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This was probably not the strangest thing Price has seen today. John is sure of it. He once had to hand in an incident report about two of the new recruits testing out if the toilets were adequate for swirlies. Turns out they are and a swirly can send you to the medical wing.
So no, he’s not worried about that.
But it’s definitely a sight.
Ghost is on one side of the kitchen island, John the other and Gaz is egging Ghost on with his phone in hand. Most likely recording the ordeal to send to Alex and Farah. John can already see the message from Farah, straight and simple so that you could hear the disappointment in her voice. While Alex would send a mixed bunch of emojis and it took an entire task force to decipher what he meant.
“What?” Price’s voice is gruff.
“They’ve been chasing each other around the island for-” Gaz pauses. “4 minutes now.”
Definitely recording them.
Price lets out a sigh. Sounding very similar to the long suffering his father would give him when he was a kid. On occasion he would still receive it as an adult.
“Why?”
“When, Where and What.” John says.
Ghost snorts at the dumb fucking joke. Of course he would but it makes John smile non the less. He had been on a mission while Ghost had a medical leave alone in their cottage. Which would have been fine if the reception wasn’t piss poor leaving a very bored Ghost to fend for himself. The new layout of their home looked very lovely from the photos he had seen. Gaz had also informed him that Ghost had rearranged their bookshelf from AA author, to release date, to chronological order, to AA author first name, chronological by Ghost’s opinion and finally back to AA author. All done on facetime so Gaz could make sure he didn’t pop any stitches.
John could only imagine the sight of Simon surrounded by books and a phone propped up on the dark case they had in the hall.
“Sargent, I’m hoping whatever this is, it’s not a waste of your lieutenant's time.”
John rolls his eyes. “I’ll have you know he started it.”
“Get fucked.” Ghost replies and makes a break for it.
He decides he’s had enough. Sliding across the island aiming for Ghost’s shoulders. It goes as well as he would have expected if he put any thought into the move. He coathangers him, Ghost scrabbles for a handle hold, John slides too far. They end in a tangled heap on the ground with Gaz laughing his ass off.
That recording needed to be deleted as soon as possible. Farah would never let them live it down and it would eventually make its way to Alejandro and Rudy. Which would make it even worse.
God forbid if it got to members of Kortac. John would off himself on the spot.
“Fuck sakes. Best of the best I told Kate. Kyle Garrick a sensible man of wit and reason. John MacTavish demo expert, sniper and the smartest guy I’ve ever met. Simon Riley, the ghost story that made the rest of them cower in their fucking boots. Now look at you.” Price says.
At least they were backhanded compliments. John isn’t really listening anymore. Ghost is being a right bastard, wiggling to try and throw him off his mission of getting him to stay still. While he’s also worried about the injuries he was still supporting.
Price scruffs him by the back of his shirt. Yanking him off the now cackling Ghost while Gaz was done for on the floor. Gasping for breath between wheezes so deep it was concerning. He feels like a kid again being scolded for fighting with his brother. He was 32 for fuck sakes and Price was only 6 years older.
“Cut it out. Sort it out like grown fucking adults. Not two teenage boys.”
Ghosts straightens his balaclava. “Objection. My dad used to do this to sort out his problems.”
John chuckles at that. Price pinches the bridge of his nose, he was going to wear down the skin there and expose his skull soon.
“Garrick, go do something other than being an instigator. Mactavish and Riley go fuck in your room or something. Just let me having a fucking cuppa in peace.”
Price lets go of his shirt. The slight burn it was causing is soothed almost immediately.
Ghost props himself up on one elbow, wincing. Gaz is trying to contain his giggles. Key word trying, every now and again he bursts into a fit of laughter which he gets out a breathy ‘sorry’.
“Muppets, the lot of you.”
“I think you’ve lost favourite child privileges Kyle.” Ghost says.
Gaz lets out a dramatic wail, sounding quite shit with the wheezes still breaking through.
“Bold of you to assume it’s Kyle. Farah beats you all.”
She also beat them in hand to hand combat. John was almost jealous in the way she could hold her own for so long in a sparring match against Ghost. In the end Price had called it off because Farah had given the man a nose bleed and she had started to limp.
John missed having her around. A powerhouse and just a great person to have around, unless she brought Alex and the amount of dad jokes John had to endure shot up. He wasn’t the worst to have around that was for sure. As long as him and Ghost stayed a good 10 metres apart at all times.
Ghost offers him a hand and John takes it. Hauling him up with a little bit more strength than necessary making him stumble slightly. Some gentle form of payback he guesses. Gaz’s wheezes have dissolved into tiny giggles as he taps away at his phone. Now doubt turning the longer video into some highlight reel to send to Farah and Alex. He would fight Gaz for his phone but judging from the very grumpy Price who was now holding a kettle. It was probably for the best that it was just going to be his pride getting hurt.
However, he’ll figure out how to get Gaz to regret ever being born later.
Ghost seemed a bit more tame now, bumping his shoulder and motioning with his head. A clear sign that he wasn’t going to be a git anymore.
John links his arm with his partner’s and they walk out of the kitchen. He ignores the buzz of his phone in his back pocket, clearly Gaz starting to send in the best bits of the whole ordeal.
“You done being an idiot? Or are we just gonna fight about it in our room?”
He stays quiet. John just rolls his eyes. At least Gaz wouldn’t film the next bit which was going to be way more humiliating.
Their room used to just have a plain plaque that said Lt. Ghost but someone had taken a sharpie and written Sgt. MacTavish . He suspects it was Gaz. Their relationship wasn’t public knowledge on base but they played the sharpie note off as a joke. They were comrades, just a couple of lads, friends or even besties as Gaz said once in a mocking valley girl voice. Everyone knew if they wanted Soap, you had to find Ghost as well.
John opens the door. The room is a state of disarray, as always. Nothing is on the floor but the bed is unmade. Ghost’s extra blankets are wrapped around like a nest, touching the floor from where he slid out of bed this morning. The desk is piled high with bits of paper and Ghost’s laptop. The ball of tangled fairy lights were shut off in the corner, collecting power from the sun still in the sky. Their curtains were open giving them the lovely view of the fence and the corner of the K-9 training centre.
What a shit hole. He misses their cottage where they had a view of the woods surrounding them and there were no dogs. As much as he saw Ghost stare longingly at the creatures, John preferred cats, the kind that got caught under his feet like the MacTavish family cat.
“Right sit. Get your shirt off.”
“Quite forward today Johnny. Should I get the lube and condoms as well?”
He just rolls his eyes at that. Like he’d be bossing around Ghost into sex, it was usually he got dragged into the bedroom and Ghost almost made him sign a fucking contract that he wanted to fuck.
He didn’t care. John really didn’t even give a fuck about the whole sex ordeal until Ghost really. Learning that Ghost was asexual and was paranoid 9 times out of 10 made him feel even more comfortable with the whole ‘probably on the ace spectrum’.
Ghost takes his shirt off then the mask. His hair is growing back slowly from his last buzz. Soft brown eyes are rimmed with grease paint, highlighting the scar running across his forehead. It stopped just before a dark eyebrow. Unlike John’s one that bisected his and ran a thin line over his eyelid. Scraping the edge of his cheek.
God he remembered the fear. Blood had poured into his left eye leaving him partially blind, Gaz couldn’t reassure him that he still had his eyeball. He kept it thankfully.
Death would have been kinder than having to only have one eye to see Simon. His gorgeous face was something John treasured so much. Gentle eyes, soft wrinkles, the slight curve of his thin lips, crooked nose and the faint smattering of blonde stubble. The scars that were lashed across his face were horrible, John hated them and the people who carved them but they were as part of Simon as his crooked teeth were.
His eyes trail down. John never gets tired of his partner’s body, relaxed muscles. Black ink curling up and around his left hip. Silvery scars shining in the light, the ones there by choice not the horrific wound on his side. There’s literally nothing he wouldn’t do for this man, he’d pray to God again if he asked. He’d get on his knees and beg for forgiveness for everything he’s ever done that was a sin if Simon whispered it to him. Anything, if it pleased Simon he would make sure it was done.
There’s a tiny voice in the back of his mind (Gaz’s) that starts chanting ‘simp.’
His eyes fall on what had started the whole ordeal. The inky mess of Simon’s 2nd skin on the new tattoo. He can only imagine the smell under there, a mix of ink and something that was a clear biohazard.
“Gets a million and one tattoos, has a borderline blackout sleeve on his arm, has been shot on multiple fucking occasions and not to mention-” John does a vague gesture to his entire body. “That. Can’t even take off his 2nd skin with his partner having to chase him around the fucking kitchen.”
Simon just mumbles something.
“What? What was that you big fucking baby?”
“Hurts.”
“Un-fucking-beliavble. You want me to kiss all your bullet wounds now to make them better or are you just going to neglect to tell Price again?”
He rolls his eyes. “That happened one time, Johnny.”
“One time too many, Si. You’re not Rambo or bloody, what's his face in the pilot movie?”
He laughs at that. John couldn’t fucking stand Tom Cruise, something he had gotten from his mother. If the universe saw it fit, he hoped he passed the gene down to whatever offspring he had.
“No one really gets shot in Top Gun. They get shot at.”
“I don’t care. Now sit still.”
He sits down on the bed next to him, letting his fingers start near the mess of the new tattoo. Rubbing the soft skin on his partner’s shoulder, trailing to the new ink. He needs to get some water and a towel first. The first time he had ripped off 2nd skin he scrubbed the floor from the nasty splatter of plasma it had left.
“Hold up, I'll be back. Don’t go anywhere.” He gives him a gentle peck before running to the private bathroom.
There’s some mumbling he doesn’t quite process what Simon has said exactly. He’s just hoping that when he returns there isn’t a cartoon dust trail because his partner has bolted off into the base again. Their bathroom is similar to the room, shampoo and conditioner bottles scattered around. Simon’s clothes on the ground where they’ve slipped from the rail, John’s towel still damp from this morning hanging over the shower rail. Messy but not enough to have the inspectors giving them disapproving looks.
As if anyone would dare to give The Ghost a ‘look’.
He collects his damp towel and finds the vomit bucket they keep. On bad nights he’d rather keep Simon in bed with the bucket than shivering all night on the cold tiles. Plus it played hell on John’s knee sitting there with him. Not to mention Simon’s problematic joints.
They’d only need a small amount of water and some of the military grade soap that they had a supply of. The cheap shit that had no scent. Perfect for removing the 2nd skin. He grabs that as well, chucking it in the bucket.
He misses the soft scent of their soaps back home. A very faint lemon scent from Simon, it reminded John of summer as a kid, eating lemons whole with his siblings as dares. While he had a vanilla body wash because Simon once mentioned it was his favourite.
Gaz’s voice comes back in his head.
Oh he knows it. John knows that he’s utterly hopelessly, head over tits in love with Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley.
He one day hopes to make it Simon ‘Ghost’ MacTavish.
Fuck, he’d have to talk to Simon about that first. Did he want to get married? Besides, would he even want to give up his last name? A friend of his had changed her name to her mother’s maiden name after her wedding, would Simon do that? Would he want to hyphenate it?
There were a lot of questions to ask before the whole possible proposal could happen.
He’d get around to it one day.
John goes back into the room. Simon is still sitting there grumpily, lines formed on his face as he avoids eye contact.
“Shocked, you're still here.”
“Shut the fuck up, Soap.”
He laughs. Kneeling in front of his partner and resisting his head on his thigh. It’s soft under his head, warm and comforting.
“You gonna stop being a sook?”
“You going to stop being a cunt?”
John rolled his eyes. Ever the charmer. He liked Simon like that, the more cuddly and clingy it was it meant he wasn’t doing well. A good day was one where Simon was insistent on pinning John to the ground every time when they were sparring. At least it was hot. Being manhandled by his partner and him sitting on top of his thighs and smirking down at him.
Plus, John always got a kiss.
And if he won, Simon got a kiss. It was a win-win.
While Gaz gagged and Price sighed. If Nik was there he would loudly retell a memory of him and Price when they were younger. Turns out Price was way worse than Simon ever was. Nik was banned from training now, didn’t mean he wouldn’t still talk loudly in the mess hall.
John kisses his thigh gently. Moving up to the mess, smoothing his hand over stomach and pecs. Lingering on the start of the second skin.
“Just get it over with.” Simon huffs.
John starts removing the skin slowly. Simon hisses as he washes the ink off gently, slowly rubbing away the mess and revealing the tattoo. It drips down and stains his trackies.
John blames Heebie for his obsession with saying trackie dacks these days. The Australian never shied away from using slang that sounded like crazy talk. Simon always complained it was like listening to some made up sci-fi language when they spoke.
As if Simon didn’t speak with outlandish Brit slang. And the thick Manc accent that popped up when he was drunk or pissed.
He gives the tat a final wipe over after removing the skin. “There we go.”
“Thanks, love.”
“Was that so bad? Ya big baby, Simon Riley is just a big sooky baby.”
He rolls his eyes and John actually studies the tattoo this time. Very different from the rest of his tattoos, it has softer lines, a more sketchy feel as well as less harsh black shading. Two knives resting together, looking like they were placed down together gently inside of tossed aside.
John recognises it as his own drawing. Something he had sketched out of boredom in the safehouse on the last mission they had gone on together. He had placed his knife with Simon’s to practise drawing something other than the landscapes he loved so much. As well as portraits. Something smaller with more detail he could lean into.
“Si…”
He looks down at the floor, a soft blush creeping up his neck. “I… I know it sounds so fucking dumb. Like super fucking stupid. But I just… wanted something that let me… have you close. I need to stop getting tattoos mid manic episode.”
John looks at the ink. Memorised.
“Please say something before I go crazy.”
“I love it. Yes it’s borderline gross and sappy and fucking gay as hell.”
“Would it surprise you if I told you that I am in fact a gay man.”
John rolls his eyes. They were going to roll out of his head one day.
But the tattoo draws him back. Simon loved him that much he wanted a reminder of John on his body forever. To get something entirely different to all his other tattoos. Something sketchy and not a mess of fire, skulls and military shit. Not that he could talk with the SAS logo and the gun on the back of his neck.
“I love you so much. Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck,” He’s speachless. “I don’t know what to do?”
Simon smiles at him, the blush still faint on his cheeks. “Kiss me?”
And so he does, kissing him hoping that he feels the love and the passion rolling off him in waves. Because it’s making his heart beat faster than it did when a gun would fire too close. When bullets would rain down around them. When Gaz was insistent on wringing John’s neck from hiding the tea again. It’s making his brain spin so fast he’s dizzy.
Simon is just as in love with him as John is. So in true fashion, he needs to one up him. Love was never a competition but John feels that streak from being a younger sibling.
“I want to marry you.” He says into the kiss. “I want you to take my last name, get married in the backyard and I’ll get you a little dog as a wedding present as long as you let me get a cat. I’ll tattoo your name on every inch of my body because of it.”
“Fucking hell, Johnny. Don’t need to outdo me.”
John pulls away and climbs into his lap. Kissing him again, feeling that scar pull on Simon’s face as he smiles.
“You don’t have to marry me. I’ll bend to your will no matter what. Just fuck, you basically got me tattooed on you, that’s my knife, I can see my fucking intials on the handle. Who ever did this needs a fucking raise, this is basically perfect.”
Simon huffs out a laugh, pulling away from the kiss. His arms cross over each other at the back of his neck. Smiling at him so the scar pulls his lip up ever so slightly, showing off the tip of a broken canine.
“Yeah, I gave him a good tip. He did my hip tattoos as well-”
“I think I have to marry him instead now that you’ve said that. They make you the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” He runs his hands up the ink, knowing exactly where they twist and twirl. Twin dragons running up the sides of him breathing black fire onto his partner’s stomach.
“Geez, you really know how to make your fiance feel special don’t you?”
Oh and that makes John’s heart almost leap out of his goddamn chest. Anger also licks at his chest as he groans loudly. Throwing his head back, away from Simon’s lips.
“You cheeky shit. That wasn’t my proposal. I demand a redo, I don’t even got you a ring or some shit. And we’ve never talked about marriage, we have to do that first. No way are we running into it like a headless chook.”
Simon just leans in closer, smirking now. Those brown eyes crinkled up from amusement.
“Nah, no take backs. You said I could get a dog, gotta say yes now cause you won’t let me have one if you redo it.”
“You’re right fucking evil. You eejit. Fuckin’ schemer. If you let me do it again I’ll let you have a bigger dog.”
“A German Sheppard?”
“Not that big.”
“Come on, just a puppy. I’ll train it to bite you and you only.”
“Fuck off you cunt.”
Simon just laughs and kisses him again. His fingers are playing with the ends of John’s hair. He needs to shave the sides again and trim the whole thing. Simon normally does it then keeps a hand on his head for at least an hour. Liking the feeling of the rough hairs on his skin. John just kisses him, they didn’t need to worry about that at this very moment.
“I call Gaz as my best man.” Simon mumbles into his lips.
John laughs, pushing him down into the mattress. “You get Price. I want Gaz.”
“Cause of your big fat crush on him?”
“Says you. I see how you look at König. Want a big strong man to protect you?”
Simon hums in agreement. “Fuck yeah. He’s a whole foot taller than you, he’ll get you to leave me alone real quick. Then I’ll suck his 12 inch cock as a thanks.”
He laughs at that. König would rather die than go anywhere near John in sparring matches. Mainly because John did in fact bite him on one occasion that made Horangi and Gaz lose it laughing. The big guy said he didn’t want to spare with him anymore while Horangi took it as a challenge to see who could get as many bites and illegal moves in before Price caught on.
“Still can’t believe he’s a colonel.”
“Love a man in power.”
John laughs again. Pulling away from the kiss and looking down at his partner. His soft brown eyes are hooded over, still ringed with the grease paint he wears. Scars looking almost invisible in the shitty lighting, just how John likes them.
“I love you. Fuck, I love you so much. My bonnie lad, pretty boy, handsome man.”
“Jesus, save it for the wedding. Keep it tactical sergeant.”
“Speaking of, do you want to take my last name? I know I said I wanted to but it’s okay if you want to have something else.”
Simon smiles again, reaching up to cup his face gently. So soft and caring, his rough hands scrape along John’s stubble. It feels like Heaven.
“I’ve dreamt about being Simon MacTavish since I heard that name.”
“Been doodling that in your diary? On your paperwork?”
“Along with the hearts that have S.R and J.M for ever.”
“With it spelt number 4 E,V,A?”
“Naturally.”
“Gay.”
Simon laughs again.
“I do want to take your name. Leave SImon Riley to rest. He deserves it.”
John smiles, tracing his hand down Simon’s face. Curving when it reaches his chin to tilt his face up. Planting tiny pecks on his thin lips. “He deserves so much more than a rest. He deserves all the love in the world.”
“Hmm sure Johnny. Whatever you say.”
John just kisses him. Ignoring the comment, he’ll never be able to win a fight against Simon’s depression. He just showers him in as much love as he can without Simon getting worried about something else.
They kiss for a bit. Just enjoying the feel of soft lips against one another while Simon plays with his hair. John imagines married life after they leave the military. They could kiss like this as much as they like. Making out in the morning, dancing in the kitchen and kissing, kisses over lunch and sleepy goodnight kisses. Without having to worry about anyone catching them and going to complain to Price who already knows. Recruits loved spreading rumours.
He loved the rumour that Gaz and Price were a thing. That had made Gaz comically gag because that was his father .
“You know.” He pulls away from the kiss, Simon chases after his lips. He fails. “We have to tell Price and Gaz that we’re getting married. After I propose. Actually I need to tell Gaz I’m proposing first. He’ll get pissed off if I don't tell him.”
“He’ll live.”
“I can assure you, he won’t.”
Simon pulls him close again. Biting his lip gently, a sign that he doesn’t want John to be thinking about anything but how they’re having a moment.
“Think Price will get annoyed? He doesn’t like us kissing in front of him, how about a big ol proposal in front of him?”
“Johnny-”
“Come on, it’d be funny as fuck. Nik would love it, wait… do Nik and Price have the same last name?”
“I don’t think they’re even married.”
“Fuck off.”
Simon pushes himself up. Unamused. “I’ve never heard them talk about each other like that, I think it’s more of a long term relationship.”
“You telling me, I’m going to get married before Price is? Oh he’ll fucking blow a gasket.”
“I’m gonna blow one if you don’t get back down here and kiss me more.”
“Blow me. If you’re gonna blow anything.”
“You don’t even like sex.”
John leans down and kisses him softly. Just as Simon has relaxed back into it, he bites his lip, tugging it. Simon grumbles and pinches his ass.
“Yeah but I like you.”
“You love me.”
“Might have to think about that.”
“Oh piss off.”
John sits up, fully prepared to exit the room as a joke. He goes to swing his leg over but Simon moves quicker. He drags him back to his chest and John tries his hardest not to jostle the fresh ink. Quick as a flash, he’s being pinned to the bed, Simon perched on his thighs. Smirking down at him. A sign that John was not going anywhere anytime soon.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“How bout you admit to loving me and I will finally say okay to that re-do proposal.”
“I do that and no dog.”
Simon laughs. “You wouldn’t dare take away my puppy.”
“I might.”
And Simon just smiles and lies down on top of him. Tucking his head under John’s chin, rubbing his head against his stubble. John wraps his arms around him and moves his fingers lightly up and down his back. Drawing in gentle circles, tiny love hearts and their initials. It’s sappy but Simon’s nuzzling his neck with his nose. Something he considered the Simon Riley- soon to be MacTavish- way of a giggle.
“I’m so in love with you.” John says.
“You could never imagine how in love I am.” Simon says back.