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It's crazy how much can change in such a short time.
He'd not wanted a friend in years, and then suddenly he has three he would trust with his life.
He'd had such a self confidence he seemed unshakeable, even to himself. Somewhere along the line, between missions- even on missions if he was honest with himself- he had to go and catch feelings for someone.
It wasn't love at first sight like the shitty romance movies try to convince you. No, it's more like a coiled rattlesnake that lies in wait until you step just close enough to be struck with sharp envenomated fangs. Sudden, piercing, all-encompassing, once the realization you've been bitten sets in. So, no- he doesn't fall in love like cupid's arrow struck his arse the first time he sees John "Soap" MacTavish stepping onto base for introduction. But the snake started curling from the start, Soap's file filling him with curiosities, more questions than answers from all the redactions.
It has him suddenly doubting in himself, not as an operator, but as a man, as an omega. Sure, he had the desired traits of a good omega, but he ranged in the extremes. Omegas had to be strong, deadly, cushioned, charming, all traits to to have pups and protect them when they came to fruition. Too much of a good thing can be a bad thing though. Too tall, too muscular, too scary, too capable, these are all things he's heard about himself before. Most alphas like these traits or their opposites; frail, weak, meager and mousey- but not that he surpasses their own prowess by so much he gets not just overlooked but rejected. That stubborn need to be better than others that most alphas have gets in the way because he is bigger, stronger, more capable than all of them as his experience goes. Each of them had told him so, in one way or another. His father beating him from the moment he presented all the way until he'd ripped the mans throat out with his too sharp fangs and crushing grip. His past partners when he wouldn't submit or give up his career to do nothing but birth and manage pups he wasn't even sure he'd want. When he refused to be bonded and mated too young in his early twenties by several knotheads he'd gone on a few dates with. When they wanted him to discharge and go civilian, like he isn't one of the most capable and prestigious operators the SAS has ever seen. It makes him sick in more ways than one to think about it, so he's choosing to simply ignore it. After his near death and maiming he doesn't even have his pretty looks anymore- no charm anymore. He's embraced it- to be the bringer of death, to be alone, to be a weapon and not a man, not so human. To simply be, The Ghost, an apparition of the man he once was.
So with his desire and feelings, he's floating in uncertainty. Afraid of breaking his heart again, of being both too much and not enough. Fears that his curiosity leads nowhere good like it always has. To protect himself, he decides to simply compartmentalize and rationalize his feelings away, it's nothing new to him. It would be an abuse of power to flirt with his subordinate, despite the fact that it's technically a grey zone at their level of special forces. The team chemistry could be disrupted, which is bad for operations. If he tried, and wasn't accepted...that would not only ruin the team, but it would also ruin him and his career. It would be selfish to even entertain the idea. That's what he tells himself. Every morning when he wakes and stares at the crappy barracks ceiling he reminds himself, why it can never be. He plays a picture of Johnny's disgusted face in his head and imagines it's directed at him as he splays the innards of his heart and soul for the alpha's consideration. Pictures threats of violence in response to begging Johnny to try him on. Somehow, he can't help certain behaviors he does though. All the little things he lets his Johnny get away with and the ones he in turn lets himself get away with. It had started so small it had escaped his notice for weeks.
Johnny started joining him on smoke breaks at some point, he can recall the first time with near perfect clarity.
It was his usual before bed smoke tucked away by the back of the barracks building into one of the shadows most people overlook. There were no stars that night having long since been swallowed by the base's light pollution, just unending darkness stretching across the sky. Sweet decay from falling leaves and a soft breeze adding some poetic loneliness to the air around him as he watched the strings of smoke fray and disperse in the air in front of him as he evaluates the easygoing and clearly projected footsteps approaching. The sound is carefully projected, each crunch of a boot smeared into the concrete and dirt. He's honestly surprised anyone knew he was here. Perhaps that was why he didn't send Johnny away that first time, or maybe it was simply to use the excuse to feel Johnny out as a newer arrival to the team. To answer some of those swirling questions the alpha's file left him with. The thuds of boots on gravel coming right towards him, not that he was truly hiding, raises his hackles a bit if he were honest with himself. He could choose to be mad and snap his teeth, send whoever it was away, but when he saw Johnny turn the corner and smile at him, he simply stared back with a primal curiosity. A hollow need to know what brought the man to him, to get answers to the questions echoing inside him.
"Nice spot ye got here...care if Ah borrow it with ye?" he nods towards the curb next to him, just inside his vision where Soap would be visible, but so would anyone approaching.
"Sergeant. Rough night?"
"Aye, always." Johnny pulls out his own cigarette- as a peace offering Ghost lights it for him. The soft click of the lighter soothing his nerves.
He observes the dark circles under Soap's eyes under the lighter's glow as the end of the cigarette catches. He doesn't catch much more than the accompanying curiosity on Soap's face before the glow is negligible.
"Ah get these sleepless nights sometimes... Tonight the weather is nice, aye?"
"It is."
"Nae one fer small talk, LT?"
"No, not usually," he cannot know why he offered it, "But you can talk...if you like." Soap smiles at him, genuine and sweet, soft.
"Well, Ah knoe they do a briefin' but, lemme introduce myself on my terms, yeah? ...Names John MacTavish, but everyone calls me Soap. Stupid name, ah know, but ah earned it for cleaning rooms like no-ne else, so its grown on me. Uh, what else, Ahma alpha, but Ah try not to be a total knothead 'bout it. Feel free ta punch my lights out if ahm outta line in the future. Got no family of note, just nae worked out for me...parents didnae enjoy having a son, didnae think Ah was good enough or some shite. Ah knoe ahm young, but ahve worked my arse off, LT. Ye don't needa like me, but...work with me? Try to, ahleast?"
He considers his response carefully, not wanting to give the FNG too much hope to be liked. He can respect the man enough to allow the more personal introduction.
"Soap, huh?" he can't help the growl he uses as he takes in the new face before him during his last drag "I don't take kindly to new people, even known people...but I respect your work. Keep it up and you might make this the right place for you."
He can see the pride spread on Soap's face at the clear compliment and it does something he can't name to his insides. He gets up and melts himself into the shadows to get back to his room. More curiosity and questions about the FNG on his mind than before. There's a depth to the alpha not displayed in his file.
That was probably the moment he was screwed, that very first personal interaction. His first step into the overgrowth the rattlesnake resides in. He let Soap sit and smoke, talk, be polite and humble when Soap was known to be anything but. Something within him recognized that the ability for the alpha to humble himself, to such a degree was not common, especially while trying to prove his place on a new squad. His file even had several mentions of problems with teamwork and authorities. Many alphas would try to posture, especially when their commanding officer turned out to be an omega. Either the man was a half decent person or Ghost's reputation had already done the work of letting the poor bastard know he wouldn't get away with being a prick. The thought that Soap might just be a decent man barely occurs to him. There are no innocents in this line of work.
Since then, he let Johnny start sitting near him, joining him on more smoke breaks, during meal times. The two became glued together it seemed. If you could manage to find one of them on base in between assignments and chores, you'd find the other right next to him. Some missions and prep work were assigned to just the two of them because they just work that flawlessly together. Eventually, Soap's own reputation took a dark tinge by association. Explosive and volatile, willing to fight anyone, brutal when desired, and still maintaining perfect efficiency- that became Soap's reputation. The other half of his coin: the hot and personal counterpart to his own cold and impersonal calculation. It became comfortable to be so intertwined with Johnny. It wasn't long before the pair of them were truly inseparable. There's a deep part of him that trusts Johnny implicitly and the bastard proves he's right to, time and time again- both on base and in the field. Through many close calls and hot evacuations, small kinder gestures. Eventually, and in spite of his common sense, just before taking his mandatory leaves he took to scenting Johnny, just lightly, more in what would be received as a friendly goodbye. He wishes every time that he could do it as more, pile the alpha in his scent so deeply it lingers when he returns, deep enough everyone knew Johnny is his. To brand Johnny as taken, accounted for. He hates the instinct, swears to himself every time that he won't do it again, that he should maintain some level of boundary- but he fails to bury the instinct in it's entirety. It made leave more bearable to even scent him that small bit. Then Johnny started doing it back before he left for solo missions and left the alpha at base and vice versa. It had progressed to where they do it casually when going about their daily base routine. They get up and share space during morning chow and then during their morning smoke on the rooftop they'd sit too close and rub wrists over each other. The bumping of shoulders constant. Never anything untoward, never breaching that line between plausible friendliness and marking a real claim. He doesn't even know why he got so comfortable with Johnny, no one could break through his walls so well. If Price or Gaz took notice that the two always had each other's scents clinging to them, it was still perceptible as just friendly and they were being polite in not saying anything. Johnny has long since lost true FNG status, even if they still say that as a joke every now and again. No, Johnny had become part of the pack quite quickly. Part of his family. His broken mind and intrusive instincts make it harder every single day until it all comes to a head. Like a kettle boiling until it whistles, or a spark flickering until a fire roars to life. Like a snake refusing to be ignored as that last step into striking distance gets him bitten. Inevitable in many ways, but far from how he imagined. Of all times, it happens during the end of a long solo operation, one of the few Johnny is the one out there, alone.
This mission was not like others, requiring him and Soap to keep communications open, but for Soap to be alone in the field. Typically, they would send him, or both of them- never just Johnny. He guesses that top brass noticed the incident reports involving the alpha had lessened and decided they needed to squeeze some more worth from the man. Everything was going fine, swell even, as the first week passed by. The downtime of the operation as Ghost takes daily report with subtle flirts and praises embedded inside calm and comfortable as it can be. But by the end of the second week something starts feeling off, but neither of them could put logic behind it, evidence to that gut feeling. That tension was building and Soap starts reporting more serious hostile patrols and movements as the days tick by, indicating they are gearing up for something. While that's never been a good thing, Johnny is alone out there and both his instincts and training start ringing alarm bells in his head. Something within him screams at him that he needs to get his Johnny out of there as soon as possible. Price dismisses his concerns, stating that extraction isn't scheduled for three more days, that an alpha as dominant and capable as Soap would be able to hold his own until then, reassures him that if Soap hasn't missed report or signaled for help then everything is okay. There is a close call one day, and a missed check in the next morning. One single day before Johnny's planned extraction.
The very minute Soap misses check in, his feet are carrying him to Price's door. Anxiety is rearing its ugly head in his chest. His instincts are clawing at him from the inside of his chest. Never has Johnny failed a check in before. It's a fast pace, just shy of running. Under his skin feels like magma, boiling and churning beneath the surface, waiting to explode out at anything in his path. His anxiety driving him near feral. He damn near snaps at a true green solider who doesn't get the memo to move the fuck out of his way fast enough. Being imposing is nothing new to him, but with the way everyone parts even easier today his anger and distress must be seeping out into his typically controlled scent. Omegan pheromones are no joke and everyone failing to meet his eye, even other omegas, just solidifies his terrifying presence on base. By the time he gets to Price's office door and bangs on it with enough force the door protests at the frame and hinges holding it up, the blood is roaring in his ears and his vision is beginning to tunnel. Price and his mutton chops scowls as the door swings open, clearly upset by the abuse of the door. Ghost can see the moment Price catches a whiff of him though. Those dark eyes go slightly wider and his posture gets straighter, knows something is wrong immediately.
"Ghost?-"
"He's missed check in by nearly fifteen minutes and all attempts to connect. Even the back-ups." Ghost can't help it, he snarls his answer in frustration, unhinged and unsettled as he is.
"Fuck. He's never late to speak with you...we give him two hours. If he doesn't respond by then, we go in. What's his passphrase for capture?" Price to his credit, remains stoic and professional, a true pack leader, even if Ghost can read through all his tells like the back of his own hand.
"Yes. He'll call in as a false name, Bravo Hawk."
"Get Gaz on the move, gear up and wait." He growls, unable to contain his instincts from coming to the forefront at what feels like another dismissal. He wants to go after Johnny now, to get his alpha back.
"...Ghost, you know better." Price warns, "You can't bite the hands that feed you or I'll have to act...don't get yourself pulled off the mission" Price is concerned but knows that pulling rank won't help, that much is clear by the step back the alpha takes to create distance.
The overwhelming urge to tear and mangle everything between him and Johnny has him desperate to regain control of himself. Instincts tell him Price is an obstacle, but logic tells him that isn't so. Warring within himself, he roars out his frustration as his teeth feel too big for his maw and his energy has nowhere to go. His fists clenched tightly to his side, bones shifting to accommodate the pressure. The roar helps sober him and he reels himself in just enough. His instincts are problematic right now and he needs to calm them before acting. He knows that, but for once he doesn't think he can do it himself.
"Price, need you, a favor."
"Anything, Simon. Name it." The reply comes without any delay. Price really is a good man, one who cares. A friend.
"Soothe me. Can't control myself right now." It hurts him to ask, makes him feel stupid and childish, but it's what he needs and he knows it.
Price reaches for him and pulls him into the office and closes the door. If there was anyone other than Johnny he would let in his space like this, it was Price- and no one else. A new appreciation for Price rising in him as the man's scent envelopes him, full of calming pheromones and reassurances. He gets sat in a chair as Price stands in front of him and pets him, scenting him slowly. He takes his mask off before he can overthink it. Strong hands rub at his neck and shoulders pulling some of the tension from his muscles until he relaxes a little. It's not dissimilar to what a father might do with his pup. He supposes that in a way Price is a bit fatherly with the squad already, the alpha clearly full of paternal instincts. With one hand, Price reaches for the radio on the desk and turns it on to contact Gaz and give the standby order before leaving it on the frequency Soap is meant to radio in on. It gets carefully set on the desk as Price shucks his jacket off on the floor. The scent nearly doubles as the layer of cloth is removed and Ghost can feel himself calming down under Price's careful hands. He purrs in thanks, words too difficult for him at this moment. He lets his instincts carry him through this situation, lets his face slump into the strong stomach where Price stands in front of him and pays no mind to the silent tears that track down his scarred face. Shuttering breaths leave his lips as he huffs down Price's scent like a lifeline. His higher thinking put on the back burner for now. The panic settles like a fine dust in the back of his throat and he swallows it down, puts it in a little box and files it away trying to banish it from his mind. Trying to soothe the animal inside himself from lashing out and doing something stupid.
"Simon?" Price's voice shakes a little. This level of dishevelment and instinct is something Simon never shows these days and it clearly is unnerving for the captain.
"...Thank you, Price. I-I don't know what else to say..."
"I've always been here for you, Simon, you know that. Was your only friend for the longest time. How about you open up a little more? You've never been like this- not since after Mexico." He grumbles his dissatisfaction but maybe it'd help to confess to someone.
"Fine. I don't know how it got this far under my skin anyway. Part of me considers Johnny to be mine. I know it can never happen, that he likely wouldn't have me anyway...I hate when we're apart. And now he is out there, alone, compromised." Something in Price's face falls.
"He's tough, stubborn. We'll get him back, we will. And says who, Simon? You or him? You even ask the bloke what he feels?"
"Me, you know my past experiences. Of course I didn't ask him, that could compromise the team! I could either have him as I do, or not at all. I have too much baggage for him anyway. Besides, you know as well as I do that it's fraternization."
"As if I ever hold the lot of you to such expectations. Part of how I run this pile of shite is ignoring half the rulebook. Half the reason I haven't locked you two in a room until you've mated is because I expect retirement papers and a pup's birthday invite right after. I'd lose half the taskforce at once and there's no point to rushing you muppets to figure shite out. I've seen how he looks at you, follows you like a dog with a bone. You can't really think he'd say no."
He wants to be angry, to tell Price to go fuck himself despite the soothing pheromones saturating the air, but...he knows Price is right. Fear, that's what stops him from laying any official claim on his Johnny. All those past rejections, being too much for everyone he's ever shown interest in, being everything but the right fit for everyone and anyone. He can't play stupid or shove it down anymore. The snake has already sunk it's fangs deep into his bleeding heart. That reality he could truly lose what he really wants for himself without ever having obtained it is real. It presses in him an urgency to get to the bottom of his feelings, to lay his stake, throw his heart in the dirt at Johnny's feet and see if the man accepts it. The 'what-ifs' keep him suspended in apprehension, but he vows it to himself that the moment Johnny is back safe, he'll confess it all to Johnny. Leave himself at the mercy of the man he loves. To kiss the snake back and suck down the venom even if it tears into him and devours him whole. Kills him.
"I love him, Price. I'll tell him once he's home safe... Give me your blessing, tell me you'll accept that invite without hesitation." It's a challenge to Price, a dangerous game to play, but he wants this more than he's wanted anything. He won't do it if it means losing the family he has though.
"You idiot. It stays off the paperwork, but yes. Yes, I bless it. And when you file those bloody papers- you better leave a valid contact so we can visit on leave. Now go get your gear, you're on standby to get your alpha back in your arms. Fucking hell." It's said with love as much as exasperation, he knows.
Price says it in a mean tone, but he knows it's just to settle his mind on the mission ahead and get him ready for battle. To help him tuck that snake into his pocket for now. To test if he's solid. The chair grinds against the floor as he stands even though Price hasn't moved back yet. For a moment, he touches his forehead to Price. A show of thanks, of trust, of true friendship. Placing a squeeze to Price's shoulder, he takes his leave to gear up.
Johnny never does make contact. The moment the paperwork is settled on emergency notice, the three of them are on a helo taking off to Johnny's last known location. After being dropped off and hiking a few kilometers to the safe house, it's clear that they won't find Soap inside. There are signs of a struggle even on the outside. Shell casings and a broken door. The remnant smell of tear gas lingers inside as they clear the house for any hostiles or traps before investigating. Even through the irritation, the smell of Johnny reaches his nose and he chirps praying for a response despite knowing the alpha isn't here. Instincts still close to the surface, he scents the air trying to learn anything he can about Johnny's location. The smell of stale gunpowder and metal leads him to bullet holes in the walls and a few dead bodies, clearly Soap's work. Then he follows the trajectory to the corner Soap must have taken to the back room. What he sees alarms him. There's a spattering of blood on the wall with no body. One sniff of the air and he knows immediately that it's Johnny's. Iron rich and thick laced with the traces of his Johnny's natural scent within. The broken window and large hole in the center of the spatter on the wall tells him it was a rifle shot through the window. A bloody handprint smears itself down the wall and then there's a large puddle of drying and congealing blood that slides across the floor. It tells a story he doesn't want to be true. They shot him through the window before dragging him off and out of the safehouse. The eyes of Price and Gaz tell him they see the story from the bloody puzzle pieces too. Ears filled with cotton, he can feel his heart pounding in his head, feels sick and dizzy with the idea that Johnny is mortally wounded somewhere. Price and Gaz start tearing through Soap's visible notes trying to get information. He finds Johnny's personal effects in another room. Drawn in by his scent, Ghost picks through the small pile of belongings. Sure enough, he finds Johnny's real stash with his proper bag, journal tucked safely inside. He slides it on his back and shoves the dirty clothes in to give back to Johnny. Planning to roll up the bedroll and carry that too, he makes his way to the sleeping set up. Greedily, he shoves his nose into the thin pillow to huff in the smell of Johnny. It settles him some, lets him pretend that Johnny is whole and waiting for him. Something crinkles in the pillowcase before he slides it out. Unfolding a note, he reads it with steady hands.
If you're reading this, I am dead or captured.
Here's the real simple intel- they traffic through the docks on the West side of town. There's a big arms shipment coming in to be disbursed soon, I think in two days, but they won't have it come through the docks at first, not this time. I think they are bringing it to that huge club. Their presence has become heavier to set up a perimeter and I think one of them made me tonight when I was snooping around- one of the local pubs nearby, like I reported.
I'm writing this part just in case...but I hope you never read it, call it a dead man's rattle. Ghost if it's you, there's a lot to say that I haven't said yet. I thought maybe with time you'd approach me. I'm sorry I never told you. You're beautiful and I wish I'd had the guts to tell you, to court you proper. You can't say you feel nothing similar, not with the way you are with me. And if someone tells you otherwise, may they bust their head and die -Love, J.
A part of him wonders how many notes he's never received that Johnny has written for him, just in case. His stomach lurches at the thought. He rolls up the mat and attaches it to Johnny's bag after taking one last whiff and rubbing some of the scent on his lips. It gives him hope in a twisted way, that if his alpha cares enough to have written this that he cares enough to fight as long as possible to reunite with each other. That maybe through the power of words unsaid and sheer will, Johnny will be waiting for him. Without a word, he brings the note to Price and hands it to the man. Price can't stop the raised eyebrow he pointedly gives to Ghost. It makes him growl that even now Price is being a know-it-all. But it's quickly redirected into being an efficient and truly deadly unit, they get right to work filling in the intelligence gaps and locating probable locations. If they traffic arms through the docks, then the chances are they aren't set up somewhere too close, but rather just close enough. The pub Johnny was poking around is close enough, yet far enough to remain inconspicuous with a popular club next door. They must use the pub for meetings and the club for dealings. Johnny wouldn't have pushed so hard into such a risky spot without good reason, so that has to be it. His map circles this place as his last surveillance route. The building is medium sized, clearly rich for this locations standards even though it could use some paint and obvious repairs. It's been set up like a nightclub with two stories, possibly a few private rooms. There's no good time of day to hit the place: at night there will be a large number of civilians, but during the day there would be extra attention and minimal cover. Unfortunately the hostile arms dealers used all their smarts to pick this place. They decide night is better, but they'll need a way to close the club down to civilians and clear the club without drawing local authorities in. Honestly? They have no good ideas about how to do that, so they plan to do what they do best. Keep it quiet as long as possible until they either can't or they complete the mission and make for exfiltration after making a mess of the place. Besides, if they have to shoot civilians normally run anyway. Like any place that's made out of a converted warehouse, there's a backdoor used by staff they'll use to breach with their more subtle gear on, but it'll be light gear only. They'll keep it close and personal for as long as possible. Ghost would be a liar if he said that wasn't what he thought these people deserved anyway. There's still nerves and instincts steaming inside him, but he tucks it away. Locks them in that box with the rattlesnake in his heart. The redundant gear checks as they wait for nightfall does little to soothe him. The MRE he distracts himself with is extra tasteless and unwilling to be swallowed than usual. Nothing will help until he has his Johnny back safe. Until he can tell Johnny everything, that ray of sunshine made into a man, he wants to say. Until he can smell the scent of Johnny from the source so deeply he can taste it.
Before they head out at dusk for the hour long hike, Price pulls him to the side. There's a look in his eyes Ghost can't quite interpret.
"Simon...you need to prepare yourself. You know how this can go, no telling if Johnny is solid, aye?" And there it is, the look is empathy, pity.
He can only stare Price in the eyes, "...Affirmative." He feels bad, shutting Price out at the man's kindness...but he just can't afford to think that way right now.
A sigh of frustration proceeds, "Just promise me, you'll control yourself in there- won't compromise the mission?"
"I'll do my best, Price. You know I won't leave without him though, can't, never again without him."
"Aye, I know...just don't want to be leaving without you either. Come on, let's do our last checks with Gaz before he feels left out." Price offers in placation and he takes the easy out.
They arrive at the nightclub without much preamble, weapons and gear as pristine as plausible. He feels underdressed, underprepared none the less. Wafting and roiling stenches from busy bodies and night life activities permeate his nose and it feels disgusting. Vomit, alcohol, pooling pheromones, drugs- it all smells nauseating to him. Two sentries stand guard at the back door, clearly a part of the illegal and immoral activities taking place behind these closed doors. The lighting is poor, only one single light above the door raining a tiny yellow glow overhead. Since Gaz is the most charming, they assign him to draw attention while Price and him slice throats from behind. It's such a silly plan he may have found it funny if Johnny was there to whisper jokes and flirtations to him like normal. Gaz crashes a discarded bottle on the edge of the building before giving a convincing cry for help, a false edge of drunkenness lining his tone. Maybe the sergeant missed a call from acting school at some point. It doesn't matter as they put planning into action while both the guards heads are turned. Guard number one who stayed at the door gets one of his favorite knives to the throat. Something about the familiar action of covering a man's mouth and feeling the smooth glide of his blade through the strong cartilage of a windpipe helps him sharpen his focus, helps him feel grounded. Guard number two barely made it three steps before Price is giving the same metal on flesh treatment, the gurgle coming out small and pitiful. The scent of metal and iron- blood- helps drown out the noise and smells of the damp outside. They drag the bodies off to the dark corner without preamble, not wanting to give the jig up before it's even truly began. They stack up with Gaz at the front and him at the back. He knows it's a way for Price to keep him protected from anything, but he really prefers to flow in first, to use his renown proficiency for stealth to help get the extra seconds that matter. Fortunately, Gaz is a great operator. They have the immediate back up behind the door choking on their own blood in seconds. But as they regroup and look around they realize the first problem. There is a third story to the club. There's a stairway of shitty concrete leading down to what's likely a basement. He'd bet that's where the arms deal was going to take place and be stored to be moved later. It's too out of place for much else to be true. It presents a dilemma. They can either push down and clear that first and hope Johnny is there too...or they can push out and up and risk someone coming up and finding the guards missing and quickly stashed corpses right after. They take position and wait for Price to make a call.
"Gaz, watch up top. Tuck in at the top of the stairwell. Ghost, on me."
And with that he's following Price down these slick concrete stairs that are cracked and molding. The air smells more earthen and damp as they silently move forward. They expect hostility, violence, bloodshed, but never truly anticipated what awaits them. It looks like an ordinary cellar for the most part, but there is a shelf pushed out of place with a deep red puddle spilling from underneath it. He backs Price up at the hidden doorway, readies himself to open as Price points a suppressed pistol at the opening. At Price's nod he swings the door open with speed. They clear the room before looking around. There's blood everywhere they look. Including up. It's a beautiful display of raw violence. There's one corpse, strung up on the rafters with thick rope that drips blood and gore onto the floor, intestines spilling out from a gaping cut. Another sits slumped over with a missing throat and popped eyes melting out of it's head. The last lays on the ground with it's skull caved in. He looks to Price before spotting the chair with ropes hanging from it and dried and stained blood soaked into it. Soap did this, had to be. These idiots didn't tie their knots right and his Johnny broke out and slaughtered them. He sniffs the older blood on the chair, lets it coat his tongue reverently. Johnny, it tastes like Johnny. He gives Price a nod to confirm.
"Well surely if he's gone and done all this, he's making his way back?" Price says, questioning.
"Nah, not my Johnny. They'd track him and the rendezvous is too far to make with any serious injuries while being followed. He's here, stalking, clearing. Doing what he does best, fighting the world with his bare hands. We just have to find him. We'll have to push up, follow the blood." A part of him he's ignored even further wakes up from it's hibernation. Arousal. His Johnny did this, with nothing but gear he took after killing with his bare hands and raw strength. He preens to himself, that his alpha is so capable, so very capable. It almost feels like flirtation to find such displays left by his Johnny.
"You boys and your looney antics...keep it tucked in your pants. If he's on the prowl we need to contain him. He's going to crash eventually when his injuries get the better of him. Let's make it quick before the muppet bleeds out somewhere." Ghost can't help his smile. Johnny has probably done half the work already.
He purrs and makes his way up the stairs to regroup with Gaz, Price on his heels. Gaz, wonderful man that he is, sits in wait at the top of the stairs and doesn't even turn to them as they approach.
"Solid, Ghost?"
"Fantastic, Gaz. Our bar of Soap has slipped out of their hands. He's lose somewhere, need to retrieve him." He purrs out.
Gaz looks at him, clearly catching a whiff and feeling offput by his purr, "That so? What's the plan, captain?"
Price chuckles, "To help him finish cleaning up and reunite our lovebird here. I think a distraction on standby is in order, just in case. We got anything that won't kill the civilians?"
"Nothing, really. Light gear and all that. Could start a fight on the dancefloor? Let them try to kill each other, maybe even divert some security from our position?" Gaz offers.
Price shakes his head in both humor and disbelief, "Good a plan as any I suppose. Everyone pick an object to throw at the crowd in case we're at elevation. Nothing lethal for that."
It's harebrained but if it works, it works. Would hardly be the first time he's picked up a rock or a bottle to throw as a diversion. He chooses a wooden doorstop from besides the back doorway and stuffs it in one of his pockets. The image of chucking a wooden block into the crowd at some posturing alpha hopped up on pheromones and alcohol and raging out makes him smirk. Johnny has certainly cleared the other door out of the back room, but they crack it and wait a second to see if anyone takes the bait and when no one does, they move out. There's a carefully disguised corpse, sitting on a chair next to the door. From a distance it'd look like the man was asleep, but up close like this the gaping wound in his neck and smell of blood is evident enough. Another gift from his Johnny that makes his insides feel like that snake is coiling around them, ever tighter. They take a few steps out along the wall and blend in with the crowd, hiding in plain sight while they scout their surroundings. The ground level is fairly basic, bar on one end, dance floor in the middle. DJ off to the side. There is a stairway made of metal panels leading to the second floor, strangely unsupervised across the dancefloor. Acting like they belong, pretending to dance, they make their way closer to the staircase. Price sways with him as they take three steps forward and one step back to hide their movements. Through the metal slats in the stairs he can see two more sitting corpses hidden under the stairs. Puddles of blood melting into the dark tiling on the floor like chocolate in the sun are beginning to pool under the stairs. His insides feel warm and gooey at the thought of Johnny clearing two combatants with stealth and efficiency, undetected despite the crowd so close. Somewhere inside himself he knows he shouldn't be so physically enraptured by Johnny's handiwork. He's seen it often enough. Sure, it's always impressed him, but it doesn't normally cause such a visceral reaction. Maybe all this time without Johnny next to him has effected him more than he thought. He can feel Price wrap an arm around him and press up against his back, using the guise of flirting and dancing to whisper in his ear.
"Ghost, listen to me. Keep your head on straight. Your smell is starting to reach too far, you're turning heads." Oh...oh shit.
He falls further in the guise and twirls on his feet to wrap an arm around Price's waist, "Trying, somethings wrong with me. Need to finish this fast." and then he's ascending the stairs out of order, leading the way despite being designated last man.
Price growls at him stepping out of line but follows closely, reversing their order so Gaz is heading up the rear. Putting Price behind him soothes him a little, the trust that Price will protect him and so will Gaz giving him solace to move forward. There's a hallway of private rooms and corner at the end, probably to more rooms if he had to guess. There is four doors on the left and two on the right. He moves to the first door on the left, listens to what he can hear over the music. It's silent still as Price holds the other side of the door and over his shoulder and Gaz looks behind him to cover the stairs. With a twist of the knob he flings the door open...the room is just plain empty. It smells stale, the stench of drugs heavy within. They move up to the second door to silence again, but more of Johnny's handiwork greets them when they fling the door open. There was a meeting here or something, bags of money sit on the bed surrounded by corpses. Some have their throats cut, others are stabbed through the chest, one actually has defensive wounds. Cuts where the brow absorbed Johnny's firm punches, an eye leaking out where it was sliced- like a grape cut in half. His insides feel warmer and he's starting to sweat under even the light gear. Something is wrong with him and it's getting harder to ignore as they clear the next room and the next. They get to the last door at the end of hallway, nine doors later, where muffled screaming leaks out and gets eaten by the sound of the music below. Johnny's voice reaches his ears like a sweet balm on a burn. It's an interrogation. Price holds him back, a firm hold on his arm.
"Ghost, wait. Soap won't appreciate that door being kicked...get to your proper spot- now."
The very thought of not getting to be the first to greet Johnny makes him snarl, but he relents and falls back behind Gaz. Poor Gaz, he feels bad to have the sweet alpha caught in the middle of this, but he knows Gaz will forgive him. Kyle is his friend after all, knows him and his antics. Gaz is much closer to Soap these days, more brotherly with each other, but he has no doubts about Gaz. The man is a loyal friend he trusts with his life, someone he'd stick his neck out for. Kindly, Kyle squeezes him on the shoulder as he passes and takes up his spot in the rear. It settles his feelings that he's putting Gaz in a tough spot, assures him that the man understands or at least accepts that he's doing his best to keep a lid on everything. More screams and whimpers fizzle out under the doorframe. Thick Scottish accented questions muffled from the barrier can be heard, Johnny's voice deeper and darker and infused with venom. He can't help the chirp that leaves his throat at the sound of Johnny so unhinged and trying to bully answers from what he is confident is the last hostile on site. There's a pause behind the door, but no movement. Price scowls at him and knocks on the door the same way he knocks on their doors back on base- two sharp and spaced thuds.
A pained voice calls out, "Come in." Not Johnny's voice.
Price pops the door open just slightly, "Soap, you in there?"
"Aye, captain. Clear for entry." He can hear the smirk in Johnny's voice and it ignites a small purr from deep in his chest.
Electricity hums through his veins, or at least that's what it feels like as he sets his sights on his Johnny from over Price's shoulders and Gaz's back. He moves to follow the team in before pausing in the doorway. There's a beat man huffing air through a broken nose tied to an office chair with Johnny standing behind the chair, gun pointed at the man's temple and a large meaty hand encircled around his neck to ensure compliance. Johnny stands casual, relaxed form, like it's any other day for Johnny in direct spite and opposition to the bloody cuts on that handsome face and bandage wrapped tight around a strong bicep. Tropical blue eyes meet his own and that warmth inside him triples. The snake's fangs deeper than ever before. Rumbling and pleased purring further erupts from his chest at the eye contact. He's staring at Johnny like he can see that bright and yet stained soul beneath that tanned skin. Can see the way Johnny's hand tightens around the fragile neck it's grasping. Feverish and sweaty under his gear, he feels out of control, nearly unable to control himself at all as he takes long strides towards Johnny. His focus is purely on Johnny, cataloguing every swallow, every breath, the dilation of his pupils, the tightening of fingers around the hostage's neck. Price stands in between him and Johnny, breaks the eye contact and he growls, angry and displeased. Bares his teeth, his fangs at his own best friend before he can stop himself. He shakes his head in hopes to clear it, lets Price gently grasp his shoulders and push him backwards step by step back into the hall. Soap and Gaz can contain one man, so Price doesn't even look back. The door slowly clicks shut, but Price is still staring him down while petting his shoulders calmly, soothingly.
"Ghost...do you even realize what's happening right now? Why you feel like this?" Price whispers.
"No...not really. Something to do with him I think, started when he missed contact."
"Alright, lad. You're going to be okay. Promise you'll stay solid if I fill you in, ask some questions." Price demands, grips a little firmer in attempts to ground him.
"Yeah...yeah, I won't let it compromise us. I trust you, Price, fully."
"Simon, when are you due for your heat?" Fuck...fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK. How did he not put this together?
He frowns in irritation, "I don't...three months? I think."
"Right, well. Think it's more like three hours now- if we're lucky. Can smell it on you and your behavior is erratic. If I can smell it, so can every other alpha- including Soap. Clearly he needs information from this bloke and if he's busy making heart eyes at you he can't get it. Sober up as best you can, I'll send Gaz out, but you're to hold position here. That's an order." He wants to protest, complain, lay his eyes on Johnny...but he knows this is for the best.
He nuzzles Price's hand as best he can, "Alright, Price. Alright. Make it quick if you can...please."
The look in Price's eyes tells Ghost he feels bad about it all, "Hang tight."
And that's it then, he's got to keep a tight lid over himself until they're back to base. Hole up and wait out the agony once he's locked himself in his room so he can confess to Johnny with a clear head. Gaz slips out and takes position slightly ahead of him, nods and grips his shoulder on the way past him. He's thankful for the silence, the encouragement, even the companionship as he tries to stop his thoughts from spiraling. It can't be more than a few minutes, the hostage giving in once it's clear rescue isn't coming- that the team, his pack, his family, has this situation in their hands now. Somehow it feels like forever. Time stretches out around him like a fog, a haze. He tries to keep his eyes focused, but the sensations nibble away at his resolve, small bite by bite. Sweat drips from his skin and soaks into his gear. Fabric clinging and chaffing his skin that already feels raw and too warm now that he thinks about it. His limbs feel heavy under all his muscle and the growing tiredness in his bones. The deep timbre of Johnny's voice behind the door like whispers in his ear to call for his alpha, for relief in the form of blue eyes and tanned hands. Gaz must scent his smell getting stronger in the air and inquires if he's solid. He can only manage a nod and an affirmation, but he knows time is running out quicker and it's only going to get worse once they regroup. The door clicks open behind them and then Price is setting a warm and grounding hand on his shoulder. Ghost purposely doesn't look at Soap or the freshest corpse. Johnny purposely not offering any interaction with him in return. Two sets of cold shoulders yet he still feels himself burn a little hotter knowing the man he needs is so close.
"Alright men, let's get the fuck out of here. Need to take the money too, can't leave that here. Gaz, you'll carry that with me.
Soap, as the most injured, you'll take last man. If you need us to slow down, tell us immediately. We need to be fast. I'll take lead, Ghost behind me, Gaz after. Move!." Price orders are out hasty, knowing time is of the utmost importance now.
They get back to that room with the bags of money and both Price and Gaz each attach one bag to themselves and quickly adjust their gear. Johnny is close enough he can smell him if he tries hard enough even with the doorway in the middle of them. He can hardly stop himself from sucking the air down and savoring it on his tongue, from trying to extract the essence of his alpha from a distance. It's risky and stupid and he doesn't know why he does it, just that he feels better for having Johnny's scent nearby after this long separation and worry. Damn the fact it makes him cramp and ache a lot more. The fact Johnny has not acknowledged him makes something mean and angry hiss inside in the back of his mind. Pisses him off even. Logically, he knows Price probably ordered Soap to not say a word, to keep professional and in line, to stop Ghost from being pulled even further under, but that animalistic instinct in the stem of his brain is devastated his alpha is ignoring his needs. It makes him feel dangerously unbalanced, even more so than before. If Johnny was actually speaking to him, touching him, he knows it would exacerbate the problem tenfold, but that wisdom doesn't make the sting fade. To their credit, Price and Gaz are as quick as they can be before they're all on the move again. It doesn't escape his knowledge that Price picked this arrangement because of him. His resolve is chipping and if he had to watch the broad muscled back of Johnny it'd drive him crazy, distract him. He'd fold like a house of cards. They slip out just as easily as they got in, not bothering with a facade as they leave the building. Low lighting and the pitch of night stop anyone from noticing the blood all over their boots and Johnny's skin. After they slide into a side street that leads out of town back in the direction of the woods near the safe house, Price has Gaz radio the pilot to meet them at the extraction point in an hour. It sets them up for a brutal pace without breaks, but he's thankful for it. Something tells him if he stops moving everything is going to go wrong before he can blink. It's twenty five minutes in when they finally reach the forested land outside of town. And it's another ten when he feels the first wave of nausea choke him. He's so dizzy with it he grabs a tree to hold himself up and can't help it as he pukes the MRE remains up into the grass. Unnaturally colored mush coats the tip of one of his boots, but he avoids spilling it down his core. Chills take root in his core, the fever making him so overheated that the air stealing the warmth feels like ice inside his veins. He murmurs profanities under his breath. Fuck, shite, stupid motherfuckin-
"Hang in there, Ghost. Almost there, keep moving."
Price's words let him rally himself. Pushing on, he keeps up with the brutal pace even as his body threatens to give way and bowl him over into the grass. He's starting to slick up and chafe between his legs, which does nothing but make everything worse. Vision tunneling as Price announces they've made it to the small clearing that serves as exfil. The relief is palpable as the clock ticks. They're five minutes early. The edges of his vision feel dark and tunneling, oppressive. The ground is hard and unforgiving under his boots as he sways, catching himself at the last minute a few times in a row. He can't help the pitiful whine that leaves him as he cramps and his stomach tries to empty itself again under the pressure. His throat burns from the acid of his stomach. Dehydration is setting in quickly from all the sweating, slicking, and his vomiting. Price observes him, worry deep in those troubled eyes. Price even tries to help give him a shoulder to lean on but he can't stop the quick hiss and rumbling growl he lets loose to get the man to back off a bit. Price looks over his shoulder and nods at someone. He can feel himself going under, getting lost in his instincts. Can hear the helo nearing for landing.
"Simon...look at me." Johnny!
He purrs loudly as he whips his head around to Johnny. So pleased to finally be given the attention he's wanted so desperately from his chosen mate.
"Aye, there's a good lad. You solid, LT?" Johnny says lightly, soothingly. He supposes it's not unlike being a cornered animal, how he is. Dumb on instinct and thoughts of survival.
It takes a minute to find words outside of those blue eyes, "No. Breaking, quickly. Please...alpha, please." He doesn't know why he starts begging, feels pathetic for a second until he's lost again.
Blackness quickly hides blueness as Johnny's eyes dilates, tongue licks those pink lips that hide those sharp teeth, "S'nae safe here. Almost done here. Just a little longer, promise. D'ye want...Ah can help, when we get back?"
"Yes," he hisses the word as he stares Johnny down, "Going to keep you." It comes out more aggressive than he planned, as much as he can plan anyway.
"Would nae dream of it going any other way, sweet thing."
He purrs loud and deep, can't take his eyes off Johnny's even as the helo starts landing nearby by a few paces. He tunes out everyone and everything else without trying. Embraces the snake's venom and all it's bitter flavor down his throat. Johnny starts walking backwards- still meeting his stare -towards where the helo is running waiting to take them away, somewhere safe. All those aches and pains have faded out with the sounds and sights that aren't Johnny. His feet carry him forward, stalking towards Johnny until Johnny's bloodied fingers are waving at him- come here -from inside the helicopter. Like a predator with cornered prey, he leaps for where Johnny sits. Desires to show his eagerness, his prowess, overwhelm him as he pins Johnny with a straddle. The grip he has on the alpha's shoulders could only be described as bone-crushing. It's a silent order of an omega about to take what they want from the alpha they've seduced. Sweat, blood, and warmth flood his senses as he licks at Johnny like an animal starved. Primal need overriding any last dredges of consciousness, his resolve is finally gone knowing they are about to be in the air on the way home. The greed to keep this all for himself, deprive any other omega or woman or man from so much as looking at what's his burns hot within his belly as he gorges his senses on Johnny. He doesn't pay attention to anything or anyone else. Not even as Gaz unpacks the medical kit and pulls out the emergency tranquilizer before jabbing him in the ass as Johnny distracted him with a firm grip to the chin and eye contact with intent. Vaguely, he feels himself sink forward in Johnny's lap, those strong arms catching him with ease, Johnny's purr that soothes him before the panic can even set in. The needle for an IV gets put in his hand as Gaz runs a line of fluids hoping to rehydrate him during the long flight, prepare him for further than the journey home. Gaz runs a second bag of saline and has to tranquilize him another time during the flight. Agreements and arrangements are made over his unconscious form. Price agrees that Johnny can help with the heat after medical clearance and Ghost has a moment to wake up, make a nest- decide if that's what he wants.
The room is cold as he wakes. His head hurts and everything feels stiff with hours of disuse. He recognizes his quarters though, feels safe in the familiar setting with his scent everywhere. It takes him a moment to remember everything. The relief is a physical sensation as he takes in everything that happened. When he was out like a light they must have given him some medical heat aid because while it's still ongoing, it isn't such a pressing and overbearing endeavor to be conscious and cognizant. Someone, probably Gaz, had the foresight to pull his curtains closed and offer extra nesting materials. He thanks his lucky stars that his pack is so well adjusted and cares for him so deeply as he looks at all the work they've done to help. The offerings from his pack make it that much better. There's shirts and blankets from everyone, but especially from Johnny. Rations and water are lined up on the table, double what he normally uses. Price's doing no doubt. He's glad no one else changed his gear though- the thought of being stripped down while he's not conscious has been a sore subject for years now. As he strips his gear, a brilliant and pleased purr erupts from his chest. Showering feels like a cold glass of lemonade on a hot day, refreshing and renewing, as all the grime and sweat clinging to his skin is scrubbed away. The cold water a balm on his heat-fevered skin. It's satisfaction in the highest order as he puts his comfiest set of clothes and mask on and starts building a nest from his supplies and filters in the offered supplies, huffs the lifeline of his pack in through his nose. He's downing a water and eating some protein bars when someone knocks on his door. Instinctually he growls, but lightens up at the familiar chuckle behind the door.
"Simon, at ease. It's just me." Price.
"Well, I suspect this must be important then."
The door opens after a jangle of keys and Price is there, broad and tall, protective- a smile reserved for his pack hidden under mutton chops and mustache alike. The alpha takes no steps closer. Simon wouldn't mind if Price shared the space, but it would certainly be uncomfortable later. He just doesn't view Price that way, same with Kyle.
"Got a proposal of sorts for you, if you'll hear it?"
He flusters, "Listen, you're a handsome man and all-"
"Not me! -You fucking muppet. Soap has offered to help you through this, if that's something you wanted. Medical signed off that he's not dying of injuries." Price's ever-knowing eyes twinkle with mirth.
"Right...sorry. Buried the lead, you did." His nerves flare up, "What...what if I said no?"
"Then I'll pass the message on, tan his hide if he tries anything. You know that."
"...And if I say yes?" He hates how small he sounds, how his bravado leaves him.
"Then I'll send him here with a key. You've already set a claim of sorts, he's just responding. Licked him like a lollypop on the way home until we darted you." Price has him there. It's as close to being smacked upside the head for being stupid as it gets while he's this way.
"Yeah, yeah. I see you wanting to laugh. Yes, my answer is yes. And Price?"
"What is it, lad?"
"Thank you. For everything."
Price nods, with a bittersweetness, "It was my pleasure, Simon. Let me fetch your man for you."
Johnny must have all but sprinted here. It's less than thirty minutes later that Johnny is knocking on the door, bouncing on the soles of worn boots waiting for a reply. Once Johnny's actually entered at his insistence, it's a breathtaking sight. It's a magical feeling, seeing Johnny in front of him, in one piece, all giddy excitement and smiles. He takes in everything he can with his own elation. Catalogues the crinkles at the corner of blue eyes, the tightness of the shirt wrapped around a muscled an tan frame, wrapped injuries and healing cuts, the strong smell of joy rolling off the alpha. It feels like breathing after being stuck under water.
"Ye alright, Simon?"
"Just looking at you, Johnny."
"Ah, um, before we do this, have something ye need'a hear. If that's alright?"
"Save it, Johnny. I've already decided I'm keeping you."
"Way to steal my thunder, LT. So...nae be needing the bite guard then...?"
"You can throw it far away from here. Keeping you- forever. Now shut the fuck up and mate me."
"Happily!"
He can't, won't hold it back anymore. That's as close to a confession of love as he's capable of right now, and clearly his chosen doesn't mind one bit. It's with no small hesitation he pulls his mask off. To Johnny's credit, the man doesn't make a big deal out of it, just soaks it in. The way those blue eyes go wide and dilate tells him there's no worries Johnny can't stomach his scarred face. He wraps his arms around Johnny, loose and lovely, searching and questioning. Johnny wastes no time answering and kisses him deep and devoted. The spikey hair on Johnny's chin from a fresh trim makes him groan, so does every hard line of muscle and soft curve of cushion. Their bodies fitting together like it was always meant to be, even as he has to duck his head to deepen the kiss, as his alpha has to tilt up to meet him half way. Everything about Johnny is so pleasing both to him and that baser instinct within. That omegan instinct in him purrs that such a suitable alpha is now his, can please him now and forever more. That dark and obsessive part of him proud of himself for finally pursing something he wants and achieving it. It's embarrassing, but Johnny's mouth is catching every moan from the source as he drags the kiss on until he can hardly breathe evenly. Between his legs he's absolutely dripping and hard with want. Where Johnny's hips are pressed into his thighs he can tell that burning need is mutual. He'll have time to be nice, pliant, later. Right now? Right now he's taking everything he's wanted and more. Trailing his fingers down the line of Johnny's jaw, he wraps his fingers around that solid neck and just teasingly chokes Johnny just a bit. It's both a test and promise that Johnny passes with flying colors. The moan that reverberates under his grasp is nothing short of sinful.
"On your back, alpha. You can take your pleasure later, right now...I am going to take every drop of what I want." He's never seen the spitfire of a man be so quick to comply.
"Fuccck, take whatever you want from me, Simon. Ah'll do wahtever you ask."
"There's a good lad. Clothes off, preferably yesterday." The smile he wears is genuine as he watches Johnny practically tear through his own clothes.
His own clothing is removed in a show, it's teasing and rude, and it's worth the way Johnny's face turns red and his thick cock jumps in trepidation, excitement. He folds his own clothes just to drag everything out, lets his slick run in rivulets down his thighs. It's a rush, taking this control for himself. Lucidity won't be possible through his whole heat, but right now with the help of the medications and relaxation he's going to make this the moment he's been waiting for. Never did he imagine it happening like this, but he wouldn't change a thing as he straddles Johnny's lap and leans down to kiss him senseless. Tanned hands are quick to stroke his sides and grab his hips as his own hands are busy grabbing brown hair just a bit too tight. With greed he swallows the moans and whimpers he takes from Johnny. He uses the grind of his hips to slick Johnny up, ignores his own cock even as the friction between their stomachs tempts him to speed up.
"Fuck, Simon, you're a big lad. Remind me to take'im fer a ride after-"
Desire finally overwhelms him at the statement, that he's impressive enough his alpha would seek him simply for pleasure. Without warning he slides Johnny inside, slicked enough to take him all the way in one drop of his hips. Orgasm washes over him immediately. Heat making him sensitive and his own teases had been priming him like a loaded gun liable to go off at any second. He shutters through it, mesmerized by the way his hole clenches and tries to milk everything it can from Johnny. He grinds through his orgasm to lengthen it before riding Johnny's cock at a brutal pace until his second orgasm takes him. Everything is so wet and soiled with fluids the scent of himself is dizzying. He's tiring out, but he still aches for more. Demanding and mean, he wraps a hand around Johnny's throat again and restarts that brutal pace. Nails dig into his hips as Johnny tenses and begs him for permission-
"Please, please, omega, let me knot you! Simon, please, please-" It never seems to end, nor does he want it to.
"Go on then, give it to me- or I'll take it from you any way."
Johnny takes over the pace, planting his feet and using the leverage to slam himself in as hard and fast as he can. The solid knot bullies the rim of his sopping hole as he feels the coiling of another orgasm start burning in his core. When Johnny pulls him down to meet their hips and proceeds to knot him with the most sinful moan he's ever heard it crashes through him like lightening. Every pulse of Johnny filling him to the brim sends another tremor through him, prolongs the pleasure, whites out his vision. His lungs feel like they're collapsing as he huffs for breath, gets himself drunk on the joining scent of himself with his Johnny. He clenches so hard he feels like he's cramping every time. It's perfect utter bliss. Instincts compelling, he shoves Johnny's head to the side and sinks his fangs into that thick scent glad in Johnny's neck with a sated purr. Johnny grabs at the back of his neck with bruising force and keeps his jaw locked in place as a second orgasm crashes through Johnny. Desperately grinding and shaking, Johnny pumps load after load into him. He feels full and sated and absolutely intoxicated by the pure pleasure of fulfilling his instincts. When Johnny finally lets his neck go, he licks over the bitemark and proceeds to suck down the pure essence of his alpha from the sweat and blood where it leaks from Johnny's abused neck. Thick fingers wrap into his hair and then Johnny is biting him back with intent. It crashes him abruptly into another orgasm that's so good it has his eyes rolling back and he's drooling over Johnny's mating mark. It takes what feels like hours before he stops shaking and cresting with pleasure. Everything feels like it clicks into place as the fresh mating bond settles with Johnny laving his tongue over the fresh mark.
"Steaming Jesus, Simon. Ah'm so fucking in love with ye."
"Yeah, I love you too Johnny. Always knew you'd be a kinky bastard. Gonna rest now, tired. Clean us up when you can, yeah?"
Johnny whispers back, "Aye. I'll do that. Kiss fer good luck?"
They share a chaste peck before sleep takes over.
It's been a week since they shared his heat. The bond has settled within them quite nicely. They've talked some about what they want to do from here, surprised at how easily they were on the same page. The plan is to spend a year more in the service, build up a nice fund for a large house somewhere in Scotland, something with a ridiculous amount of space. Retire out there and start a family. He's always been afraid to have a family again...but with Johnny it feels possible. It feels safe, knowing any pups they have will have two parents who aren't afraid to scorch the earth and end bloodlines to keep their family safe and together. The hardest part seems to be telling the pack their plans to move forward. Him and Price are sitting in the dinky office that Price basically calls home nursing a drink and complaining about all the paperwork the rescue mission and Simon's condition during and after. It takes a somber, but friendly tone.
"Don't know what'll become of the taskforce without the two of you muppets." Price whispers into his drink before taking the last swig.
"I don't either but...John, there's always a place for you with us. One of those many rooms we plan on having- it's for you, we'll have one for Gaz too if he wants it of course.
But there's one for you too. We're old blood, Price, can't keep getting lucky forever.
You ever think maybe, it's time to let someone else gets their hands dirty?"
There's a pause as Price lights a cigar with a fondness in his eyes.
"Think you'll miss me that much?"
"Well, I'm sure the many pups we plan on would love uncle Price to be so available. I would miss you too, if you never at least visited."
Another puff of smoke from Price's cigar and his own cigarette dissipates into the silence.
"A year, you said?"
"Affirmative."
"I'll think on it, Simon. And congratulations. I'll put the papers in to get you two idiots into the mated quarters."
"Appreciate it, John. Have a good night." And he takes his leave to slide right into Johnny's arms.