Chapter Text
The base was quiet. The sudden appearance of the May sun had resulted in most people finding excuses to be outside and soaking it up - exercise regimes devolving quickly into rounds of football and sunbathing on the grass.
Not Ghost though. He was carrying a healthy amount of northern disdain for the heat and found the only worthwhile outcome of the sunshine was that it had drawn people away to give him some peace and quiet so that he could catch up on some dreary reports that had to be finished today.
Well. It had drawn out most people.
“-so it took me buyin’ him a few rounds but he finally caved and showed me what his new bird looks like. Have you seen her?”
“Garrick’s piece?”
“Aye yeah, whatsername…”
“Laura.”
“Tha’s the one! Quite bonnie but I told him he’d better watch out if he’s dating an Essex lass, better not fuck her over if he wants to keep his balls.”
“Garrick’s a good lad, he’ll treat her right.”
“Yeah yeah ‘course he will, he’s never done anything wrong ever in his life and everyone loves him and so on and so forth.”
“Jealous Johnny?”
“Me? Of Gaz? I fuckin’ think not. I’ll have you know that I am also universally adored, and I know I’m your favourite.”
Simon didn’t need to turn around from his desk to know that Johnny was laid across his bed with the biggest shit eating grin imaginable. Though that was just the way Johnny looked on a daily basis, being an insufferable cheeky twat and all.
So Simon did what he did best, which was to ignore him and keep on staring at the words on the paper with gritted teeth, wishing that the report would just write itself already.
“You know,” Johnny drawls behind him, beginning his second attempt at getting attention, “with everyone enjoying the sun that leaves it pretty quiet over here… I can think of several more exciting things we could be doing right now. For starters your cock could be up my-”
“Jesus fucking Christ Johnny, you were the one who barged in unannounced and then decided to stick around when I told you I was busy.”
Johnny makes a deeply offended noise.
“Aight first of all I didnae ‘barge’ you absolute cunt, a’ fucking knocked all good and proper, and second of all you could be shagging me anyway. How about this, I’ll go on ma’ hands and knees and you can use my back as a desk.”
The image of that particular scenario presents itself in Simon’s mind with startling clarity and he has to take a slow, deep breath in order to keep himself in check.
“I’m sure you can wait ten more minutes for me to write up the fucking moron who brought a clip of live rounds back onto base.”
“Wish you’d fire some live rounds into me…”
Simon finally looks over his shoulder to level Johnny with a glare but the fucking bastard is simply leaning back against the pillow, hands locked above his head and looking absolutely delighted with himself. The smug look, however, is quickly interrupted by a yawn which does a great job of ruining its effect, and under his mask Simon smirks to himself as he swivels back to his desk.
“Tired?”
“Ah, yeah…” Johnny replies almost sheepishly. “Bit of a late one last night. Brain was running at a thousand miles, wouldnae shut up.”
It’s a testament to his tiredness that Johnny doesn’t realise the bait he’s offered up.
“You? Not being able to shut up? Unfathomable.”
Simon catches the pillow tossed in his direction and throws it back seamlessly, ignoring the “Oi!” that comes with it, and the grumbles that follow on after.
He makes himself add another few sentences onto his report before he talks to Johnny again, now deserving of conversation having done something productive.
“Have a kip here if you’re knackered.”
“Aw hell don’t tempt me, we got that meeting at four I cannae nap now.”
Simon’s eyes drift upwards to the clock on the wall in front of him and his brow tightens.
“That’s not for two hours. I’ll set an alarm. Sleep.”
He’s prepared to issue it as a command if needs must. But after a few beats of mulling it over Johnny doesn’t offer up any argument, and Simon hears the bed springs creak as he gets himself comfortable - during which time Simon goes through the motions of setting the alarm and holding out his phone to show Johnny it’s done once he’s finally settled.
“Gives me a chance to finally get this done in some bloody peace and quiet.”
“Oh yeah? Am gonna snore.”
It’s not true, Simon’s never known him to snore in any of the times they’ve shared a bed, or when Simon’s relieved him from lookout duty on an OP and Johnny’s immediately crashed out on the closest available flat surface. In fact he’s rather the opposite; when he’s in the depths of sleep he breathes so subtly that sometimes Simon has to press his ear to Johnny’s chest to make sure his heart’s still beating - hover a hand under his nose to feel the air pass over his fingers.
But there’s no need for that here, not right now. Johnny falls asleep with little fanfare and Simon reluctantly turns his focus back to his duties.
The report is tedious work but eventually it gets finished. He signs everywhere he needs to and shoves it into the proper folder and when he’s done with it he leans back in his chair and ignores the way his back twinges in that horrible, bone deep way that it’s doing more and more often these days.
Age is catching up to him, as much as he pretends it isn’t. His usefulness is running on a timer and with every twinge, every ache that takes longer and longer to disappear, he can hear that timer tick down ever quicker. He’s not been a man who thinks about the future. Not until recently…
He dares to turn around and glance at Johnny, who is decidedly conked out - his t-shirt has ridden up slightly, though the exposed skin is mostly covered by his arm strewn lazily across his middle, whilst the other remains tucked safely under the pillow.
He looks at home there, in Simon’s bed. He looks safe.
Ghost feels his face burn, and it’s only the vibrating of his phone that forces his gaze away.
FROM: PRICE, CPT
> Meeting postponed to 0900 tomorrow, something’s come up. Can’t find Soap so I presume he’s with you. Let him know.
Ghost can’t help but huff indignantly. They were not attached at the bloody hip, despite what the rest of the unit seemed to think. Johnny could easily have been in the gym, or in the rec room playing some co-op game with Garrick, or sitting around outside drawing in his sketchbook.
He could have been having a smoke in his spot by the door with the cracked overhead light that he thinks no one knows about, or even up on the roof doing his “secret” yoga that’s meant to help his dodgy knee.
Obviously he’s not doing any of those things and yes he is in fact with Ghost but that’s not the point.
The point is that Ghost knows Price and thus is aware that “can’t find Soap” meant he did a cursory rap at Johnny’s door and then decided the task of finding him was delegated to Ghost, like he was Johnny’s fucking handler or something.
Johnny did not need handling. Man-handling perhaps but that was under very different circumstances which Johnny was always vocal about wanting. Knowing that Price expects Ghost to know Johnny’s whereabouts is… Unnerving. It’s innocent enough but outside acknowledgement of his and Johnny’s closeness always puts him on edge, no matter who it’s from. And not because of any rule breaking or bureaucracy crap, he doesn’t care about that outside of making sure Johnny doesn’t get in shit for anything.
The two of them… What they have is theirs. It’s not been said in as many words, but between them they have an understanding. And that’s new for him, having someone around who understands the things he cannot voice.
He is Simon’s , and there isn’t a single other person in this world who will ever understand the ways in which Simon needs him.
With their meeting now postponed he turns off the alarm and hazards another glance over at the bed where Johnny is still sprawled over his duvet fast asleep. Right in the middle of course, filling the space like he owns it.
(He does.)
Simon quietly shoves his chair back under the desk and approaches the bed, watching for a few quiet moments before prodding at Johnny and climbing on to join him.
“Move over then.” He says, mainly to himself, but Johnny stirs enough to follow his instruction.
Simon expects him to shuffle over so that Simon can plaster himself against his back and throw an arm and a leg over him, but when Simon gets into position Johnny rolls to face him instead, throwing his arm over and tucking his head against Simon’s chest.
Simon doesn’t move a muscle. Waits on baited breath to see if Johnny will roll over and wake up, but the minutes pass and all that happens is Johnny begins to drool on his t-shirt.
Little shit. Content and curled up against him like a damn cat with no consideration for the impact he’s having… No clue how fast he’s making Simon’s heart race…
The drooling should not be the thing to have Simon finally untense his muscles, and let his frozen hand thaw and finally migrate to wrap around him.
The growing wet patch should not inspire such intense endearment - but it does, along with a fierce sense of possession that burns from deep within his gut.
I want every wretched part of you , Simon thinks as he lets his hand slowly run over the expanse of Johnny’s back. I want every horrid, ugly part of you that you don’t want anyone else to see. I want my beast to lie with yours. I want it forever.
When he’d first climbed onto the bed he hadn’t intended to also take a nap, but that ache in his back is finally starting to let up now that he’s laying down, and unlike the sun outside Johnny is the right kind of warm - so he gives in. His eyes slip shut without a fight, and through the mask he noses against Johnny’s hair until sleep eventually claims him.