Archive of Our Own

Ghost knows that the 141 is full of people not strictly human. It’s not a requirement to join, just look at Gaz, who is so purely human that he got mocked and ridiculed for it. Not that he cares, he hits just as hard as the next person. Ghost himself has puca blood, from his grandfather, but the only benefit he’s gotten from it is his very slightly heightened senses. He can see better in the dark than a regular human, though not as good as say a vampire, he has a better sense of smell, though not to the level of a werewolf, and his hearing is better, but not to the extent of a wendigo.

It goes unsaid, for the most part. Don’t ask, don’t tell applies to more than just sexuality, and the 141 have been around the block enough that everyone knows better. Gaz is an exception, because the man walked into the mess on his first day and announced at the top of his lungs that yes, he’s fully human and he could still kick anyone’s ass, just try him!

Nobody tried him.

Still, they’ve gone through shit together and sometimes things slip out, just mentioned in passing. Ghost complained about the smell of the latrine from the yard once, and Soap just raised his eyebrows. He didn’t ask, despite being an absolute shithead. Later, in training, Ghost had forgotten his sunglasses and the sun was just a touch too bright for his eyes, giving him the start of a truly impressive headache, and Soap passed him his own sunglasses without a word. Ghost took them, mostly because he didn’t want anyone else to pay enough attention to figure out that he was a dumbass who forgot his sunglasses.

So, no, he never told anyone that he’s part puca, but they’ve all put together clues about the others, and no one wants to breach the trust by actually talking about it. Price is part some higher-power something, like fae or Sidhe, but far enough back that he doesn’t have the fancy glamour shit. König is absolutely part troll or ogre or orc or something huge like that, there’s no reason he would be so utterly massive otherwise. Alejandro is likely some kind of forest creature, based on the fact that the man cannot get lost, no matter what.

Ghost doesn’t know for sure, and he doesn’t ask, and he doesn’t go researching supernatural beasts to figure it out. He knows Alejandro is interested in this stuff, constantly looking things up online when they’re at base, but he never says anything to anyone else. Soap, for his part, doesn’t seem to care either, just smiling and pretending like the little things aren’t adding up to something not-quite human.

Soap has some selkie blood. Ghost only knows this because the man told him straight-up after a mission where Ghost was positive that Soap was going to drown. Ghost has never been more terrified in his life, and he refuses to acknowledge that fact, instead getting angry when Soap’s head breaks the surface of the water, because how dare he be alive when Ghost was just having a mental funeral for him?!

“Fucking Christ, Johnny,” he breathes, when they get back to base. “You were under for five minutes.”

“Aye, got stuck under for a bit, yeah?” There’s absolutely no way for him to know, for him to see, since Ghost is always wearing his mask, but Soap turns a smile his way. “Dinnae worry about me, LT. I’m selkie, so nae danger of drownin’.”

And that was that. Ghost now knows. It’s not a big deal. He doesn’t tell anyone, he doesn’t even think about it again. It’s just another fact about the sergeant. He’s got his stupid mohawk, his stupid smirk, his stupid accent, and he’s part-selkie. It’s just part of the deal of the 141. Most everyone’s not entirely human, and nobody cares. It just makes them better at their jobs.

As things progress with their missions and the infamy of the 141, they start gathering more people to join. Because of the influx of newbies, Ghost and Soap are to share a room. The order comes from above, and so Ghost moves his meager belongings into the room with Soap. He doesn’t mind, doesn’t care, other than the fact that Soap has prepared for this inevitability by leaving all his shit across the room without a fucking care.

“Didn’t know you were such a fuckin’ mess, Johnny,” Ghost complains when he enters the room.

“Sorry!” Soap sounds sorry not at all. He’s digging around his trunk and when he looks up, eyes darting around the room, he winces. “I’ve been hoachin’ for my coat and forgot tae clean up.”

“English,” Ghost reminds him, smirking at the exasperated eye roll from the sergeant.

“You heard me,” Soap mutters. He gets to his feet and moves to one of the beds, tossing his coat on the mattress and grabbing all the other clothes into his arms. He deposits the mess on his own bed and starts folding, putting things away absently. Ghost walks to his new bed, dropping his duffle. He doesn’t have much, so moving in takes mere minutes.

“Forgot your coat,” Ghost says, picking it up to hand it to Soap without looking. The fabric is soft, grey, and feels like silk in his hands, but it is obviously not silk. It’s gorgeous, and Ghost wonders who gave such a beautiful coat to Soap, because it’s not something he would buy for himself. He realizes, belatedly, that Soap hasn’t taken the coat from his outstretched hand. He turns to see the man staring at Ghost’s hand on the coat with big eyes. Slowly, the smuggest, most self-satisfied grin spreads across Soap’s face.

“An’ here Maw said it would ne’er happen.”

Ghost has no idea what’s going on.

“Didn’t think you liked me that much, Ghost.”

And Ghost is still just holding the coat out, waiting for Soap to take it back.

“Cannae say I’m mad, though.”

“What are you on about?” Ghost asked.

“Ye’ve got mah coat. We’re married now.”

“What?”

“Ghost, I told you I’m selkie. You know about selkies, right?”

Ghost now realizes his error. When Soap initially told him he was selkie, Ghost assumed there was an unspoken “part” at the beginning.

“But… wait, I didn’t…”

Soap laughs and gently pushes the coat back into Ghost’s arms. “Wait ‘til I tell Nana. She’s gonna be so excited.”

“We can’t be married,” Ghost insists.

“Ye’ve got no choice. Ye’ve got mah coat.”

“So take it back!”

“Ah cannae do that!”

“Why not?”

“You don’t want to be married to me?” Soap asks. There’s no sadness or disappointment in his voice, just genuine curiosity, but Ghost can see his eyes. Soap can lie with his words and his body language, but Ghost sees right through him, because his eyes never lie. And Soap, for some absurd reason, desperately wants to be married to Ghost.

“You want to be married to me?” He retorts, utterly flabbergasted.

Now Soap gets abashed, ears turning red as he looks at the floor. “Ah dinnae ken,” he mutters.

“English, Johnny,” Ghost replies, the admonishment automatic on his tongue. “Price’ll never let this stand, no matter what I might want.”

Something Ghost said makes Soap light the fuck up. He grins so brightly and Ghost’s gut clenches when he sees it. Ghost isn’t sure what he said to give the man hope, since he just directly stated this “marriage,” which isn’t real, no matter what Soap says, is not going to be upheld by anyone with authority.

“Rules are rules,” Price says with a shrug.

Soap is practically preening at Ghost’s side, smug and confident and annoying. Ghost still has Soap’s coat in his arms, because for some reason he didn’t want to put it down. And it has nothing to do with the fact that he doesn’t want anyone else to potentially pick it up.

“What? We’re of different ranks on the same team,” Ghost points out.

“And you know that supernatural rules supersede human rules. Magic and all that.” Price seems so unbothered and unconcerned that Ghost wonders if the man knew this was going to happen. “Soap is a selkie, and they’re bound to marry whomever has their coat. You’ve got his coat in your hands right now. Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“But… legally…”

“Supernatural marriages are considered legal, you just have to submit some paperwork to the local courts.” Price isn’t even looking at them anymore, digging through his desk. He pulls out a small stack of papers. “Here. Shouldn’t take long to fill out.”

Soap takes the papers with a bright grin.

“This is… what?” Ghost is just dumbfounded that he seems to be the only person concerned by the fact that merely holding a coat means he and Soap have to get married.

“Congratulations to the happy couple. Now get out of my office.”

What’s most surprising about the declaration is how little everything changes after that. As soon as they leave Price’s office, Ghost takes the coat, which Soap adamantly refuses to even look at, let alone touch, and locks it in his trunk. He doesn’t have too many personal things, but he’s not going to let anyone else even think about having anything to do with the coat. But he seems to be the only one caring about this shit. Price is still no-nonsense, Gaz still has that chip about being the only human, Alejandro is still weird, König is still huge, and Soap is still… Soap.

“LT, forgot your sunglasses.” Soap hands over Ghost’s sunglasses, having arrived to their training session late. Ghost doesn’t know why his face heats up, but at the very least his mask disguises it. He also doesn’t demand that Soap run laps for being late, though he normally would, just on principle. The fact that no one says anything about that tells Ghost he’s been soft on Soap for a long time.

“Hey, saved you a spot.” Soap shifts over to reveal the seat right next to him in the mess. Ghost sits there, because it’s a spot, and also he knows that he tends to sit next to Soap anyway. Nobody even looks at them sideways. In fact, Alejandro has been suspiciously quiet about the whole thing. And that’s when Ghost realizes that Soap hasn’t told anyone.

“What are you on about?” He demands, all but dragging Soap back to their room after lunch.

Soap, damn him, looks confused. “What?”

“You’re the reason we’re married and you’re all happy about it and yet you haven’t told anyone?” And yes, maybe his tone is harsh, but he’s just so baffled. The whole selkie thing is… weird, but then the fact that they’re technically married, and Soap seemed so excited about the prospect, but now he hasn’t said a word or bragged or anything.

“You don’t want to be, though.” Soap’s response cuts through Ghost, and he feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

“It’s… that’s not… I…”

Soap just looks at him, patient and calm, and it’s infuriating that he can be so relaxed about this.

“I’m not the marrying type,” is the answer Ghost settles on.

“Dinnae agree with you there, Ghost.” Soap’s eyes trail down Ghost’s body in a way that makes his gut twist and his face heat up.

“You know what I mean.”

“I know you think you don’t deserve to be married, which isn’t the same thing.”

Ghost wears a mask for the purpose of being invisible, of keeping Simon Riley dead, of not getting too close to other people. And here’s John, just seeing Simon, as if that’s not terrifying and actually kind of nice. He has to distract the man before he runs away screaming when he sees too much of Simon.

“Look, we’re either married or we’re not. You decide. Your coat is in my trunk.”

Ghost doesn’t tell him the combination to get into the trunk because he knows John can figure it out on his own. John leans forward, into Ghost’s space, and kisses him. It’s awkward and weird and the mask makes things uncomfortable, so Ghost leans back a bit, yanks his mask up just enough, and drags John back to him.

Heat fills his gut, a need that Ghost hasn’t felt in so long that he almost thinks he’s imagining it. But then a soft noise emerges from John’s throat and the heat burns brighter, hotter, and Ghost is fucked. Ghost stumbles backwards, dragging John with him until his back is to the wall, hands digging into John’s hips. John chuckles but keeps kissing him, bracing his hands on the wall beside Ghost’s shoulders.

Ghost loses track of time, feeling light-headed from the kiss, his body on fire just from that simple contact, because John keeps their bodies firmly separated. The little noises coming from John send little electric tingles through Ghost, need and want and desperation burrowing so deep in him that he’s going mad with it. Ghost can’t breathe and he’ll literally murder anyone who tries to separate the two of them. John’s tongue sweeps past his lips and Ghost all but whimpers. The contact, the affection, the desire… it’s all too much for his poor brain.

“You deserve happiness,” John tells him, pulling back to stare into his eyes. Ghost feels seen and understood and he fucking hates it. “Now, I’ve got sparring with Alejandro. He thinks he can beat me in hand-to-hand again. You decide if you want this or not. If the coat’s on my bed tonight, I’ll stop bothering you.”

John gently adjusts Ghost’s mask so it’s back in place with a soft smile. He then leaves without another word, shutting the door carefully behind him. Fucking prick. Ghost sags against the wall, unable to keep himself upright any longer. He hasn’t felt this strongly about anyone ever and here’s John, just being so patient and kind and affectionate and Ghost cannot handle it. 

Ghost keeps the coat locked in his trunk, because he’s not a fucking idiot. John’s smile when they go to bed that night is worth it.

After that, things still don’t change. Well, mostly. John is more affectionate in public. Not kissing or hand-holding or any of that nonsense, but just gentle touches here or there, regardless of who might be looking. And, really, the most telling part of that little fact is that nobody says anything. Apparently, seeing John put a hand on Ghost’s arm while telling a story at lunch is normal. And the times when John gets his arm around the back of Ghost’s chair while being briefed for missions is typical. The lingering grip when either John or Ghost give the other a hand up is just par for the course.

Ghost knows why he lets John get away with all the little things. Physical comfort has never been a thing for him, and he’s been touch starved his entire life, even back when Simon Riley was alive. And here’s John, just willing to offer all the affection Ghost could ever want. It’s terrifying. Ghost almost talks to John about this unconditional affection thing, but he also doesn’t want it to stop. And, he’s not a fucking pansy. He can handle something that’s a little scary.

John also kisses Ghost before going to bed each and every night. But the 141 isn’t privy to those moments. Ghost is losing his mind trying to keep up with what’s happening in his life. He’s abruptly married, and according to the distinct lack of reaction from literally the whole base, he’s been acting married long before now. Ghost is both annoyed and amused by that.

But Ghost isn’t sure how to handle this… pseudo-marriage thing. Yeah, he looks over at John’s desk and sees that stack of paperwork, but he’s still mostly convinced that John’s going to see too much of Simon Riley and give up, letting him go. After all, Simon Riley is dead, and even if he wasn’t, no one wants to be married to someone that broken.

He needs help.

Not from the 141, because they’ll just tease him, and none of them know anything about selkies, and Ghost wants to figure this out and also not offend his new husband (and that’s a weird thought). He also knows that what he’s about to do is highly illegal, but he cares not a fucking bit, because this is John, and Ghost would rather die than upset or hurt him. So, he sneaks into John’s communications file and digs up the phone number he calls most often, not his parents, oddly enough, but his grandmother.

“Mornin’!” The voice that answers the phone is chipper and gentle, and so much like John that Ghost almost hangs up on principle.

“Hello? Is this the MacTavish residence?” He asks, politely.

“Aye?” The woman sounds a bit suspicious, which is fair.

“I’m…” Ghost hasn’t thought this far ahead. How does he actually broach this conversation with a veritable stranger? “I’m Ghost. I work with John MacTavish.” Belatedly, he realizes he should have given her his birth name, because getting a strange phone call from someone named “Ghost” is a horror movie in the making.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, no.” The woman breathes.

“Shit, no! No, he’s fine!” Ghost thinks he should go brain himself on the wall. He’s been on the phone ten seconds and he’s already upset this poor woman. “He’s fine. Snoring away in his bunk, I swear.”

“Thank God.” It takes the woman a few seconds to breathe through the adrenaline and Ghost feels so incredibly guilty. This is going to get back to John and then John is going to hate him, and take his coat back, and then they won’t be married anymore, and John might possibly shoot him. Which… is entirely fair since Ghost just upset John’s nana.

“What’s the craic?” The woman asks. “Not causin’ trouble, is he?”

“He’s…” Ghost rubs at his forehead. This is the most bizarre conversation he’s ever had in his life. He tries to think of a way to explain without actually saying it. “He gave me his coat.”

The woman is silent on the line for a long moment. “Yer Simon Riley.”

Oh, fuck. He wonders what John’s been saying about him to his grandmother.

“Uhm, yes?”

Laughter bursts out over the line. “I see mah wee lamb has finally caught ye.”

“Yes.”

She laughs for several long moments. “An’ yer wonderin’ how to handle a selkie’s affection, aye?”

Ghost sighs in relief. At least he doesn’t have to say it aloud. “Yes.”

“Well, selkies court much like seals do,” the woman explains, as if this is a perfectly normal conversation to have. “There’s chasin’ around. If one half doesn’t want the partnership, they won’t get caught. But to prove the catchin’, ye see, there’s usually bitin’.”

Ghost chokes.

“Aye, on the neck or fin.”

Ghost clears his throat. This is helpful, and pretty much what he asked for, but his face heats up anyway.

“Dinnae fash yersel’. John’s been gaggin’ fer ye since he met ye.”

Ghost does not understand what she’s saying, but the implication is pretty clear.

“Nae, it’s time fer ye tah either give his coat back or go bite him.”

“I’ve tried!” Ghost complains.

The woman laughs, utterly mercilessly. “Och awa’ an’ dinnae talk pish! ‘Cause if ye wanted oot, ye’d be oot. Nae ye listen to me, Simon Riley.”

Ghost clamps his lips shut.

“Dinnae hurt mah wee lamb.”

“I’d rather die, madam.”

Ghost can hear the smile in her voice. “Call me ‘nana’.”

Three words and they cut through Ghost, dragging unwilling tears to his eyes and his throat closes up.

“Nana,” he chokes out.

“Aye. Nae awa’ wit’ ye. I expect tah see ye at Christmas.”

And she hangs up.

Ghost feels like he’s fallen and hit his head. He’s baffled and bewildered and disoriented and all other synonyms for confused as fuck. He got an answer, sure, but he also has far more questions than he started with. Nana is apparently John’s standard call home, when they actually have the chance to call home, and she knows about Ghost well enough that she remembers his name. Meaning John’s told her about him. But what has he said? And why? Oh, and the way to court John requires chasing him and biting his neck. What the actual fuck?

Ghost is gonna do it, but it’s still fucking weird.

It’s a while before an opportunity for the stupid chase thing arises. Ghost won’t endanger a mission, nor would he attempt to distract John in that way, so it takes longer than anticipated. And John’s just there, patient and kind, smiling and winking and flirting the whole time. Touching his lower back when he has to brush past him, offering him a bloody hanky when the smell from the latrines gets too bad (and the hanky has a soft lavender scent which is soothing and calming, and Ghost doesn’t know what to do with it), or shooing away people when Ghost does not want to interact with others (how John knows when Ghost is just done with people, Ghost still has no idea).

It’s really nice, actually.

And then of course, right when Ghost is about to enact his stupid-ass plan to literally bite his sergeant, they get sent on another op. It’s nothing big, nothing extravagant, just some recon, really, but their intel was shitty, and the next thing Ghost knows, he’s got a bullet in the arm, and John is freaking the fuck out.

Well, that might be overstating it a bit.

John all but screams at Price when they get back to base, swearing up a storm about how this shit needs to get vetted first, before putting anyone in danger. And then he drags Ghost down to the medics. And then, when Ghost has been patched up (and it’s more of a graze than a legit bullet wound), John practically throws him in their room, glowering until Ghost lies down on his bunk. It’s both endearing and weird and Ghost isn’t sure he likes it all that much.

His arm really isn’t that bad. It’s bandaged up, and out of an abundance of caution, he’s been ordered not to use it for a few days, which is just not going to happen, because he’s a sniper, and he needs this arm to do his fucking job. John just about throws a fucking fit when Ghost tries to go out to the range, to get some practice in.

“Yer aff yer heid if ye think I’m gonna let ye go oot like this!”

Ghost just blinks at John, lips quirking into a smirk. “English, Johnny.”

John’s too worked up to laugh. “Haud yer wheesht, ye know what I’m sayin’!”

“I’m fine,” Ghost says, for probably the millionth time at this point. “It was a graze.”

“Doc said no usin’ that arm.”

Ghost opens his mouth to argue, but John points at him, scowling. Ghost has honestly never seen John like this, and so he shuts his mouth, trying to figure out how to handle this.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, softly.

John sucks in a deep breath, running his hands over his head and making his hair stick out in all sorts of odd directions. When he speaks, his accent has relaxed a bit, and he takes great pains to keep the slang from his words.

“I need you at your best,” he says, refusing to look Ghost in the eye. “So, no using that arm until the medics say otherwise.”

“I use this arm to do everything,” Ghost points out. “At the very least, I’ll have to feed myself.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Ghost doesn’t ask, because he’s tired and also he’s worried about the answer, and he’d rather not fight with John, thanks all the same. He finds out in short order anyway. John escorts him to the mess, sits him down at a table, and goes to grab food for the both of them. John sits next to him and literally feeds Ghost, bite by bite. Ghost feels like mentioning that he has a perfectly usable arm, although it would be weird to feed himself with the wrong hand, but he also somewhat doesn’t want to. That would mean that John wouldn’t be so close.

Why that matters, Ghost does not want to think about.

Ghost hates this. He feels like an invalid, and pathetic, and John is just there, patient and stubborn, and he doesn’t seem to care, which is just ridiculous. Ghost isn’t some helpless, weak creature unable to care for himself. But every time Ghost tries to use his arm, John glares at him until he stops.

The worst part of all of it though is the fact that nobody fucking says anything.

Ghost hasn’t told anyone about their marriage, and neither has John, as far as Ghost is aware. Price would never say anything, either. So, the whole 141 sees John hand-feeding Ghost and not a single person bats an eyelash about it. Ghost isn’t sure what that’s about. The light touches are one thing, but being treated as a fucking invalid is something else entirely. Frustration and irritation boils in his gut and he wants to scream, or maybe throw something.

“Hope you feel better, LT,” someone (Ghost is too pissed to pay attention to who) says as they walk past.

“He’ll be up, kicking everyone’s ass in a day or two,” someone replies with a laugh.

“Gnarly scar, there, LT,” someone else says.

Ghost glances around, and nobody seems to fucking care. To them, he’s just got some injury and he’ll be back to normal in short order. The rage drops to a low simmer. He’s still pissed about this whole mess, and being babysat by his husband… His husband. Fuck, Ghost is never going to get used to that title. He’s going to have to spar every single person on base in a row and kick all their asses in order to make up for this soft bullshit.

The wound really isn’t bad, because the next day, when Ghost gets checked up by the medics, they clear him for movement. He’s still not allowed to spar or shoot, since he needs that shoulder for his sniper, but he’s been given leave to feed himself at the very least. He’s expecting a reaction from John. Disappointment, maybe, since he doesn’t have an excuse to baby the shit out of Ghost any longer.

“That’s pure class!” John grins, brighter than the sun. “How soon before you can help with the recruits? They’re all a right bunch of bawheids. Need you to kick some sense into ‘em.”

Ghost feels a little disappointed himself, for some reason. He knew he would have gotten livid had John made any sort of comment about being sad he can no longer take care of Ghost, but now that he hasn’t, actually being excited that Ghost is back to normal, Ghost is conflicted. This entire mess has got to stop. He’s so confused and it’s ridiculous.

John kisses him before they leave their room in the morning, light and sweet, helping settle Ghost’s mask back over his chin before opening the door. It makes Ghost smile and he feels like an idiot, standing there smiling just because his husband kissed him. He forces a frown on his face just on principle.

Today.

If he doesn’t handle this crap today, he’s going to go mad.

He glances around the room, out of habit, and his eyes snag on the paperwork still on Johnny’s desk. That’ll do.

Of course he doesn’t tell Johnny, because that would just be absurd. Johnny has already signed it at the bottom, though he had only filled out his name. It’s ridiculously easy to fill out the paperwork, and Ghost knows all the details about Johnny that he needs (which should be a sign all things considered, but Ghost just wants this fucking done). Ghost slips it onto Price’s desk, knowing the man will get it to the proper place to make this shit official.

Ghost doesn’t change his behavior. Why would he? Every other time he felt like something significant happened, nobody else gave a shit. Now, he and Johnny are married. Both selkie married and legally married. It’s official. No one can take it back. Ghost feels a little guilty that he submitted that paperwork without talking to Johnny first, but the man has been kissing him, soft and sweet and chaste, every single night and every single morning, and he hand-fed Ghost, and he told Ghost in no uncertain terms that he wanted this.

So, a little guilt, yes, but he knows Johnny’s been waiting for Ghost to commit. So, fucking commit, he shall.

Okay, so he lied when he said he didn’t change his behavior. It’s not big changes, though.

He stops holding himself back whenever he gets the urge to put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. He covers Johnny’s hand with his own when Johnny reaches out to touch him. He tugs Johnny under his arm when they walk places together. He lets his hand linger whenever their bared skin touches, sending searing heat and need through Ghost. Johnny shivers when Ghost lets his thumb graze across whatever skin he’s touching.

But that’s the extent of it. And it’s driving Ghost mad. It’s been almost three months since he picked up that damn coat. Two months from the first time Johnny kissed him. One month since he was cleared from his injury. He’s got to do something to fix this unbearable tension. So, when they’ve got an afternoon scheduled out for training, just the two of them, Ghost turns to Johnny.

“Run,” he says.

Johnny blinks at him, brow furrowing for a moment. But only for a moment, because his eyes clear and a slow smirk spreads across his face. “Got an area in mind, LT?”

Now is not the time to be reminding Ghost of their ranks. Ghost shakes his head. “You’ve got five minutes. Run.”

Johnny doesn’t need to be told twice, turning on his heel and sprinting off towards the woods, the training area that’s currently barren, as Alejandro and Gaz are monitoring some hand-to-hand combat skills with the recruits, who have all been put up against König, poor sods. Ghost knows no one else is out there, so they have relative privacy, which is good, because the last thing Ghost wants is anyone catching them in the middle of the fucking weird selkie courting ritual thing.

Ghost waits impatiently, on the balls of his feet, his mental clock ticking away. He checks his watch just to make sure he isn’t cheating, and as soon as it hits five minutes, he’s moving.

Johnny’s very good at what he does. Ghost has experienced this time and time again, and he knows that Johnny can all but disappear in these woods, but they’re both too familiar with the territory. Ghost knows the place like the back of his hand, and he knows exactly all the places Johnny could have reached in his five minute window. He knows which ones Johnny favors, and which ones he hates, and which ones he’s most likely to go to. He doesn’t expect this to be easy, mind, but he’s going to win.

He spots a bush, some limbs broken, and he turns that direction. Johnny isn’t normally that careless, so it’s possible it’s from a recent training session with the new recruits, but the limb is still swinging, so Ghost takes that as a good sign. He moves silently through the woods, his namesake doing him wonders. He’s always been quiet, and he knows that Johnny is probably holding his breath, trying to strain his ears for any hint of rustling leaves.

He’s not dumb enough to just run headlong in the direction he thinks Johnny’s in. After all, the man is clever, and he’ll definitely have set some traps, just to stall Ghost, or to maybe turn him in the wrong direction. But Ghost is patient. He slinks through the trees, keeping close eyes on his surroundings. The last thing he needs is Johnny turning this chase around on him. He’s supposed to chase and bite, not the other way around.

Ghost catches a glimpse of Johnny up ahead, crouched behind a large stump. He stops, examining the area around to make sure there’s nothing untoward that could stop him from reaching his husband. He cannot see anything, but he knows which way to approach for his best odds.

Now or never.

Ghost sprints forward, full tilt. Johnny looks up, and Ghost sees the surprise in his eyes. He scrambles from his hiding spot and takes off. They’re both running hard, Johnny trying to dodge and weave to trip Ghost up, but Ghost is determined. Still, Johnny is fucking fast, and it takes Ghost a few hundred yards before he’s close enough to pounce.

Johnny is a big man, tall and broad and strong. And Ghost is bigger still. Not by too much, not like König levels of massive, but he’s bigger, broader, taller. Strength is… pretty close. Johnny hasn’t beaten him in hand-to-hand yet, but it’s been close a few times. This instance is no different than normal.

Johnny takes the tackle and rolls as soon as he touches the ground, trying to get some form of leverage against Ghost. Unfortunately for him, Ghost has a plan, and he’s not going to fucking lose now. Not when he’s finally gotten his shit together. Johnny wants to be married? Then they’re gonna be fucking married.

Ghost goes with the motion, getting his arms around Johnny’s shoulders in a tight grip. Johnny tries to jerk his head back, to get Ghost off him, but Ghost twists him around, so he's face-first into the dirt again. He straddles Johnny’s hips, tucking his feet over Johnny’s knees to keep him from bucking Ghost off him. He snatches Johnny’s hand from the ground and pins it behind his back. He doesn’t wait for Johnny to yield. He tugs his mask up, leans down, and bites at the junction between neck and shoulder.

Johnny’s entire body jerks like he’s been shocked and then he fucking melts into the dirt, a moan echoing in the air around them. The moan seeps into the very marrow of Ghost’s bones, making him feel as limp as Johnny is. He licks gently at the bite mark he’s left and Johnny lets out a sound of pure lust.

“Dinnae stop…” A shiver shudders its way through Johnny’s body.

“English, Johnny,” Ghost teases, nipping at Johnny’s earlobe. It’s right there, and it would be a crime to just ignore it. Johnny somehow finds the strength or leverage to move, because he flips them over, slamming Ghost’s back into the ground. His eyes are wild, unfocused and dangerous, and Ghost doesn’t think he’s ever been more aroused in his life.

“Shut it.” Johnny kisses Ghost like he’ll never have another chance. His tongue thrusts forward at the same time as his hips, and Ghost chokes, releasing a sound that could charitably be called a moan. Johnny swears into Ghost’s mouth. He clings to Ghost’s face, keeping their lips crushed together, but Ghost isn’t going anywhere, his hands dragging Johnny’s hips forward into a deep grind.

Ghost has never wanted anything or anyone more in his miserable life, and he’ll murder everyone and everything to make sure he gets to experience this as often as possible. His body burns for Johnny’s, his hands scrambling to get under Johnny’s shirt for bare skin. Johnny laughs, which is just rude, in Ghost’s opinion.

“Finally decided what ye want, eh?”

“Been trying to show you for months,” Ghost corrects, leaning up to nip at Johnny’s lower lip. Johnny gives in to the temptation and presses him back to the dirt, stealing the breath from Ghost’s lungs, so he sounds breathless when he continues, “had to do the fucking weird selkie shit to get you to notice.”

Johnny tilts his head, brows furrowing in confusion. It takes him a minute to figure it out, and a laugh bursts from his chest. He drops his head onto Ghost’s shoulder and chuckles helplessly for a long moment. Ghost doesn’t know what that’s about. Johnny’s nana was pretty clear.

“Chasin’ an’ bitin’ is fer before marriage, ya right eejit.” Johnny pulls back, mirth making his eyes bright. “Where’d you even get that? Did ye look up seal mating rituals or something?”

“No.” But Ghost now feels like a complete moron. Apparently, Nana was taking the piss out of him. “I… talked to someone.”

Johnny tilts his head, grinning and chuckling. “Found another selkie, did ya? Well, they were pullin’ yer leg.”

“It was your nana.”

Johnny takes that in for several long seconds before rolling off Ghost with a loud guffaw. He curls up in a ball, laughing hysterically.

“She’s not wrong,” Johnny tries to get the words out in the middle of his laughter, “but it’s usually for selkie’s trying to pick a partner before giving up their coat.”

Ghost considers all the different ways to respond. He’s irritated that he was played for a fool, but at the same time, he gets the sense that Nana wasn’t trying to play a prank on him.

“I think she thought that since you tricked me into picking up your coat, I needed to show you that I want this, too,” he says, slowly.

Johnny hears the first part. “Ah dinnae try to trick ye into…” he trails off. He unfolds from his ball and sits up, looking at Ghost with wide eyes. “You want this, too?”

Ghost sits up, amused despite himself. “I’ve been keeping your coat safe for three months, Johnny. I thought my interest was obvious. And you absolutely tricked me into picking it up.”

Johnny’s ears turn red and he looks away, abashed. “Ghost, I…”

“Simon.”

Ghost doesn’t realize that he wants Johnny to call him that until the name leaves his lips. And then he realizes that it’s something he wants more than anything else. Simon Riley, the man who’s been dead for so long, as it turns out, is not entirely dead. Johnny found him and brought him back to life. And Johnny is the only person Simon trusts to let have his dead name.

Johnny stares for so long that now Simon’s ears have started to burn. “Dinnae think ye’d keep it,” he mutters, instead of acknowledging what Simon said.

Simon can’t let that stand. He leans forward, grabbing Johnny’s chin and drags him into another gut-clenching kiss. “Of course I had to keep it. I got you.”

It’s romantic and stupid and honestly, Simon feels his face burning as the words come out, but Johnny’s smile, hesitant and soft and fond and utterly adoring makes it all worthwhile. Simon thinks he’s been a shit husband. Here’s Johnny who’s been doing his best to make Simon feel cared for and appreciated (and loved, but Simon dare not even think that too loudly) and Simon just sort of let it happen, not bothering to show his appreciation in return. Well, enough. He’s gonna make Johnny believe him, no matter how long it takes.

“Ye have me, Simon,” Johnny agrees, “ye’ve always had me.”

Part of Simon would like to just climb on top of Johnny and have his wicked way with the man right here right now. His given name in such an accent does so many things to Simon’s body that he can barely think straight. But no. He’s trying to show his appreciation and love for Johnny, and fucking on the ground in a forest is not the way to go. So, Simon begrudgingly gets to his feet. He has to adjust his pants, but he offers Johnny a hand upright. Johnny gets on his feet and licks his lips and Simon has to taste that, so he does.

Johnny lets out a soft moan and Simon is going to lose his fucking mind.

“You better stop,” Simon warns, breathlessly. Johnny grins.

“No.”

Simon rolls his eyes and drags Johnny out of the woods. Johnny makes him pause to readjust the mask so it covers Simon’s face, but then they’re both moving back to their room. They haven’t said anything, but Simon knows what Johnny’s thinking, and he’s in total agreement.

“Ah, there you are!” Simon and Johnny freeze, turning to acknowledge Price, walking down the hall towards them.

“Sir.” Simon clears his throat.

“I got the official license from the court, two copies, and I’m going to put them in your files,” Price tells them.

Simon immediately feels his face heat.

“What?” Johnny asks.

“The marriage license,” Price says, patiently, “I’ve got it back from the court, so it’s government official now.”

Johnny turns and looks straight at Simon, who is determinedly staring at the wall beside Price’s head.

“You turned in the paperwork?” He sounds almost hopeful, and Simon gives a short, jerky nod in response. Johnny’s grin lights up the whole fucking base.

Totally worth it.

“Surprise,” Simon mutters.

“Sir, permission to take LT back to our room to ravish him?” Johnny is still staring at Simon, for all he’s talking to Price. Heat bolts through Simon at the unrestrained lust in Johnny’s voice.

“Granted.” At least Price sounds amused.

Johnny turns, ducking down and tossing Simon over his shoulder in one swift motion. Simon grabs at Johnny, squawking in surprise. Price starts laughing, falling into the wall as Johnny starts jogging back to their room, hand firmly on Simon’s ass.

Johnny all but throws Simon onto his bed, kicking the door shut with a loud bang, and scrambling for his clothes. Simon can’t help it; he starts laughing, tears of mirth coming to his eyes as Johnny completely forgets that he’s wearing boots, which makes getting rid of pants difficult at best.

“Fuck off,” he mutters, face burning and he kneels to get at his laces. Simon sits up, working on his own boots, which are absurdly hard to get off because his fingers are trembling. It’s a first for him. He hasn’t had nervous fingers in years.

“I could do that, but I’m pretty sure you want me here for this next bit, Johnny,” Simon teases. Johnny leans forward, his fist grabbing a handful of Simon’s shirt, and drags him forward into a kiss, not even giving a shit that Simon’s still got his mask on.

“You try to leave and I’ll hunt you down.”

“That a promise?”

Simon has the unique pleasure of seeing Johnny’s eyes dilate, his expression open and aroused and gorgeous.

“Later,” he swears.

Johnny finally gets his boots off, and scrambles for his pants again, while Simon’s managed to only get his boots untied. Mostly because he’s distracted by the overabundance of glorious skin that Johnny reveals with each passing moment.

“Like what you see, LT?”

Johnny sits back on his heels, preening a bit at Simon’s attention. He’s scarred, as Simon would have expected, but he’s perfect. He’s cut like every other member of the 141, and it’s not like Simon’s never seen him shirtless before, but it hits different when the man is kneeling on the floor like some devoted servant, his cock rock hard, red and throbbing, and Simon needs to get his mouth on Johnny before his head fucking explodes.

“You call me that in bed, you better be ready to take orders,” Simon retorts, managing somehow to tear his eyes away from Johnny’s cock. He’s glad he did, because he gets to see Johnny suck in a sharp breath.

Oh, fuck.

That’s information that Simon should never have because now he’s gonna abuse the shit out of it. He pretends like he didn’t notice that Johnny has a kink, and tugs his shirt over his head. Johnny apparently cannot stand just looking, because he leans forward, running his hands over Simon’s thighs and up his chest. His fingers are like brands, leaving trails of fire along Simon’s skin. It’s only when Johnny’s hands toy with the edge of his mask that he remembers he still has it on. Johnny meets his gaze, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he tries to decide if he can, if he should.

“Go on,” Simon murmurs. If anyone has the right to see Simon fully, it’s Johnny. His fingers are shaking a bit as they tug the fabric up and over Simon’s head.

“Fucking shite,” Johnny breathes, eyes trailing over Simon’s face. Simon’s never been shy about how he looks. He knows he’s attractive, he’s been told enough when he’s out on leave, not wearing his mask, but it’s different now. This is Johnny. His husband.

“Told you.” He leans forward to steal a kiss. Johnny lets out a little noise that fuels the fire in Simon’s blood and he remembers what his point was. Johnny has been taking care of him for so long and so well, and now it’s Simon’s turn. “On your feet, sergeant.”

Johnny’s cock visibly twitches, and he shivers, stumbling to his feet. “That’s unfair,” he whines. Simon chuckles and slides to his knees on the floor. Johnny swears loudly. Simon hasn’t done this in a while, but he’s not about to let that stop him. Still, Johnny’s not an insubstantial size, so he takes a moment to prepare himself.

He sucks the head of Johnny’s cock into his mouth, his hands resting on Johnny’s thighs. Johnny swears again, almost under his breath. He clenches his hands into fists and sucks in air while Simon reacquaints himself with giving a blow job.

He swirls his tongue around the head, relishing in the noises from his husband’s chest. His entire vocabulary has dwindled down to “fuck” and “Simon” which does fucking wonders for Simon’s confidence. He’s only got the head of Johnny’s cock in his mouth and he’s already got the man down to single words. He knows it can’t be that good, so he’s got to up the ante.

Simon takes a breath and slides his head farther, sucking. Johnny swears loudly, fists shaking beside his hips as he tries to keep himself still. Well, that won’t do at all. Simon wants him to forget everything. He reaches up and finds Johnny’s hands, brings them to his head. It’s permission, and yet Johnny seems hesitant to take advantage of it. So, Simon has to up his game. He swallows, feeling Johnny’s legs tremble, and takes more of Johnny down his throat.

“Fuck, Simon!” Johnny’s fingers twitch in Simon’s hair as he tries to keep from just grabbing and thrusting. Simon bobs his head, alternating between sucking hard and licking the head. Johnny curses and his hips rock forward. “Shit, sorry.”

Simon moans, looking up at Johnny through his lashes. Johnny’s cock twitches in his mouth and he swears, fingers digging into Simon’s head. “Ye like this, Si?” Johnny’s accent thickens with arousal and Simon kind of likes that more than he should. Simon hums in affirmation and relaxes his throat, taking all of Johnny in one smooth motion. Johnny chokes on a groan and his hips jerk again.

He seems to have gotten the message though, because he starts thrusting, first with short, gentle motions, but slowly gathering speed. Simon moans, tears gathering at his eyes as Johnny starts using his throat in the best possible way. He wants Johnny to feel worshipped, to take every ounce of pleasure he can, to know that Simon is fucking committed to him. Johnny started this whole marriage business, and Simon is going to consummate it.

Johnny loses all coherency, words coming out in aborted attempts to speak while he thrusts forward, fucking Simon’s mouth. Simon fucking loves it. He moans in appreciation and palms his own cock, harder than he’s ever experienced in his life, and still trapped in his pants. Pleasure bursts through him and an inhuman noise emerges from his chest. Johnny’s hips snap forward in response.

Johnny tugs on Simon’s hair, pulling him fully off his cock, and the plaintive whine from Simon’s throat is nothing short of pitiful. Johnny’s entire body shakes as he looks down at Simon. He looks incoherent with pleasure, eyes blown wide, lips red and swollen from him biting them. Simon tightens his grip on his own cock, because if he looks too long at Johnny, so debauched like this, he’s going to cum in his pants, like a fucking virgin.

“Gonna cum if ye keep doin’ that.” Johnny’s voice sounds like he looks, aroused beyond reason, and Simon is going to do everything in his power to hear him like this over and over and over again.

“Good.” Simon’s voice is destroyed, rough and deep. It drags a gasp from Johnny.

“Dinnae wanna cum without yer cock inside me.”

“What, being a selkie doesn’t let you finish more than once?” Simon teases.

“No.” Johnny clears his throat, choking on spit when Simon turns his head, taking his thumb into his mouth. The calluses are rough on Simon’s tongue and he loves it. Johnny’s eyes roll back in his head and he swears loudly. “Yer a braw sight,” he admits, chest heaving as he looks down at Simon.

“English, Johnny.”

Johnny rolls his eyes and tugs gently on Simon’s hair, encouraging him to his feet. Simon is perfectly comfortable where he’s at, but he’s also trying to do what Johnny wants, to pleasure him in any and all ways. So, he grudgingly stands. Johnny kisses him, hard and fierce, stealing the breath from Simon’s lungs. He pulls back and chuckles, voice unsteady.

“Yer a mess, Si.”

Simon can only imagine what he looks like. He’s still got the black kohl around his eyes, probably tracking down his face from the tears and sweat, and he’s got a line of drool down his chin. He is absolutely not sexy in the slightest, and he knows it, but Johnny doesn’t look put off. In fact, Johnny seems to like it. Well, he is selkie, so he’s weird.

“Let’s clean you up,” he suggests. Simon already feels like he’s working on a deficit, trying to show Johnny that he cares the way Johnny’s always shown him, so he doesn’t want Johnny to have to worry about anything.

“I’ll do it.” With a gentle push, Simon shoves Johnny onto the bed. “Stay there.”

“Aye, LT.” Johnny reclines on the bed, hands behind his head and looking like every sordid and pornographic image from Simon’s dreams. Simon takes a few precious moments away from Johnny to clean his face, and he remembers to grab some lube before stripping the rest of his clothes and returning to Johnny.

Johnny’s eyes slide across Simon’s body hungrily as Simon walks back to him, like he’s trying to memorize every detail.

“Like what you see?” Simon teases.

“Fuck yes.” Johnny sits up to drag Simon into the bed. Simon comes willingly enough, laughing the whole while. He can’t remember the last time he had so much fun. It’s bizarre. Johnny starts giggling when he snatches the lube from Simon’s fingers. “Where’d you get this?”

Simon thinks about lying. “I got it from my bag. Been wanting to fuck you for a while now, Johnny.” He gets the pleasure of watching a shudder run through Johnny’s body. He leans forward and nips at Johnny’s ear. “Been wanting you to fuck me for a while, too.”

Johnny swears, hands scrambling for purchase somewhere, anywhere on Simon’s body, finding handholds on Simon’s hips. Simon straddles Johnny and kisses him, grinding their cocks together. Johnny lets out a noise like he’s been punched and he throws his head back. Simon trails his lips down to his jaw and then to his ear.

“D’you want that, Johnny?” He murmurs. His husband seems incapable of speech, just moaning in response, his fingers digging into Simon’s hips. Simon starts nipping his way down Johnny’s neck, teeth and tongue alternating to see which spots are the best to drive Johnny absolutely mad.

“Fuck, Si…” Johnny whines, writhing under him on the bed.

“What do you want, Johnny?” Simon asks. “Use your words.”

“Fuck you, ye fucking numpty!”

“You should be nice to me,” Simon rolls his hips, drawing friction along their cocks. Johnny slides one hand up to Simon’s hair, tugging roughly. The noise that leaves Simon’s chest is inhuman. He didn’t realize he liked it that much.

“Yer gonna fuck me until I cannae see straight,” Johnny demands.

“Yes, sir.” Simon bites down on Johnny’s neck, exactly where he bit before, and Johnny’s whole body goes limp, a broken sound of pure arousal whimpering from his throat. “Relax, Johnny. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Simon works his way down Johnny’s body, kissing and tasting every inch of skin he can reach. He finds all the little ticklish spots that Johnny swears don’t exist, all the places where a well-placed tongue draws goosebumps to the surface, every inch where scraping his teeth draws a desperate sound from Johnny… Simon is determined to learn Johnny perfectly. He’s going to be able to take his husband apart and put him back together with the same skill and aptitude that he does with his sniper. His Johnny.

Johnny’s hands try to fight back, to tug on Simon’s hair, to dig into Simon’s skin, to learn Simon back, but he’s distracted by the pleasure overwhelming his body. And Simon’s not giving him a chance to be cooperative. No, it’s Simon’s turn.

Simon gets down to Johnny’s cock again. His gut reaction is to swallow him down again, but he’s pretty certain that’ll be the end for his husband, and Johnny very clearly said he wanted to be fucked. So, Simon has to skip over that, no matter that just the sight of his cock, crimson and throbbing and dripping makes his mouth water.

Simon drags Johnny’s legs up and slides his tongue along his hole. Johnny fucking wails, his fingers tugging hard at Simon’s hair. Simon moans at the pain and thrusts his tongue inside. Johnny loses all grasp on language, his swears turning to moans, and his breath coming in sharp pants. The only sound he can make that has any sort of sense to it is the breathy, desperate whine, “Si…”

Simon takes his time working Johnny open. He doesn’t want to hurt his husband, but he’s also enjoying how this is driving Johnny to the brink. Johnny rocks his hips onto Simon’s mouth. One of his hands clenches into the sheets, needing to hold onto something. Simon keeps going until Johnny’s legs shake, trembling over his shoulders as Johnny tries desperately to not finish.

“Si!” He whines, writhing on the bed like some lustful creature. If Simon didn’t know better, he’d think Johnny was an incubus instead of a selkie. Simon sits up and grabs at the lube, making an almighty mess as he tries to prepare his husband.

“Shh… relax, love.” Simon runs one hand along Johnny’s chest, trying to soothe, while his other hand slides one finger inside Johnny. Johnny drags him down into a kiss, messy and impatient, his body trying to arch into Simon’s. Simon adds another finger far too fast, but Johnny just moans.

“Si, I’m ready.” Johnny mumbles against Simon’s lips.

“I’m a bit bigger than two fingers,” Simon says, a little apologetically. “Be patient.”

“No.” Johnny bites Simon’s lip. “I’m ready. Fuck me.”

“Johnny…”

“I like it. Fuck me, Si.”

And that does things to Simon he’s not prepared for.

Simon takes a precious two seconds to slick up his cock, hissing at the cool lube on his overheated, oversensitive skin, and then presses against Johnny’s ass. A swear word hisses from Johnny’s lips, his back arching as he takes inch by inch of Simon’s not insubstantial cock. When their hips meet, Simon drops his forehead onto Johnny’s collarbone, trying to breathe and not move.

“Mo chirdhe.” Johnny breathes. The Scottish Gaelic words burrow into Simon’s hindbrain and he feels drunk on it. Simon has no idea what it means. It could be an insult as far as he knows, but he’s pretty sure it’s not that bad. Simon presses idle kisses to the skin he can reach, waiting with all the patience he, as a sniper, is capable of. Johnny digs his fingers into Simon’s back, his blunt nails scratching and ratcheting Simon’s pleasure higher.

He probably should have known about his pain kink, but he’s more preoccupied with his husband… Simon chokes when Johnny rocks his hips, ass clenching around him.

“Move,” Johnny demands, “wanna feel it in th’ morning.”

Simon can do that.

He plants his knees on the bed, tucking Johnny’s legs over his thighs, and rolls his hips, not moving fast, but hard. Johnny swears, nails digging in harder. Simon’s going to have marks and he’s fucking feral for it. He thrusts, driving into his husband, his Johnny, until neither of them can breathe. Johnny growls, a noise so animalistic that it triggers every primal urge within Simon.

He thrusts, spurred on by every noise out of his husband’s throat, pleasure and desire and want building up until he feels like he’ll choke on it. Johnny mutters breathlessly, something in Scottish Gaelic, alternating his words with sucking in air. Simon leans back just enough to watch the need and desperation on Johnny’s face, gorgeous and captivating. Simon couldn’t look away if he tried.

“You close?” Simon’s voice comes out a deep growl. His husband whimpers, trying to rock his hips to meet Simon’s thrusts. He’s on the brink, and Simon will not stop until he’s delirious with pleasure. “Come on, love. Cum for me.”

Apparently, all Johnny needed was permission because he cries out, his body tensing as his pleasure crests. He clenches around Simon, legs and arms and fingers clinging so tightly that Simon can barely move. His cock twitches, shooting hot cum across their chests.

Simon speeds up just a bit, seeking his own release. Johnny tugs Simon down into a kiss, burying his hands back in Simon’s hair. He yanks hard, sending a burst of desperate need through Simon.

“Fuck. Can feel ye in mah fucking throat, mo chirdhe.” Johnny moans, body trembling around Simon’s. His accent curls into Simon’s ears, his fingers pull at his hair, his ass tightens around his cock, and Simon is going fucking mad.

White hot pleasure bursts in his mind, his hips thrust absently as he cums, cock throbbing inside Johnny. He loses track of everything at once, mind lost to his orgasm. His balls hurt with the force of his release. When he comes back to himself, he’s shaking, muscles trembling in little aftershocks, and Johnny’s combing his fingers through Simon’s hair, murmuring soft words in Scottish Gaelic. Simon doesn’t understand the words, but he knows the tone.

“English, love.”

He can feel Johnny’s smile against his collarbone.

“Learn something new, Si,” he teases. Simon groans and leans up to kiss the smug smirk off his Johnny’s face.

“Stay here. Let me clean us up,” he says, slowly shifting himself out and off his husband. A soft sound sighs out of Johnny’s chest as Simon moves away.

“Takin’ such good care o’ me.” Johnny chuckles. Simon puts his hand on Johnny’s chest and leans down to steal a kiss. He’s going to have the worst time keeping himself in check. His Johnny is just too perfect.

“You take care of me,” Simon admits, leaving the bed on shaking legs to grab a rag. He quickly wipes himself off and then returns to the bed to do a more thorough and gentle job on his Johnny.

“Someone’s gotta do it.” Johnny stretches out, looking utterly smug and satisfied and impossible. Simon just knows that he’s going to have to practice his self-control, because he already wants to mark up that pretty skin. Speaking of marks, the bite on his Johnny’s neck has turned purple, standing out against his pale skin.

“Shit.” Simon groans and flops on the bed beside his husband.

“What?”

Simon pokes at the bruise with a heavy sigh. Johnny touches his neck.

“Oh. I can cover it.”

“No.”

Simon doesn’t realize how venomous his voice was until Johnny blinks at him. He leans over Johnny and kisses him until his head swims. Johnny’s smile when he pulls back makes warmth burn in his gut.

“You want everyone to see, don’t you, Si?” He asks. “Want everyone to know we’re fucking?”

“You’re my husband,” Simon corrects. “And you neglected to tell anyone, Johnny. It’s my job to correct that oversight.”

Johnny snorts. “Sure thing. Not like you want to claim me in front of the whole squad.”

Simon kisses his Johnny to shut him up. It’s surprisingly effective.

“I think they already know,” he says, “We weren’t exactly hiding it.”

Johnny shrugs, unapologetic.

“I’m glad you tricked me into picking up your coat,” Simon admits, softly. Johnny’s eyes glitter with pure happiness. It’s an addicting look that Simon is going to try to get out of his husband as often as possible.

“I’m glad you made it official,” Johnny replies. “Though did you have to call Nana?”

“She says she wants to meet me at Christmas,” Simon mutters, feeling his face burn a bit.

“O’ course she wants you at Christmas!” Johnny waves his hands in exasperation. “We’re married.”

“Yeah, we are.”

Johnny’s expression turns soft and he steals a gentle kiss from Simon. Fuck, Simon loves his Johnny. And for the first time, that thought is exciting rather than terrifying.

This time, the 141 can’t help themselves but mock and torment and tease. The bruise on Johnny’s neck has everyone in an uproar, and Alejandro decides to test Johnny in another sparring match because he can. Simon has to run some of the recruits ragged because they think being married softened him up.

As it turns out, Price told everyone when Simon first picked up the stupid coat, and threatened to court martial anyone who said or did something to upset “the newlyweds.” And then König pointed out that Simon and Johnny always acted married so what’s the difference now that it’s official?

Simon’s not sure if he loves or hates being so well known.

“Where are you going on your honeymoon?” Gaz asks.

Simon turns wide eyes to his Johnny, who turns bright red.

“You weren’t going to have a honeymoon?!” Alejandro asks in affront. Johnny looks a little like panicking and running away.

“Laps!” Simon declares, stealing everyone’s attention. “For everyone.”

“What why?” Someone whines.

“Making commentary about a superior’s personal relationship,” Simon replies, voice icy cold. The idiots know better than to question him. Fortunately, the vets on the team know how serious he is and get up, herding the new idiots outside.

“Thank you,” Johnny murmurs, brushing past Simon with a hand on Simon’s wrist. It’s a little subtle touch that helps ground Simon and he touches Johnny’s hand gently.

“You wanted to get married but you don’t want to take me on a honeymoon?” Simon teases, softly. Johnny rolls his eyes.

“Not you, too.”

“I have a house,” Simon says. “We could go there next leave. If you want.”

Johnny grins. “Where?”

“Little seaside place in Crail.”

Johnny looks like he’s been slapped. “You have a seaside house in Scotland?”

Simon feels embarrassed and he has no idea why.

“Yes?”

Johnny grins. “If ye didn’t just send everyone t’ run laps, I’d take ye back t’ our room.”

Heat flares through Simon.

“I didn’t know I’d have a Scottish selkie husband when I bought the place,” Simon says, “just wanted some peace and quiet.”

“Peace and quiet, huh?”

“Won’t be when I get you there.”

Johnny’s eyes dilate.

“Think ye can make me scream, mo chirdhe?”

“I’m thinking you can make me scream.”

“Aye, I can do that.”

Simon tugs his mask up and kisses his husband before he explodes.

“Careful, love.”

“What are ye gonna do about it?” Johnny grins.

“Do you want to run laps with a hard-on?” Simon asks. His Johnny looks shocked. “Can’t show favoritism, Johnny. Laps for everyone. You and me included.”

Simon starts walking to the door, amused at the look of pure affront on his husband’s face.

“Yet aff yer fuckin’ trolley,” Johnny mutters.

Simon adjusts his mask back down and shoots a wink to his Johnny. “Winner gets to pick next position.”

Simon laughs to himself as he runs outside, listening to Johnny scramble behind him, trying to keep up.