As we enter another year, I am sure some of you are wondering if there will be another round of this event. Unfortunately I have moved on from COD as my primary fandom and am not personally interested in hosting this event for a fourth time.
However, should there be someone who is interested and willing to take the reins, I would be happy to hand things over.
Thank you for your varied participation over the few years this event ran.
Have been checking the tags for your work, but if we missed you please feel free to tag us so we can reblog it!
Thank you to those of you who participated in round three! There is a collection on AO3 if you plan to cross post your work. There are subcollections for the various rounds as well as the main collection. You can also use GhostGazWeek2025 in the freeform tags.
We will continue to reblog work for the next few days as it filters in.
Kyle’s hand stops mid-motion, his finger still connected to Ghost’s broad back, heated up with all the alcohol burning in the veins.
“The fuck? Yer a prick, Si, I’m tryin’ to write a word ‘ere.” He snorts, dropping his head to rest between Simon’s shoulder blades and chuckles drunkenly, holding onto his shoulders and rubbing freckled pale skin showing from under a tight-fitting shirt. “C’mon, guess proper.”
“Tha’s my guess. A hard, fat prick with spunk shootin’ straight up my spine. Ya hintin’ at sumthin?” Gaz doesn’t need to see Simon’s face to know he has a broad, smug grin on his disfigured lips, baring his crooked teeth, and a completely not subtle glint of devilish delight in his eyes – let a lad make a dick joke and he’s happy. As he lifts his big glass to his mouth to take a swig, Simon feels harsh pokes into the softness under both his ribs and jerks with a gruff chuckle, not spilling his booze only by some miracle.
“I’ll show ya a fuckin’ prick,” threatens Kyle, getting up off the bed and stumbling for a second before finding his balance again. It helps that his childhood bedroom is familiar and friendly, old football posters on the walls and a tall bookcase in the corner, with his whole life story stored in trinkets on the shelves – everything gives off a feeling that even if Kyle faceplants on the floor, nothing will happen to him. Ghost drinks this sense of safety even more greedily than beer, looking like a huge stray that got to know the comforts of a loving home and is desperate to soak in as much as possible before it goes back to the streets.
“Wot, already? I thought we’d at least wait till your parents go to bed,” Simon gets shoved in his face immediately and coughs out a few more chuckles, falling onto his elbow and watching Gaz leave the room. There’s muffled music playing from the kitchen, where Garrick’s parents are still sitting and chatting – Simon would be surprised what a long-married couple has to discuss anymore, but somehow there’s always something to talk about with Kyle, and now Ghost knows where it comes from.
He finishes his beer and puts the glass aside, further from the bed to avoid knocking it over, then falls back onto the soft blanket, spreading his arms. Kyle’s bed is soft, softer than Ghost expected, blanket and pillows are thick and inviting to drown in them – tipsy and sleep-deprived for a lifetime, Simon starts dozing off immediately, sinking into the dark blue tender cotton with yellow stars.
He jolts awake when the mattress dips under new weight and sees Kyle leaning over him with a twinkling smile and an eyeliner pen in his hand, pointed directly at Simon’s forehead – bastard must’ve raided his sister’s room for it.
“Shh, lay still, I’m gonna draw a prick on your forehead,” coos Gaz, barely holding back his snickers – they fight over the pen like two cats batting their paws at each other, until Simon locks his huge palms around Kyle’s wrists and yanks him forward, catching him with his big, soft, well-padded chest – and a kiss right afterwards. It’s soft, tastes like beer and a bit of salt from the crackers they munched on – that’s how their game started, with Simon being an arse and wiping his greasy fingers on Kyle’s back and asking to guess what he wrote.
“Ya’re a wee bastart, Riley, playin’ dirty like that,” murmurs Gaz, pulling away from the kiss. He stays close, ready to be drawn back into another one, but takes his time to look at Simon in the dim lighting. Licking his thumb, Kyle wipes a smidge of eyeliner that got onto Ghost’s cheek in the process, and picks up the pen again. “Let me? No pricks on yout forehead, promise. Jus’ close yer eyes.”
Ghost obliges almost too fast – too trusting, tell someone and they won’t believe it; but the worst that can happen to him in Garrick’s bedroom with the Sergeant himself sitting on top of him is falling asleep prematurely. To avoid that, Simon places his hands on Kyle’s hips, runs his calloused big palms along the perfectly shaped thighs, kneading and squeezing taut muscles, catching his thumbs under the shorts that showed off all the goods. His grip tightens for a moment when the spongy tip of the eyeliner pen touches his eyelid and relaxes again. It’s surprising how still Ghost manages to keep even his eyes while Gaz draws decent – for a drunk man – wings, keeping some resemblance of symmetry even, breathing loudly through his nose.
When Kyle tells Simon to open his eyes again, his breath stutters. There’s something angelic about those big brown eyes in a frosty, feathery frame of blonde eyelashes catching the sparse light of the nightstand land, softened with feminine, almost too curved up wings in their corners – yet there’s still that devilish, sarcastic glint deeper in the smoky quartz of Simon’s iris. He looks up at Kyle from under his heavy, sleepy eyelids, as if he knows what this view does to him – and enjoys it.
“Do I look like a pretty lass yet?” even his voice is quieter, hiding the ever-present teasing under some new layer of sultriness; Kyle’s brows twitch, deciding if they want to join in a frown, and instead shoot up pleadingly as Gaz goes for another kiss, grabbing Ghost’s jaw and exhaling loudly. Simon slides his palms over Kyle’s ass and shoves them under his T-shirt, pressing into his lower back to hold him closer. “Ye’re tha’ horny for fockin’ eyeliner?”
“Don’t fuckin’ mock me, Si,” Kyle’s response lacks bite – he’s breathless, sprawled on top of his Lieutenant and rendered weak in his knees just from seeing Ghost with a hint of makeup on. As if scared that he might expose himself even more if he looks, Gaz keeps his eyes closed and nuzzles Simon’s cheek blindly, brushing his parted lips over the edge of the scar. “Not my fault ye’re so pretty, Riley.”
Ghost rumbles underneath him, humming like a sleepy predator disturbed by its partner coming into the lair from a hunt, and digs his fingers into the smooth skin on Kyle’s back.
“You could paint my mug if tha’ does it for ya,” murmurs he into Garrick’s ear, kneading his firm, dense back muscles. “Bet there’s a whole treasure trunk in yer sister’s room. An old wig too, maybe, huh?”
Pulling back, Gaz sits up a bit and gives Simon a long, thoughtful look from under his lashes, before licking his lips with the faintest nod. No harm in trying at least once, after all.
Simon knows that Kyle, of all people, wouldn’t judge him for something like this. But it still feels... sensitive. Fragile. Complicated. He isn’t like his partner, who flows comfortably between masculinity and femininity, sometimes entirely outside of either. Simon’s a man all the way to his core, has never wondered or wanted for anything else.
But it gets him off like nothing else to imagine wearing fishnet stockings and a too short skirt.
So when Soap proposes that the losing team of this round of beer pong has to wear a woman’s outfit for next weekend’s Halloween party, Simon has to lock himself down so he doesn’t panic. Or worse, throw the game. But he and Gary hold their own pretty well against Soap and Mace. He’s relaxed enough to feel amused and a little disappointed when each team only has two cups left.
When Kyle finally makes his way back to their side of the room, he asks, “How are things?”
“Your man’s aim is shit,” Mace heckles. “What do you think, Kyle. Should he be a cheerleader or pirate wench for the party?”
Kyle makes a considering noise and, just as Simon’s about to make his toss, says, “I don’t know. I think he’d look good as a playboy bunny. He’s got the legs for tights.”
The ping pong ball hits Soap in the face, and Simon can’t look at Kyle. Won’t do it. Knows, deep in his gut, that if he makes eye contact, he’s a goner.
-
“There’s my pretty girl,” Kyle purrs.
Simon ducks his face into his arm and whines. His partner drags their hand up his thigh, puling at the already straining fishnet stockings until questing fingers can grab his hip under the too short skirt. The mockery of a cheer uniform barely fits as it is. Manicured fingernails grab at his scalp and make him look at himself in the mirror.
“What does my pretty girl say,” Kyle growls.
“Th-thank you,” Simon whimpers. He gasps as Kyle wraps a hand around his cock and strokes him roughly. “Thank you, D-Daddy. Fuck.”
He has to bite back a moan when Kyle thrusts into him with a deep rolling grind. Not that anyone would be able to hear him over the noise of the party. But the fact that the door doesn’t lock, that Kyle has him bracing one foot awkwardly to hold it closed, has him stifling any noise he might make.
“God, I knew you’d look so pretty like this,” Kyle chuckles. They grind in slow, and the sound they make is as loud and indulgent as Simon won’t allow himself to be. “Fuck, you’re so tight, baby. What’s wrong? You worried someone will find us? What would your team think if they knew you let me under your skirt, honey? I bet they’d be surprised. You’re so sweet, they’d never believe you came to a party without panties on.”
“I didn’t- You made me-!” Simon protests, then bites back another soft noise.
Kyle hushes him and leans down with a groan to kiss between Simon’s shoulder blades. “’S’alright honey, I know you’re a good girl.”
Someone rattles the handle and tries to push the door open. Simon yelps, shoving at the door with his foot. Kyle moans again, then slaps Simon across the arse. It startles him enough that he can’t hold back the next moan that shakes through him. On the other side of the door more than one voice cheers.
Ghost had come back from a mission around the same time Gaz got back from leave, and the latter was eager to catch up on the goings-on.
“Standard fare. How’s the nephew?”
“Just the cutest thing imaginable! 7 pounds, and the squishiest cheeks you’ve ever seen. Mara was tired as all get out from the birth, so it was good that I went down there. She’s perked back up again though, and Steve should take good care of her.”
Ghost nodded, and that was the conversation done. He was never much for catching up, which Gaz was fine with. Good timing as well, since he got a text from someone. He opened his phone without worry, he never got anything salacious sent to him, and clicked on whatever video his other sister had sent him.
It was a compilation of videos of her dog, and Gaz couldn’t help the coo that left him, still feeling a bit soft from seeing his newborn nephew. It must have intrigued Ghost enough, since he turned back around, and Gaz soon felt him right behind him, looking over his shoulder.
“This is Pumpkin, Aisha’s golden retriever. Isn’t he such a good boy?”
Ghost raised an eyebrow at the phrase, maybe not as familiar with the term of endearment since he seemed neutral at best about dogs. “I guess. How can you tell a dog’s good?”
Gaz clicked off his phone and turned to properly face Ghost. “’S just an expression, sir. Everyone calls their dogs good boys and girls. They don’t need to do anything to earn it.” Gaz couldn’t school his face away from the comedically flabbergasted look he knew was plastered on it.
Ghost just hummed, he won’t give a verbal answer if he didn’t deign it necessary, and turned to leave again. Gaz, still feeling safe from his time with his siblings and forgetting exactly what’s allowed when talking to superiors, let a, “I’m sure you’re a good boy too, sir,” slip. When he saw Ghost stop in his tracks, he didn’t even let the other man turn around, and bolted away, silently cursing to himself for being so flippant.
He also missed the blush on his superior’s face.
-----
Ghost didn’t stop Gaz as he ran away. How could he? What would he even say? Ghost made his own escape, to the gym to hopefully work out and stop thinking about it. Unfortunately, he ran into Soap there, who could tell something was off.
“Mission that bad L.T.? Never seen you this spooked.”
Ghost simply shook his head and made his way to an empty mat. He still needed to warm up so he didn’t hurt anything by diving straight into working out.
Soap refused to drop it though. “C’mon, somethin’ happened, I can tell.”
Ghost didn’t acknowledge him. Soap then got distracted by a text message.
A few moments later, and he was cackling.
“Are you off because Gaz accidentally called you a good boy? That pissed off about it?”
Ghost stopped whatever he was doing to whip around to the sergeant. He better have been glad no one else was there because Ghost could not have his shame spread like this.
“It’s fine L.T., everyone likes a little praise now and again,” saying that, the smirk hadn’t left Soap’s face.
“Sergeant…” Ghost hoped the warning tone in his voice would get Soap to lay off it.
“Oh hush up, ‘s not that bad. Sure yer both embarrassed, but it’s not like it’s anything shameful.”
Ghost decided trying to get Soap to lay off it was a futile endeavor, and left the gym again. He should go talk to Gaz, tell him he’s not pissed off, and then the whole situation will be done and swept under the rug.
-----
Ghost didn’t get a proper chance, immediately grabbed by Price as he left the gym and told to go to a conference room. Soon enough, Soap and Gaz were being dragged in as well, by a marginally pissy Price.
“I know two of you just got back from a mission, and Garrick just got off leave, but Laswell’s sent us a mission that needs getting done yesterday.”
Ghost resigned himself to having an awkward tension between himself and Gaz until this mission was over, and stored it away as he listened to Price.
—
‘Not used to having you yabbering in my ear’” Gaz remarked plainly, ignoring the mud underneath him.
“Focus, sergeant, Price had to help Soap with setting up demo blocks, so you get me for a spotter. Simple’s that.” Ghost was not pleased that Price was helping Soap instead of directing Gaz as normal. However, Price was the only other one on the team with enough demos experience to help out. Ghost really should take that course.
His meandering thoughts were stopped as he saw a man exiting the building. They couldn’t afford having him see Price and Soap and raising the alarm. So, death it was.
“Garrick, man on east side of compound.” Ghost fell into a rhythm as he instructed Gaz, letting everything fall to the wayside except completing the mission. He heard the crack of the rifle, and the man fell prone; Ghost could see the bleeding from his head once he cranked up his binoculars.
“Target down.”
The comms crackled to life in his ear, with Price and Soap letting them know the demo blocks were set and it was evac time. Ghost waited for Gaz to get to his position before the two headed to the evac point. They heard the loud boom, and waited for their team to crest over the hill. Once they were in sight, Ghost decided to be a bit cheeky, and turned to Gaz.
“You were a good boy, sergeant.”
He didn’t wait to see how Gaz would react, beelining towards Price as he and Soap approached the pair.
-----
Gaz decided he needed to get back at Ghost for the comment making him feel like it did. So when they were back at base and not in immediate threat of being sent on a mission, he suggested it.
“Could we spar, Ghost? Wanna practice on someone bigger’n me.”
Ghost didn’t even glance up from the paperwork he was having to fill out; ‘perks’ of being a lieutenant. “Later. Busy.”
Gaz sighed, but knew that was that. Ghost had his schedule, you didn’t interrupt it. “Fine. I’ll be in the gym; Soap and I are practicin’ too.”
Gaz truly didn’t expect that to garner any reaction from the man. After all he and Soap practiced together pretty often. So when Ghost immediately set down his paperwork, Gaz was confused.
“Need a break anyways. ‘ll watch you two spar and fix your technique.”
Ghost went ahead of him, and Gaz followed like the good soldier he was. However, he was feeling a little miffed. Ghost only stopped his work once Soap was mentioned. He knew the two were close after the shit-show in Las Almas, but it felt kinda…discouraging. He honestly though Ghost might have been flirting with him (a dream come true) with that ‘good boy’ return, however now he sees it was just to make him flustered from his misspeak earlier, nothing else.
‘I’ll just show up Soap,’ Gaz thought. ‘Least then he’d focus on me.’
—
Gaz groaned as his face was shoved in the mat again. Soap was on some kinda adrenaline high to be beating Gaz so thoroughly, he was sure of it. Ghost didn’t think so, critiquing Gaz’ technique yet again.
“You get distracted trying to throw the opponent off. If you just take them down, they don’t need to be distracted. Up, again.”
Gaz stood up again, because he was kinda getting what he wanted; Ghost’s attention. Even if he was probably annoyed with Gaz for failing so miserably against Soap.
Gaz looked at his friend a little critically. How was he handing Gaz his ass this often? Was he having extra training? With Ghost?
Gaz had to shake those thoughts off as Soap made his first swing. Gaz tries to follow Ghost’s advice, no fakeouts or jukes, and aims to just get Soap to the mat. A solid kick to the back of the knee almost did it, however he miscalculated, and Soap’s leg going down also pinched Gaz’ between in, forcing him down as well, and a bit harder than his friend.
“…Gaz, mate, are you okay?” Great, now Soap sounded concerned. “’ve never won this often in a row. You sick or something?”
Gaz just rolled over to his back, and looked at Soap with a grimace. “Tell me the truth bruv, has Ghost been giving you special training?”
Soap chuckled. “Caught on finally? ‘S the only reason he’d stop his paperwork to watch this. Having to make sure I’m doing well. And considering…” Soap looked over Gaz’s supine form. “I’d say I’m learning pretty well.”
Soap helped Gaz stand back up, and fell back into a ready stance, before Ghost approached the ring.
“Soap, out. Gaz, now is you’n me.”
-----
Gaz wasn’t sure what to think. Ghost had been giving Soap special sparring training? Why only him? Shouldn’t Ghost train both of them, as the two below him in the core of the 141? Whatever, it was probably just because of Las Almas. Ghost felt responsible or something. Lord knows Nikolai still feels like shit for letting Gaz drop out of a helo; he gets the seat furthest from the opening every heli ride now.
Right now, he had bigger issues to deal with. Like the fact the one who trained the guy who just handed him his ass was about to spar him. Oh boy.
“Gaz? You ready?”
Gaz fell into a sparring position. “Yessir. Just thinking.”
Ghost nodded, and got in position as well. “I’ll catch you up with Soap. Don’t be afraid to play dirty.”
Gaz wasn’t expecting that. Might as well make use of it, though. He stood a bit surer now. “Affirm. Ready?”
—
Gaz’…everything hurt. Ribs, legs, hands; all of it. He’d been going as hard as he could on Ghost, yet it didn’t even seem to phase him. The man wasn’t even out of breath, and he had his full mask on!
The mask…no, no, playing dirty is one thing, however Ghost wears the mask for an important reason Gaz may no know, but understands. He won’t take that off. Maybe biting’s on the table?
“Is biting on the table?”
“No, because it could kill a man. We’re sparring, not killing.”
There goes that idea. Gaz gets back up with a wince, and stands again. While all his muscles may be in pain, he has also been learning a lot from Ghost in this short period. He can see why Soap beat him so thoroughly. Speaking of which, he’d left a while ago, to where, Gaz had zero clue.
“Start.”
Gaz tried his best, he really, really did. He actually fought pretty valiantly at the beginning, making Ghost trip up a bit. He soon recovered though, and Gaz was about to be slammed onto his back. His hand shot out to try and grab Ghost’s shoulder to give him leverage, however a sudden elbow from Ghost changed the trajectory, and Gaz ripped the plastic skull plate off his mask.
Gaz immediately let go, and smacked his hands against his face in his hurry to cover his eyes. “I didn’t mean to sir!”
Ghost, gentler than Gaz expected, put him down on the mat. “’s fine. Needed to mend this one anyways.”
Gaz waited a few minutes before finally opening his eyes. He had only taken off the plate, so the balaclava was fully in place. Gaz sighed in relief seeing that.
“Think I’m that ugly, sergeant?” Ghost quipped, and Gaz groaned.
“Was being polite. You wear that thing for a reason, yeah? Don’t wanna force ya’ to show anything.”
Ghost snorted. “Wear it ‘cause I’m covert ops and I have a shit ton of scars. Couldn’t give less of a crap what my face looks like.”
Gaz blinked at that. He could see the smirk under Ghost’s balaclava.
“…we goin’ again?”
“Nah,” Ghost shrugged, offering a hand. “Yer knackered.”
Gaz took his hand, only stumbling a moment as he stood up. Ghost turned then to leave, and Gaz just stared after him. He…wasn’t sure what to think now.
-----
Ghost sat down in his office, holding the skull plate Gaz had accidentally ripped off. He wasn’t lying when he said he needed to mend this mask, the threads were stretched and thinning. It was one of his first masks, from before he started using kevlar thread to attach the plate. Truth be told, he should really retire it, even as an “around base” mask. However, he was a bit sentimental about it, sue him.
He sighed, gently tossing and catching the mask as he thought. Then he had an idea. A great idea.
—
Gaz groggily cracked open his eyes when his alarm went off. Everything was even more sore from yesterday, and he’d sleep in if he were in literally any other profession. However, he never gets to stop being a cog in the machine, so up he gets.
However, he doesn’t expect to find one of Ghost’s masks laying on his dresser. Scratch that, not just “one of” his masks, it’s the one he ripped yesterday. It has a mottled mess of a patch he recognizes.
Gaz very carefully lifts the mask, turning it over in his hands. The balaclava is old, faded, blotchy with patches, and generally worn out. The re-attached plate has chip damage, worn paint, and stains. However, it’s firmly sewn back onto the balaclava. As Gaz looks at it, the worn and old nature of it almost reminds him of a loved teddy bear. How silly.
But its in here for a reason. What reason, Gaz isn’t sure. Was the re-attached plate a threat of sorts? A reminder to not mess with Ghost’s mask? Whatever the reason, Gaz sure isn’t going to figure it out if he’s late for training. He gets changed into his clothes, and stuffs the mask in one of his pockets to be dealt with later.
Later turns out to be as soon as he makes it to breakfast. Ghost is sitting at a table by himself, and stares at Gaz as he goes through line and then to looking for a place to sit. Sure Gaz could just…sit somewhere else, however Ghost was practically giving him the death glare. Obviously he was trying to tell Gaz something.
So, Gaz made his way to the slaughter. Thankfully it seemed to be the right choice, as Ghost mellowed a little as Gaz sat.
“Did you get it?”
Gaz blinked. Get what? He blinked, before the dots connected in his head. Gaz simply nodded, not sure what the mask meant.
“Good. ‘S yours now.”
Gaz swallowed, and croaked out a, “Why?” to which Ghost blinked.
“You tore it off. Badge of honor or something.”
“And you’re no’ mad?”
Ghost snorted, which Gaz jumped at, not expecting it in the slightest. “Not at all. It was old anyways. Was gonna need to mend it no matter what. You actually ripped it pretty cleanly out?”
Gaz relaxed a little, finally sitting down with his food. “You sew?”
“Jus’ enough to make these masks. Not exactly a service provided by the laundry folk.”
“Fair, fair.” Gaz felt himself relax further as he continued to talk with his lieutenant. Now that he was sure his throat wasn’t going to be ripped out, he could admit the gesture was nice. Cute, even, though he’d never say that to Ghost’s face.
-----
Ghost woke up the next morning feeling…happy. He was happy to be getting close to his other sergeant. Until now the two were just co-workers, however, with how intertwined the 141 was…yeah, he really should have started forming this friendship earlier.
As Ghost got ready for the day, he thought back to what started this. The accidental ‘good boy’ comment. What an absurd way for it to have begun. However, he wasn’t so daft as to deny the comment made him feel…good. Even as a joke, Gaz thought he could be called a good boy. Ghost wasn’t exactly used to such nice terminology to describe him.
He should go see Gaz. They could have breakfast together. Ghost got dressed and ready and headed to the mess hall. He was the first one there. That’s fine, he’s used to getting up early. He gets his food and sits down. He even sits near the entrance so he can easily beckon Gaz to join him.
Ghost sits there, nibbling at his food. He doesn’t want to finish it quick and make Gaz feel like he’d have to rush as well. As people filtered in, Ghost kept his eyes on the entrance. Gaz wasn’t here yet. He wasn’t usually late for breakfast. Finally Ghost finished his breakfast, just from nibbling. He got up and put the tray in the basket, and headed back to the barracks. He approached Gaz’ room. Come to think of it, he and Soap were roommates and neither had made it to breakfast. Were they hanging out?
Ghost was just about to open the door as he heard Soap say, ‘You think Ghost likes ye back?’
Ghost tilted his head. They were talking. And of course he liked Gaz, they were friends now. And he’d complimented him, even if it made him embarrassed in the moment.
‘I really do hope so. The mask thing made me think he does. Do you…think he’d be okay dating a subordinate?’
That made Ghost fully stop what he was doing. Date? He…what? Gaz wanted to date him?
Ghost decided he needed to talk to him now to know what in the world he was thinking. He opened the door and looked at the two, not saying a word.
Gaz looked like he was about to curl up into a ball of shame, while Soap seemed much less effected. “L.T.! Great timing, I’m gonna leave ye to talk to our friend here.”
Soap sauntered out of the room, humming nonchalantly. Ghost closed the door behind himself, and took a seat on Soap’s bed, across from Gaz.
“…did you hear all that?” Gaz finally asked, not looking Ghost in the eyes.
“…dating?” Ghost decided to jump straight to the chase.
Gaz sighed, and nodded. “Thought you might like me back. Y’know, with the whole ‘good boy’ thing, and the mask, and whatnot.”
Ghost blinked. Was…was he flirting? Was that considered flirting?
“…I was not intentionally flirting with you,” he starts, and Gaz chokes down a wounded noise. Before Ghost can continue, Gaz cuts him off.
“It’s okay, ignore me, it’s fine, we don’t have to talk about thi-”
“Kyle.”
Gaz promptly shuts him mouth.
“I was not intentionally flirting, because I don’t know how to flirt. I…don’t even really understand having a crush. However,” Ghost shifts forward on the bed to look better into Gaz’ eyes. “I do want to be close to you. It may not be exactly how you wish, because I don’t think I’m built to be able to really date, but…I’d be willing to try. It can’t interfere with work, however.”
Gaz nods in understanding. “Understood, sir. People are all different, makes sense some may not really get crushes and such.”
Ghost was…pleased. Last time he told someone that, he was called a freak of nature. So for Gaz to accept it is…nice.
“…could I call you Kyle? Outside of work?”
Gaz’ smile becomes softer. “I would like that. Could I call you Simon?”
Ghost nods, and offers a handshake. Gaz can’t help but snort, but shakes his hand anyways.
“We don’t have to be anything you don’t wanna be sir. We can just be closer friends if that’s all you want.”
Ghost takes a breath. “We can…try to date. I will be very, very…very slow moving, though.”
“That’s fine by me.”
-----
That's all folks! Thank you so much for reading, and thank you again for hosting the week @/ghostgazweek!
Ghost woke up the next morning feeling…happy. He was happy to be getting close to his other sergeant. Until now the two were just co-workers, however, with how intertwined the 141 was…yeah, he really should have started forming this friendship earlier.
As Ghost got ready for the day, he thought back to what started this. The accidental ‘good boy’ comment. What an absurd way for it to have begun. However, he wasn’t so daft as to deny the comment made him feel…good. Even as a joke, Gaz thought he could be called a good boy. Ghost wasn’t exactly used to such nice terminology to describe him.
He should go see Gaz. They could have breakfast together. Ghost got dressed and ready and headed to the mess hall. He was the first one there. That’s fine, he’s used to getting up early. He gets his food and sits down. He even sits near the entrance so he can easily beckon Gaz to join him.
Ghost sits there, nibbling at his food. He doesn’t want to finish it quick and make Gaz feel like he’d have to rush as well. As people filtered in, Ghost kept his eyes on the entrance. Gaz wasn’t here yet. He wasn’t usually late for breakfast. Finally Ghost finished his breakfast, just from nibbling. He got up and put the tray in the basket, and headed back to the barracks. He approached Gaz’ room. Come to think of it, he and Soap were roommates and neither had made it to breakfast. Were they hanging out?
Ghost was just about to open the door as he heard Soap say, ‘You think Ghost likes ye back?’
Ghost tilted his head. They were talking. And of course he liked Gaz, they were friends now. And he’d complimented him, even if it made him embarrassed in the moment.
‘I really do hope so. The mask thing made me think he does. Do you…think he’d be okay dating a subordinate?’
That made Ghost fully stop what he was doing. Date? He…what? Gaz wanted to date him?
Ghost decided he needed to talk to him now to know what in the world he was thinking. He opened the door and looked at the two, not saying a word.
Gaz looked like he was about to curl up into a ball of shame, while Soap seemed much less effected. “L.T.! Great timing, I’m gonna leave ye to talk to our friend here.”
Soap sauntered out of the room, humming nonchalantly. Ghost closed the door behind himself, and took a seat on Soap’s bed, across from Gaz.
“…did you hear all that?” Gaz finally asked, not looking Ghost in the eyes.
“…dating?” Ghost decided to jump straight to the chase.
Gaz sighed, and nodded. “Thought you might like me back. Y’know, with the whole ‘good boy’ thing, and the mask, and whatnot.”
Ghost blinked. Was…was he flirting? Was that considered flirting?
“…I was not intentionally flirting with you,” he starts, and Gaz chokes down a wounded noise. Before Ghost can continue, Gaz cuts him off.
“It’s okay, ignore me, it’s fine, we don’t have to talk about thi-”
“Kyle.”
Gaz promptly shuts him mouth.
“I was not intentionally flirting, because I don’t know how to flirt. I…don’t even really understand having a crush. However,” Ghost shifts forward on the bed to look better into Gaz’ eyes. “I do want to be close to you. It may not be exactly how you wish, because I don’t think I’m built to be able to really date, but…I’d be willing to try. It can’t interfere with work, however.”
Gaz nods in understanding. “Understood, sir. People are all different, makes sense some may not really get crushes and such.”
Ghost was…pleased. Last time he told someone that, he was called a freak of nature. So for Gaz to accept it is…nice.
“…could I call you Kyle? Outside of work?”
Gaz’ smile becomes softer. “I would like that. Could I call you Simon?”
Ghost nods, and offers a handshake. Gaz can’t help but snort, but shakes his hand anyways.
“We don’t have to be anything you don’t wanna be sir. We can just be closer friends if that’s all you want.”
Ghost takes a breath. “We can…try to date. I will be very, very…very slow moving, though.”
“That’s fine by me.”
-----
Get aromantic-ed, idiot /affectionate
Look, I'm bad at writing romance on a good day, so as much as I wanted to try and make this all sappy and romantic and junk, Ghost is thoroughly aromantic in my eyes, and I had to comply with that. sorry if that's disappointing o7
Ghost sat down in his office, holding the skull plate Gaz had accidentally ripped off. He wasn’t lying when he said he needed to mend this mask, the threads were stretched and thinning. It was one of his first masks, from before he started using kevlar thread to attach the plate. Truth be told, he should really retire it, even as an “around base” mask. However, he was a bit sentimental about it, sue him.
He sighed, gently tossing and catching the mask as he thought. Then he had an idea. A great idea.
—
Gaz groggily cracked open his eyes when his alarm went off. Everything was even more sore from yesterday, and he’d sleep in if he were in literally any other profession. However, he never gets to stop being a cog in the machine, so up he gets.
However, he doesn’t expect to find one of Ghost’s masks laying on his dresser. Scratch that, not just “one of” his masks, it’s the one he ripped yesterday. It has a mottled mess of a patch he recognizes.
Gaz very carefully lifts the mask, turning it over in his hands. The balaclava is old, faded, blotchy with patches, and generally worn out. The re-attached plate has chip damage, worn paint, and stains. However, it’s firmly sewn back onto the balaclava. As Gaz looks at it, the worn and old nature of it almost reminds him of a loved teddy bear. How silly.
But its in here for a reason. What reason, Gaz isn’t sure. Was the re-attached plate a threat of sorts? A reminder to not mess with Ghost’s mask? Whatever the reason, Gaz sure isn’t going to figure it out if he’s late for training. He gets changed into his clothes, and stuffs the mask in one of his pockets to be dealt with later.
Later turns out to be as soon as he makes it to breakfast. Ghost is sitting at a table by himself, and stares at Gaz as he goes through line and then to looking for a place to sit. Sure Gaz could just…sit somewhere else, however Ghost was practically giving him the death glare. Obviously he was trying to tell Gaz something.
So, Gaz made his way to the slaughter. Thankfully it seemed to be the right choice, as Ghost mellowed a little as Gaz sat.
“Did you get it?”
Gaz blinked. Get what? He blinked, before the dots connected in his head. Gaz simply nodded, not sure what the mask meant.
“Good. ‘S yours now.”
Gaz swallowed, and croaked out a, “Why?” to which Ghost blinked.
“You tore it off. Badge of honor or something.”
“And you’re no’ mad?”
Ghost snorted, which Gaz jumped at, not expecting it in the slightest. “Not at all. It was old anyways. Was gonna need to mend it no matter what. You actually ripped it pretty cleanly out.”
Gaz relaxed a little, finally sitting down with his food. “You sew?”
“Jus’ enough to make these masks. Not exactly a service provided by the laundry folk.”
“Fair, fair.” Gaz felt himself relax further as he continued to talk with his lieutenant. Now that he was sure his throat wasn’t going to be ripped out, he could admit the gesture was nice. Cute, even, though he’d never say that to Ghost’s face.
Almost gave up on this because it felt not great and someone else turned out to have kida a very similar idea for these prompts, but eh, fuck it, we ball. I promise I came up with it on my own...
CW: NSFW because it's a kink scene, but nothing too explicit, dom!Kyle/sub!Simon, bondage, subdrop, aftercare, knifeplay mentioned I guess.
“Red.”
Kyle stops in his tracks immediately, easing the pressure of his shiny boot off Simon’s thigh. His reaction time is immaculate, even though halfway reaching for the knife he almost second guesses the signal – Ghost’s voice sounds gruff and unimpressed as usual, almost too calm for someone pulling the emergency trigger. And yet, when Gaz pulls on the neat rows of rope tied in an intricate immobilizing web down Simon’s broad torso, he notices the painful tension in the muscles and cold sweat on pale skin.
“Stay with me, Si.” Kyle is efficient with the blade, cutting the ropes off with deadly precision – good knife in good hands. He lets Ghost untangle his arms and feel them moving freely first, before carefully touching him with a warning and pulling Ghost’s back against his warm chest. “Better, luv?”
Simon looks down, now free in his chair, at Kyle’s dark hands contrasting with his milky skin with pale constellations of freckles and pink indents where the ropes dug into flesh. It’s some purely artistic imagery, prime target for modern photographers and artists – but they don’t take pictures of their sessions, even though Gaz suggested once or twice to show Simon how beautiful he looks when he lets himself become art under Garrick’s skilled hands. Ghost prefers living that moment from the inside, giving up his autonomy to become something bigger, better, purer – seeing himself like this from the outside sounds threatening to the peace of mindlessnesss he gains by being an art form. Kyle doesn’t insist; to him Simon already is a masterpiece, with its ever-changing nature being the main point.
As if sensing all the thoughts tangled up in Ghost’s skull like the soft red ropes in a messy heap on the floor, Gaz rubs his thumb over the most prominent marks on his forearms and slowly slides his palms along the skin, up to the heavy shoulders and back down to cover the backs of Simon’s hands. Carefully, he locks their fingers together like this and guides Ghost’s arms to move open from his body, bend and stretch, to feel the full range of free, painless, healthy motion.
“Lookin’ beautiful, luv. Feel tha’? No restraints. Everythin’ in place. I gotcha.” His voice murmurs in Simon’s chipped ear like a peaceful forest creek, full of fresh water and damp mossy earthiness. Part of the impression comes from a scented candle burning away on a safe distance from where they were playing; they picked it up together, with Ghost hovering over Kyle’s shoulder like a grumpy mountain of black cotton and snorting dismissively at every flowery and spicy candle Gaz offered to his judgement.
Ghost calms down in Kyle’s arms, little tremors in his muscles subsiding and giving way to warm heaviness as he slumps forward and lets out all the breaths he was holding in. A gentle, soft, dry palm covers his forehead, allowing him to rest his heavy head against it like cats do to feel safer – Simon hums, and Gaz sees his mouth soften into a relieved shadow of a smile.
“Damn you’re pretty,” chuckles Kyle quietly, kissing Ghost’s neck where it slopes down into his burly shoulder, and nuzzles him with a happy, slightly sly twinkle in his crinkled eyes. “Want your snack?”
“No.” Simon’s voice sounds the same – still making Garrick wonder after all this time if he indeed knows how to read the fearsome Lieutenant. Ghost makes it easier, though; turning his head, he reaches behind him and pulls Gaz in for a heated, needy kiss with messy tongue and teeth – the more contact, the better. It floods them both with a shockwave of joy, sliding down their napes and pooling somewhere lower, even after a sudden drop. Kyle pulls away for a second to look at Simon from under his dark, long lashes and swallows, barely restraining his need to drown Ghost in affection. Even like this, breathing into his wet mangled lips, he can tell that Simon has something else to say.
“Somethin’ else wrong, Si?”
In response, Simon turns his whole body and slowly licks his lips.
“The knife,” he grumbles, watching Kyle’s fingers stop tracing the lines on his calloused palms. “Tha’ shit felt good.”
There’s a pause. Ghost can’t hold back a satisfied smirk anymore and grins, earning himself a meaningless slap on his open palms.
“You’re a big rotten freak, sir,” Kyle stands up, making Simon look up at him, and kisses his grin, pulling his head back by the dirty blonde strands. “Bastard, can’t even drop without getting horny.”
Ghost watches Gaz move away, chuckling gruffly, and rests his elbows on the chair’s backrest.
“Is that a “yes, we’ll try it next time”, Sergeant?”
A little protein brownie almost hits him in the face and he catches it from a second attempt, almost dropping at first, before ripping the packaging open with his teeth.
“It’s a “shut your pervert mouth and eat your treat, sir”, sir,” mocks him Kyle as he comes back with a cup of fresh tea. “Of course we’ll try it next time. Drink up, luv. Might as well tell me what exactly felt that good.”
CW: Kink discussion (?), a lovers' (?) quarrel (!), Manic Pixie Dream Ghost (derogatory), Heterosexual (?) Price, an actual acknowledgment of rank, this was weird to write but also fun
Simon can feel eyes on him, but it was almost inevitable in as close quarters as they’ve got right now. The safe house is practically a shack. The bathroom doesn’t even have a door, for fucks sake, so the four of them were about to learn a lot about each other, one way or another.
He gives himself a shake and swipes himself dry with some toilet paper before saying, “’s rude to stare, Garrick.”
Kyle jumps, and his eyes dart up and away. “Sorry, sir.”
“Not a word to Soap,” Simon commands, zipping himself up.
“No,” Kyle confirms. His eyes dart down to Ghost’s crotch, then back. “No, sir.”
“Good lad.”
By supper, everyone’s seen more than enough of each other. They’re all curled up around their MRE’s with little to say beyond grunts. Soap takes first watch. It’s probably less about letting them get some shut eye and more about avoiding making eye contact with Price after whatever made him shout something Simon doesn’t care to have translated. The Captain himself retreats to the back room. Which leaves Simon with Kyle in the front.
“...So,” Kyle starts.
“Fuck’s sake,” Simon groans, scrubbing his hands over his mask.
“Your dick is locked up and I’m supposed to not say anything about it?” Kyle hisses, looking around to make sure they’re alone. He scoots his chair closer and says even quieter, “I didn’t know you were seeing someone else, so excuse me if I have a question or two.”
“I’m not seein’ someone else,” Simon grumbles. “’S just somethin’ I do, sometimes.”
“You expect me to believe-” Kyle leans in, incredulity dripping from every word. “that you just lock your cock up, sometimes. On missions. Just because?”
Simon tries, and probably fails, to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. “It ‘elps me shoot.”
“It helps...” Kyle puts his face into one of his hands. “Simon.”
“Fuck off.”
Kyle takes a deep, steadying breath, visibly counts backwards from five, then sits back and asks, “Okay. Is it a sex thing?”
“No.”
Kyle relaxes, fractionally, and nods. “Okay. Fine. So now that the mission is over, you just... take it off?”
Simon clenches his jaw and considers jumping out the window. Eventually, he admits, “Price has the key.”
The other man throws his hands into the air. “What the actual fuck, Riley?”
“Was doin’ this long before you,” Simon growls. “It works for me, it’s not interferin’ wi’ anythin’. Drop it, Sergeant.”
“You don’t get to pull rank just because you don’t want to have the conversation, Lieutenant.”
“Watch me.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s real mature.”
“What do you want me to say?” Simon snaps. “I’m supposed to stop doin’ somethin’ that makes me better, keeps the whole team safe, keeps you safe, because you want to be exclusive?”
“Keeps me safe?” Kyle scoffs. “You give Price control of your dick to keep me safe?”
“He’s fuckin’ straight,” Simon points out, with a sneer. “Which you know, you fuckin slag. I wasn’t your first choice.”
Kyle rears back like he was slapped. “Excuse me?”
With a wince, Simon looks away across the room. He bites the inside of his cheek and resists the urge to dig himself a deeper hole. Kyle’s never acted on his little crush on the captain, told Simon so at the beginning of this thing they started doing, shit, almost eight months ago now.
Puppy love, he’d called it, one night, curled up with Simon in his bed. It had felt good to be recognized, given more responsibility, to have someone like Price believe in him. But that’s not what he wanted in a partner, he’d confessed in the dark. He wanted to be something other than the Golden Boy, needed space to be vulnerable in ways a man like Price wasn’t really built for. And then he’d kissed Simon like his life depended on it.
After ninety seconds of silence, Simon grits out. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’ta said that.”
“Perhaps,” Kyle says through gritted teeth, “if Price is your first choice, we should just end things here.”
“That’s not-” Simon huffs a breath. “There’s nothing between me an’ the captain. I give ‘im the key before wheels up, ‘e gives it back sometime after debrief. We don’t talk about it. ‘E probably knows what the key is, but... it’s not a sex thing.”
“Oh, so I’m the only slag in this conversation?”
Fuck. “You’re not a slag. I’m a wanker an’ an arsehole. I didn’t think this was... anythin’ we’d ‘ave to talk about. Not like this. Not.” Simon crosses his arms and tips his head to stare at the ceiling, then makes himself look Kyle in the eye. “It keeps me focused. It’s a pre-mission ritual I figured out a long fuckin’ time ago. Not doin’ it isn’t an option at this point.”
Kyle’s jaw works for a moment. Then he blows all the air out of his lungs and says. “Like the mask.” He sighs. “Okay.”
“...Okay?”
“Okay,” Kyle repeats, crossing his own arms. He glares, fit to burn a hole in the table. “It... You scared me. But... Look, I know how touchy you are about the mask. Can’t blame you for being the same way about your prick. If you say this isn’t a... a sex thing... it’s not a sex thing. Sorry for pushing.”
They sit in tense silence for a few long moments. Simon tentatively reaches out to touch the back of Kyle’s hand with gloved fingertips. He doesn’t get a response, at first, but the whole argument is about just how he keeps himself sniper still. So he holds position, keeps light pressure. Eventually, Kyle turns his hand up and catches two of Simon’s fingers with his own.
(The next day, as they prepare to leave, Simon catches Kyle by the wrist. “Wait. You were jealous. Do you want to do it as a sex thing?”
“Not the time, Lieutenant,” Price grumbles, getting into the driver’s seat of the truck.)
Gaz wasn’t sure what to think. Ghost had been giving Soap special sparring training? Why only him? Shouldn’t Ghost train both of them, as the two below him in the core of the 141? Whatever, it was probably just because of Las Almas. Ghost felt responsible or something. Lord knows Nikolai still feels like shit for letting Gaz drop out of a helo; he gets the seat furthest from the opening every heli ride now.
Right now, he had bigger issues to deal with. Like the fact the one who trained the guy who just handed him his ass was about to spar him. Oh boy.
“Gaz? You ready?”
Gaz fell into a sparring position. “Yessir. Just thinking.”
Ghost nodded, and got in position as well. “I’ll catch you up with Soap. Don’t be afraid to play dirty.”
Gaz wasn’t expecting that. Might as well make use of it, though. He stood a bit surer now. “Affirm. Ready?”
—
Gaz’…everything hurt. Ribs, legs, hands; all of it. He’d been going as hard as he could on Ghost, yet it didn’t even seem to phase him. The man wasn’t even out of breath, and he had his full mask on!
The mask…no, no, playing dirty is one thing, however Ghost wears the mask for an important reason Gaz may no know, but understands. He won’t take that off. Maybe biting’s on the table?
“Is biting on the table?”
“No, because it could kill a man. We’re sparring, not killing.”
There goes that idea. Gaz gets back up with a wince, and stands again. While all his muscles may be in pain, he has also been learning a lot from Ghost in this short period. He can see why Soap beat him so thoroughly. Speaking of which, he’d left a while ago, to where, Gaz had zero clue.
“Start.”
Gaz tried his best, he really, really did. He actually fought pretty valiantly at the beginning, making Ghost trip up a bit. He soon recovered though, and Gaz was about to be slammed onto his back. His hand shot out to try and grab Ghost’s shoulder to give him leverage, however a sudden elbow from Ghost changed the trajectory, and Gaz ripped the plastic skull plate off his mask.
Gaz immediately let go, and smacked his hands against his face in his hurry to cover his eyes. “I didn’t mean to sir!”
Ghost, gentler than Gaz expected, put him down on the mat. “’s fine. Needed to mend this one anyways.”
Gaz waited a few minutes before finally opening his eyes. He had only taken off the plate, so the balaclava was fully in place. Gaz sighed in relief seeing that.
“Think I’m that ugly, sergeant?” Ghost quipped, and Gaz groaned.
“Was being polite. You wear that thing for a reason, yeah? Don’t wanna force ya’ to show anything.”
Ghost snorted. “Wear it ‘cause I’m covert ops and I have a shit ton of scars. Couldn’t give less of a crap what my face looks like.”
Gaz blinked at that. He could see the smirk under Ghost’s balaclava.
“…we goin’ again?”
“Nah,” Ghost shrugged, offering a hand. “Yer knackered.”
Gaz took his hand, only stumbling a moment as he stood up. Ghost turned then to leave, and Gaz just stared after him. He…wasn’t sure what to think now.
Friendly Competition - SFW | prompts by @ghostgazweek
Gaz decided he needed to get back at Ghost for the comment making him feel like it did. So when they were back at base and not in immediate threat of being sent on a mission, he suggested it.
“Could we spar, Ghost? Wanna practice on someone bigger’n me.”
Ghost didn’t even glance up from the paperwork he was having to fill out; ‘perks’ of being a lieutenant. “Later. Busy.”
Gaz sighed, but knew that was that. Ghost had his schedule, you didn’t interrupt it. “Fine. I’ll be in the gym; Soap and I are practicin’ too.”
Gaz truly didn’t expect that to garner any reaction from the man. After all he and Soap practiced together pretty often. So when Ghost immediately set down his paperwork, Gaz was confused.
“Need a break anyways. ‘ll watch you two spar and fix your technique.”
Ghost went ahead of him, and Gaz followed like the good soldier he was. However, he was feeling a little miffed. Ghost only stopped his work once Soap was mentioned. He knew the two were close after the shit-show in Las Almas, but it felt kinda…discouraging. He honestly though Ghost might have been flirting with him (a dream come true) with that ‘good boy’ return, however now he sees it was just to make him flustered from his misspeak earlier, nothing else.
‘I’ll just show up Soap,’ Gaz thought. ‘Least then he’d focus on me.’
—
Gaz groaned as his face was shoved in the mat again. Soap was on some kinda adrenaline high to be beating Gaz so thoroughly, he was sure of it. Ghost didn’t think so, critiquing Gaz’ technique yet again.
“You get distracted trying to throw the opponent off. If you just take them down, they don’t need to be distracted. Up, again.”
Gaz stood up again, because he was kinda getting what he wanted; Ghost’s attention. Even if he was probably annoyed with Gaz for failing so miserably against Soap.
Gaz looked at his friend a little critically. How was he handing Gaz his ass this often? Was he having extra training? With Ghost?
Gaz had to shake those thoughts off as Soap made his first swing. Gaz tries to follow Ghost’s advice, no fakeouts or jukes, and aims to just get Soap to the mat. A solid kick to the back of the knee almost did it, however he miscalculated, and Soap’s leg going down also pinched Gaz’ between it, forcing him down as well, and a bit harder than his friend.
“…Gaz, mate, are you okay?” Great, now Soap sounded concerned. “’ve never won this often in a row. You sick or something?”
Gaz just rolled over to his back, and looked at Soap with a grimace. “Tell me the truth bruv, has Ghost been giving you special training?”
Soap chuckled. “Caught on finally? ‘S the only reason he’d stop his paperwork to watch this. Having to make sure I’m doing well. And considering…” Soap looked over Gaz’s supine form. “I’d say I’m learning pretty well.”
Soap helped Gaz stand back up, and fell back into a ready stance, before Ghost approached the ring.
Hey guys, I know it's a bit late to ask, but will you still accept contributions after July 19? Offline is getting in the way so might be late with my submission :(
Yes! There is no hard deadline for submissions, so don't worry if you are a few days later in posting.
Ghost didn’t get a proper chance, immediately grabbed by Price as he left the gym and told to go to a conference room. Soon enough, Soap and Gaz were being dragged in as well, by a marginally pissy Price.
“I know two of you just got back from a mission, and Garrick just got off leave, but Laswell’s sent us a mission that needs getting done yesterday.”
Ghost resigned himself to having an awkward tension between himself and Gaz until this mission was over, and stored it away as he listened to Price.
—
‘Not used to having you yabbering in my ear’ Gaz remarked plainly, ignoring the mud underneath him.
“Focus, sergeant, Price had to help Soap with setting up demo blocks, so you get me for a spotter. Simple’s that.” Ghost was not pleased that Price was helping Soap instead of directing Gaz as normal. However, Price was the only other one on the team with enough demos experience to help out. Ghost really should take that course.
His meandering thoughts were stopped as he saw a man exiting the building. They couldn’t afford having him see Price and Soap and raising the alarm. So, death it was.
“Garrick, man on east side of compound.” Ghost fell into a rhythm as he instructed Gaz, letting everything fall to the wayside except completing the mission. He heard the crack of the rifle, and the man fell prone; Ghost could see the bleeding from his head once he cranked up his binoculars.
“Target down.”
The comms crackled to life in his ear, with Price and Soap letting them know the demo blocks were set and it was evac time. Ghost waited for Gaz to get to his position before the two headed to the evac point. They heard the loud boom, and waited for their team to crest over the hill. Once they were in sight, Ghost decided to be a bit cheeky, and turned to Gaz.
“You were a good boy, sergeant.”
He didn’t wait to see how Gaz would react, beelining towards Price as he and Soap approached the pair.
CW: Kink discussion, rope play, a light bit of pre-negotiated distress (with heavily-implied aftercare)
“Safety is your main priority,” Kyle says to the room of class attendees. He makes eye contact with everyone in the room, rigger and bottom alike, and continues, “We’re here to have fun, but rope can cause permanent damage a damn sight faster than most people think, so the first thing we’re learning is how to get your partner out of the rope, quickly and safely.”
There are a few distracted people, and he would normally be annoyed, but he knows that Simon makes a pretty impressive display. He turns around and lets himself have a moment to admire his work, as well. Simon blinks up at him, placid, hovering three feet above the ground in a side suspension. He looks comfortable, decadent, nude besides a pair of boxer-briefs and his balaclava. He’s spilling out, just a bit, around the ropes holding him captive. It’s a good look.
Kyle tweaks his nipple with a wink, then spins his sub to show his back to the room. He turns, himself, and asks, “Ghost has been up for a good ten minutes. Does anyone know what I should be looking for?”
A tentative hand goes up, and a young man in the front row says, “His fingers have blood flow?”
“That’s one,” Kyle praises, and tosses a pack of fruit snacks his way. “Anyone else?”
“Can he wiggle his fingers?” A woman asks from the back of the room, and she grins when he lobs another pack of fruit snacks her way.
Simon wiggles his fingers and toes and says, “Everythin’ seems in workin’ order.”
The next 10 minutes go well. Kyle has to encourage some of the rope bottoms to speak up, but by the time he’s considering bringing Simon back down to the floor, everyone is engaged. When he puts his fingers against Simon’s palm, he gets three squeezes, so Kyle gives his bicep a pinch back.
“Okay, Ghost has let me know he’s gonna be pretty damn uncomfortable in about five minutes, so let’s get him down so we can actually talk about some of the 101 ties,” Kyle announces. “And when I’m done bringing him down, I want to talk to you about the most important tool to have on you if you’re going to tie anyone, for any reason. Take a minute to discuss together while I get him settled.”
This, Kyle knows, is Simon’s least favorite part of the class, so he runs his hands over his chest and belly as he coos, “Doin’ a great job, big guy. You make me look good, up here.”
“Sweet talker,” Simon grumbles, and Kyle can tell he’s smiling behind his mask.
“You deserve sweet talk, gorgeous,” Kyle chuckles as he lowers his partner’s body a hand and a half, then ties him off to focus on lowering his legs until his knees are on the ground. He cups Simon’s face in his hands and squishes his cheeks. “We should have you demo for Price’s praise class, tied up just like this.”
“Watch it,” Simon grumbles, and Kyle grins as his chest flushes red.
“No, you’re my good boy,” Kyle agrees, wrapping his arms around Simons shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. “Gimme your color.”
Simon takes a few seconds to think about it, the way Kyle always makes him. Then he says, “Green. Three point five.”
Kyle hums. “Not four?”
“Not four,” Simon confirms.
“Up for a cuddle, then?”
“You better give me a fuckin’ cuddle,” Simon grumbles, tilting his head to bite gently at Kyle’s obliques. He growls as Kyle laughs and tries, not very hard, to inch out of his reach.
“Alright, alright,” Kyle chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to Simon’s forehead through his mask. “Gonna keep your arms tied. Green?”
“Green.”
Kyle pats his shoulder and turns to the class. “Okay. Who knows what your most important tool is when tying?”
“Rope,” three people call out at once, and the whole class bursts into laughter.
Kyle laughs with them, and shakes his head. “Rope definitely helps. But no. That’s not the tool I’m thinking of. Remember, we’re talking safety.”
From the middle of the room, a woman calls, “Safety shears.”
“Bingo,” Kyle says, under-handing a pack of snacks into a waiting hand. He crosses his arms and lets out a heavy breath. “I meant it, earlier, when I said that rope can cause permanent damage faster than you think. Improperly placed rope and lack of preparedness can kill your rope partner. So. Safety shears.”
Kyle pulls his safety shears from his thigh harness, circles around behind Simon, and cuts the one rope still holding him up in two good cuts. Simon sags back against his legs with a grunt, and Kyle automatically reaches forward to squeeze his shoulder and then wrap a hand around his neck.
“Easy. I let you down on purpose,” Kyle whispers, as Simon’s shoulders start to shake. “I’ve got you, You’re doing perfect. Say it back.”
“Doin’ perfect,” Simon grits out, then takes a deep breath. “You’ve got me. Not dropped.”
“Not dropped,” Kyle says back, petting Simon’s shoulder firmly. “You’re doing so well. Gonna do the rest of the class under my hands, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Simon grunts. One of his hands grips the leg of Kyle’s trousers. “You’ve got me.”
“I’ve got you.”
When Kyle looks up, he smiles softly and holds up the shears. “Having to cut someone down can be stressful, for a lot of reasons. But it’s something we can all recover from. Nerve damage, blood, and airflow interference? Not so much. So! There’s a box of scrap rope some shears up here, everyone come practice cutting. And then I’ll teach you some basic cuffs.”
Guess who's already behind on the schedule? I'm still doing this. Even if what I do is gonna be shite.
CW: slightly suggestive in the end
It smells like dogs in here. It shouldn’t come as a surprise – and it doesn’t, not since these visits have become a routine for them. It was Kyle’s idea, and Simon trusted him when he said he always wanted to do something like this and it wasn’t just a plot to get Ghost into some kind of “animal therapy” to fix him. Gaz never tried to fix him. Gaz understood.
That’s probably why Simon had no apprehension coming to this facility. Spacious rooms with foam padding on the floor, like in kindergarten - soft for burly men with bad knees to sit on, easy to clean in case some of the dogs have an accident, squeaky toys and old chewy bones thrown around, and that constant dog smell – all of it became a comfort place. A place where retired human soldiers meet retired dog soldiers, shake their furry paws and dedicate their time to make sure these former colleagues don’t feel abandoned and lonely, like veterans often do.
Ghost knows how those dogs feel. He had been there once, temporarily suspended from service on account of his death – when he had nothing to do and no one to meet. His cheap flat looked grey and mirky, his tea tasted like piss, his scars ached every cold night. But now? There’s artwork on the walls. There’s well-seasoned food on the table. There are warm hands resting on his ribs while they sleep. There’s Kyle.
Simon knows how those dogs feel, when they jump onto Garrick’s chest and wag their broken tails despite years of discipline ingrained in their wolf-like skulls, because he feels the same way when Gaz comes home from the grocery store and gets ambushed by a Ghost creeping up on him during unpacking. There are titanium plates and bolts holding some of Kyle’s vertebrae together and Simon’s fingers don’t have same good grasp anymore, but Gaz still finds himself lifted off the ground and locked in a greedy embrace, just like that old German shepherd finds itself in a tight hug of Kyle’s strong arms when it stands up and puts its paws on his shoulders.
“Who’s a good boy? Missed me, did ya? Oh yeah, you’re a good boy, still shedding like a wooly mammoth, eh? Oof, careful with the kisses, mate, that’s my eye,” Simon looks over from where he’s standing, searching for a specific squeaky rubber star toy for the one dog that’s circling him with excited whining and headbutting him under his knees to make him hurry and come play. Gaz is on his knees, face scrunched and black eyeliner smudged around one eye as he tilts his head up and away to try and stop a huge excited shepherd from licking his face again. His smile is shining through even like that, bright and happy, as he laughs and scratches the dog’s sides, pulling clamps of warm soft fur stuck between his fingers. “Ya need a good brushing, mate, come on, get off me for a sec, I’ll go get a brush.”
Ghost watches as Kyle gets up, holding onto his lower back for a split second – and still finds grace in his every movement. His trusty bally hides that stupid lovestruck expression he has on his face – but even just his eyes betray how utterly smitten Simon is. He expected the feelings to dull down, get calmer once they’re off duty and swallowed by the domesticity and routine, but they didn’t. Seeing Kyle fighting off affectionate dogs or put his hair in silk for the night makes Ghost just as weak in the knees as seeing Gaz set records on the shooting range or rush into close combat did.
Everything around him slides into the background, blurring and dimming. Kyle’s soft laughter and murmurs fill Simon’s chipped ears, seep into his bloodstream, feeding the black and gold butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. Gaz is the centre of his attention – the centre of his whole world, so when Ghost hears a command, his body reacts before he can even register it.
“Come on, down, boy! Let me brush ya.”
Several pairs of eyes, human and dog, snap up to look at Simon when he falls to his knees. There are other veterans in the room, their reflexes still sharp and ready to react to anything unusual – and there are dogs tensed up like coils inside a gun, ready to drag a wounded soldier from under fire or finish an enemy. Simon feels blood rush in his veins when he realizes what just happened, and he meets Kyle’s eyes a few meters away.
Garrick has a wicked, devilish smirk hiding in his dark eyes.
“You olrigh’, mate? These bastarts know how to knock a fella down, watch them ‘round your knees,” comes to rescue a kind lad, so much younger than Ghost that he almost questions why that boy is already retired before he sees one of the lad’s eyes give off a glassy artificial glint.
“Yeah, ol’ mate ‘ere gaggin’ for his toy, said I’m takin’ too long. Impatient arse,” Simon happily shoves the blame onto the poor innocent dog that’s still nuzzling him and trying to steal the squeaky star from his hands. Letting the toy out of his palms, Ghost steals a glance at Kyle again and gets startled when Gaz turns out to be much closer, having come up quietly.
Closing his eyes, Simon braces himself and still flinches slightly when Kyle’s hand slides onto his shoulder with a reassuring rub.
“You sure you’re okay, luv?” murmurs Gaz in a wicked, sultry tone, leaning so close that Ghost can feel his hot breath seeping into the bally’s fabric. “Be a good boy and watch out for your knees, will ya?”
“I fockin’ hate you, Garrick,” growls Simon under his breath, and immediately straightens up, moving his shoulder blades together and sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. Kyle’s fingers under his bally tug on the leather collar again, making sure it’s sitting tight enough, and Gaz smirks, brushing his thumb over the bright silver letters of his full name etched in the collar.
“I don’t think so, Riley. Ya can tell me all about it when we’re back home, though. Just try not to get a chubby on in front of everyone, eh?”
Ghost didn’t stop Gaz as he ran away. How could he? What would he even say? Ghost made his own escape, to the gym to hopefully work out and stop thinking about it. Unfortunately, he ran into Soap there, who could tell something was off.
“Mission that bad L.T.? Never seen you this spooked.”
Ghost simply shook his head and made his way to an empty mat. He still needed to warm up so he didn’t hurt anything by diving straight into working out.
Soap refused to drop it though. “C’mon, somethin’ happened, I can tell.”
Ghost didn’t acknowledge him. Soap then got distracted by a text message.
A few moments later, and he was cackling.
“Are you off because Gaz accidentally called you a good boy? That pissed off about it?”
Ghost stopped whatever he was doing to whip around to the sergeant. He better have been glad no one else was there because Ghost could not have his shame spread like this.
“It’s fine L.T., everyone likes a little praise now and again,” saying that, the smirk hadn’t left Soap’s face.
“Sergeant…” Ghost hoped the warning tone in his voice would get Soap to lay off it.
“Oh hush up, ‘s not that bad. Sure yer both embarrassed, but it’s not like it’s anything shameful.”
Ghost decided trying to get Soap to lay off it was a futile endeavor, and left the gym again. He should go talk to Gaz, tell him he’s not pissed off, and then the whole situation will be done and swept under the rug.
CW: Cannon-typical violence/injury, vague body horror
“Stay alive, Sergeant,” Ghost commands, cursing to himself as he spots blood seeping through the bandages. Even though they lost their pursuers, they’re not out of the woods yet - literally or metaphorically. They’re low on ammo, low on medical supplies, and have no way of contacting Laswell, Price, or even Nik. The house they’re holed up in is practically more mold than wood. If - when - they make it through this, it’s probable that Gaz won’t keep the arm.
“Leave m-me here,” Gaz whispers through chattering teeth.
“Not fuckin’ likely,” Ghost mutters, applying more pressure and wracking his brain for anything that might help to keep Gaz alive. “Price’ll ‘ave my ‘ead if I leave ‘is golden boy behind.”
“G-go, LT, Riley.” Gaz’s eyes roll in their sockets. The next thing he wheezes is too soft for Ghost to hear.
“Save your breath,” Ghost tells him. It’s hard to keep the heartbreak out of his voice as he forces out a lie. “Help is on the way. Stay with me, hold on for exfil.”
Gaz’s jaw works as he tries to say something. Ghost grips his hand, doesn’t wince as Gaz’s grip goes tight. When the sergeant starts to whimper, he reaches up to pull the balaclava off, to let them be Simon and Kyle in a quiet, half-rotted cabin in the woods.
“’M ‘ere, Kyle,” he says, trying to catch wild eyes.
“Please,” Kyle wheezes. “Go.”
Whatever Simon was going to say to that is replaced by a startled curse when something under Kyle cracks with a wet sound. Two more cracks, a pop, and Simon’s frantically wondering how to get them both out before the floor collapses into the basement he’d hadn’t even thought to check for. And then Kyle explodes out of his kit.
Simon damn near wrenches his shoulder out of the socket trying to pull his hand out of Kyle’s as it spasms so hard he can feel his bones grinding together. But the pain is secondary to the horror of watching his friend’s face distort and elongate, skin stretching and tearing to reveal bloody patches of fur. Kyle screams, roars, as his clothes pop at the seams. His arm, which had been barely mobile before, slams into Simon so hard it knocks him onto his back.
The werewolf, because that’s all it could possibly be, rolls on top of him with a snap of jaws that barely misses his ear. Simon shouts, and jabs where the solar plexus would be on a human on reflex. The wolf wheezes and crushes him into the floor as it curls on itself. When it snaps it’s jaw next to his ear again, it’s so much like Riley, like the other Malinois he’s trained with, that Simon throws out a command on reflex.
“Leave it, Garrick!”
They both go still, save for their heaving breaths. The big furry head over him tilts until their staring into each other’s eyes. Simon has a moment to search for recognition, for any sign that Kyle is still in there, somewhere.
After a moment, Simon lets out the breath he’s holding. “G-good. Good boy, Kyle.”
And Kyle licks his ear.
“You fuckin’ twat,” Simon snarls, trying, unsuccessfully to wiggle away. He punches Kyle’s ribs. The awkward angle and rapidly draining adrenaline make it much gentler than he intends. Kyle takes it for the request it mostly is and lifts off of Simon with a grumble and a quick shake. It’s easy to tell he’s laughing as he stands on his hind legs and stretches to touch the dilapidated roof above them.
Simon sits up with a groan. He’s full of questions. But more than that, he’s got responsibilities. “C’n you talk?”
“Hard to,” Kyle rumbles, rolling his neck and shoulders with a few wet pops.
“Need to get to exfil.” Simon pulls the scraps of Kyle’s clothes closer and sighs - there’s not much that’s salvageable besides his radio. “You able?”
“Better now,” the werewolf says, flexing and twisting the arm that was nearly torn off. His hand is oddly shaped, but moves without stiffness. He’s holding Simon’s balaclava. “Can run for hours. It’s good.”
Simon gets to his feet with a grunt of effort. “Then we should go.”
Kyle leans in to sniff his hair, then offers Simon his mask. “No fear.”
Simon considers this, then pulls the balaclava over his face. “What’re you gonna do? Kill me again? ‘M a ghost.”
Kyle huffs another laugh. “141... Full of monsters.”
“Appears so,” Ghost grumbles. “Let’s go sergeant. I need a drink.”
