Sly and timeless god
John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley
Written 2024.02.27
Based on the hungarian poem "Az ős Kaján" by Endre Ady
Ghost and Soap drink a lot. Alcohol had always made Simon think too much.
Heavy drinking was always a must after a successful mission. It was a way to say ‘we aren't dead, we made it, we won’. Well, some did. Every time a post mission celebration was held everyone tried to ignore the unfilled gaps that have opened up from the death of teammates, but life had to continue, and alcohol was just the thing to make you forget all your fallen brothers whose families will receive the dreaded phone call in a few hours or days. Ghost was fine with that. He has been fine with it for a while and he continued to be fine with it until the day either a bullet or a drink would take him to join his brothers in arms too. He didn't like to think much when he drank, it made him spiral into corners of his mind, he didn't frequent much for a reason, but it seemed like tonight he wouldn't have to worry about any of that.
Sergeant John “Soap” Mactavish. The man had just arrived at the bar after excusing himself to clean up and change from his grimey uniform, he was wearing casual pants, sneakers and a deep violet colored button up that made his sculpted frame look like he had arrived for a modeling contract. Ghost bit his tongue behind his mask, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes at his own description, but luck just so happened to not be on his side and the vision of a man he had previously been thinking about appeared by his side.
“Drinking all by yourself Sir?” Soap approached him and leaned on the table Ghost was standing at. He was grinning like the fool Simon knew he wasn't, and ran hot like a furnace.
“Not anymore I suppose.” He answered before taking a sip of his bourbon.
“Of course not. I wouldn't leave ye to enjoy victory all by yourself now would I?” The question was rhetorical, Simon knew an answer was not needed, but he wanted Johnny to continue talking.
“I guess you wouldn't.” He chuckled deeply and downed the last of his drink. He was already starting to feel its effects, maybe he was getting old. “I'm getting myself another glass then heading outside, if you want to come.” Ghost straightened up and walked away towards the bar, trusting Soap that if he wanted his company, he would follow. And so he did, Soap catched up to him at the bar and followed him outside after ordering a new glass of his own beverage of choice.
“It's nice out here.” Johnny wondered while looking at the night sky. They were sitting at an outside table on the almost empty terrace of the bar they were drinking at. The night was mild in just the right ways and Ghost was compelled to let his scar littered face feel the soft breeze only these kinds of summer nights could offer. He didn't respond to Soap, instead reaching for his balaklava and pulling it off. The chilly night air hit his face and he immediately felt at peace. Normally he would feel naked, vulnerable, dare he say ‘afraid’ without his mask but now he felt like he had nothing that could hurt him, as long as this cunning man was sitting across from him, looking at him, dissecting him with just a look.
“You look distracted, Ghost.” Johnny said, lips curling into a sly smile.
“Simon. Call me that, when we are not working.” Simon said, still not looking at the man in front of him, afraid of what he might see the reflection of those blue eyes.
“Alright then Simon, you seem distracted.” His name rolled off Johnny's tongue like water and Simon felt a shiver run up his spine then travel all over his nervous system. How long has it been since someone has called him that without any hint of concern or malice, just pure, drunk curiosity.
“I should stop drinking or I'll end up like my old man.” Simon spoke, it wasn't what was distracting him, but if he was truthful and explained the way he had been
mentally undressing Johnny, layer by layer for the past hour, he feared the man might flee. So he lied.
“Don't worry, I don't think you can grow a beard like Price.” It took only a moment for Ghost to understand the sentence, then he whipped his head around and was met with Soap nearly falling out of his chair from laughter. Johnny cackled like a bird and banged his palm on the table, which ultimately ended in him spilling his glass of whiskey.
“Shite!” He yelled standing up to save his clothes from the spill. “Sorry, but you just looked so surprised. Guess I should get myself another glass, I'll get you something too while I'm there.” Johnny took his and Ghost's glasses then walked away. Simon felt wired, weak, and most surprisingly, he wanted to sleep, a rare occurrence in his palette of wants. But he couldn't leave now. Not when he was finally able to be so close to the man he has slowly and painfully started to admire and adore, like a devotee and his saint. Johnny might have seemed like an open book but Simon knew better than to blindly believe anything. Any man with a bit of experience in trying to stay private would notice that Soaps openness was very curated, only showing the pages he wanted people to see.
“Here you are, look at what I scored us.” Soap came back with a bright smile and an unopened bottle of whiskey clenched between his side and muscular bicep as he juggled two full glasses. Finally he sat down and handed one of the beverages to Ghost, putting the bottle in the middle of the table.
“Cheers.” Soap lightly tapped his glass against Ghosts before downing his drink with a grin.
They drank, and talked, and joked, and nipped at one another all while slowly, ever so slowly scooting closer and closer to each other at the circular table. In no time Ghost felt his head dropping on Soap's shoulder.
“S'ry.” He apologized, trying to lift his head up weakly.
“No problem.” Johnny said softly and helped him lift his head up properly. “Should probably get back to base now or we will never hear the end of it.” Soap chuckled and stood up. He put his arm under Ghosts, helped him up to his feet and helped him put his mask back on. “There you go Simon.” He smiled, his face right next to Ghosts. Simon was in heaven, or somewhere close to it at least. The alcohol made him run hot, and made Johnny run even hotter. He felt like he was being pressed to a radiator. A soft, kind, nice smelling radiator.
“You smell nice.” Simon murmured, half asleep, barely conscious enough to know what he was talking about.
“Ay I know, new soap I got from my sister.” Johnny mused “But you can't go around saying things like that L.T, people might think you fancy them.” Fancy. That was a word Simon hasn't used since he was a preteen. It felt weird to think about it, Ghost couldn't allow himself the luxury, but right now he wasn't Ghost, and he wasn't exactly in his right mind either, so maybe he could give away some.
“What if I do?” The words left his mouth when they arrived at base, the quiet of the night giving way for the anxiety that crawled up to Ghost. They entered the officers quarters, approaching Simon's room.
“If you really do…we could definitely work with that.” Johnny grinned brightly, opened the door and helped Ghost to his bed. He flopped down like a sock puppet. Then Soap tried to leave and he shot up like he just came back from the dead, grabbing Johnny's hand like a lifeline.
“Stay here!” He pleaded and the apparition that Johnny was, turned around and blessed him with a smile.
“You'll thank me later for not staying.” He took Simon's hand on his own and stepped closer to him.
“Please.” It came out as a beg, and it was one.
“Well have to discuss some things tomorrow L.T. You'll be happy they won't be the first thing to think about when you wake up hungover.” Johnny turned his hand over and planted a soft kiss on the back of it. “Good night Simon.” He left, just as abruptly as he arrived hours earlier. Like a festive spirit, a sly and timeless god.
Simon woke up with a splitting headache.
“Bloody fucking hell.”