johnny panted his name into Ghost’s mouth.
If Ghost hasn’t just come twice in such a short time span, he definitely would have at the feeling of Johnny’s cum painting his insides, swallowing down the desperate groan that ripped from Johnny’s chest as he slowly worked his spend into Ghost.
Johnny collapsed on top of him after he finished guiding them both through their orgasms, his shirt damp with sweat and the hardware of his denim biting into Simon’s skin.
Thirty minutes later, after a semi-awkward shower caused by two men too large for the space it provided, they both huddled together in nothing but thin sleep pants on Simon’s bed, marveling in the shared warmth as Johnny tucked his head under Simon’s chin and fit himself against his chest as if he always belonged there, as if he were meant to be there.
Perhaps he was. Simon thought, wrapping his arms around him and drawing him even closer.
Just before a well deserved sleep swallowed them both, Simon spoke— his voice quiet, unwilling to risk breaking the content and happy air around the two of them.
“Johnny?” He asked softly, one of his hands running affectionately through the length of Johnny’s mohawk.
Johnny hummed in confirmation, his face tucked into Simon’s neck like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
“You’re next.” He said, his tone a promising, enticing threat.
Johnny just laughed softly, laying a soft kiss against Simon’s throat, and they both fell asleep— Johnny to the soft swell of Simon’s chest as he breathed, and Simon to the gentle and satisfied smile that Johnny sported, pressing against his skin.