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When he hears that Ghost and Roach had touched down base Soap is immediately making his way down to where they landed. Helping both of his dumbass boyfriends out of their clothes, into the shower and then the bed is a task he overly enjoys doing. Especially after a whole week without seeing them.
And he’s very glad he chose to check up on them because when he lays his eyes on the two men he realizes two things: they're injured to all hell, bandages peeking from tactical equipment and clothing, and so exhausted he saw Roach nod off while standing.
He's been on base for the past week and half, benched from any missions because of his knee acting out of line to the point of crutches. (No he was not bitter that he could not join his partners in a mission - fuck off.)
So he was over the moon when two sets of eyes laid on him for the first time since arriving. Brightening up like the sun when he got two armfuls of the most gorgeous men he has the pleasure of calling his .
Bringing them back to the Lieutenant’s room is a whole ordeal on itself but they make it – somehow.
Leaning against the wall, Ghost tries not to put all his weight on him as he helps the Lieutenant unstrap the vest. And it's sweet how the man keeps a hand on his shoulder but slouches against the wall. Keeping constant contact, but making sure he doesn't smother Soap on the floor like an oversized dog who wants cuddles (and from the amount of grumbles Ghost has been letting out, leaving even Soap chuckling – God does he want some cuddles). Soap dumps the vest on the floor, shedding the jacket next, careful for the arm that has a brace around his wrist.
Apparently some motherfucker thought stepping on his wrist as a form to subdue him and taking the gun out of The Ghost hand would be a good idea. Soap shakes his head.
The jumper goes next, getting the same treatment as everything else – dumped on the floor to be dealt with later. He leaves Ghost in just his plain t-shirt for now, taking a quick peek at the bed to make sure Roach just didn't topple down to the floor like a ragdoll (again).
Thankfully no, but he is laying starfished on top of the old sheet Ghost puts on top of the bed when he leaves for a mission (Soap doesn't really know why he does it. Simon has explained it's to keep dust out for the longer missions – so he doesn't have to change the bed when he arrives exhausted. Which makes sense... A little. Not really).
His helmet is at least off, joined with his goggles and mask, gloves nowhere in sight.
Johnny goes back to his Simon’s duty, kneeling in front of the man to help him with his boots.
"Lean on me if ye need."
Soap feels the weight above him shift, leaning more towards the shoulder he has against the wall. Knee lifted slightly, he notes absently.
"Ye with us, Bug?" he asks, mindlessly.
One boot off. He wrestles the other out, cautious with the wobbly knee. A hum of triumph leaves him as it comes out swiftly and he looks up at Simon from his position from the floor. The smile he had since they came back still plastered on his face. The face of pure exhaustion and unfiltered adoration that looks back at him makes his heart pitter patter.
His smile turns cheeky. "He's dead?"
A grunt comes from the bed.
Ghost’s eyes flitter to the bed. "He gave you a middle finger."
A hum of approval.
Soap scoffs, hand on his chest in faux hurt, wiping an invisible tear from his eye. He continues his job of undressing the man in front of him, taking the belts off.
"Always so mean to me," he sniffs "Ah give him nothin' but love and affection and this is how he treats me."
Ghost's shoulder's shake with laughter as Soap gets up to eye level again, grunting like an old man when his knee locks up and kicks him in the ass.
"Ah don't pay ye for this," he mutters lowly at his leg accepting Simon's help in standing upright.
He pats the man on both his sides. "Lift your arms for me, beautiful."
And with that gentle command the shirt leaves and is thrown into the hamper pile. There's a soft pause as he looks at Simon's chest, taking in the expanse of nicked skin and looking for new scars. He only sees the ones he's so accustomed with – well that and the new arrange of deep dark bruises Simon has around his shoulder all the way to his hip. A frown sets itself deep in between Johnny’s brow as he keeps looking. Trance only broken at a displeased sound from the bed.
A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest, soft and warm.
"Jealous Ah'm not sweet talking ye instead, bug boy?"
All he gets as an answer is sheets rustling so he shakes his head, grin plastered on his face anyway.
"Does it hurt too much?" He gestures to the bruises. And Soap knows they hurt. And Simon knows what he's actually asking. Simon shakes his head and Johnny makes a pleased sound deep in his throat. No broken ribs is always good.
His hands skim over strong shoulders and stop at the edge of the soft – grimy – mask that covers Simon from the soft breeze of the room.
Johnny, with his very little self control, can't help himself but reach up on the tip of toes and kiss the man over the mask once on the corner of his mouth. Basking on how Simon melts even further against him. He kisses the other corner, keeping them soft but present.
Getting back on his feet and watching big narrowed eyes watching him leave his stomach a fluttering mess. He watches fascinated as they blink slowly once, twice, so cat-like Johnny feels mesmerized for a second. At the third blink he sees the permission to take the mask off. Picking it up and throwing it to the pile.
When he turns back he gets a shoulder full of Simon. Head laying on it and body leaning on him for support. Johnny chuckles, kissing the closest temple to him. Hand running gently through sweat soaked hair.
"C'mon love, took all that's decent. To the shower ye go."
He gets a big exhale in response and a very lethargic pull away, he pats the man’s shoulder twice, keeping his hand there as Ghost detaches himself from him and the wall.
"Wrap yer bandages, aye?" He remembers to say, leaving Ghost to do it himself.
Simon nods and Johnny watches him stand well on his own before Soap is shooing him to the bathroom.
Slapping Simon’s rear when he passes by.
The glare he gets – almost – leaves him in a fit of giggles.
He takes a moment to shake himself laughing as he makes his way to the mess of equipment scooting everything with his foot to the side away from the door.
Next stop? The bed.
Target? The mess of whatever limbs lay on it.
Staring down at Gary's sideways body, Johnny can't help himself, kicking the nearest available leg with conviction (but gently), hands resting on his hips the same way his mother would when he and his sibling pulled some form of dramatics on her tidied up living room floor.
"Wakey wakey~"
A grunt.
"C'mon ye big baby, a shower will feel nice."
Long grunt.
Soap stares at Roach, in all his unmoving glory and listens to the sound of the shower.
"If ye get up now, ye might be able to catch Simon in the shower."
Pause.
And so he rises.
Johnny has to contain the laughter that threatened to burst out of him at the sight. He's sure his nephew has looked more presentable after a nap.
Roach's hair sticks everywhere and Soap can't help but run a hand through it, smothering the worst cow licks down. Gary pretty much melts under his hands, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Johnny's sternum, exhaling deeply as Soap runs blunt nails on the place the neck meets hair. And if Roach could purr, he's pretty sure he would be right now.
"Yer drooling."
He feels a punch of his hip but he also hears Roach inhale and pass his sleeve through his mouth. Soap shakes his head. "Yer unbelievable."
Lord, the things he would do for this man.
Hands sliding down shoulder blades, he starts up on the buckles there. He noticed Roach's bad arm being pretty much immobile since he entered the room. So he keeps it gentle and doesn't ask him to move much.
It’s easy work on the upper one’s some moves swiftly to the ones below. Holding down Gary's thighs he kneels down with a grunt, working out the chest buckles and pouches, putting them away carefully on the side. Roach watches him with attentive eyes. Soap bathes in the attention like a flower in the sun.
He loves helping out in the process of undressing. It's a type of intimacy he's always looking forward to on the harder days. Helps with the post mission jitters and on keeping his mind focused on the now and then. On the soft warm flesh. It soothes his soul and calms his nerves, gets him into this headspace that's hard to explain.
A hand reaches the side of his head and then the feeling of lips met his forehead. Mohawk getting flatten down by the weight of a nose.
His heart does a flip and he's sure his cheeks will hurt from how hard he’s been smiling.
"Yer injured, sweetheart?" He whispers softly. The hand shifts, tapping him twice on his head.
"Concussion?" A tap. “Headache?” Two taps.
He hums in a knowledgement.
The hand continues its path down to his left shoulder down to his elbow, tapping twice along.
So his assumption that Roach’s arm was out for the count was right. He hopes it’s from exhaustion and not from something worse.
It then leaves him completely, hand touching Roach's own right thigh.
Soap frowns, placing the vest on the floor. He makes sure the pants are the next to come out, unbuckling everything to take a good look at what's injured. "Lift yer hips, love."
Roach gives him a raised eyebrow, one that Soap rolls his eyes at, patting his thigh with an open palm for him to get a move on.
He lowers the pants down to under the knee, remembering belatedly that the boots are, in fact, still on – he'll just take everything in one go after. Right now he's looking at the bandages that circle Gary's thigh, there's no blood and as he touches it cautiously it seems more like a gash than a bullet wound. He taps the side of it twice just to make sure. Roach answers with a sleepy hum.
Satisfied with it Soap continues with the process, he shuffles down a little further and unlaces Roach's boots – putting them to the side, under the bed. Balling the socks and pants all into a ball he throws them to the wash pile. They watch it as it flops close enough. Victory in Johnny’s book.
While he's still down on the floor, Soap turns to the nightstand looking on the lower drawer for the wrapping plastic he knows it's there for moments like these. It’s quick work and he takes a deep breath when he’s finished with everything he can under the belt, tired from kneeling for so long and Gary laughs at him, the bastard.
"Aye, aye, laugh at my misery, why won't ye."
His knees make two obscene pops as he gets up again but he scowls his expression at Roach's raised eyebrow. 'Old' he signs.
"Yer mom is old." Roach wheezes where he's leaning against him. Lifting the man’s right arm, Soap takes it out of the sleeve and through his head, sliding it down the other one with ease.
"There ye go." Soap praises softly. "Ready for the shower, up you get."
Gary takes the pull with ease, rests all his weight against Soap and for a moment they stay standing like that. Wrapping his arms around Roach slender shoulders he rocks them side to side, rubbing between his shoulders.
"Ye did good today." Roach nuzzles closer as Soap kisses the top of his head. "Proud of ye."
"Now." He detangles them both, turning and pushing at Roach's shoulders "Shower."
Soap makes sure to tap him on the backside for good measure.
Then he hears the bathroom door close and Ghost's muffled voice, turning back to the room, hands on his hips, he ponders into the silence.
Now to tidy it up.
He scans around, clean enough besides the mess close to the door and next to the bed so it's not too much work. He pats his thighs as he starts moving, counting in his head at least twenty minutes before both men leave the bathroom ready to pass out for the night.
Picking up all of Roach's equipment, he drops it carefully next to Ghost's by the door. He would organize the things himself. But if he's being honest, exhaustion has started to pull his muscles taunt. Making his knee ache like a bastard again and he's not very happy in messing it up more and getting one more week of mind rotting boredom. So he leaves them be (Ghost would probably be thankful, taking his routine of cleaning and organizing as its own hobby. Roach would either ask him for help anyway or just clean everything in an hour tomorrow.)
A mindless tune plays inside his head, setting itself free and coming out in soft hums as he flitters through the usual bedtime routine. All the clothing that lays on the floor gets picked up and checked, rummaging every individual pocket for forgotten trinkets.
He will not be blamed again for exploding the washing machines.
Ghost's turn out empty on both pants and jumper. On Roach's he finds a pretty stone and a quid, the rest empty. He makes sure they’re carefully set on top of Ghost's desk before continuing.
Equipment in place.
Laundry in the hamper.
He makes sure to look inside some of Ghost's drawers for a brace he knows is there. Setting it aside by the bedside for Roach's arm.
Now. Check the bed and pass out.
Sounds like a solid plan.
Kneeling on the sheet he reaches the far end that's resting against the wall and peels it slowly away, making sure to not disturb dust that might've still clinged to it, even after Roach rolling on it like a dumbass. His knee stabs him fiercely as he's coming back from the hamper to pull the sheets away, bringing back the fucking limp he got rid of just that morning.
"Yer a mighty bastard, Ah hope ye know that." He grumbles, grunting as he comes and goes from the wardrobe with the pillows and soft duvet to finish the bed. "Fucker."
A hum comes from behind him and the smile Soap had on his face some minutes ago immediately makes his appearance once more without him even meaning to.
Simon looks ready to fall and sleep right there and then.
"Good shower?"
Ghost exhales a nice and long breath and makes his way back to Johnny, taking the rest of the pillows from his hand and putting them in their right place. He then turns to Soap and gently pushes him to sit on the bed.
Soap makes a confused sound as he sits. Looking up at Ghost with big eyes. A tap to his ribs and he's unconsciously bringing his arms up. The shirt is halfway off when his brain catches up with what Simon's doing.
"I can do it myself, Simon–"
A hand against his mouth shuts him up, but he still glares half heartedly at Simon. Who's smiling so beautifully back at him. Soft and tired and gentle.
Soap wants to kiss it and taste the warmth on his lips.
The sound of the bathroom door closing signals Gary's arrival back to the room. Moving closer to where they are. Johnny doesn't see what he's doing since Simon’s giant frame covers most of the view as the man continues on his path of helping Soap undress himself.
To make things easier Johnny kicks his trainers off, helping Simon with the straps of his knee brace. A hiss escapes him as the comforting pressure lifts from the joint, bringing all the days ache back with a hammer. Simon's warm hand rests there for some seconds, the warmth and pressure soothing it marginally through the denim of his pants.
They stay like that for god knows how long, Simon rubbing and massaging the pain away and Johnny melting at the contact. The moment gets broken when Soap, senses delayed, hears a drawer close and Ghost starts moving again, finishing undressing him. Putting everything on the hamper where it belongs.
The sound of drawers can be heard in the otherwise silent room. He lets himself flop on top of the bed, not getting inside yet, waiting until Roach does.
So he's a little surprised when the man sits down next to him instead. Letting Simon into the sheets first. He's opening his mouth to ask what’s up, when he feels a cold hand against his knee, shutting it immediately with a quiet groan when pain cream connects with his cold skin. Hands press just right on his joint. Massaging it up over his thigh and down his calf. The massage ends with Johnny turned into a malleable puddle of a man on their bed, eyes closed and refusing to open, moving finally after two soft slaps are pressed on his thigh.
Simon more or less drags him up the sheets, helping Johnny settle with his back right against the wall, coolness seeping into his heated skin. Gary for his part, more or less throws himself right between them, slothing his back against Johnny's chest and tangling his legs with Simon’s.
They finally settle, bodies decompressing against the mattress, cozy in their self made cocoon. It's perfect, Johnny's arms secured safely around Roach's middle, fingers wrapped loosely around Ghost's injured wrist. It's warm, safe, secure, everything they could’ve hoped for....
However–
Johnny cracks an eye open.
“Forgo’ to turn off th’ light."
Gary groans in his arms cracking open an eye himself and glaring at the offending light switch.... That is on the completely opposite side of the room.
They’re debating who's gonna get thrown out the bed for this mighty sacrifice when Simon, eyes closed and relaxed shifts. Picking up one of Johnny's scattered trainers and launching it in the direction of the switch. Hitting it with dead accuracy in all his sniper glory.
The two sergeants stare at it for a second, watching as Simon grumbles half asleep back to his starter position. Melting back into the duvet.
Johnny is the first to burst into laughter, Gary following him with his own fit of giggles. Simon smiles.
"Ah love you." He mumbles against the nape of Roach's neck, smile light and wide, a permanent resident on his face when around these two.
Two musical hums answer him back.
He loves them so much.