Johnny's Bird
Summary: Johnny’s flush reached his cheeks, half embarrassed, half offended. Ghost narrowed his eyes, refusing to think how Johnny probably took his pretty bird’s virginity. Refusing to imagine how he’d done it. If he’d been soft and gentle with her, or if he’d been too eager to be patient. He usually was, when they shared women. He’d eat them out like a man starved and then rut into them like a dog, hard and fast. They all liked it, of course, though a couple times Ghost had to scruff him to keep him from coming inside, when both of them were too drunk to remember to wear a condom. Word Count: 3805 Warnings: thick scottish accent from johnny, Johnny/Lelia, Ghost POV, seemingly unrequited love (ghoap), a LOT of jealousy Notes: I posted this to my AO3 ages ago, and I figured I'd finally out it up here, too. This is the first chapter to fic that will either end up being Ghoap, or Ghoap/Lelia. Really just depends if I decide to make it a long fic like Dove or a shorter one. AO3, Masterlist
“Soap’s got a new bird, and he won’t stop runnin’ his fuckin’ mouth ‘bout her.”
That’s what Ghost was greeted with the day he got back from his latest solo mission. It was Garrick talking, the only other person awake this early in the morning. Ghost hadn’t bothered to go to sleep after he’d given his briefing, despite the exhaustion pulling at his bones. That way lay nightmares, and he’d already seen enough this time around. He was staying awake until he physically couldn’t anymore.
And if he ended up asleep on the rec room’s couch, foot digging into the meat of Johnny’s thigh because that was the most he’d let himself touch the other man, whose presence offered him so much comfort? Well, he knew his team wouldn’t say anything.
“Johnny’s got a new bird e’ry week,” Ghost grumbled, sipping his coffee, stolen from the stash of the man in question. Tasted like shite no matter what the Scot claimed, but it did the job of keeping him awake. “Reckon’ he’ll be mopin’ around about ‘er endin’ things any day now.”
“Nah, LT,” Garrick responded, sidling over to the couch with a cuppa in hand. Had a saucer under it and everything. Posh little shit. “They’ve been goin’ steady for nearin’ two months now. He’s arse over tits about her already. Could swear I caught 'im lookin’ at engagement rings the other day.”
Ghost’s chest squeezed.
“S’been two months,” he said, disbelieving for two entirely different reasons. The first being that Johnny had even managed to keep a girl that long, and the second that he was already thinking about marriage. Though he supposed that last thought was at least more believable than the first—Johnny wasn’t what he'd call a hopeless romantic, but he was a dog. And not just in the sense that he would hump anything he could get his cock in. No, Johnny was also desperate for affection and full of endless fucking loyalty. If some bird finally looked like she was gonna stay? He’d try to lock that shite down as fast as possible.
“S’what I said,” Garrick chuckled. “He’s gonna scare the poor girl off.”
Good.
“Least then I won’ have to hear him waxin’ poetic like a love struck fool any longer,” the Sergeant continued. “S’bloody fuckin’ annoyin’, s’what it is.”
“What's 'er name?”
Garrick looked a bit surprised at the question—Ghost had never taken much (any) interest in Johnny’s birds before—but then answered.
“Lelia. Met ‘er at a pub, one of ‘em tha’s filled with uni students. Soap won’ say how young she is, jus’ tha’ she’s legal.” Garrick laughed again. “Nasty perv.”
Despite the harsh words, there was a fond grin on his face. Insults were how soldiers showed they cared, after all.
Ghost clenched his fists around his mug anyway.
“She pretty?” He asked, trying to distract himself from thoughts of Johnny chasing tail that probably hadn’t even been born when Ghost enlisted. He felt like an old fuck, just as perverted as Garrick claimed Johnny was. Especially when he couldn’t help but imagine how Johnny looked, railing a sweet young thing from behind, toned arse just begging to be smacked…
Garrick whistled, low and long.
“As a peach. Clever, too.” The Sergeant affected a Scottish brogue, voice lowering an octave as he imitated his friend. “My lass dinnae need a single pence ta get inta Oxford. Smart as a whip, she is!”
“Are we talkin’ about my bonnie lamb?” A familiar voice called from around the corner, voice bright with excitement. For once, it made Ghost’s heart sink. “Ain't’ she just the prettiest li’l thing—LT! You’re back!”
Johnny lumbered over to the couch, plopping down between Ghost and Garrick before throwing an arm over his shoulder.
“S’good tae see you’re in one piece,” he said with a blinding grin. “Was startin’ ta worry about ye, bein’ gone fer so long.”
Ghost shrugged off his arm, as he always did—though he usually let it linger a bit longer. It had been nearly a year since Las Almas, and he’d gotten far closer to Johnny than he’d ever intended to. Perhaps this was the wake up call he’d needed. It was time to pull back. Protect what was left of his shriveled, blackened heart.
“Should bring my bird ‘round now that you’re here,” Johnny continued, oblivious. Too caught up in thoughts of Lelia. Ghost sneered at the name. It sounded so delicate—not like the type of person that could handle Johnny and all his energy, all his anger. Not like Ghost. “Ye’ll love her, Ghost. Bet even ye cannae resist her charms.”
Ghost highly doubted that.
“She’s far ta good fer me, I reckon,” Johnny said as he turned back to Garrick, sounding positively dreamy. Fuckin’ hell, this was torture. “I told ye she’s a real classy lass, aye? Comes from ol’ money, but she’s sweeter’n a bowl o’ Caledonian cream.”
“You’ve mentioned it,” Garrick replied, deadpan. Johnny didn’t seem to notice.
“You datin’ ‘er for the money, then?” Ghost asked, tone cutting. Johnny looked at him, an offended expression on his stupidly handsome face.
“'Course naw!” He denied, reacting to the venom in Ghost’s voice with his own. “She got cut off, didn’t she? Gave up the money tae become a poet. A real starvin’ artist, my bonnie lamb.”
And now the dreamy tone was back.
“Not that I let her starve, o’course,” Johnny continued quickly. “Send her money every week, I do. Got ta show her I can be a good provider.”
“Hold on a fuckin’ minute, you’re givin’ this bird money?” Garrick asked, voicing Ghost’s concerns. “You’ve known her less than two months, MacTavish!”
“Fi’ty-seven days, today,” Johnny interjected, waving off Garrick's worries. “An’ s’not like that, Kyle. She’s no gold digger. Lass’ll barely accept the quids. Blocked me on Venmo after I kept sending her payments when she’d reject ‘em the first time ‘round.”
Johnny chuckled, clearly amused.
“Finally got her ta take the money when I said it’d distract me out in the field, kennin’ she was goin’ hungry. She’s a real good girl like that. Always worryin’ about me.”
Ghost couldn't take it anymore.
“Gotta piss,” he grunted, abruptly getting up and striding out of the rec room. But he didn’t head towards the loo. Instead, he went back to his own quarters, ripping off his mask and laying down on his too-small bunk. Even nightmares would be better than the torture of listening to Johnny pine pathetically after some little girl.
After someone other than him.
-*-
Ghost didn’t end up meeting her for another three months.
The four of them had been called away on a mission only a few days after he’d had gotten back from his last one. It hadn’t been too terrible, only a couple of weeks, but they’d barely gotten a day between that and the next one. And then the next one. And the next one.
Back to back missions nearly five months straight, and even he was nearing the end of his fucking rope.
Johnny constantly nattering about how much he missed his bird had nothing to do with it.
You keep telling yourself that, Simon. Maybe someday it’ll be true.
Some of the team had solo ops over the course of the three months, and seeing Johnny join him on the next mission with a bloody pep in his step annoyed him more than ever before. But it annoyed him even more that he’d keep his mouth shut whenever Garrick pestered him about it.
“Oh, I know that look. Someone just got laid.”
“Ye ken me, Gaz. I dinna kiss’n tell.”
As if that wasn’t a load of bullshite. Johnny couldn’t keep his big mouth shut about all his conquests. The fact that he’d suddenly become a gentleman told Ghost just how serious he was about this girl, and it itched at him.
Their last mission had been all four of them, and it’d been another long-hauler. A bad one, too. The shite they’d seen, the things they’d done… even Johnny was quiet, for once.
Garrick was laid up in the base hospital with a broken arm—a clean break, lucky for him. He’d be back in working order soon enough—and the Captain was already knee deep in paperwork. But not before he’d passed down the orders that Ghost was on two weeks leave, effective immediately. When he'd protested, he’d been told he didn’t have a choice.
“You’ve not taken your mandatory PTO yet this year. Brass is pushin’ it. S’just a couple weeks, son. You’ll survive.”
Ghost had grumbled about it, not looking forward to putting himself up in a cheap motel for the next two weeks. He never bothered getting a flat for the brief time every year that he was kicked off base. But when Johnny found out, he insisted on Ghost staying at his place.
“S’not much, but s’better than that rubbish heap you’re plannin’ on layin’ your big heid.”
Which was how he’d ended up here, in Johnny’s flat that was supposed to be empty, staring hard at the petite woman flitting around the messy kitchen like a bird making a nest. She hadn’t even noticed him, far too engrossed in her cooking. She was wearing a Kiss the Cook apron that was much too large for her small frame. She had flour all the way up to her elbows, a smear of sauce across her forehead, and a wild look in her wide brown eyes.
Johnny’s bird. He recognized her from the endless sketches the Scot had drawn of her on their last mission. He’d made them so realistic, it was like he was trying to will her to jump out of the page at him.
“Lamb!” Johnny yelled happily as he entered the flat behind Ghost, having hung back to pick up his mail. His bird screamed, dropping the mixing bowl she’d been holding and clutching her chest like she was having a heart attack. The clattering of the plastic bowl against the floor only seemed to startle her further, and she jumped so high she almost reached a normal person’s height. Almost.
“Och! Dinnae mean ta scare ye,” Johnny exclaimed as he rushed forward, ignoring the mess of ingredients on the floor to pull his girl into a hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. Her expression of fear was quickly replaced by joy, before her face was hidden from view as she buried it in the crook of Johnny’s neck. Breathing in his scent, no doubt. Ghost knew it was a mix of pine, seawater, and crisp, cold air that shouldn’t have smelt anywhere near as good as it did.
Johnny finally set her down when she gasped that she couldn't breathe, his hands cupping her round face, his thumb wiping away sauce as he chuckled.
“Not that m’naw happy ta see ye, but what’re ye doin’ here, bonnie? Shouldn't ye be in class?”
Johnny’s bird giggled, the sound bright and innocent, her head tilted to the side like a confused puppy.
“It’s Christmas break, моя радость, remember?” She said, and beneath his balaclava, Ghost raised a brow at the Russian. Suddenly, her face dropped, and her hands twitched where they were wrapped around Johnny’s back. She began to scratch at her cuticle with a perfectly manicured nail. Nervous little thing. “You said I could stay here, since the dorms were closed…?”
“S’December already?” Johnny asked, shocked. “Fuck, lamb, I got ta get ye your present!”
“You being here is more than enough,” she said, turning her head to press a kiss to the center of Johnny’s palm. It was sickeningly domestic. Ghost didn’t want to see another second of it.
“Psh,” Johnny waved off her words, turning around and sliding his arm around her as Ghost tried to make his silent escape. “LT! Where ye goin’? Come meet my lass!”
Ghost froze, trying to figure out a way he could get out of this without irreparably damaging his friendship with Johnny. When he realized he couldn’t, he took another second to decide if he should leave anyway. But the thought of only getting to see Johnny’s smile when it was directed at someone else made his gut clench, so slowly, he turned back around.
Johnny’s bird was scolding him for bringing a guest over without telling her—the fuck would he have to tell her for? S’his flat—because now she’d gone and made an awful first impression, screaming like a child and looking a mess. Ghost didn’t disagree with her, even as Johnny did his best to placate her despite the amused grin on his face.
“I’m so sorry for all this. I was trying to make Johnny a welcome home meal, but I’m not really a good cook…” she said, finally looking away from Johnny. She had untied the oversized apron—Johnny’s no doubt—and was wiping flour off her hands with it. It was a lost cause, and she seemed to realize that too, as she stopped and gave him a sheepish expression. “I’m Lelia. I’d shake your hand, but…”
He waved her off. He was glad he wouldn’t have to touch her. He fucked women when the urge got too great to ignore, even shared a couple with Johnny when they were both pissed out of their minds, but he never let them touch him anywhere but his cock. He never took off his mask, either. Their complaints always stopped sometime around the third orgasm.
“Ghost,” he grunted after a long moment of silence. The girl’s—Lelia, Simon, don’t be a fucking bastard—face had fallen the longer he put off answering, and those sad eyes were fucking effective annoying. So was the expectant look Johnny was giving him.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ghost,” she said, still perfectly polite despite his near brush off. Posh little bird. He had to give her credit, though, she didn't even acknowledge the mask. Johnny must have told her about it. She did eye his duffel, though, looking uncertain. “Are you staying over?”
Figures she wouldn’t want him here. Probably wanted Johnny to fuck her brains out in peace. Ghost wasn't exactly keen to be an audience to that, no matter that his twitching cock said otherwise.
“Sorry, lass, I wasna keepin' track o’ the days,” Johnny apologized. “Ye don’t mind if he stays, do ye? He’s naw got anywhere else ta go.”
Ghost shot Johnny a glare at that, but the other man just shrugged. Lelia hesitated before shaking her head.
“No, of course not, I just—” she blushed, and then leaned in close to whisper something into Johnny's ear. Ghost rolled his eyes. What was she, twelve?
Whatever she asked made Johnny laugh uproariously, and Ghost felt a spark of jealousy.
“Ye don't need ta give him a gift, lamb,” Johnny replied, still chuckling, and Ghost blinked. Was she talking about him? Why the bloody hell would she think he wanted a gift from her? “Christ, you’re an angel. C’mere.”
Johnny pulled her into another kiss. She let out a noise halfway between a protest and a moan when his hands cupped her arse, pulling back and swatting his chest. There was a scandalized look on her face as she shot a furtive glance in Ghost’s direction before glaring at Johnny again.
“John MacTavish! Keep your hands to yourself,” she scolded him, and Ghost would have found it amusing, his friend looking contrite from such a tiny girl’s reprimand, if he weren't so fucking annoyed.
“Sorry, Bonnie,” Johnny said, only looking like he half meant it. “You’re just ta damn sweet. Canna help but want a taste.”
“Save the foreplay f’the bedroom, MacTavish,” Ghost grumbled, pissier than he had any right to be. Lelia eeped and took another step back, and then another, before bustling back to the kitchen to start cleaning up. Johnny glared at him with a surprising amount of heat for such a relatively tame comment, and Ghost frowned. Johnny followed Lelia into the kitchen, murmuring something in her ear as he helped her clean up. Her tense posture softened, and she leaned into his bulk, letting him kiss her cheek.
“You’re ta good ta me, lamb,” Johnny said quietly, and Ghost knew he wasn’t supposed to hear that. He didn't want to hear that, didn’t want to be faced with proof that she treated him right, that she was better for Johnny than Ghost could ever hope to be. So instead he turned away, heading towards the couch and dropping his duffle on it. He only looked up when Johnny tossed him his phone, catching it in one of his gloved hands, a single brow raised beneath his balaclava.
“Order us a kerry oot,” he said as Lelia disappeared down a short hallway leading to what he assumed to be the bedroom. Meanwhile, Johnny started scraping some sort of burnt food residue off a pan and into the bin. “Chinese. S’Lelia’s favorite.”
“He means to say you should order pizza,” she cut in as she returned to the kitchen, holding a broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other. “That’s Johnny’s favorite, and tonight is about him.”
She smiled at Johnny, so sweet it made Ghost’s teeth hurt. Then she turned that smile on him, and fuck, he swore he could feel a cavity forming.
“You too, Ghost,” she said, a little shy but far too god damn earnest. “You've both been away on a mission, right? That means it's time for you two to relax.”
As she spoke, she bumped her hip against Johnny, trying to nudge him out of the kitchen. He studiously ignored her, pretending to be entirely focused on the dish he was washing. Finally, she sighed, and whacked his arse with the flat of the dustpan. He yelped and tucked his nonexistent tail, giving her the same look he did Garrick whenever he stole a fry from his tray in the mess hall back on base.
“I said,” Lelia repeated, nudging him again. “Go relax. I made the mess, I’ll clean it up.”
“Ye were makin’ it fer me though, lamb,” Johnny argued, but when she brandished the dustpan at him again, he raised his hands in surrender and backed off, chuckling.
“I should’ve known it would end in a mess,” she sighed, shaking her head as she bent over to sweep flour off the floor. Ghost’s eyes lingered on her arse. It was small, and mostly hidden by her long skirt, but he could tell it was soft and pert, just like Johnny liked. He quickly looked back at his phone, pulling up a food delivery app. “I’m no Román, much as I try. Even your recipes couldn't make me a competent cook.”
“If ye keep talkin’ about Román in that wistful tone, m‘gonna think ye miss him fer more than just his cookin’,” Johnny teased as he plopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. Ghost settled next to him after a second of hesitation, passing him his phone and training his eyes on the telly, willing it to turn on with the power of his glare alone. “Startin’ ta get jealous.”
“You were already jealous of Román, моя радость,” Lelia pointed out, voice fond. Ghost saw Johnny scowl out of the corner of his eye.
“Ye said his cookin’s better’n mine,” he grumbled, and Ghost could tell he was only half joking this time.
“I did not. I said his technique was better, but that your food always has more soul in it. Which means I like yours more,” she replied, sounding like they’d had this argument before. The reminder of how long they’d been dating made Ghost clench his hands into fists as another wave of jealousy swept over him.
“Who’s Román?” He interrupted, trying to distract himself. “An ex?”
“Oh my days, no,” Lelia said as she moved on to washing the dishes, looking flustered just at the suggestion. “Román was my family’s private chef.”
Ghost digested that about as easily as the shitty MREs they ate on missions. He remembered Johnny mentioning that his girl came from money, but he’d not realized she was that rich. Spoiled little priss. The fuck did Johnny see in her?
“Besides,” she continued, oblivious to how badly Ghost wanted her to shut the hell up. He regretted asking a question in the first place. Stewing in his jealousy was better than hearing her chirp at him in that sweet little voice about how easy she had it. It was insulting. “My parents didn’t let me date, growing up. Johnny is my first boyfriend.”
“Christ,” Ghost muttered under his breath, shooting Johnny an unimpressed look. The tips of his ears were red, and Ghost leaned in and flicked one. Hard. “How fuckin’ young is she, Johnny? Do I gotta call the bloody cops?”
Johnny’s flush reached his cheeks, half embarrassed, half offended. Ghost narrowed his eyes, refusing to think how Johnny probably took his pretty bird’s virginity. Refusing to imagine how he’d done it. If he’d been soft and gentle with her, or if he’d been too eager to be patient. He usually was, when they shared women. He’d eat them out like a man starved and then rut into them like a dog, hard and fast. They all liked it, of course, though a couple times Ghost had to scruff him to keep him from coming inside, when both of them were too drunk to remember to wear a condom.
“Fuck off LT, she's nineteen,” he sniped. Ghost really had no room to judge, and he wasn’t, not actually. He should have been—pretended to, to hide his own interest. “Twenty in March.”
“Did you two order the pizza yet?” Lelia interrupted their whispered conversation, oblivious.
“Aye,” Johnny answered, looking away from Ghost. “Got ye a small one of yer own, no cheese but loads o’ veggies.”
Can’t even eat a pizza like a normal person, fuckin’ ‘ell.
“Thank you, baby,” she said, giving Johnny that tooth-rotting smile again. Ghost looked away, leaning over Johnny and snatching the remote from the coffee table to turn the telly on. He was still flicking through channels when he felt a presence behind him, and he stiffened, turning to see that Lelia had joined them. Johnny threw an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close, and she curled up against his side happily, laying her head on his chest and looking up at him adoringly. Johnny kissed her forehead, the same look on his face, and Ghost burned.
“Gotta piss,” he said gruffly, standing up and tossing the remote at Johnny’s crotch none too gently. He heard him wheeze in pain as Ghost stomped away, and Lelia’s concerned chirping.
This was going to be a long fucking night.
