Chapter Text
Soap bounced on the balls of his feet as he stood beside his hand me down Imola truck. He had waited for ten minutes since arriving at the station, but got too restless, and needed to stop shaking the truck with his leg shaking and steering wheel tapping.
Moving kept him from freezing, however, as another harsh gale of wind forced him to take a step back. They were due for a snowstorm the coming day, and based on the cold temperatures now, it was going to be nothing less than freezing later.
They were very lucky Simon managed to get his tickets before the bad weather, as no doubt the drive here and back would have been much more treacherous, driving skills aside.
Tucking the bottom half of his face into the scarf around his neck, Soap searched the crowd.
He spotted several people heading onto the next train, some dragging kids along, others holding hands with their partners and close friends. A gaggle of college students rushed past, shouting about times and arguing which station they needed to find. A busker stood in the centre of the platform, strumming an old christmas tune and nodding at people who passed by. John found himself humming along the longer he stood there.
The christmas season never failed to make him feel warm and, for a lack of a better word, merry. However seeing everyone going about their day to day lives with that much more cheer and closeness to each other made the corners of his lips curl up into a smile. He couldn’t wait to share that feeling with Simon, even if the man was neutral about the holiday at best.
A tuft of blonde hair caught his eye from an arriving tram. Standing up straight, the Scot leaned side to side to find it again as it disappeared in the sea of people.
Biting his tongue and cursing, Soap decided to walk a quick lap around. If he saw Simon, he would guide him back to the truck, a much faster plan than waiting for the Brit to find him in the ever growing sea of people.
He nodded to himself and stepped away from the car, tossing a few notes to the busker as he passed. The older man grinned at him, a few teeth missing, and strummed with renewed fervour.
John scanned the group for any signs of tall, dark, and intimidating but found nothing. No uncomfortable men looking emasculated or lustful women trailing after someone they could take home for the holidays. Not even an old gram looking for someone to help her move her luggage.
Frustration began to bubble up in his chest, heating him up further in the cold weather. Soap scowled at the flakes of snow that began to fall.
“Someone shit in your coffee this morning, or are you just especially pissy today?” A recognizable, deep voice asked over his shoulder, causing him to jump and spin around.
His foot slid on a patch of ice and kept slipping, John threw his arms out to catch himself and hopefully prevent another knee injury like the one that took him out of the military, when a pair of ridiculously muscled arms stopped his fall.
Blinking a few times, Soap looked up from the ground where he would’ve fallen and found himself staring up at Simon Riley, in the flesh.
“Simon! You arsehole, I could’ve died!” The Scot cried while smacking the man’s arm, sure that it felt like a bee pricking an elephant with how solid Simon felt under his hand. He tried to suppress his delighted smile, but failed miserably.
The Brit raised an eyebrow, a medical mask hiding the rest of his expression. The tops of his cheeks were a rosy red colour, similar to that of flowers, the cold surprisingly must have had an effect on him. A black hat covered his fluffy blond curls, and hid some of the piercings on the tops of his ears.
“You’re welcome for saving your life then.” He responded in a dry tone, though the corners of his eyes crinkled, no doubt smiling.
“Aye, well you can let me down now, you brute, before we both go spillin’ across the station.” John said, tapping his arms once more.
As if noticing the position they were in for the first time, Simon’s eyes widened, and he stood them up. He practically pushed Soap away and took a step back, one hand reaching for his suitcase and the other latching onto the duffel on his hip.
Soap stared in confusion at the sudden movement, a frown tugging at his lips. He adjusted the scarf around his neck self-consciously, “You alright?”
Ghost nodded, hiking the bag further up his shoulder, “I’m good, just tired is all. Think lifting you up might’ve pulled a muscle in my back.”
Squawking in indignation, Soap reached out and smacked his arm again, “Yeah right, you scrawny bastard. You’d nae be able to lift me with those bean poles ye call arms!”
At their feet, Riley barked in agreement, or perhaps in excitement at the yelling. It was hard to tell, but John liked to think it was the former.
“Och, There’s my favourite Riley! You’re gonna piss on your dad’s boots later, aye? For me?” Soap grinned, chuckling at the excited taps she made, kicking up the snow.
“First you want my room to flood, now you want my dog to piss on my stuff– I think I might have to report you for unsafe working conditions, Soap.” Simon teased.
“Says you, nearly had me crackin’ my skull on the ground not two seconds ago.” Soap rolled his eyes, and reached out a hand, “Let me take your bags if your back hurts that much then, old man.”
Ghost hesitated for a moment before holding out the duffel, letting the other man take it and sling it over his back. Silence hung between them as the Scot tried once more to search his expression for a reason behind the hesitation.
With the mask on, it was frustratingly difficult to spot any tells, even for someone as expressive as Ghost was. The longer he stared without finding anything, the less he was convinced that it was fatigue that was causing him to act so strangely.
A tired Ghost was a grumpy Ghost, not… whatever this was. Soap had never seen him so flustered before.
“Should we get going then? I think security might get mad if we keep loitering.” Ghost suggested, glancing around the station as if to avoid John’s eyes.
Pursing his lips, John nodded, turning in his spot and starting back towards his truck. His thoughts spiralled one after another, different reasonings for Ghost’s odd behaviour rushing to the forefront of his mind.
Perhaps it was the crowd? Simon never liked being in large public spaces, so the station would have been a valid reason for him acting so strange, especially with the holiday crowd. Or it might’ve been such a long trip in a very tight space, like he claimed. John couldn’t imagine it was easy in a cramped cart with Ghost being as tall as he was.
Prodding on his thigh from Riley pulled Soap out of his thoughts, and he hummed questioningly as Simon looked down at him, concerned. The Scot blinked up at him.
“The car…? Are you gonna unlock it or…?” Ghost asked, glancing between him and the Imola, which sat under a growing layer of snow.
Staring at the car for a moment, Soap frowned, before he jumped and fished the keys out of his pocket, “Right! Jesus, Mary and Joseph... Sorry about that, got distracted.”
With the doors unlocked, he pulled the back door open for Riley to jump in. After which, he tossed the duffel in too, resolutely not looking at Simon. The feeling of being watched had the tips of his ears burning, but he was hoping he could play it off as the cold if Ghost asked about it.
“You alright? Didn’t actually crack your head on the ice when you fell, did you?” Ghost asked, voice slightly softer than before.
Soap shook his head, “Right as rain, I am. Now, let's get going before the crowd pins us in until New Years.” He deflected.
Closing the door to the back of the truck, John slid into the driver’s seat. He used the brief moment alone to take a deep breath, rubbing his face to dissipate the concerns about the visit.
If this was how it was starting, how would the rest of it go?
He bit his tongue as the passenger side door opened and glanced over, watching as Simon kicked the snow off of his boots before settling into the seat beside him.
“Still driving this ratty old thing? I thought Gaz told you to sell it after you drove around with the muffler broken for two weeks.” Simon commented, petting Riley’s nose as she leaned over the console separating the two seats.
“Don’t call her ratty, she’s vintage. Besides, I was waiting for an appointment at the shop so that I could take her in. If anyone shouldn’t be driving her it’s you.” Soap retorted, starting the engine and grinning at the sound of the Imola’s smooth rumbling.
“Just because I don’t have a license doesn’t mean I can’t drive.” Simon rolled his eyes.
“Right, it just means that you’ll get in trouble if the cops ever find out. You’re lucky Roach drives you around so often.”
Glancing back, they pulled out of the station, finding their way back to the main road and towards Soap’s flat.
“Is there anywhere you need to stop by before the storm hits? It's gonna be a nasty one, so if there’s anything you want, say so now or forever hold your piece.” Soap commented, sneaking a quick look over at Simon.
“Do you need to get anything? I have everything I need in my bag. Maybe some food for Riley, but that’s pretty much it.”
“Hmm, never thought about Riley…” Soap hummed before switching lanes, “We’ll stop by the pet store, I think Thistle might need a new hair brush anyways.”
Simon looked over at him with a raised eyebrow, “What happened to the last one?”
“The rubber bits of the handle melted.” John cringed.
“Sunshine… what the fuck…?” The other man whispered before breaking into laughter, making Soap smile in return, despite his face burning from embarrassment.
“Look– it was an accident! I left it next to the burner and got distracted– it's not even that bad!”
“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny, you’re gonna burn down your flat one day. What were you even distracted by that was more important than your cat?” Ghost leaned closer, watching in amusement as Soap’s shoulders hiked up.
John would absolutely not admit that it was one of Simon’s videos that had him spirited away, he would never hear the end of it, and the man didn’t need another boost to his ego.
“Just some stupid video on beekeeping, I think. Can’t even remember at this point.” He lied, signalling before turning into a parking lot.
“Beekeeping? You live in a city, Johnny, I don’t think you’ll be keeping insects in your flat.” Simon clicked his seatbelt while chuckling, glancing back at Riley.
“I know, I know! It was just something dumb that caught my attention, was all. Either way, I should probably pick up a new one.”
With the car parked and Riley’s leash clipped onto Simon’s belt, the two unloaded from the truck, sticking close together as the snow pelted their faces.
Luckily for Johnny, Simon’s tall self blocked the majority of the snow and wind, and so he huddled behind the man, pushing him forwards and through the door. An automatic bell sounded in the small shop, the tired looking store clerk paused their scrolling on their phone to glance up at them before looking back down, disinterested.
Riley shook the snow out of her coat and looked at the two of them, tail swishing side to side.
“Alright, dog food should be down this aisle, I think…” Soap forged ahead, glancing at the different items on the shelves as they made their way to the back of the store. He didn’t typically peruse this part of the store, but knew that dog items were somewhere back here. One year for Christmas he had bought a collar for Riley from the same place, although that was years prior, and it seemed as though the store layout had changed quite a lot in that time.
“I think I see it… aha.” Simon reached up and tugged a bag down from the upper shelf. His jacket and shirt rode up, revealing a small sliver of pale hair, and the faded ink of an old tattoo.
Soap found his gaze flickering back to it before he resolutely looked away. It seemed as though a pair of people further down the aisle had also witnessed the little slip, looking much more interested in their presence.
One of them, a dark haired man in a long coat, stared at Simon, eyes half-lidded in some poor approximation of bedroom eyes. The other, a much shorter, mousy looking girl, made her appreciation much less subtle, with a flirtatious bite of her lip and a wink when Ghost looked over at them.
Distaste curled in Johnny’s gut. They were ogling him, had no respect for his privacy at all by the way they practically screamed fuck me.
Ghost already had problems with being out in public, he shouldn’t have to deal with two slags that couldn’t take Simon’s flustered step away as an answer. Riley stood at her owner’s side, staring up at him.
One of them wolf-whistled and Soap rounded on them, “Fuck off, he’s not interested.” He growled. Ghost stiffened beside him and Riley’s ears perked up, her face tucked against the man’s thigh.
The two strangers had the decency to look surprised, the man’s dark coloured eyes widening as he tugged on the woman’s arm. “Sorry! Our bad. Have a wonderful Christmas!” He apologised in a nervous tone, steering her away from the pair of them.
Soap didn’t take his eyes off them until they left their row, their hushed whispers fading away the further they got. Serves them right for being creeps.
“Johnny, what the fuck was that?” Ghost’s voice questioned, and as the Scot turned around, his furrowed brow made John shrink back.
Their surroundings filtered back in once the red haze left his vision. They were in a pet store for Christ’s sake, and Soap just made a scene in front of two strangers. He’d be lucky if they didn’t recognise him and make some sort of scandal out of everything.
He shrugged, glancing at the bags of dog food that lined the walls, desperate to avoid Ghost’s stare, “It was nothing, they were being weird so I told them to bugger off. That’s it.”
Soap glanced up at him, only to see a hint of amusement in his tree bark coloured eyes. His shoulders lowered marginally in trepidation.
“You nearly had that man pissing himself.” Simon chuckled, shaking his head.
“Yeah, well, they were being cunts.” Soap rubbed the back of his neck, shoulders slumping in relief before he pivoted, resuming their journey to the cat aisle. He wanted to put the whole ordeal behind them, slightly embarrassed at his over-reaction.
The bag of dog food rustled on Simon’s hip as the Brit caught up, “You didn’t have to do that, I’m sure they were harmless.”
Soap frowned, anger bubbling back up. Even though he overreacted, it didn’t mean that it wasn’t for a valid reason. “That doesn’t mean they can just–”
“I know, Johnny, thank you. I appreciate it, truly.” Ghost interrupted, voice gone soft again.
John risked another look at the man and found a terribly fond look in his eyes, the corners crinkled in a smile.
Ears catching fire once more, Soap shook his head, “It was no problem, Simon, really. Would do it again just to see the look on their smarmy little faces.”
The other man’s brows raised, “Smarmy? I thought they looked… fine.”
“They looked great, aye, but that doesn’t distract from them watching you like a cat watchin’ a mouse, hoping fer a meal.”
Simon hummed in thought, leaning back and putting space in between them again. Soap mourned the proximity before he spotted the maine coon photo that signalled the cat section.
“Lets just grab our stuff and go. Thistle probably has the place torn to shreds by now.” He said, tugging the cuff of Simon’s jacket to pull him towards their destination.
-*-
Simon stared at the fast food carton in front of him, lost in thought. Across the kitchen, pulling drinks out of the fridge, stood the issue that was plaguing his mind.
Johnny.
But more specifically, Johnny in a Christmas jumper.
Despite the… tense moment in the pet store, things had run smoothly afterwards, and they were able to pay for their items without incident. Simon managed to convince Soap to get Thistle some catnip as well, in case the weather had her on edge.
When they got back to Soap’s flat and Ghost had placed his things in the guest room, arose the problem.
Johnny had gotten changed out of his snow-logged clothing, after much complaining about the cold weather, and into some much more festive clothing.
The shorts were enough to make Ghost’s hands clammy with sweat, revealing toned, tanned, thick haired legs that he dreamt of running his hands over, of slotting in between when laying in bed together, early morning sun creeping through curtains. His ass had Simon’s eyes pinned to the floor for fear of his face spontaneously combusting. But the jumper.
Red with white lettering and a knitted pattern on the cuffs, read ‘Jingle my bells, and I’ll show you a white Christmas.’
It's not as if Johnny hadn’t worn scandalous or obscene clothing while around Ghost in the past, Hell, sometimes they video called just as the Scot got back from the gym, and the man would be stripping out of a sweat-soaked work out tee while talking about video statistics.
However it was the knowledge of knowing how he felt, of imagining how it would be like to, as the shirt crudely put it, jingle his bells, that had him near squirming in his seat.
Ghost wanted to see all of Johnny. Be pressed up against each other in the night, curled up under Johnny’s chin in the early waking hours. The jumper was a cruel taunt at what he couldn’t-- wouldn’t ever have.
“I think this is a pull off one.” Soap said, voice suddenly much closer, and Simon nearly dropped the carton as his head shot up.
“What?” He blinked, before his eyes focused on the bottle being held out in front of him.
The Scot raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, “The beer? It's one ya twist off, don’t need a bottle opener.” He shook the proffered drink, “You wanted one, right? I might have some soda leftover too.”
“Right– no, yeah. Thanks…” Simon bit his tongue and took the drink, twisting the cap off.
Soap watched him with an air of confusion for a moment longer before turning to swipe his own food from the kitchen counter, “I was thinking we chill tonight, you can catch up on some sleep, and then tomorrow you can tell me what Price let you plan for the charity event?”
Ghost sat up as the other man took a seat next to him on the couch, scooting across to leave some idea of space. His gaze trailed up his long legs before glancing down at his fork.
“I… don’t think I can reveal everything, just because you might end up doing some and I want to keep it a bit of a surprise, but I can tell you that you might want to bring a toothbrush, mouthwash and spit bucket.” He hinted, shovelling a forkful of food into his food.
Work talk was good. It was safe. Ghost didn’t have to worry about confessing his love for the man when talking about nasty MREs they were going to have to eat in a few days.
“Spittin’s for quitters, I’ll swallow whatever disgusting shit you give me, y’know that.” Soap knocked his elbow into Ghost’s, smirking.
Ghost choked on his mouthful, turning away from Johnny as he coughed, rubbing his chest. He felt his cheeks turn bright red, the tips of his ears burning.
“Jesus Christ, you alright, Simon?” Soap asked, patting his back as he continued coughing.
Clearing his throat, Simon nodded, hoping his red face could be written off by his choking.
“Are you sure? Here, take a sip.” Concern coloured Soap’s voice, and half a second later his beer was held in front of him.
Taking greedy chugs from the bottle, Simon cleared his throat a final time, croaking out, “Sorry– think I ate too fast. What were you saying?”
“Nothing, good Lord. Have more of your beer before you choke to death.” Soap kept his hand on Simon’s back, not quite patting anymore but drawing slow circles as if comforting a child.
Simon didn’t ask him to move it, or remind him of its existence on his back, chalking it up to surviving a near death experience and needing the comfort.
Riley watched the two of them from her spot beside Thistle on the armchair, paws braced on the floor and ready to jump down. Simon shook his head at her, mumbling a rough, “I’m alright girl.”
Ghost felt Johnny’s eyes on his profile for a handful of seconds before he picked up his phone at his side. The TV illuminated a moment later, switching through some streaming services before falling onto one, the Christmas selection appearing.
“A Christmas movie?” Simon questioned, glancing over at Soap.
“Oh, not just a Christmas movie, Si. A Hallmark Christmas classic.” The other man grinned, selecting the first film that showed a couple dressed in red and green in front of a fireplace.
“Christmas in Kansas…? Why the fuck would that be any different compared to anywhere else?” Simon grumbled, looking down at his carton, the hand on his back a hot brand, singing his skin.
“Oh it won’t be, in fact, I’m hoping it's just like the other thousand movies they’ve made.” Soap snickered, kicking his feet up on the edge of the couch, leaning further towards Simon. He felt the heat radiating off of him, like Venus orbiting too close to the Sun.
Swallowing heavily, Ghost set his food aside, not quite as hungry, mouth dry from being so close to the other man. As the title credits started to play, he tried his best to imitate a statue and stay stock still, which quickly grew tiring. He found himself drifting towards his friend, subconsciously drawn in by not only his warmth, but likely the divot in the loveseat as well.
How many of his daydreams featured them exactly as they were at that moment? Curled up to each other’s sides, watching a feature on the television as Riley and Thistle snuggled up alongside them.
They were shoulder to shoulder, nearly hip to hip when Johnny leant forward to dispose of his carton on the coffee table, taking his body heat with him.
The cold extinguished any sense of warmth that Simon felt, but the cold helped sober him as to what was happening. He couldn’t take advantage of Soap’s personal space like that, friends did, sure. But when Simon had gone and fallen in love with him, he had forsworn any casual touches. It felt dirty to enjoy them when he got more out of it than Johnny did.
He placed too much stock in his daydreams and didn’t consider the universal truth; that Soap simply wasn’t interested. Especially in him.
Ghost took the opportunity to move himself further down the couch, disguised as merely adjusting his posture. He kept his eyes focused on the lead couple’s romantic dance in a snow covered garden, but he still felt Johnny’s eyes on him, searching.
“Why is their garden the only one that's got snow on it?” Ghost asked, in a pitiful attempt to pull Soap’s attention away from himself. Guessing by the small hum the man let out, he wasn’t successful.
“You alright, Si?” Johnny questioned, repeating his query from earlier in the day.
“Just tired, Sunshine, promise.” Ghost silently begged the man to drop the line of questioning.
“You’d tell me if something was wrong though, right?” He asked, voice more hesitant.
Frowning to himself, Simon turned and looked at the other man, taking in the worried furrow of his brow, and the way his hands picked at each other. Guilt weighed like a heavy stone in his gut. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid.
“You’d be the first to know, Johnny.” Ghost lied, and nudged his shoulder. The small smile he got in return made him bite his tongue.
He turned to face the TV screen once more, swallowing down the truth that threatened to leap from his throat.