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Steam warped his reflection in the mirror. The stubble on his jaw seemed more fuzzy, and whatever remained of the paint around his eyes had muddled around his waterline, as if he'd cried. He hadn't, though regardless his eyes seemed to carry a softness he was not familiar with.
He did not wipe the mirror.
Running a hand through the clipped wet hair atop his head, Ghost tossed his dirty towel into the perpetually overflowing basket by the sink and walked up to the toilet. He pulled on the pants and shirt Johnny had lent him for the night, a dissatisfied tilt of his head at its tightness - to no one in particular, since they'd actually showered separately for once - especially since Soap had grown quite a collection of Ghost's larger tops in the recent months. He'd know. There were barely any left in his own closet.
He unlocked the door and stepped back out into the room, a chill engulfing him as the steam dissipated. His bare feet thudded softly onto the wood as he approached the Scot, eyeing him up in his new getup. Respectfully.
Johnny had just finished pleating his kilt and assembling it around his waist before pausing to admire his work in the mirror. It was a proper traditional one that came as a rectangle, the kind you had to roll yourself into on the floor, and Johnny was feeling sheepish at not having done it in a while. Ghost had to shower at some point anyway, so it worked out. He was fixing in the sides of his button up shirt as he walked up from behind.
"What d'ya think, eh, Lt? Clean up nicely, don'I?"
Ghost indulged in running a hand down his shoulder, admiring the sight of him in the mirror over the top of his head. He pressed his nose into the end of his mohawk before speaking, briefly, distracted by the lemon scent of his shampoo. "That you do."
His eyes roamed across the toned expanse in front of him: covered, technically, but evident with every breath and twitch of his body. Johnny had really been putting in the work recently, and it showed. The bulge of his arms neared the size of his head by now, Ghost reckoned, and his chest had grown in considerably, too. It was a wonder the buttons of his shirt held together, all crisp and proper as it was.
His hands moved down his back appreciatively before settling around the dip of his waist, his thumbs finding the familiar little dimples at his lower back and pressing into them just to see him jolt, and smile, and shake his head. Simon only averted his gaze momentarily - he hadn't even gotten to the best part yet.
The kilt was probably the best thing to come out of the United Kingdom, if you asked him. And Johnny.. attentive, artistic, nimble-fingered Johnny truly had an eye for detail and the skills for perfection.
Silence stretched on, Soap's eyeline visually lowering to the bare expanse of Ghost's own legs. A hand shifted back to grope his thigh, which prompted Simon to meet his eyes - playful, mischievous - and he found himself pulling back in retaliation. He only allowed it for a moment longer before detaching himself completely and making his way over to the bed.
"How's it compare to your old one?"
"Hate to admit it, but ma sister knows what she's talkin' about. Am happy to wear it." Soap's pout was evident in his voice, but they both enjoyed this harmless teasing for the promise of what was to come later. This push and pull only worked if they both practiced a little patience.
On Johnny's messy bed, Ghost propped himself back on his elbows, sprawling his legs out across its length. He barely fit in his own bed, and this one wasn't any bigger, but they've been making it work.
The whole reason for getting a new kilt delivered on base was her upcoming wedding later that year; a wedding which Ghost had been invited to, of course, but one which he'd understandably denied attending. It all felt a bit too soon for his soul. Too fresh. He'd only just gotten his hands on Johnny, and with all the chaos of their lives, they hadn't really settled into a routine yet. Hell- Soap hadn't even told his family they were dating yet.. he did not want to barge into their family event like that, as much as Soap insisted it would be okay. Besides, the Scot had many unmarried sisters and even more cousins' weddings he was supposed to attend in the coming years; the occasion for introductions would arrive again soon enough. Ghost was grateful his rejection was seen for what it was: nervousness, and not at all a lack of commitment or ill intent.
“Ye sure y’don’t wan one for yerself?” Soap asked, having turned away from the mirror in favour of rummaging the remaining contents of his delivery box. He pulled out a little pouch - the sporran - and fiddled with tying it around his belt. "Not for this wedding, I mean, just- in general. In the future." *For the future.*
"Dunno," Ghost shrugged, tilting his head back to the ceiling. He'd like for the future to look like this; him and Johnny getting ready *together*, going to visit his family who all not only know he exists but they *like* him,.. it just all seemed out of reach, somehow. Going to meet his partner's family and *not* feeling like he was going to throw up with anxiety because no one but Soap wants him there and he doesn't belong, that is.
But Johnny, intelligent, attentive, bold and reckless Johnny had caught on to an extremely important part and latched on to it with all his might. Ghost should have seen it coming - he couldn't even be mad, really, he'd walked right into it himself.
Johnny knew him so well- from his fingers twitching to his faraway gaze, he could tell straight away his problem was to do with social stuff, acceptance, fitting in, yada yada.
Simon had inadvertently admitted to having no objections to the kilt itself, and he was not going to let that slide. He knew his fate was sealed when they locked eyes again and that mischievous grin appeared.
“I’ve got another one you could try on.”
Simon blinked once, twice, before Soap's internal checking-in timer ran out and he turned to search his closet for it.
“Yer a right big bastard, but it should fit just fine," he stated, pulling it out of a drawer and holding it up for viewing. It was a similar red fabric with blue accents like the one he'd just gotten, only it looked a little thinner and worn out in comparison, though that could be his imagination. It unfolded to an impressive length; the MacTavish were not the kind to buy them pre-pleated, he could've guessed that much.
"Right. Up ye go."
He obeyed, even though he'd just gotten comfortable. Had barely gotten himself up on both feet before Soap walked straight to him and pulled his underwear right off- Ghost squinted before stepping out of it entirely. It ended up somewhere on the floor.
"That right?" he mumbled, amused, staring into those blue eyes so excited they were practically sparkling. They were close enough to bump knees - and more importantly, there were barely inches between his cock and the sporran, but Soap paid it no mind, the tease.
"Aye," came the reply, stern, but managing to avoid meeting his gaze. Stubborn. "Hold this."
Ghost obeyed again, holding the corner of the tartan as instructed while Soap busied himself with getting the pleats even. His half-hard cock - eternally cursed around his Sergeant - was given no attention. He tried his best not to pout.
Soap finished, tied off the belt, and gave the fabric one last decisive tug to settle it against Ghost’s hips. He then stepped back like a man bracing for impact, palms on his own thighs, eyes dragging upward in a slow, appreciative sweep, and then- a low whistle slipped out of him.
“That bad?” Ghost turned his head, palm cradling his nape, and subconsciously shifted his weight just enough for the pleats to sway. Soap's eyes jumped back down to the bottom hem, where the fabric just about exposed the supple outline of his thighs - thighs which were fully exposed seconds ago, mind you. It felt- he- it was all so erotic and Ghost was so stupid.
He barked out a laugh - short, disbelieving - before crossing his arms. "Bad? Ya dafty," he scolded, slapping him on the shoulder. Everything he did oozed off this comfortable masculinity which only seemed to intensify with wearing his traditional kilt. "Never seen an Englishman look so good in it, s'what I'm thinking. I have ta get ya one. Would'ya wear it out?" he asked, turning him this way and that with a light push of his shoulder.
"Dunno." He looked down at himself with a neutrality Soap condemned. "Feel exposed."
“You jus’ gotta own it. ‘Sides- no one’s gunna laugh at that monster o’yers, Lt.”
The grin, the mischief. Ghost turned back around to face him, taking the bait for what it was: an invitation. A cheeky finger snuck around the belt loop at Soap's front, pulling him forward with such force his lips parted into a gasp - Ghost, greedy, swallowed it into a kiss, his other arm latching onto his t-shirt to keep him in place.
They swayed back and forth against each other, both of them hard and rubbing against the material. Soap reached around himself to take off the sporran and wasted no time palming Ghost's cock between their bodies, over the fabric; the friction hurt somewhat, but Ghost could feel the heat of the Earth's core spreading through his chest and all the way up to his neck - he was red by now for sure, his pale skin always eager to betray the effects his Sergeant on him. In return, he squeezed the hand around his neck with a practiced motion.
It turned said Sergeant fairly aggressive fairly quickly: the kiss deepened until their teeth knocked together and their knees bumped twice. The next logical thing happened, of course: Ghost got pushed onto the bed with a decisive shove. Soap proceeded to lock him in place by straddling him with a pair of thighs thick enough to rival his own, settling heavy on either side of him.
It was no fight, but Ghost only settled once the the kiss resumed, and Soap took to scuffing the back of his neck to get him to stop fidgeting. It pulled a whine out of him, a pitch or two or three higher than his normal voice, and his own hands started wandering in return, taking to exploring the feel of tartan over the familiar shape of him.
Sturdy arms wrapped around to keep him in place, fingers digging into his asscheeks through the fabric. Another gasp, another tug urging him to push his tongue deeper into his mouth - he traced his canines, his molars, feeling for the familiar dip left behind by his wisdom teeth as spit trickled down the sides of their cheeks.
Soap brought a hand to the other man's jaw and propped it open wide with his thumb. He cradled his face and thrust his tongue into his mouth as far as it went, licking over the roof of his mouth, over and under Ghost's tongue, using his newfound relative height to his advantage. It was sickening. And the best part: Ghost let him. Welcomed it, obedient and needy, running his hands up and down the expanse of Soap's thighs, finally indulging in making contact with the heated skin directly.
Like a madman, he opened his eyes to take a peek - only to find Ghost already staring at him, delicate eyelashes fluttering shut against the eternal remnants of black paint. It was sickening. It was everything to him.
Soap could not help himself. He put a little distance between them - only pushed himself up on his knees a bit, although in the mind of the other it must have seemed like entire oceans, if the strength of his grip was anything to go by - and waited for eye contact to be established again.
A moment passed, and then another.
He spit directly onto Ghost's tongue, holding his mouth open by the hinge of his jaw, only to be rewarded with the most divine moan; long, tilting up in pitch as he pushed his tongue back into his mouth to spread it around, etch it into his gums and season the deepest parts of his being.
"One for you," he whispered, finally releasing his jaw only to grab for one of his hands instead. Soap held it palm-up with a tight grip on his wrist, as if the other was planning on going anywhere; waited for Ghost to swallow first, before gathering up his own spit again. "And one for me."
Ghost did not waste a moment. His hands rushed back under the tartan, holding his cheeks apart and spreading the warm spit over Soap's hole. It earned him a short breath, a jolt, and then a determined squeeze of his thighs to express his impatience. He pushed one finger in, slowly, knowing Soap relished the burn. The typical drawn out moan confirmed this - the Scot had a tendency to sound downright obscene, and yet they'd just gotten started.
"Could get used to this," Ghost let out from under him, watching as he swayed with the languid pace he'd set. His gaze travelled down to their thighs - Soap's still bracketing his own, thick and tan, his cock tenting the kilt between their stomachs. Knowing he was naked under it, ready for his taking.. he found himself groaning, too, and decided to lock him in place with a hand on his front, holding him tight around the base.
"Yer- yer just selfish," Soap retorted, pushing back in time with his thrusts, gripping onto Ghost's shoulder for balance. "Another, ah- *eungh*.."
"I'm a selfish man, Johnny." He added a second finger, careful when pushing it past the rim, but stuffed it all the way to the knuckle - the most lewd noise came out of Soap, who was now flush against his chest, unable to escape it pressing hard against his prostate. "Would keep you all to myself if I could, with noises like that- fuck," he muttered, pushing up into his stomach, enduring the rough friction in favour of palming their cocks together.
Soap was practically tilted over his shoulder by now, gasping out his breaths in rapid bursts as he tried to get the words out. His ass must be burning, but he was enthusiastically pushing back in time with the thrusts, and his hands dug into Ghost's lower back for support. "Ah- aye, Lt- d'ya really- think a'let anyone else see me like this?"
"Better not," he replied without a second thought. His free hand came up to his throat again, and Soap fully, shamelessly, used its grip to hold himself up. "I'll kill them."
Even after pausing to assess the situation, Ghost came to the same conclusion - Soap was a dream, an angel with the thirst of a devilish spawn, a wolf with a pure heart of lamb. God knows what he found in Simon - devotion, for sure, perhaps even blind obedience. They complimented each other in every way: reckless and brash where he was calm and collected, introspective and understanding where he boiled with anger.
They had not even been dating for that long but Johnny was his life, his partner, the only one he could count on to truly have his six, he thought, watching his eyes lose focus as his grip tightened around his airway. The least he could do was show his appreciation by giving him the orgasm of his life - and he aimed to break that record every time.
Johnny however - his angel, his light, managed to break into a smile between the torments, entirely breaking his rhythm. Ghost released his throat immediately.
"Ya absolute bampot," he laughed, pulling back to look him in the eye with that perfect grin.
Up close, Ghost caught a glimpse of the crow's feet nesting at the corner of his eyes, evidence of sunshine which followed him everywhere and flesh and blood moulding to the eternal mirth fuelling his soul - and found another all-consuming thought blooming in his chest: *what a relief it is to see him getting older, truly, what a privilege*. God help him when that mohawk would start spouting grey.
A strong hand put distance between them and pushed Ghost back again. He fell with a quiet *umph* but held his tongue off any complaints - Soap followed suit, shuffling over the length of his body until his thighs landed on either side of his head. His hands found their way back onto the warm skin now within his reach, up his rock solid hamstrings and to his ass cheeks.
The look they shared was intoxicating. Soap seemed amused despite his fully erect cock mere inches away from Ghost's face. One of his hands found their way to his hair, running his fingers over the buzzed hair affectionately.
"Johnny-"
He took up Ghost's entire field of vision: his thighs, his bulging arms, *the kilt*, he felt intoxicated. He needed more.
"Show me, Simon," he interrupted, bringing his other hand to the base of his own cock. "Show me how bad ye want me."
His jaw snapped open instantly, and the warm tip pressed against his lips immediately, already wet and dripping, Ghost licked over the precum but quickly had to redirect his attention to breathing through his nose. Soap had pushed in fully, hot and heavy and *thick*, God, Ghost would never get used to it and even worse, he could never do without it. He chased it when the other moved back momentarily, craning his neck up in pursuit of feeling full, he didn't need a break, he needed to feel. He worked his tongue over the length and prodded and sucked with his tongue, relishing in the moans and gaps it brough out of him.
Soap was big and buff, but Ghost was bigger and stronger - he pulled him in roughly by squeezing his ass cheeks, causing him to lurch forward, nearly hitting his head against the wall. Ghost did not relent until the other rested his full weight against him. The kilt ended up covering his sight, fanning over his forehead, and he felt downright *stuffed* full but still gripped him tightly, digging into the flesh with all his might.
And Soap - he was moaning and gasping beautifully, rocking forward into him with an indulgence he rarely allowed himself otherwise. They were a pretty even pairing with this push and pull they had comfortably fallen into, though Ghost would always be happy to do whatever Soap wanted, and Soap always wanted to make him happy.
He began fucking into him, and Ghost let his jaw hang slack. Soap must have noticed the kilt, finally, because he pulled it away from Ghost's face and tucked the end of it into the waistband instead. The newfound sight of the other on top of him, tan and sweaty, with his shirt stretched over his biceps and his kilt tucked up and out of the way - his thighs were marvellous, and Ghost could even see his V-line peeking under the tartan, highlighting that devilish waist on either side. His stomach clenched at the sight of him, cock ignored and forgotten behind the wall of his body, though hard and red nonetheless.
"Ah- that's right," came the appreciative groans from above, the firm grip on his scalp keeping him in place despite restlessness of his legs. Ghost always surprised himself with how squirmy he could be. "Take it so well, y'do - ah, lovely. Keep going."
By now tears began to gather in the corners of his eyes. It used to concern Johnny, in the beginning, but he seemed to have understood that it was just something that happened when they got all hot and heavy.
"S'alright, just a moment longer," he encouraged, continuing to fuck into his mouth in favour of pausing to wipe them away. Ghost's hands repositioned to find his ankles, carved his fingers onto the dip of his tendons. The sounds in the room were surprising - it was *him* whining - and it drove Soap over the edge, the sight of him sprawled out under him, eyes shut in concentration, tears blackened by the remnants of his paint streaming down his cheekbones. Stars began to appear at the corners of his vision, his consciousness threatening to give way-
Soap came with a long, drawn out moan, with Ghost matched easily. He only pulled back to let him swallow. A disgustingly erotic squelch resounded through the room as he found himself gasping for air, though unable to resist licking at the tip on its way out.
Soap watched, enthralled, his chest rising visibly with every breath. Ghost wondered, which one of them was more fucked? Hard to tell, he felt thoroughly *used* and hot all over, but Soap looked out of his *mind*. Both of their souls must have left their bodies and conjoined somewhere between the boundary of the tip of his tongue and the slick dripping out of Soap's cock, he figured.
There was no need to talk. Their intentions were clear. Soap helped himself up with a hand against the headboard and released Simon from the shackles that were his thighs. The kilt - God, he'd already forgotten - the kilt still stood tucked into the front of his belt, keeping his half-hard cock out for him to see. Where the Scot got the refractory period of a rabbit, he'd never know.
Ghost's own was tenting his kilt where it stood hard and leaking, though he chose to endure it for a moment longer, following instead the firm hand asking him to roll over onto his front. He repositioned himself along the length of the bed, and a pillow was pushed under his chest. He relaxed his head onto the pillow but pushed his ass up as a silent demand. Soap would take care of that. Of him.
The view must have been something, if the excited hands immediately running over his thighs were to judge. The air in the room had lost its prickling chill from earlier, he noted, all of his focus zoning in on his cock as Johnny's hands came closer. He squeezed his ass, once, twice, before he let out a disapproving *tsk*.
"I let y'wear ma kilt and ye go an'get it all dirty?" he scolded, accompanied by a sharp slap across the back of his thigh. Simon jolted, briefly, and replied with a whine, his knees shifting impatiently on the mattress.
He was dripping - he certainly had been for a while, it must have all rubbed onto the fabric when he was laying on his back earlier. It had not brought him any relief then, but it certainly worked to taunt him now.
"M'just-" he breathed, interrupting himself with a sudden moan as Soap went for the other side. "I'm showing you how bad I wan'it."
His words came out whiny and pathetic - God, where did that come from? Soap did not seem surprised, however, and only hummed appreciatively. He gave the reddening skin a soft caress before rewarding him with a sudden squeeze, gripping hard enough to bruise. Ghost *mewled*, slipping further down his stomach in an attempt to lessen the grasp. Soap released him.
"That you do. Pass me the lube, would'a, Simon?"
He shuffled forward on his elbows to reach into the night stand, sparing a glance over his shoulder. Soap was looking straight at him - his eyes held a predatory glint that thoroughly excited Ghost, and he tossed the bottle onto the sheets behind him. He carefully arranged himself back in his spot, ass out to the room, back arched into the mattress, head hanging low between his shoulders.
He would've- fuck, he expected to be able to take a glance at his own dick, thought about how it might look hanging with the constant stream of pre-cum dripping out of him, but the stupid kilt covered his sight line again.
He felt his ass cheeks being parted, pulling at the skin hard until Soap licked over his hole. It wasn't long before he pushed his tongue in, forcing past the tight muscle with determination. There was a pause, and then a finger joined in - cold and wet, the squelch reached his ears together with a feverish feeling climbing through his body, all the way to his throat.
Soap pressed his finger in slowly, relentlessly, until the knuckle. It drew a whine out of him which was promptly ignored, and a slap on the thigh jolted him back upright from where he'd started to slip down the mattress again. "Sorry, sorry." he breathed, but another slap came down on the same spot- "sir, sorry sir," came the correction. Soap added a second finger in response, not bothering to soothe resulting hand print on his sensitive skin. It prickled from the sting.
He pushed his fingers apart, briefly, and stuck his tongue in between them, pushing and prodding at his walls - Simon fell onto his front *again*, though this time it seemed to work in his favour as Johnny simply lost his patience.
He pulled out entirely and sighed, removing himself from Ghost's peripheral entirely to push himself off the bed. He hurried to grab the other by the waist before any complaints could come through and forced him to the edge of the mattress with one firm swoop. Ghost welcomed it. Offered up his hands behind his back obediently, resting his head against the covers.
"Ye only listen when ye feel like it," he scolded, reaching for the lube again. "S'alright. A'know I don't listen to ya oot there either." His voice had taken on a heavier tilt; Ghost was practically buzzing at the pounding he was about to receive.
They both knew two fingers did not exactly tick the boxes for 'prepping', but it would do. Soap lubed himself up hastily - generous but sloppy - and lined himself up with Ghost's hole.
"Fuck, yer tight-" came as usual, grunted, panting, as he pushed into the warmth, securing him in place with a firm grip around both of his wrists. Ghost pushed his face further into the mattress as the effort continued, deeper, thicker, until his whole body started to convulse from the feverish *girth* of him-
"Come on, ye can do it," murmured Soap, hoisting his ass back up by the belt hoops to bring their thighs flush together, shoving his cock in all the way to the base. Simon was *obscene*, his cried moan at the offense, the strength in those legs reduced to incessant shaking. He was so loud, in fact, Soap reached under the kilt to firmly grasp the base of his cock. An overstimulated Simon was even harder to keep still, he'd learned that the hard way.
"Please- Soap, please. Sir-" his hands had escaped his constraint and roamed all over: tried to pull his hand away, first, before thinking better of it and instead grabbing a fist full of his ass. He clawed at the muscle, pushed himself up and reached back up to his shoulders, dug his nails into the skin for comfort - or rather, revenge - as Soap pounded into him mercilessly. Sweat was dribbling down his neck, his chest, it was cold where his back stuck to Soap's front, flushed hot all over, and he was dribbling all over his hand, which squeezed a little with every thrust.
"Not that," came the reply, breathless. He was getting close too. "Simon-"
"Johnny!" he cried and dropped his head into his chest. His hand had pushed the tartan up when he'd grabbed his cock, and the entire side of it was shining with his precum. Every thrust only jostled him further, spreading it more, he'd gotten it so dirty- "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny," he chanted, an apology, a *plea*, he was pushing back with every thrust, his mouth fell open though nothing legible was coming out of it, until Johnny finally let go.
He came with a whine, ropes of cum shooting up onto his chest and splattering all over the kilt, while Soap filled him up from behind.
For a moment only panting filled the room as Simon fell back against his chest, keeping his cock buried deep for a little while longer. Strong arms wrapped around his front for support, though they ended up in the sticky mess that was all over. He began squirming at the feel of cum dribbling down his legs.
Soap took that as his sign to finally unsheathe him from his cock, and separated them carefully to help Simon onto the bed. The man flopped onto his back, narrowly avoiding getting their sticky cum all over the bedsheets. He was sweaty and a little icky, but he was safe and warm and happy.
Through the heavy exhaustion that was dragging his eyes closed and his limbs glued to the bed every time he tried to move, Simon caught glimpses of his partner fussing around the room. He returned, naked with a wet towel in hand, and turned him this way and that as he wiped down his front, his thighs, his spent cock, and tossed the dirtied kilt somewhere onto the floor.
The gentle lulling did nothing to wake him up, but the arrival of his soft body and sturdy limbs flush against him did. Simon turned around to embrace him. Their arms linked comfortably and he made sure to press his knees right up to the back of his. Breathed in the scent of him. Tickled his nose into the hair at his nape. Johnny acknowledged him with a hum.
"M'sorry," he mumbled, pressing his lips into the dip between his shoulder blades. In the dim light, Ghost could see little red marks on the skin; though his memory failed him in identifying when or how he'd caused them. "I can get them dry cleaned for you."