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Ghost never thought he’d get to have this. Didn’t even think he’d want it, to be honest. His home life during childhood left much to be desired and he never considered a relationship to be in the cards for him. He spent so much of his life just trying to survive, that the thought of anything “extra” didn’t even cross his mind.
Johnny’s stretched out on the shitty couch in Ghost’s office. The room is small and cramped, but it gives Ghost some privacy, which he is grateful for. Johnny is on his back, snoring loud enough to wake the dead. He’ll wake up complaining about his back soon enough, but Ghost is content to let him sleep and uses his snoring as background noise while he does his paperwork.
Johnny is noisy in all parts of life. He’s always talking under his breath, making a running commentary on the comms, singing off key in the car, complaining good naturedly about the food in the mess. He’s raucous when he’s drunk, laughing, and not controlling his volume when telling his stories. Ghost has to put his hand over Johnny’s mouth to muffle him when he’s fucking deep inside him, or the whole base will hear Johnny’s moans through the thin walls.
Ghost cherishes it. He can’t count the number of soldiers he’s worked with who he’s had full conversations with only to be permanently silenced the very next day. In Johnny’s case, noise equals life and Ghost would rather never have silence again if it meant that his Johnny was alive beside him.
Ghost stares down at the paperwork sitting in front of him. By all rights, he should be finished with it by now, but it’s been slow going since Johnny first barged into his office two hours ago. First, Ghost was distracted by Johnny’s chatter about the latest batch of recruits. Then, when Johnny fell asleep, Ghost’s eyes kept drifting to him, more interested in the rise and fall of his chest and the way he looked so damn peaceful than the reports he was meant to be finishing. Ghost’s cock twitched as he saw that Johnny’s shirt had ridden up, displaying the trail of hair that led into his pants. That was definitely more interesting.
It’s not like Ghost wasn’t used to seeing Johnny sleep. They slept beside each other most nights, two large men who ran hot as furnaces squished on the bed in Ghost’s private room, or in their much larger, more comfortable bed in the flat they shared when they were on leave. Johnny usually knocked out pretty quickly when he crawled into bed, but Ghost stayed awake longer, reading with a small light and a pair of glasses perched on his nose (Johnny was delighted when he first found out Ghost used reading glasses). Like now, Johnny’s steady rumblings became a sound that Ghost has come to associate with peace.
It wasn’t always like this. Ghost didn’t think he’d ever be comfortable sharing a bed with a lover, let alone his life. Johnny wasn’t just any lover, though. Though he tried his best to keep Johnny at arm’s length, the Scot wormed his way into Ghost’s entire soul. It didn’t matter how many walls Ghost had; Johnny had bulldozed each one down. It wasn’t a small feat. Ghost knew that. Ghost knew he didn’t make it easy for Johnny. He was full of so much trauma that he could employ a private therapist for life and still probably not be able to sort through all the shit in his head.
Ghost tried to push Johnny away so many times, wanting to protect himself before Johnny decided he wasn’t worth the effort and left him, but Johnny wouldn’t let him. He even tried to use the excuse that he was protecting Johnny by not letting Johnny love him. That had been a spectacular fight. Johnny was so angry at Ghost for trying to take away his choice in the matter. He had yelled until he was red at the face at Ghost in this very office, furious at Ghost for trying to dictate his feelings, like Johnny wasn’t a grown man who could decide who he loved. Things hadn’t been resolved that night, the fight only being put on hold when Price had barged into the office, bellowing his own threats of suspension if they didn’t shut the fuck up. Johnny had stormed out seething, and Ghost will never forget the look in his eyes as he glared at Ghost and accused him of being a coward before slamming the door behind him.
That had been a long three weeks without Johnny. Ghost had gotten used to the man being by his side. He didn’t realize how ingrained he had become in Ghost’s life until he was gone. Of course, he wasn’t really gone. He was still on base, attending to his tasks, training recruits, working out at the gym, sitting in meetings with Price to discuss plans, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t Johnny. It was Sergeant MacTavish. He only spoke to Ghost when necessary and only as a subordinate speaking to a commanding officer. Ghost found himself always looking for him, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, wanting to catch his laughter, or the warmth of his grin, even if it wasn’t aimed at Ghost.
It wasn’t until Ghost almost lost him forever on a mission gone bad that he realized how much he needed the light that was Johnny in his life. He had sat beside Johnny’s unconscious form for days, praying to a god that he lost faith in long ago to bring Johnny back to him. Johnny was a good man. A forgiving man. A better man than Ghost, that’s for certain, because he simply squeezed Ghost’s hand when he woke up, accepting his apology as easily as taking a breath. They’d had a long discussion when Johnny was discharged. Ghost apologized again and stuttered through an explanation for why he denied Johnny the chance to love him. Johnny shut him up with a kiss pressed to the outside of his mask, quick but firm.
“You didn’t deny me anything, dafty. You can’t control my heart.”
Johnny leaned in, holding Ghost’s face in his hands, the warmth seeping through the material covering his cheeks.
“You can’t order me to stop loving you. I just need you to trust that I know my own mind.”
In the end, letting go and trusting Johnny had been the easiest thing Ghost had ever done. Trust didn’t come easily to Ghost. He had been betrayed too many times in his life to leave himself vulnerable like that, but Johnny was so careful with him, so patient, so mindful of Ghost’s boundaries that Ghost’s walls never stood a chance against the weapon that was a focused John “Soap” MacTavish.
Ghost’s heart belonged to Johnny longer than he’d care to admit. Even before they were official, he had coveted Johnny, wanting to hoard him away like a dragon hoards his treasure. A year and a half later, Ghost feels satisfied as he watches Johnny, his Johnny, sleep in his presence, safe and relaxed.
Johnny shifts, and Ghost sees the fading remnants of a hickey Ghost had placed on his neck in a fit of jealousy after a bartender flirted with Johnny before seeing Ghost’s intimidatingly massive form loom up behind him. The smarmy smile had dropped from the man’s face as he clocked Ghost’s large hand wrap around Johnny’s waist. Ghost had been rough that night, taking Johnny in the pub’s single stall bathroom, knowing Johnny could handle it. Johnny called him a possessive bastard, but Ghost saw the pleasure in his face and heard it in his voice as he moaned so loudly that Ghost had to stuff his mask into his mouth just to quiet him down a little.
It was irrational, but a prickle of irritation went through Ghost as he stared at his fading mark. How dare Johnny’s skin heal, wiping away Ghost’s claim? He abandoned all pretense of finishing his paperwork. He should have given it up the moment Johnny burst through the door, acting as though it was his space instead of Ghost’s. (It was. Everything that was Ghost’s was Johnny’s.)
Ghost stood, taking a moment to stretch his body before quietly locking the door and making his way to stand in front of where Johnny lounged. The only person who would enter his space before knocking and waiting for permission to enter was already inside, but Ghost wouldn’t risk it. Johnny was his, and no one else got to see him the way Ghost did. He reached his hand out, gently pressing into the yellowed mark.
“Johnny.”
The snoring stopped abruptly, and Johnny’s eyes shot open. He stared at Ghost towering above him for a second, before a smug expression melted onto his features, reminding Ghost of the cat who got the cream.
“What took you so long, Simon?”