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Pub crawls were nothing new for the task force. Felt like they deserved a small break from it all. A cold pint as a minimal payment for doing the world’s dirty work. The scene in the pub was untroubled. Calm without hustle or bustle. Tidy and clean. Most importantly discounts for any military. Ghost had excellent taste in pubs. Unlike the rest of the 141.
And cognac was surprisingly tasty. Not the sergeant’s usual choice. But smooth, sweet. Fruity with a hint of toasted almond. Warm on the tongue. With that vast robust profile, all unlocked with a simple ice cube.
Kyle glances over at the team. Price was entertaining Soap with regaling tales of his wife. The two smelled of rum and lager. Kyle couldn’t tell which John drank what.
Bitter malt had interfused with coconut-y citrus. An… interesting combination. Which was assaulting his nose. Two smells warring against one another.
Gaz wrinkles his nose. Choosing to breathe through his mouth instead. Less stink, more enjoying the moment. Though, he privately hoped Johnny was drinking the rum.
He hums at the thought. Swirling his drink. Daydreaming about that sweetness on Soap’s lips. The things he’d do just to get a taste.
A dark clothed elbow plucks Garrick from his non-HR appropriate thoughts.
“How’s the cognac?” Skeletor’s nephew prompts.
“Almond-y, quite fancy it really. Might sneak another glass.” With a flick of Gaz’s wrist the yam colored liquid swirls in his glass.
“Careful. Don’t want my favorite ‘angin.”
“Not getting plastered, Ghost,” Kyle took another sip. A part of him, suddenly remorseful about his sober vow. It did taste dangerously dynamite. Scrumptious, not that he could say that out loud. The others would take the piss immediately. Like circling wolves, them. Chomping for any chance at a joke.
Bistre brown meets whiskey amber. Ghost, admittedly, has a staring problem.
“You gonna tell me?” Ghost drops mysteriously. Need to be psykick just to be Ghost’s friend.
“Nothing to tell.”
“About Johnny, Kyle.”
Kyle’s eyebrows twitch. Before he relaxes his face. Nonchalant, act nonchalant. Don’t play your cards. “Well, if you need to know about Soap just ask him yourself.”
Ghost sighs loudly. “Rocky relationship right now, Gaz,” those cozy eyes flicker to his untouched bourbon.
Gaz takes pity on the Mancunian. “Well, what’s got you curious about Tav?”
“You.”
Gaz swallows. Face calm, too calm. “Mate, you’ll need to elaborate.”
“He’s been acting different around you.”
“At least he’s not brooding anymore,” he offers. Ghost grunts in agreement. Still waiting.
“I think he’s taken a shine to you.”
“…you’re full of it.” Kyle counters.
“Maybe.” Ghost’s blonde lashes obscure his eyes. A moment of questioning reprieve. “Might be a shot in askin,” he mumbles, finally taking a sip from his bourbon.
Silence stretches comfortably between them. Gaz peels himself off his seat. Swallowing down the rest of his drink…
“Going for a smoke,” he announces. Stirring Soap and Price, who are looking none too sober.
“ ‘m’d need a smoke too,” Soap slurs. Face and neck a lovely flushed red.
“Sure that’s wise, Johnny?” Ghost prompts. Voice dripping with mirth. Price’s eyes crinkle. Grinning like a damn mad man. Looks like the wolves found a bone to chew.
“Your blood alcohol percentage is higher than mine, sergeant,” the captain utters. The natural gravel in his voice boosted under the influence. All rosy cheeked like a fairytale maiden.
“My thoughts exactly, you’ll blow up if you smoke,” Ghost muses, voice monotone. The captain gives Simon a good natured pat. Smiling wider at the jokes.
“Haud yer wheesht, o’ ‘ll gie ye a skelpit lug!”
That shuts Ghost up with an unhappy, “Bloody hell…”
Soap smirks pulling himself up. Trailing after Gaz. Stormy blues hazy, but glad as Gaz holds the door open for him. Such a gentleman. Lovely lad. Nice hair. Big smile. Oo, that arse.
“Ky…” he crows. Watching Gaz fidget with his cigarette box. Frowning at the movement. How many smoke breaks has Gaz had recently?
“Ye well?”
“Stressed,” a puff of smoke escapes those eye-catching lips. Smoke flowing out of his mouth, all dragon-like, “per usual”
“Even oot ta pub?” Goodness, Johnny sounded so childlike and innocent. Despite being a trained killer.
“Even at the pub.”
“Even wit military mates? Ah ken we nae ta softest… but...”
“Even with friends.”
Gaz hums as they stand there. A small gust of wind blows through the alley. Making the dank smell less terrible and more tolerable. Soap’s pupils seem to dilate at that. Big black pits overpowering the striated bits in his eyes. The Scot welters over, nostrils flaring. Staring as Gaz breathes in the smoke. Holding it in, then turning his head to the side. Purposely blowing it away from Soap.
“Ye smell nice.”
Kyle tries not to acknowledge the compliment. Keeping his aloofness set, exhaling out again.
“Must be my body wash. Got a new one.”
“ ‘s nice” Johnny repeats. Adam’s apple bobbing as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Drunkenly gawking at such a common sight. Kyle wasn’t secretive about smoking, despite how bad he knew it was. But Johnny just stared, enthralled by the vision in front of him.
Kyle rolls his eyes. “When you choose a bar that actually has personality, you tend to smell better, luv,” he teases.
‘Luv’ was utterly accidentally irreversibly blurted out. But it seemed to make John’s eyes sharpen, a haze of alcohol aside. Not predatory. No, it’s like Soap was just waiting for the punchline. The usual homoerotic teasing. A way to poke fun at John’s preferences.
Gaz knew the rumors about Soap intimately. Especially after the not so subtle break up.
“Ye tryin’ ta take ta piss?” John starts. Lips forming a readied frown, at Kyle’s lack of an instant response.
“…No,” Kyle starts slowly. Snubbing out the cigarette into an ashy tray. Smoke curling up from the cigarette grave. “Look, Tav… I think you’re astonishing. I wouldn’t poke fun at you being er… gay”
John blinks owlishly. Before he not so smoothly leaned against the wall. Defensiveness fleeting from his body. Defused once more. Obviously ogling at Kyle’s bum.
“Yer hot.”
“I know.”
“B-f… Bastard…” Soap’s mouth struggles with the familiar word. Cheeks sagging as he gets the word out.
Gaz snorts as Soap grunts. Teetering closer. “Someone ought ta shut yer mouth…” John teases. Bold confident flirtations, undercut by an unsteady body.
Another unbidden laugh escapes Kyle’s lips. Cheeks feeling a bit warmer. Was he tipsy? Why was this working? He didn’t fold that easily for anyone. Gaz was hard to get wasn’t he?
“Maybe we should get you inside.” Kyle prompts. Offering Soap a hand, not that Scot would accept. John’s pride wouldn’t allow it.
“ ‘m nae against taking this inside.. but take a bloke ta dinner, first.”
“I’m not cottaging anyone in the bar.” A firm reminder.
Soap glowers at that. Propping himself against the alley wall. Huffing cutely. Gaz takes a moment to let his nonchalance slip. He could take a chance and regret it later. ‘Please let this be okay,’ Kyle whispers in his head. Shoes scuffing against worn cobbles. Getting closer to John. Planting a small peck on the man’s cheek.
Testing the waters.
Soap, thankfully, wasn’t joking about his blatant drunken interest. Pecking Gaz’s lips in return.
Warm lips meeting, eventually. Slowly introducing themselves. Close in such an unfamiliar sense. Something chaste, something light.
Soft pecks lasted longer than expected between two repressed, horny, deprived men. A new record set for military sods just like them. This new sensation has a chance to bloom, before it the fuse sparks. Exploding into manic emotion.
Kyle’s hands move automatically. Cupping Soap’s face. Tilting his head up a little more. Before Johnny’s hands follow, precipitately latching onto his bicep. Squeezing a bit painfully.
It felt like booming fireworks. Kissing his closest confidant like this. These breathless cravings were more entertaining than initially thought. Additionally, to Kyle’s added delight. Johnny tasted just like that golden rum. Coconut with a hint of vanilla citrus.
Garrick, being a greedy man, wanted more. More lingering sweetness. More kisses. More of anything John would send his way. MacTavish was just as desperate as him. Falling into the feverish woes of eroticism.
They needed it. Even if Soap was pretty tipsy, even if someone were to see them. It was as romantic as it could get for men like them. As ironic as that seems. There was nothing better than this (except several things that were, but that was besides the point).
The ecstasies lasted mere minutes, Gaz leans back. Restraining himself. Soap tailing the other man’s lips for but a moment. Chasing that high. Teeth snapping, eyeing Gaz.
“Ta was jost marvellous.” He huffs. Tugging on Gaz’s collar. Lips skimming along Gaz’s jaw line. Drunkenly rambling into warm skin. Mouth dipping. Chin running along the sinew of his throat.
“ ‘s braw. Ah want more than a taste,” the Scot coos. Stubble itching against where it’s perched.
His head was spinning. This was bliss, no other word described it like this. Johnny lumbers closer. Hands tightening around that collar. Teeth bared and ready to leave evidence. Kyle pushes him back. Shaking his head. Breathing out loudly. His skin felt too warm.
“Ye seriously smell nice…” the mumbled words barely escape Soap’s lips. Stumbling from the shove.
“Still obsessed with my bloody bar, no wonder you’re called ‘Soap’.”
“Got ta sign f—fer a cool reason, Gaz.”
“Sure.”
Two whole weeks.
After snogging off his closest confidant, radio silence. From both of them. Eye contact has been strictly prohibited between them. Gaz, however, has been sneaking cheeky glances every now and then.
Another unhappy development, Price and Ghost have been more relentless in their teasing. A usual attack from either lieutenant or captain, leaving Gaz grasping straws of nonchalance and Soap loudly denying the jabs.
It’d be hilarious if it wasn’t them under those teasing remarks.
A familiar voice breaks through Gaz’s ponderings.
“Garrick, thoughts on the current formation?”
Kyle blinks. Turning valuable attention back to more important matters. Eyes narrowing, re-analyzing the map. Mouth twitching into a pout as he looks at the group plan.
“Sir, you want me and Soap leading marines to the southwest quadrant?”
“Problem with Sergeant MacTavish?” Price muses. Eyebrows quirking up. Not so subtly implying something was going on between his sergeants, which there wasn’t!
“No. Sir.”
Later that evening, Gaz received an encrypted email of teasing ‘congratulations; from Farah and Alex. Looks like he had to go mole hunting. Someone’s spilling his dirty secrets.
Soap’s had similar troubles. More Ghost-shaped problems though.
“Soap.”
“Ghost.”
“Johnny.”
“Simon.”
“…” Ghost pauses for a breath. “How’s things with you and Gaz?”
Johnny's face screws up at that. He didn’t want to talk about it! He keeps a playful smile on, putting more charm into his tone, “Still playing Cupid, Lt?”
“Humor me.”
Soap pretends to be thinking. Rubbing his chin as he recounts the memories like they were something insignificant. Just an everyday event to write off. “Snogged his face off two weeks ago.” John replies. Ghost’s eyes grow brighter at the words. The lieutenant raised an eyebrow. Clearly wanting to know more.
“Uh, Communally ignoring each other. Awkward ‘round him right now…” he mumbles. Pushing eraser dust from his notebook. He tosses it aside. Decidedly remaining tight lipped on the rest of the situation. Ghost lets out a huff of air. Putting the matter to rest.
Soap positions himself in front of the dumbbells. Running through his routine, mentally. Ghost’s shoes squeak on the floor. Treadmill powering on with a beep!
Soap centers himself, time to pump lead instead of acknowledging emotions. Earbuds in, world tuned out.
MacTavish curls the weight towards himself. Muscles moving the weight easily. Too easy. The weight gets placed back as he grabs the heftier one. He needed to push himself hard. To go to his breaking point. That ought to stop the bombardment of thoughts about a certain Kyle Garrick. Another curl upwards. Followed by an unsteady breath out. Meticulously noting every sweat droplet on his face, every stammer in his breathing. Brain whirling loudly as it maps out all the fine details on how he could improve. Old dingy sneakers squeak as Soap moves to his next set. Skull crushers. His unknowing triceps would be hating John for this soon. Good. He needed the pain, needed to remember more pressing matters.
Fred Durst gives a thug ‘yuh’ as the music blares louder. Propelling Soap to move as a machine. Practiced, honed, programmed.
A hand presses along his shoulder blade. Fluently Soap shrugs the interrupting hand off. Turning noise in his ears louder. Ghost should know he doesn’t need distractions right now. Especially if it’s about Garrick. The hand gets more insistent. Patting Soap’s bicep this time. Soap lets out a grumble at that. LEAVE ME ALONE, SIMON!
“- MATE- TAV!” Finally the hand grabs at Soap’s earbud. Pulling it out smoothly. Throwing Soap out of his world of metal and Fred Durst vocals. He’s getting burgled in broad daylight.
“Tav.” Gaz repeats. Soap glances over. Irritations melting away, oh. Calmly as possible the weights are set down. Ghost’s is eyeing the two of them. Like a five year old kid wanting to force their dollies to kiss. But no comments.
“Aye, sorry, didn’t.. hear you,” John’s voice is a bit shaky as his expression grows sheepish.
“I was trying to ask you something.” Kyle scolds. Dusting off Soap’s earbud. Before putting it in his own ear. Casual, as if they hadn’t had their tongues down each other’s throats weeks prior.
“Oh...” John says mid towel wipe.
“…” Kyle remains stubbornly silent. Or maybe he got distracted on the Limp Biztik roaring through the burgled earbud.
“That all?” the shorter sergeant prompts.
“Uh? Yes? Why, what do you think I was going to say?” Kyle rubs his neck, voice carrying a splash of confusion.
Soap runs a hand through his sweaty looks. Eyes teasing, “Maybe how bonnie ah look.”
Gaz’s ears turn a bit darker. Averting his eyes, trying to be calm and chill. “Nothing to say about the matter.”
“Even after smackin lips together?” Soap brushes his hands onto his own gym shorts. Rough skin catching on the fabric slightly.
Kyle glances at Ghost. Who’s still running on the treadmill. Not giving their drama any attention, now.
“… I liked it.” The taller sergeant admits.
John’s brow furrows for a moment thinking, brain catching up. Before he takes a risky step closer. “Ah liked it too.” He adds.
A few awkward seconds pass, as Kyle’s expression shifts. Not wanting to dwell in vulnerability too long. Soap seemed pleased to follow along with a tone shift.
Briste brown eyes glittering with cheeky energy. “If you help spot me, I might give you a kiss for your troubles.”
“Tempting deal.”
“I tend to be rather persuasive.”
Maybe this was fine. Maybe it was okay for them to be like this. A weird in-between place. Toeing the line of lovers but never settling for official titles. Maybe they could make this work.
Soap stands with his hand hovering under the metal. Grinning as Gaz picks up the barbell.
“Sure ye donnae wanna give ma tat smooch now?”
“You- uff- haven’t- earned it yet,” Kyle mumbles through strained breaths. Soap shrugs, continuing to silently sponge up the sinful sight. As Gaz lay there, sweaty, flushed, lean muscles flexing. Kyle looked too tempting. Soap shakes his head. Chastizing himself for the sinful thoughts. He was a good christian lad now, no need to be thirsting after his brother-in-arms. Even though he wanted to push Gaz down, and kiss him senseless.
Supportive hands dart out grabbing the bar as Gaz’s arms shake subtly. He couldn’t have Kyle getting hurt, now. Gaz gives him a grunt as ‘thanks’ before he continues.
Minutes of pure workout bliss and stink pass.
The bar clanks as it’s put to rest. Gaz is panting as he sits up. Reaching eagerly for the bottle and towel Soap offers him. John’s eyes keep tracking every movement. Feeling some weird cocktail of ache, warmth, and softness.
“Ky,” he nudges Kyle’s shoulder with a curled index. Kyle looks over, raising a brow. The other sergeant leans down swiftly. Pecking Gaz’s cheek. Nose pressing into flushed skin. Nostrils flaring as he steps back, unable to wipe that stupid grin off his face. Gaz looked so divine, sweating, breathless, and surprised.
“Hey- I was supposed to reward you…” Kyle mumbles. Eyes crinkled nonetheless at the action.
“Ah was gettin impatient…”
The Brit clicks his tongue. Cupping Soap’s cheek, pulling his head down, again. Smacking a big sloppy kiss on the Scot’s cheek. The noise and drama of it all, makes Soap both guffaw and fight to shove Gaz away.
“Uck! Yer slobbering on ma… ugh Brit cooties.”
Kyle doesn’t comment. Merrily leaving more big fat kisses all over the other’s face. Trying to pull out as many giggles as he can from the man.
“Slobber suits you.” Kyle states. Booping John’s curved nose, like other sergeants, was some tiny kid.
John scoffs. Rolling his eyes. Leaning down grabbing on Kyle’s shirt sleeve. Wiping said slobber off his face. More primary school fighting ensues. Soap strikes first this time.
Forearm wrapped around Garrick’s neck. A good solid head lock. Knuckles plunged in fluffy coils. Delivering firm noogies to the poor sod. Kyle isn’t going down without a fight. No sir.
He angles his body in the awkward hold. Grabbing blindly for a boxer brief waistband. Arms catapulting up. Successful in supplying Soap with a wedgie. . A firm, “OI!” Cuts through playful roughhousing. As they peel themselves off each other. Right, military base, they’re grown men, SAS sergeants even. Behave.
Ghost crosses his arms. Face damp from his high incline sprints. Watching Kyle rubs his head, while John not so subtly fidgets with his pants.
“Bloody ‘ell” Ghost shakes his head, “You two are hopeless…” Ghost gestures towards them with a jut of his chin. “Soap confess yet?
John’s face becomes very serious for a man fighting a losing battle against a wedgie. Gaz stares in horror, Ghost wasn’t supposed to know. A ruddy blush makes its way across his cheeks.
“No,” Gaz bravely answers.
“Well, sort of, Lt…” Soap supplies unhelpfully.
“Christ- stop dragging your feet. I have a bet to win, sergeants.” Ghost mumbles. Tired of their senagains. “Confess or you’re scrubbing lavatories.” He threatens.
Lovely pressure for a confession. Kyle’s mouth feels useless. Tongue fat and heavy in his mouth. What do you even say to that? ‘Yes, sir I’ll confess my undying gay love for my best friend.’ ‘Right, on that, sir. Let me tell my brother-in-arms I think about him bloody often’
Soap, thankfully, puffs out his chest with fake bravado. Face flushing redder. Eyes glimmering as he faces Kyle. “Kyle, ah like ye.” He states.
Gaz’s tongue starts cooperating, loosening as his mouth moves, heartful words flowing out simply. “I like you too, Tav.”
The sergeants stare at each other for a moment. Ghost clears his throat. Giving his approval of the forced confession. Before he tucks his hands into his pockets. Stalking off to collect his money. Price and Laswell needed to pay up now.
That left Kyle and John sitting there awkwardly. Twiddling their thumbs.
“We both owe each other a proper date now” Gaz comments. Soap nods throat bobbing, faked bavorado leaving his body.
Kyle smiles more to himself, he didn’t mind handling the plans. “There’s a small art museum in close by you might like”
“Ah’m game, sounds good, eh Saturday?” Soap comments.
Kyle nods, reaching to peck another kiss on Soap’s face. Unable to resist the temptation of teasing Johnny with his lips. “Saturday it is.”