CrystalCaveCreature
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“That’s not bourbon, is it?” John says with half a sneer, earning a small smile from the man in return, eyes full of mirth.
“Only the best,” the man easily responds, taking a sip just to prove a point.
“For a good ol’ boy,” John replies easily enough, watching the man's pink tongue dart out, licking a stray droplet.
“A good boy, hm,” the man echoes, his gaze traveling slowly down John’s frame, a maddening descent. “I don’t know about me,” he adds, a bit softer. “But you, on the other hand —” The man’s mouth curves, the sharp flash of teeth, like a predator lying in wait. “You look like a good boy, yeah?”
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Or, John MacTavish says he isn't gay. That is, until he meets a man named Simon at a gay nightclub and realizes, maybe he is. -
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Summary
Soap had felt safe. The ocean had been his home.
He was young, but he was skilled, was a quick learner.But humans wanted entertainment, and what humans wanted they took.
He did not know how long he had been stuck, stuck with cruel beings that viewed him as nothing more than a shiny curiosity to gawk at. They knew ways to make him do what they wanted.
He knew the rules now, knew not to vocalise, knew now not to bear his fangs.The marine biologist team around John Price and Kate Laswell want to help. They are a safe haven to heal, perhaps find a way back to the ocean, but first they have to gain his trust.
And then, there is Ghost, who too has met humanity at it's worst.
Bookmarked by CrystalCaveCreature
02 Jun 2026
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- Words:
- 46,767
- Works:
- 2
- Bookmarks:
- 99
Bookmarked by CrystalCaveCreature
22 May 2026
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Summary
Johnny knows Simon is drunk. He'd never suggest this otherwise.
Series
- Part 1 of Absent Without Leave - Deserters
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John tucks his nose into the crook of Simon’s neck, cold against the fabric of his mask, and Simon can only hold him tighter, letting his own scent wash away every trace of the other alpha.
“Johnny.”
The name comes unbidden to his lips, Simon able to feel the shiver that wracks Soap’s body, the goosebumps that prickle his skin. John’s fingers tighten in his shirt, warm breath against the cloth at Simon’s neck. He’s so close, the scent of him soothing over Simon’s own skin like a balm to the ache that lives buried deep inside of him.
He knows he should say something, do something, but he’s frozen, rooted to the spot.
Johnny is his best friend. His best fucking friend in the entire world and while he knows the man won’t speak on what happened tonight, Simon is offering whatever comfort he can.
But maybe it’s not his to offer. Maybe the reason Johnny went out tonight is because he’s looking for something.