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Ghost didn’t like being on leave.
He didn’t have a purpose outside of the battlefield. He didn’t have any family, any friends. All of his hobbies were ones that he preferred to do in solitary, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still lonely. He had found an unspeakable companionship with the other members of the 1-4-1, a bond forming in an almost palatable way between them.
Ghost would never admit it to any of them, obviously. But he missed them. Price's familiar stubborn, almost father figure-like presence. One Ghost had been around for a long time already. Gaz of course, who was a package deal with Price at this point. The two of them didn’t speak often, but Ghost heard many retellings of their rescuing Laswell and how Gaz had fought AQ soldiers off while hanging upside down from a goddamn helicopter. Alejandro and Rudy, two ally’s that fell into Ghost's life unsuspectingly, but quickly became staples to him. He’d go to hell and back for those two, that’s for sure.
And then there was him.
He often found his fingers hovering over the call button gracing one particular number, but could never bring himself to actually commit. He wasn’t sure why. He wanted to, so badly, to call and pray for the line to pick up. To talk about what exactly, he wasn’t sure. He just wanted to hear his voice.
Which is probably why he found himself staring at the front of his door, fist hesitating– hovering. Not knocking yet. Ass deep in Scotland, surrounded by unfamiliar houses and flats– cool air chilling his body through his hoodie.
He took a deep breath and sighed, finally allowing his fist to come down in three short raps against the door. He heard cursing– something falling, someone scrambling– before the door swung open.
His heart skipped a beat.
“ Ghost? ” The man asked incredulously, and Ghost hadn’t realized the tension he had been holding in his entire body since the last time he saw his face. It relaxed out of his shoulders, his back, and he suppressed the smile that risked crossing his features despite his mask still covering them.
“Johnny.” Ghost responded, quirking an eyebrow at the Scots appearance. He wasn’t wearing anything other than loose fitting sweats that hung dangerously low on his hips, and Ghost couldn’t help but let his eyes trail down Johnny’s body in approval. The amount of time he spent in the gym and just training in general was obvious, and Ghost liked himself a man that looked like he could pin him down with ease.
His gaze slid back up slowly, lingering on the scar from the bullet that had once been lodged in Johnny’s upper arm.
That was the day everything had changed for Ghost. He had been in denial of it for a while, but now— hungrily devouring Johnny’s body as he undressed him the rest of the way with his eyes— he realized how much he had been empty without Johnny’s presence these last few weeks.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop by. “
“Taking a casual stroll through Scotland, were you?”
“I suppose.” He responded, shoving his bare hands into the front pocket of his hoodie.
“Right. Take a picture, L.t. It’ll last longer.” Johnny taunted. Ghost averted his eyes, looking to the space behind him. Johnny’s home.
“You gonna invite me in?”
“Is that an order, Lieutenant?”
Ghost shook his head. “Not your superior. Not right now. Just a request. From… a friend.”
Johnny stepped aside, barely leaving Ghost enough space to squeeze through. “Well, c’mon then.”
Ghost crossed the doorway, his sleeve brushing against the skin on Johnny’s bare chest. It was cozy inside his apartment— small but Johnny utilized the space well with his choice of decor. Warm lighting brightening the room as well as the smell of whatever Johnny had cooking on the stove. Ghost lowered his hood off the top of his head— but kept his balaclava securely on.
“Sit down. Make yourself at home.” Johnny gestured to the large couch sprawling across the center of the living room. He patted back over to the kitchen, gripping the spoon sitting next to the pot and stirring. “You hungry?”
Ghost shrugged, settling himself down on the impossibly soft cushions. “Depends what you’re making. And if it’s edible.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Johnny feigned offense.
“Something tells me your cooking is… volatile at best.” Ghost was just fucking with him, like he normally did. It smelled delicious, and Ghost’s stomach growled in protest.
“Guess we’ll have to find out, eh, L.t.?”
“Poison me, and I’ll kill you slowly.”
“Bet you’d like that.” Johnny responded, his voice dropping to a low growl.
Ghost’s fingers twitched against his leg. He didn’t look back at the other man while he busied himself in the kitchen, instead choosing to study the space around him. Soft music was playing from a set of speakers that straddled the large TV mounted to the wall, and the almost romantic feeling of the setting stirred something deep inside Ghost every time he caught a glimpse of Johnny’s bare skin out of the corner of his eye.
After a few minutes, Johnny walked over and held out one of the two bowls he had in either hand.
“Enjoy. I made plenty. No poison.” Ghost grabbed the bowl, pulling it close to his face and inhaling the steam billowing out.
“Mac and cheese?” Ghost raised an eyebrow at Johnny again as he plopped down directly next to him.
“What? It’s easy to make and down right delicious.”
“Whatever you say, Sergeant.” He responded, taking another deep breath of the noodles.
“Try it, and tell me I’m wrong.” Johnny challenged, shoving a large forkful of his own into his mouth. Ghost just rolled his eyes, using his free hand to push the bottom of his balaclava up to his nose.
“Still on with that mask?” Johnny spoke around his food.
“More comfortable with it on.”
“And the makeup?”
“Same deal.” Ghost would never admit it was because he liked the way he looked with it on, especially now with it just smudged messily around his upper and lower lids. Bringing his own fork up to his mouth, he blew on it in an attempt to cool it off, trying to ignore the way Johnny’s eyes lingered on his lips when he did so.
“Well?” Johnny pressed as Ghost swallowed down his first bite. He looked at him, humor glinting in his eyes.
“It’s alright.” He lied, quickly spooning another forkful into his mouth. Johnny laughed, hard, and the sound made Ghost’s heart stutter.
“If you think that’s alright, just wait until you try my beef stew. That’ll convince you.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Do you want it to be?”
Ghost didn’t respond, just stared at him.
“What were you doing after I knocked? It sounded like you were fighting something.” He finally said, and Johnny looked a little ashamed.
“Ah, well. I didn’t know who was at the door and I was about to–” He stopped, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.
“About to what?”
Johnny rolled his eyes and propped himself up on the couch with his knees– leaning over the back and reaching down behind it. Ghost watched with interest in the way the muscles in his back stretched, his mouth beginning to water from something other than the food. Johnny pulled back up with a clear bong, already packed with the neck filled with ice.
“Really, Johnny?” Ghost barked out a laugh.
“What? It’s better than drinking all the damn time.”
“I won’t fault you on that.”
Johnny fiddled with the lighter in one hand, almost seeming nervous.
“Do you wanna…?” He trailed off, looking at Ghost expectedly.
“You want me to smoke with you?” Ghost responded incredulously, sitting his now empty bowl down on the coffee table in front of them.
“Why not? You have anywhere better you have to be?” Ghost shook his head. Johnny grinned in response. “You’ve smoked before, yeah?”
Once again, Ghost just stared. Johnny gasped with overexaggerated shock.
“Aye, I can’t believe it. Simon Riley’s never gotten high before, and I’m about to pop that cherry.” He said, almost giddy. “Gaz is going to shit himself.”
“The amount of war crimes I will commit against you will leave the U.N. reeling if you tell anyone about this.”
Johnny cackled. “I’m starting to think you just want to tie me up, L.t.” And the thought of that left Ghost reeling instead.
—
His arms were both slung over the back of the couch, Johnny’s back tucked against Ghost's side with his legs sprawled out over the remaining couch. He wasn’t really sure when they had gotten into that position, but it didn’t surprise him that Johnny was a cuddler. He had his head leaned back against the cushions while Johnny chatted excitedly about… whatever it was that was interesting to him at that moment.
It was nice. Whether it be the weed or Johnny’s warmth, it was the most comfortable and safe Ghost had felt in a very long time.
The air around them was just slightly hazy from smoke, and Ghost found himself squinting at the ceiling– making shapes out of the textured plaster. He was stuffed, the two of them easily demolishing the remaining mac and cheese. All of the bullshit about getting the munchies was real.
They stayed like that for a while, Ghost absorbing every word Johnny had to say as he allowed himself to sink comfortably into his own high, further and further. He understood why Johnny picked this habit over drinking. It was certainly more gentle, and relaxing. Less on the liver, too. It was profoundly comforting, just sitting here with him as their bodies softened further and further against each other. No talk about plans, or missions, or raids. They weren’t Lieutenant Riley and Sergeant MacTavish, not right now. Just Ghost and Soap.
Simon and Johnny.
“You have a nice smile.” Johnny said suddenly, his fingertips dancing across Ghost’s jawline. He hadn’t even realized he was smiling, but apparently he was. Johnny was looking up at him through his eyelashes, his head practically resting on Ghost's chest now. His lids were slightly lowered from his high, and the sultry look it gave him while he stared at Ghost’s half exposed face was almost too much for him to handle. He reached one hand down to stroke his fingers through the hair that made up Johnny’s mohawk, and Johnny’s eyes fluttered shut and he practically purred at the motion.
“That feels nice,” Johnny moaned a sigh, causing Ghost’s fingers to tighten around his hair, yanking his head further back slightly. Johnny glanced back up at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I have an idea.”
“Oh?”
Johnny jerked up, the cool air replacing his warm skin against Ghost causing him to frown. He grabbed the bong and lighter off the table, poised to take another hit before he paused, glancing over at Ghost once more.
“Do you trust me?” He asked seriously, a faint blush forming across his cheekbones. Ghost nodded, not trusting his own voice in this moment. Johnny’s face broke out into that familiar wide grin before he leaned down, clicking the lighter on.
The sight of Johnny’s mouth against the opening of the neck of the bong, even though it wasn’t the first time he had seen it that night, almost had Ghost unravel right then and there.
Johnny inhaled deeply, pursing his lips– but didn’t exhale. Ghost's stomach flipped in sweet anxiety and anticipation when Johnny pulled one of his knees under him against the seat of the couch, rising up to practically tower over Ghost. He leaned down, grasping Ghost's face with both hands, one of his thumbs brushing against Ghost’s lower lip in a silent request.
Ghost’s lips parted, and he almost whimpered when Johnny’s thumb slid between them– hooking against his bottom front teeth and opening his mouth a little further until he was satisfied.
Ghost froze in his seat, eyes wide as Johnny leaned down slowly– carefully, giving Ghost time to escape if he needed it.
He needed it, but not in the way one would think. It was taking every single ounce of self control Ghost could muster up through his foggy mind to not grab Johnny by the hips and force him to straddle his own waist, and ravish him until he was begging for mercy.
Then Johnny’s lips barely- just barely brushed across Ghost’s as he opened his own mouth and gently exhaled.
Ghost caught on quickly, a small amount of smoke slithering up his face as he inhaled against Johnny’s mouth– pulling his breath deep into his lungs. His heart was pounding now, but not from the lack of clean oxygen.
Self control be damned, the way Johnny was watching his mouth so intently was sending him into a frenzy.
He reached over, his gaze locked on Johnny’s face and grabbed his hips with both hands– yanking him over his own body and forcing his waist in between Johnny’s knees. Johnny’s flesh burned hot against Ghost’s grip– and he was sure how tightly his fingers were digging into his skin that they would leave marks.
The idea of seeing Johnny’s skin bruised and marked, not from battle– but from Ghost – made him absolutely feral. He ducked his head down, forcing Johnny’s chin up as he started peppering kisses along his throat. Nipping, biting, sucking small hickies all over. Johnny writhed on top of him, gasping, his fists balling the front of Ghost’s hoodie up.
“Fuck– Ghost–” Johnny moaned, and Ghost growled in response, licking Johnny’s neck.
“ What’s my name?” He asked threateningly, pulling Johnny’s hips down against him– grinding his crotch up.
“ Simon. ” Johnny groaned, and Ghost shuddered. He reached up, roughly yanking his balaclava off the rest of the way and throwing it away from them. Johnny’s hands slid up and twisted through Ghost’s hair– and their lips crashed together unceremoniously. The noises Johnny made into his mouth when Ghost’s tongue slid past his lips were his undoing. They sunk into each other, desperate, touch-starved– starved for each other.
The way Johnny moaned and gasped against Ghost’s touch– rough and demanding, desperate– trapped him, and he knew he’d never be strong enough to be away from the man ever again. Or keep his hands off, for that matter.
He was okay with that. More than okay. Happy.