making out with johnny, simon’s cock between the both of youOhh yeah. Alternating between his heavy balls and his glistening tip. The older man making nasty comments on how desperate the two of you are acting. “Filthy things, look ‘t you both.” He’d grunt, his mask rolled above his nose. Scarred jaw clenching. His thick hands flexing as they grasp at Johnnys’ and your hair. Oeugghh. cums on both your faces and watches you lap at each other’s faces like a couple of desperate dogs. PRIIIINT.
A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I've been dealing with some medical stuff for the past while and it gets in the way a bit when it comes to feeling inspired to write. I'm feeling a bit better mentally, even if my physical health hasn't been up to snuff, and it makes me want to write!!!
I've posted this over on Ao3 now as well, and between the love it's gotten here and over there, I'm so so very appreciative of yall! Seeing the interest people have in this story makes me want to write more and more!
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Soap groggily woke to the slow beat of the cieling fan, a long breath escaping his mouth into the pillow clutched by his face. When his eyes finally cracked open, it took his groggy mind a moment to comprehend why he didn't recognize the quilt bunched around him. An embarassingly long moment.
The car. The sheep. The farmhouse. Simon.
The hot cocoa.
Had that been a dream? Had to be.
He dragged himself up from the mattress, yawning as he sorted through the clothing in his suitcase, his shirt barely pulled on before he stepped out towards the bathroom across the hallway.
After going through the motions lethargically, his teeth were brushed, face washed, and he was trudging down the stairs with another yawn.
He could smell coffee, and he'd be damned if he didn't get a mug of it.
"Mornin' sleeping beauty." A surprisingly up and dressed Simon hummed with a faint amusement, eyes flicking up from an opened piece of lettermail. The fabric of his flannel threatened to bust open around his wide shoulders, sleeves pushed up by his elbows.
"Find me pretty, aye?" Soap shot back after a slight pause, his brain whirring to life with the promise of sarcastic quips and caffeine.
"When you're asleep and not going on." He hummed, before his eyes froze on a line of text in the letter. Before Soap could even mention how that sounded, the man had slid a mug across the counter towards him. "Milk's in the fridge. Sugar on the counter."
Soap set about preparing his mug of coffee, sure to close the fridge while he poured his milk. Carefully scooping his sugars into his beverage so it didn't splash onto the counter and make a mess.
He took a long sip and sighed contently before he noticed the dark eyes trained on him.
"...what?"
Simon still stared at him like he'd grown three heads. "...five spoons of sugar?"
Soap huffed, already used to the judgment from Gaz. "Well, excuse me if i like to enjoy my coffee!"
"Dunno how you can enjoy it when you drown the flavour with processed sugar."
"Och, away an' biel yer heid!"
"In english?"
"Go fuck yerself!"
If anything, Simon didn't seem offended in the least. The usual faint smirk that the scar through his lips left him was stretched just a bit more.
"Not quite that flexible."
Soap was left grumbling, eyeing the covered pan on the stove with a watering mouth, before a sound carried from the other room.
Clicking.
He could feel his body stiffen before his mind even processed the noise properly. His hand clenched tightly around the mug, his eyes snapping towards the doorway as his blood chilled.
A fairly solid dog trotted awkwardly into the kitchen, one of the front paws only meeting the floor for long enough to take the next step. The dark eyes turned and locked onto Soap in an instant, body freezing in place.
Simon's eyes immediately drifted to her.
"Wait Riley. Go sit. Breakfast soon lovie."
Soap's hand tightened around the ceramic of his mug, gaze still trained on the dog. She stared at him in great interest, tail beginning to slowly wag, before beating back and forth with fervor. To her credit, Riley didn't approach. Instead, she went back into the other room and audibly flopped down to wait. Well trained, obviously.
"Ye have a dog."
"I do. Recovering from an injury right now. She's usually out keepin' an eye on the livestock." Simon hummed noncommittally as he flipped through his letter, taking a sip from his own mug. If he'd noticed how Soap had tensed up, he didn't elude to it.
After a moment, Simon let out a faint sigh, folding the letter and tossing it onto the counter, before turning towards the stove to stir the pan.
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Soap had significantly relaxed after Simon had served the breakfast he'd been cooking. A mix of hashbrowns, sausage, eggs, and veggies. It looked like a messy conglomeration of foods, but the taste... it tasted delicious. And it was rather filling. Simon was an amazing cook, though Soap would never give him the satisfaction.
Simon had seemingly shown no interest in interrogating Soap about his reaction to the dog, which he was thankful for. Instead, he started going through the things that needed to be done on the farm that day.
He listed everything like a set task within a larger mission, stating the expectations and parameters of each job, before continuing about the expected energy required. Logical. Easy to follow. A bit odd, but appreciated. Soap always struggled with vague directions. He liked details. A complete overview of what was needed and what it took to achieve the desired results.
It was harder to disappoint if you had the full picture.
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They spent a fair few hours doing some crop upkeep, as Simon had called it. Pulling weeds that had taken root, putting in supporting stalks to keep struggling plants upright, and picking any produce that looked ripe enough to be pulled.
While it may have been hard work, Soap found a kind of relaxation in it. The manual labour gave his hands something to do, and having to discern what each plant needed was a welcome distraction to his often wandering mind.
Of course, he'd found his gaze drifting to the man a small ways from him, sweltering through his flannel. And even more so when Simon had stripped the flannel from his body, leaving him in a sleeveless shirt that bared his glistening arms.
The man was jacked.
Soap had scolded himself internally, forcing his eyes back to the crops he was tending to.
They had made their way through a large part of the surprisingly vivacious strawberry field. It didn't span very far or wide, but it was bursting with succulent red fruits.
Something ice cold and wet suddenly pressed against the back of his neck, causing him to practically squeal out in surprise and fall onto his ass.
Simon stood silently with a raised brow, hand holding out a bottle of water dripping with condensation.
"Christ on a horse, ye need a bell!" Soap huffed out, wiping an arm across his forehead before reaching out to accept the drink.
A faint chuckle left Simon's lips as he shifted in place, glancing down at Soap's basket.
"You've collected quite a few. Most of them are actually ripe."
Soap could feel his eye twitch as he took a swig of the bottle and wiped his mouth with a grin. "They're all ripe ye damned bastard."
"And about as red as you'll be if you don't take a break inside soon." He threw out casually, grabbing the basket full of fruit and meandering his way back towards the farmhouse.
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Simon dropped the basket onto the counter and let Soap lay claim to whatever he wanted in the fridge, before disappearing back outside for a while.
Soap wouldn't complain. With the air-conditioning Simon had running inside, he was just relieved to get away from the blistering heat outside.
As much as he would've liked to eat the man out of house and home, Soap settled for the leftovers from last night's supper and a glass of water. He managed to navigate through the unfamiliar kitchen to find a glass and a bowl, before flopping down into a diningroom chair with his bounty of freshly microwaved pasta.
He checked his cell again, expecting the limited bars, but still disappointed in seeing them. Shoveling another forkful of pasta into his mouth, he chewed slowly before deciding.
Abandoning his meal, he strode across the kitchen to the phone on the wall, picking up the receiver and dialing a familiar number. It rang a few times before there was a faint click.
"Hello? This is Kyle."
"Wow. So respectful while answering the celly. Ye' expecting a potential employer?"
Gaz audibly sighed. "You dick. You know I am." There was a few faint taps of a keyboard before they slowed to a stop. "How's the trip? You reach home yet?" His voice significantly softened.
Soap's finger rubbed against the cord of the receiver slowly, mouth working faintly.
"Not yet. I had... there was a detour."
"What, the main road up was closed for something?"
"More like my car fuckin' gave out." Soap laughed lightly, leaning into the wall. "Shouldae known the thing wasn't up for a long trip."
"Are you okay? No accident? You didn't break down in the middle of Crystal Lake or something, right?" Gaz joked, but he sounded genuinely concerned. It was always like him, trying to keep things light, but that care seeping through in his words anyways.
"I'm aight. Broke down by a farm. The owner is letting me stay for the weekend until a mechanic opens up during the workin' days." Soap hummed with a faint smile. Talking to Gaz was one of the things that always made sense. Was grounding in a way.
"...a farm owner? Is this some Texas Chainsaw shit?"
"Nah. Nothing like that... as far as I'm aware. Havnae seen a chainsaw. He's got some damned creepy sheep though."
"I'm sorry, is Soap bloody MacTavish afraid of some sweet fluffy sheep??" His amusement flowed through the phoneline.
"Oh, go'an fuck yerself ye brit."
"Okay okay, but in all seriousness, you're safe right? I'm not going to have to call the men in blue to investigate where you disappeared to?" Gaz murmured quietly.
"Aye. I'm good. The owner is actually a decent guy from what I can tell. Been here a night already an' not murdered yet, but I'll keep ye updated." Soap joked lightly. "He's lettin' me use his land-line, so I don't think he's out to cut me to pieces."
"Okay... but you keep me updated yeah? I want regular calls. Signs of life." Gaz teased somewhat.
"Ye' got it. I'll call ye' tomorrow, aye?"
"Don't get murdered and turned into pig slop."
"Don't disuade a potential employer with that sunny disposition."
They shared an amused chuckle before ending the call. Soap sighed, feeling actually relaxed for the first time since he'd woken up that morning.
