Simon's propped up on a few pillows as he laid in bed reading, his reading glasses perched on his nose. Both him and Johnny had gone to bed a couple hours earlier, but Ghost is generally awake later than Soap, so he reads.
Soap was asleep, head laid on his partner's bare chest with a leg thrown over top of his and an arm wrapped around his waist.
Soap had settled into that position and fallen asleep pretty quickly after that, so this is how they'd been for those past couple hours.
Ghost ran his fingers through Soap's, now much longer, mohawk, just enjoying himself in the moment.
Then Soap started making soft noises in his sleep. It gave him pause as he looked down to the Scot, examining his body language and expression. His brows were pulled together, a slight frown on his lips, and his eyes squeezed tighter.
Ghost sighed, already understanding what was happening. He could also feel the tighter grip on his waist as well as the quicker pace of his breathing.
Another nightmare.
One of many that they'd both had.
He dropped his book and glasses on the table beside him and started running his hand up and down Soap's back.
"Johnny.." he tried, but he got no response.
"Johnny" he could hear the soft whimpers coming from his sleeping partner.
He sighed and hoped he wouldn't make things worse as he started to lightly tap him.
"C'mon, Johnny boy. Come out o' there" he spoke firmly but with a softer tone.
Soap whimpered slightly louder, then he took a big breath in as he startled awake.
His breathing quickly became much more like hyperventilation as he tried to desperately claw out of his dream, still disoriented and groggy.
"Johnny. Breathe, love" he went back to running his hand over Soap's back.
Soap clung to him tightly, shifting up to hide his face in Ghost's neck as he tried to get back to the present. He whined and Ghost could feel his tears against his skin.
This wasn't the first time he'd been here; they'd lived together long enough that they were both practically pros at helping the other calm back down from a nightmare. He put a bit more pressure into the strokes along his back, and started leaving the occasional kiss to his cheek.
Soap needed something physical to anchor onto and ground him in these moments of disconnected confusion and fear.
Usually the bigger man was the one that got sat on, but when Soap got to have Ghost on his lap, he savoured it. The heavy weight of his body was heavenly.
Ghost worried that he was too heavy to be sitting on Soap’s lap, but he couldn’t resist his extreme persistence so he gave in.
They’d laid out on a couch; Soap was sitting sideways and leaning against the armrest with Ghost kneeling, legs bent along either side of Soap’s, perched on his thighs.
Soap’s hands rested spread out over his ribcage and around his back, kneading and pawing lightly. Ghost’s on the other hand were buried in the other’s grown out hair as he pulled him closer, kissing him with fervour.
Soap’s hand glides down to his partner’s hip, his thumb resting in the gap where his hip connects to his leg.
Ghost flinches.
He stills his movement and moves his hand back to the top of his hips, “Ghost?”
“‘M fine, just continue” he leans into Soap’s neck, placing kisses and nibbles.
But Soap stops him, pushing against the middle of his chest to create distance between them; not much, just enough to tell Ghost he’s not going to just brush this off.
“Y’don’t have to tell me, just don’t lie,” he brings a hand close to his cheek, offering him comfort without being pushy, “was that a bad flinch..?”
Ghost swallows dryly, hesitating for a moment before he drops his head into the waiting hand and nods, “Yeah”
It came out as a cautious whisper.
“Okay,” he kisses Ghost’s cheek, “we can stop if–“
“No–! Just…” he looked over Soap’s face, “don’t…”
Soap nodded, “Okay. My hands will stay right…” he runs his hands back to his waist and squeezes, “here~” he purrs.
Ghost breathes a shaky breath, lingering anxiety melting back into calm pleasure.
Soap who’s always been told he’s too much; too loud, too vocal, he accidentally interrupts people, he practically bounces off the walls, that he’s too lovey with those he cares for
And Ghost who’s been told he doesn’t give enough; he’s too quiet, doesn’t do verbal affection or affirmation, isn’t loud with his care and love for someone
And the way their personalities fit together; the times where Soap rambled about anything and everything while Ghost sat and listened, actively so. The times where Ghost would do small, quiet things for Soap that would have him melting at the gesture.
The way that Soap got Ghost out of his head when it’d rebel against him, and Ghost offered steady support when the world became frantic and frustrating for Soap.
The guilt they both have when they remember those people who told them they were wrong. When they worry about still being wrong and when the other assures them they aren’t. That they’re perfect.
Ghost had always been slightly… territorial. Whether it be over items or food or people, he was protective of them. It was something he frequently felt in his youth; he didn’t have much that was his, so he protected them fiercely.
That seemed to later translate into his relationship with Soap.
Ghost never stopped him from doing anything or acted controlling, but he felt a need to leave his mark in some small way. Giving him a hoodie of his to wear, leaving bites and hickeys on his shoulders and chest (easier to hide during missions), giving him a skull ring, etc.
Thankfully for him, Johnny was all too happy to indulge him. He’d proudly wear whatever Simon gave him. And he’d even provoke Ghost into marking his skin and laying his claim. He loved it just as much as Ghost did.
Ghost had eventually asked him to leave his own marks too, he wanted to feel like he was truly Soap’s and that this aspect of their relationship was mutual.
The Scot was extremely excited about being asked to do so. Immediately jumping his bigger partner to follow his request.
The weird animalistic part of Ghost’s brain would practically purr during these exchanges; the feeling of claiming his partner, and being claimed in return sent waves of warmth through his chest.
It felt good to be chosen, and be given a physical representation of that choice. As well as having someone proudly display their connection to him, unafraid of what others think.
“Oh, nail polish!” Grace held the bottle up for him to take.
“I… don’t know what that is” Simon examines the polish, turning it over in his hand.
“It’s a kind of lacquer that you put on your nails. Makes them look nice and pretty”
“Why..?” He hands it back over.
“Why not? It’s part of expression, and also fashion I guess” he shrugged.
“Okay…” he still didn’t really understand it.
“Do you wanna try some?” Grace looked at him hopefully.
“I…” he hesitated.
“You— you don’t have to! I just wanted to offer cause you hadn’t seen it before. I thought you might wanna try it?”
He thought it over, then tentatively said, “…Okay”
“Really?! Okay!” He scooted back on the floor, “Come ‘ere then!” He patted in front of him with a big smile.
Simon’s heart squeezed at his excitement.
He moved to sit facing Grace, “what now?”
He unscrewed the lid, “Give me your hand”
He placed his hand in Grace’s outstretched one.
“Then,” Grace placed the bottle on the floor beside him, grabbing the lid and brush, “I paint it onto your nails. Like a colour by number” he huffed a little laugh.
He’d have to ask what the fuck that was later.
Right now he was enjoying the focused expression on Grace.
The nail polish felt kinda weird, and cold. But not bad, just different.
Grace carefully painted Simon’s nails, getting a minimal amount on his skin. Then he pulled back, releasing Simon’s hand.
“Now,” he screwed the lid back onto the bottle, “we wait for it to dry”
Simon twisted his hand back and forth, inspecting Grace’s handy work.
“Just try not to bump it on anything for a bit cause it won’t be fully dry for about an hour”
“So I can’t do anything?” He looked up, kinda peeved.
“No! You can do stuff after about ten minutes, you just have to be somewhat careful”
“Oh... okay,” he paused for a moment, “sorry...”
“No, you’re okay, Si. I hadn’t told you that beforehand so I get it” he scratched the back of his neck.
They were quiet for a moment before Simon spoke up.
“If that’s used to look nice, why do you have it?”
“Is that supposed to be a dig at me??” Grace looks mildly offended but mostly confused.
“No no!” He breathes a nervous laugh, “I—I meant why would you have it on a space ship like this!”
“Ohhhh okay” he laughed, “I thought you were insulting me!”
They laughed for a minute before Grace finally answered, “It can sometimes be used to patch small things or put a protective coat on something. I’m not entirely sure if that’s why or if it’s something of Ilyukhina’s” he admitted, “but I’m guessing it’s the latter because it’s coloured instead of just clear”
Simon hummed in understanding.
This ended up becoming more of a common practice for them. Especially when they managed to make some more when they got to Erid.
Simon found that he quite liked how it looked, and he’d never say no to seeing Grace work on something. Even if it was just painting his nails.
Sam looked down at the wolf laying up against his side, their eyes looking up at his with concern and curiosity.
"It's been a long time since… since I cared for another person, the way I've come to care for you. And it can be just that; care…" he swallowed nervously, "I'm not sittin' here hopin' or expectin' it to be anything more, but… I want you to know that; that I care for you very much."
Tank sat up and back a bit, not much, but enough.
He looked away from them for a moment before bringing his eyes back to theirs, "My life feels better with you in it, and I'm grateful for that…"
"I care for you too, Sam…"
"Yeah?" His voice conveyed his happy surprise.
Tank nodded, smiling back, but then it faded.
Sam noticed the shift, "Darlin'?"
Their eyes jumped around; back and forth between Sam's two eyes, down at the floor or their hands, back up at Sam.
They kept their breathing steady, manually breathing in a simple rhythm.
Sam looked at their face, the unusually tense and nervous expression they held. He'd never seen them like this, not really.
They seemed to quickly grow more tense before their shoulders suddenly dropped and they leaned in closer.
Sam was about to speak, to ask what they were doing, but he was cut off by them putting a hand on the back of his neck and very lightly pulling him in to rest their forehead against his.
Tank closed their eyes and let out an almost weary sigh.
"I—" they hesitated, swallowing dryly, "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to… care for you the way I should. The way you deserve."
Their hand ran down from the back of his head and down his arm, stopping to rest on top of his own hand, "I never really had a good example of this stuff either," they chuckled nervously, then their voice quieted, "so— I don't know if I can be what you want…"
His heart sank at their resigned tone, like they believed he'd just give up on them immediately.
He matched the pressure of Tank's head against his, leaning forward and carefully bringing his other hand up to their jaw.
"I don't expect you to know everything. I'm not expectin' you to be perfect either."
He paused for a second.
"We don't have to know what this is gonna be. For now, I'm just… glad to be near you. We can figure everything else out in time."
They let out the breath they hadn't realized they'd been holding, shaky as it was.
They move to nuzzle into his cheek with a sigh, "You deserve so much better than me, Sam…"
"Shhh… nonsense Darlin', " He nuzzles them back slightly.
They just huff in response to his words as their instincts crooned at his mirroring of their affectionate action.
The two slip back into their cuddled up position, Tank's head resting on Sam's chest.
They gaze up at him with a masked but deeply sceptical look, one that speaks true to their past and the pain that came with it.
But there's a sliver of hesitant hope as well. One that he wished to see grow stronger.
"Can I—" they hesitated, "can I kiss you?"
He let out a quick breath, a smile gracing his lips, "yeah"
He lives in the moment by appreciating it through photos. Through meticulous positioning and patience. Snapping shots of a fox leaping into the air, the sun framed by mountains, vines travelling over abandoned buildings. All of it to keep that beauty alive, even many years past its natural lifespan. And to focus on the small details of life rather than the overwhelming wide-view.
But even with the many things he’d photographed throughout the years, the one thing he found that he especially enjoyed taking pictures of, was his gorgeous mate.
Capturing the genuine smiles and almost child-like amazement of a wolf who hadn’t experienced much of life’s beauty before. Just them living in times that, years ago, they never would’ve imagined they’d have.
Sometimes he’d share the pictures with them, sometimes he’d keep them to himself. He liked to be able to keep a small piece of his mate to himself. To bask in the warmth of the trust they put in him.
Tank is a traditional medium artist.
They experience everything while they can. Burning the views into their mind, gazing out at their surroundings with awe.
Then, when they return from their excursion, they recreate it. The memory of leaves and various plants, mountains and tree lines, clear-skied sunsets and sunlight forming halos around clouds. All being turned into carefully crafted paintings and sketches.
Sometimes though, they’d secretly grab a photo that Sam took and they recreate that. They weren’t the most verbally affectionate person, but this was something they could do, something they were good at.
To show their love in time and effort spent, in attention to detail and understanding of his thought processes. To show they knew him in a way they didn’t let themselves do with others.
To show appreciation for their mate. And for his patience
