Tags: @the-offical-papa @scribble-clover @alaskan-wallflower @fefe-the-cat @t-rattykatyy @sixinchswitchblxde @rykerthebread @l0cal-dumb4ss @happysaly @quinck :3 if you donât wish to be tagged in tag games you can tell me ;3
Tagss: @acideatingcockroach @meowwmeowmwahh @starryyay @itsnotaphasemom101 @kcookiez @mortarion-445 @midnight-blue-wolf-official + and anyone who wants to, no pressure!
The guard grabs Soap by the hair and wrenches his head back hard.
âYouâre very loud,â the man says.
Soap grins. âOccupational hazard.â
A backhand splits the inside of his cheek. He tastes copper, spits it at the floor between the guardâs boots.
âCâmon then,â he rasps. âHit me proper.â
The guard obliges. Brings a fist to ribs. A boot to his knee that's already blown. Soapâs chair tips but they don't let it fall. He drags air back into his lungs with a wet, stubborn laugh.
âIs tha' all?â he growls. âMy granâs got a better right hookââ
The guard backhands him once more for good measure, then steps back. The other one mutters something in a language Soap doesnât care to decipher. And then the door clanks shut behind them.
Soap hangs there a moment, head bowed, breathing through the ache in his ribs. Then he spits blood again and lifts his head.
âBloody cowards,â he mutters. "No' even askin' us questions."
Across the room, Price hasnât moved. The blood at his temple has slowed to a trickle. His breathing is ragged, but steady.
Soap squints at him. âSir?â
Price is staring at him. Well, in his direction maybe, but his eyes don't land. Thereâs something wrong with the look, fixed distantly on Soap's face.
âMac,â Price says quietly.
Soap stills in his binds, brows furrowing.
Priceâs eyes narrow slightly, studying Johnnyâs face as if trying to reconcile something he sees there.
âYou never have patience,â Price murmurs, almost⊠fond. âAlways rushing, sir.â
Soap swallows. Right. He knows that name. Everyone does.
MacMillan.
Priceâs captain. The man who taught him to survive and then some. If only Soap knew even half of it.
Johnnyâs pulse kicks harder.
âSir,â he says carefully.
Price doesnât seem to hear him.
âYou said youâd wait,â Price continues softly. âJust once.â
His voice isnât angry, though that might be there too, itâs truly just... tired.
Soap feels the shift in the room, the way the present has loosened its grip.
Priceâs breathing is uneven now. He pulls hard once against the ropes
Johnny can't place where his head's at. A trauma response maybe, dehydration, hallucination, maybe a concussion.
âMac,â he says again, quieter this time.
Soap doesnât know the right move.
He doesnât know what Price is seeing, whether itâs a hillside, a ghillie suit, a younger version of himself standing under that manâs gaze.
He just knows Price isnât here.
Johnny shifts forward in his chair as much as the ropes allow.
âSir,â he says again, softer now.
Priceâs eyes flick toward him but still they donât settle.
âYou were always better at waiting,â Price murmurs faintly. âShouldâve listened.â
Johnny swallows hard, the ache in his own heart shoved away. He lets the fight drain out of his voice.
âWhat dâyou hear, sir?â Soap asks quietly.
Price doesn't answer.
Soap tries again, gentler. âJust three things. Thatâs all.â
Priceâs brow furrows. For a moment he looks irritated, like Johnny's interrupted something important.
ââŠThe light. Buzzing,â he says finally.
It's stiff and robotic, but an answer.
âAye,â Soap murmurs.
ââŠWater. Dripping.â The drip echoes somewhere beyond these four walls.
âAye. and?â
Priceâs gaze shifts. This time it lands properly on Johnny. Price tracks over his swelling eye, the blood at his lip, and the ropes cutting into his shoulders.
ââŠYour voice,â Price says.
Thereâs a flicker of confusion in it, like he didnât expect that answer.
Soap exhales slowly.
âThatâs right,â he says. âMine.â
Price blinks hard.
Johnny can see how the room comes back to Price in layers. The concrete. The ropes. Metal chair legs scraping faintly when Soap shifts.
âJohnny,â Price says hoarsely.
Soap gives him the faintest tilt of his head.
âAye, Cap'n. Still here.â
Priceâs jaw tightens, embarrassment flickering through his expression, but itâs brief. The walls and layers that cover John Price slide back into place like a well-worn coat.
âYou sound like him,â Price mutters.
Soap's not sure if it's true, but he nods. âI know.â
After a long moment, Price straightens as much as the ropes allow, breath evening out.
âYou all right, Sergeant?â he asks.
Soap bares his teeth in a crooked, bloody grin. âAye. Never better, Sir."
a little kitty Christmas gift for my fav little chaos thoughts enabler @xenerical
Johnny is the first to notice something small and dark tucked beneath the bench near the motor pool doors, where the heat bleeds out of the building. He crouches, breath fogging, and makes a low, coaxing sound.
âKyle,â he murmurs. âCâmere.â
The cat doesnât run. Thatâs the strangest part. It lifts its head, slow and unafraid, yellow eyes blinking once like itâs been expecting them. Black fur a little dusty. No collar. No obvious fear. Just⊠there. As if itâs wandered in off the cold because this seemed like a place people might help.
Kyle kneels too. He holds out a hand, lets the cat sniff him, and when it leans forward his face does that thing Johnny loves, the quiet smile he only gets when something breaks through all the drill and soldier and noise.
âItâs Christmas,â Kyle says, almost reverent. âYou seeinâ this?â
They absolutely do not plan to beg, but of course they do anyway.
Price listens with his arms folded, cocoa cooling on the table behind him, Soap talking too fast and Gaz trying to be reasonable but clearly just as invested. Temporary, they swear. Just until they find the owner. Itâs cold out. Itâs Christmas. Look at it, sir. look at the baby.
Price sighs.
âFine,â he says. âBut itâs not stayinâ.â
The cat, for it's part, stretches and pads across the room, circles twice on the carpet near the heater vent, and drifts into sleep.
Later, the rec room is warm and dim, lights low, cocoa mugs half-drunk on the table. The cat hasnât moved. Itâs a small black shape curled in on itself, chest rising and falling.
Johnny lies on the floor nearby, back against the couch, one hand dangling close enough that the catâs body brushes his knuckles when it breathes.
Kyleâs slumped sideways in an armchair, head tipped back, mouth parted, utterly gone. Ghost is drifting in and out, relaxed, though, not fully asleep. And even Price has dozed off where he sits, chin tucked to chest.
For a few hours, nothing bad exists.
Johnny wakes first, stiff and bleary, instinctively checking the floor beside him.
The cat is gone.
No paw prints. No fur. No trace it was ever there at all... except the strange, hollow feeling that settles in his chest like heâs missed something... But is comforted by its absence just as much as it's presence.
Kyle notices next. Then Ghost. Price last. None of them say much. Thereâs no panic, no scrambling search, just a shared, quiet understanding that whatever that was⊠it wasnât meant to stay.
Price clears his throat, stands, and straightens his jacket.
âWell,â he says evenly. âLooks like it found its way home.â
And when they step outside, the cold doesnât bite quite as hard. And for the rest of the day, the base feels a little less heavy. As if something small and warm passed through, curled up at their feet for a while, and reminded them, briefly, what peace feels like before moving on.
The thing that's gnawing on you and your posts is totally mitsy and definitely not me. Totally.
Human shaped bite marks? I have no idea what your talking about, those are definitely cat bites. Don't be crazy.
why did I never get a notification for this, twin :(
I think... mayhaps it's both.. but I guess we'll never know đ€·ââïž
only ever ask and it's from the ethereal creature who spawns in whenever a friend posts âïž i refuse to just leave this to rot (definitely hasn't been in here since October
UHM I DID NOT MEAN TO WRITE THIS MUCH, look, I am in a somewht slump, and I thought I wouldn't be able to write this properly, so my plan was to post like...the general idea...and now there's this. Inspired on this song (i've been listening to it on repeat the whole damn day) I've written a kinda big Hucklerabbot word vomit..
enjoy??
Dennis, who slowly came to feel so in peace around Robby. Maybe it was the constant touching, maybe the gentle guidance, the manhandling, the admiration he had for his senior attending. Whatever it was, Dennis felt calm, in a way he rarely did. His anxiety didn't magically seize to exist, but it felt manageable.
Dennis, who, months in, noticed he felt more than just relaxation. He didn't do anything about it, but after mulling over it all, rolling the word on his tongue and laying in bed with what he felt for the older man filling his lungs and squeezing his chest in a bittersweet ache, he came to accept it -- he loved Robby. Simple as that, yet not at all.
It wasn't hard for Dennis to keep quiet about his feelings, growing up in a small, religious town being a queer boy taught him how to not let these feelings out, it was almost comfortable - familiar - to feel the weight in his stomach as he watched dr. Robby, he took a somewhat masochist pleasure at the squeeze in his heart at the man's voice or touches. He would lay in bed at night, curled up on Trinity's guest room, and close his eyes, mentally tracing the ghostly warmth where the senior doctor had touched during their shift that day.
Yet, despite how well he kept appropriate distance, Robby always seemed to linger, in touches, glances, casual check ins that felt too soft -- "you okay, kid?". It left the med student a mess, trying and failing to ignore the fluttering in his stomach or the ache in his ribs. It all seemed like a terryfing yet unstopable build up, up until Robby offered to let Dennis crash on his house when Trinity left for an impromtu trip and forgot her roomate hadn't yet gotten a backup key for the apartment.
He really hadn't meant to do anything. Walking in as Robby ushered him inside, Dennis caught the photos on the walls, the traces of a well lived in home -- the support bars in the bathroom, the two sets of everything, the lingering smell of dr. Abbot's cologne. -- yet that didn't stop him from leaning foward when Robby leaned in, didn't stop Dennis from kissing the man, didn't stop their hands to roam each other, lips moving together desperately with pent up attraction. Like two magnets snapping together, they ended tangled in a mess of whispers, broken breaths and feelings too raw to be named.
Though, when Robby eventually chocked out a "you should leave", Dennis wasn't surprised (no matter how much he cried on his way out). Robby gave him enough money for a hotel room until Trinity was back, and that was how it all ended..kind of.
They did eventually "talk" -- which mostly meant Robby pulled him aside after one shift and gently explained they couldn't be anything more than strickly professional "you're my student and half my age, it's not right" the part about him being a married man went unsaid. Dennis didn't try to stop him, he just nodded, despite feeling out of his body on the way back home, despite laying in bed staring at the ceiling feeling hollow.
And he did just that, he kept it professional -- he didn't stop admiring and hanging onto Robby's teachings though, he still looked up at the man, despite the nauseous lump in his throat whenever they were in the same room. And when the time came for him to apply for his residency, he stashed his already made application in his nightstand and applied a town over. Trinity frowned at thay, she knew he wanted to stay in the Pitt more than anyone, and she also knew dr. Abbot was willing to give him a recommendation letter.
Dennis was still living with Trinity for the first few months of his residency, just until he saved up enough to safely move out somewhere closer to where he worked, and after that....Everything turned to a blur. Every day a blur of patients, monitors, medications, adrenaline rushes that left him exhausted by the end of his shift and the ever lasting, constant ache between his ribs. Like a blanket, his anxiety had always been pretty constant, but this ws a different weight. It left a hollow in his chest and a lump in his throat.
He found himself calling his mom once, laying on the couch with the covers by his feet, he wasn't sure why she called her -- despite not talking much since he moved out, his ma always favoured him over his dad, maybe it was because out of their four sons, Dennis was the only one who enjoyed helping her out on the house more than physical work in the farm. He had stayed in silence for a long moment after she picked up, grateful she noticed he was there and just trying to know what to say instead of hanging up.
"Does loving someone usually take so long to pass?"
Was how he started, voice barely a whisper, quiet and wet in a way that reminded her way too much of the little boy with big wet eyes that'd hide from his brothers behind her legs. Dennis felt weirdly lighter after talking with his mom.
"When you truly love someone, it may never pass, sweetheart"
"Even if I never see him again?"
Later that night, Dennis would notice she never commented on him saying "he" and cry, in some kind of relief this time.
Dennis found himself building a habit of going to his hospital's roof, sitting past the safety rail, feet dangling as he smoked, smoke curling up in the cold night. He'd look down at the dark landscape and feel weirdly settled. Like a messed up way to feel somewhat close to the man that still plagued his every thought. On the harder days, he'd sneak back to Pittsburg and sit on the back on The Pitt's building, drinking more than he should've with an empty stomach, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as he listened to the distant sound of the day shift talking as they left and the night shift got in.
It had been...what? 6 months since he saw Robby. He kept contact with Trinity and the girls, aswell as checking up once a month with Dana and even Langdon, who was pretty nice once you got to know him.
That's when the last thing he expected to happen happened. He bumped into dr. Abbot on one of his day's off. It was awkward at first, standing right beside each other on the line of the coffee shop, but eventually, conversation started, and Dennis hadn't noticed how much he missed this until they were both seated and their drinks had already been finished hours before.
It was slow, the way they went back to talking. Dennis felt on edge after every encounter, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop -- and it did. Just not in the way he expected. Because it did late at night as he sat on the ledge like any other night, lungs filling with nicotine as he stared ahead and, with a bitter sigh, noticed how not only he missed Robby, but now he also longed for the next text or interaction with Abbot.
He felt ill. The days just as tiring as before, but now, on top of the already existing longing for the senior attending, he also craved the presence of his husband -- who for sure knew of what happened that night and hated Dennis-
"What did he say? After that night?"
Was what Abbot asked while he and Dennis trailed through a close by park, the sun was already setting and the chill settling in. The younger doctor walked while wearing Abbot's jacket, since the veteran seemed to always run hot and Dennis had started shivering minutes after the temperature dropped slightly.
Dennis was silent, but, much like when he talked with his mother, Abbot seemed to have no issue with waiting for Dennis to find his words. He mulled over it, watching the ground. He felt somewhat ashamed, he should feel guilty for what he did that night with Robby, but he couldn't find it in him. He sighed and swallowed dryly, shrugging in false nonchalance.
"that it wasn't right. Something about the age gap and power imbalance"
He looked back at Abbot, who didn't look mad in the slightest. He actually looked somewhat fond, like he could imagine Robby's speech. In that moment, Dennis felt that all familiar lump in his throat. He understood why Robby pulled back, looking at Jack, he understood why Robby wouldnt want to risk loosing him because of Dennis.
He hadn't, however, noticed the lump turned to tears until Abbot was pulling him in a hug, cooing about not being mad, and how he had known about Robby's infatuation, that if it was his call, Dennis would've never left their lives.
Dennis cried, pulling back only to feel Abbot wiping his tears away. He felt a bit stupid, but that quickly vanished when the older man oh so slowly leaned in, lips brushing the younger's until they finally pressed together. Whenthey pulled away, breathless despite the softness of the touch, he felt his stomach drop.
Great. The same mistake twice. Good job on leaving them behind and moving on, Dennis.
He felt just as hollow then, waiting for the inevitable "but" that was to come...Only Abbot kept looking at him until the blue irises locked onto the hazel of the veteran's, when Dennis frowned, Abbot hummed and pulled him close.
"Do you think it takes long for your love for someone to pass?"
Dennis stared, and, with a weight in his stomach, whispered.
"I don't think it ever passes, if you love someone"
Jack hummed, cupping Dennis' jaw and nodding.
"I think you shouldn't have left." he whispers "And I think my idiot husband will rather wallow in his sadness than try to reach out. I wanted to talk to you to see if you'd be willing to give him a chance but..."
Abbot let out a breathy chuckle, leaning his forehead on Dennis' shoulder, causing the younger man to frown.
"I get him, now. Anyone ever told you how irresistable you are, kid?
"oh" Dennis felt his face heat up, looking at Abbot's smirk and affectionate "oh"
UHM I DID NOT MEAN TO WRITE THIS MUCH, look, I am in a somewht slump, and I thought I wouldn't be able to write this properly, so my plan was to post like...the general idea...and now there's this. Inspired on this song (i've been listening to it on repeat the whole damn day) I've written a kinda big Hucklerabbot word vomit..
enjoy??
Dennis, who slowly came to feel so in peace around Robby. Maybe it was the constant touching, maybe the gentle guidance, the manhandling, the admiration he had for his senior attending. Whatever it was, Dennis felt calm, in a way he rarely did. His anxiety didn't magically seize to exist, but it felt manageable.
Dennis, who, months in, noticed he felt more than just relaxation. He didn't do anything about it, but after mulling over it all, rolling the word on his tongue and laying in bed with what he felt for the older man filling his lungs and squeezing his chest in a bittersweet ache, he came to accept it -- he loved Robby. Simple as that, yet not at all.
It wasn't hard for Dennis to keep quiet about his feelings, growing up in a small, religious town being a queer boy taught him how to not let these feelings out, it was almost comfortable - familiar - to feel the weight in his stomach as he watched dr. Robby, he took a somewhat masochist pleasure at the squeeze in his heart at the man's voice or touches. He would lay in bed at night, curled up on Trinity's guest room, and close his eyes, mentally tracing the ghostly warmth where the senior doctor had touched during their shift that day.
Yet, despite how well he kept appropriate distance, Robby always seemed to linger, in touches, glances, casual check ins that felt too soft -- "you okay, kid?". It left the med student a mess, trying and failing to ignore the fluttering in his stomach or the ache in his ribs. It all seemed like a terryfing yet unstopable build up, up until Robby offered to let Dennis crash on his house when Trinity left for an impromtu trip and forgot her roomate hadn't yet gotten a backup key for the apartment.
He really hadn't meant to do anything. Walking in as Robby ushered him inside, Dennis caught the photos on the walls, the traces of a well lived in home -- the support bars in the bathroom, the two sets of everything, the lingering smell of dr. Abbot's cologne. -- yet that didn't stop him from leaning foward when Robby leaned in, didn't stop Dennis from kissing the man, didn't stop their hands to roam each other, lips moving together desperately with pent up attraction. Like two magnets snapping together, they ended tangled in a mess of whispers, broken breaths and feelings too raw to be named.
Though, when Robby eventually chocked out a "you should leave", Dennis wasn't surprised (no matter how much he cried on his way out). Robby gave him enough money for a hotel room until Trinity was back, and that was how it all ended..kind of.
They did eventually "talk" -- which mostly meant Robby pulled him aside after one shift and gently explained they couldn't be anything more than strickly professional "you're my student and half my age, it's not right" the part about him being a married man went unsaid. Dennis didn't try to stop him, he just nodded, despite feeling out of his body on the way back home, despite laying in bed staring at the ceiling feeling hollow.
And he did just that, he kept it professional -- he didn't stop admiring and hanging onto Robby's teachings though, he still looked up at the man, despite the nauseous lump in his throat whenever they were in the same room. And when the time came for him to apply for his residency, he stashed his already made application in his nightstand and applied a town over. Trinity frowned at thay, she knew he wanted to stay in the Pitt more than anyone, and she also knew dr. Abbot was willing to give him a recommendation letter.
Dennis was still living with Trinity for the first few months of his residency, just until he saved up enough to safely move out somewhere closer to where he worked, and after that....Everything turned to a blur. Every day a blur of patients, monitors, medications, adrenaline rushes that left him exhausted by the end of his shift and the ever lasting, constant ache between his ribs. Like a blanket, his anxiety had always been pretty constant, but this ws a different weight. It left a hollow in his chest and a lump in his throat.
He found himself calling his mom once, laying on the couch with the covers by his feet, he wasn't sure why she called her -- despite not talking much since he moved out, his ma always favoured him over his dad, maybe it was because out of their four sons, Dennis was the only one who enjoyed helping her out on the house more than physical work in the farm. He had stayed in silence for a long moment after she picked up, grateful she noticed he was there and just trying to know what to say instead of hanging up.
"Does loving someone usually take so long to pass?"
Was how he started, voice barely a whisper, quiet and wet in a way that reminded her way too much of the little boy with big wet eyes that'd hide from his brothers behind her legs. Dennis felt weirdly lighter after talking with his mom.
"When you truly love someone, it may never pass, sweetheart"
"Even if I never see him again?"
Later that night, Dennis would notice she never commented on him saying "he" and cry, in some kind of relief this time.
Dennis found himself building a habit of going to his hospital's roof, sitting past the safety rail, feet dangling as he smoked, smoke curling up in the cold night. He'd look down at the dark landscape and feel weirdly settled. Like a messed up way to feel somewhat close to the man that still plagued his every thought. On the harder days, he'd sneak back to Pittsburg and sit on the back on The Pitt's building, drinking more than he should've with an empty stomach, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as he listened to the distant sound of the day shift talking as they left and the night shift got in.
It had been...what? 6 months since he saw Robby. He kept contact with Trinity and the girls, aswell as checking up once a month with Dana and even Langdon, who was pretty nice once you got to know him.
That's when the last thing he expected to happen happened. He bumped into dr. Abbot on one of his day's off. It was awkward at first, standing right beside each other on the line of the coffee shop, but eventually, conversation started, and Dennis hadn't noticed how much he missed this until they were both seated and their drinks had already been finished hours before.
It was slow, the way they went back to talking. Dennis felt on edge after every encounter, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop -- and it did. Just not in the way he expected. Because it did late at night as he sat on the ledge like any other night, lungs filling with nicotine as he stared ahead and, with a bitter sigh, noticed how not only he missed Robby, but now he also longed for the next text or interaction with Abbot.
He felt ill. The days just as tiring as before, but now, on top of the already existing longing for the senior attending, he also craved the presence of his husband -- who for sure knew of what happened that night and hated Dennis-
"What did he say? After that night?"
Was what Abbot asked while he and Dennis trailed through a close by park, the sun was already setting and the chill settling in. The younger doctor walked while wearing Abbot's jacket, since the veteran seemed to always run hot and Dennis had started shivering minutes after the temperature dropped slightly.
Dennis was silent, but, much like when he talked with his mother, Abbot seemed to have no issue with waiting for Dennis to find his words. He mulled over it, watching the ground. He felt somewhat ashamed, he should feel guilty for what he did that night with Robby, but he couldn't find it in him. He sighed and swallowed dryly, shrugging in false nonchalance.
"that it wasn't right. Something about the age gap and power imbalance"
He looked back at Abbot, who didn't look mad in the slightest. He actually looked somewhat fond, like he could imagine Robby's speech. In that moment, Dennis felt that all familiar lump in his throat. He understood why Robby pulled back, looking at Jack, he understood why Robby wouldnt want to risk loosing him because of Dennis.
He hadn't, however, noticed the lump turned to tears until Abbot was pulling him in a hug, cooing about not being mad, and how he had known about Robby's infatuation, that if it was his call, Dennis would've never left their lives.
Dennis cried, pulling back only to feel Abbot wiping his tears away. He felt a bit stupid, but that quickly vanished when the older man oh so slowly leaned in, lips brushing the younger's until they finally pressed together. Whenthey pulled away, breathless despite the softness of the touch, he felt his stomach drop.
Great. The same mistake twice. Good job on leaving them behind and moving on, Dennis.
He felt just as hollow then, waiting for the inevitable "but" that was to come...Only Abbot kept looking at him until the blue irises locked onto the hazel of the veteran's, when Dennis frowned, Abbot hummed and pulled him close.
"Do you think it takes long for your love for someone to pass?"
Dennis stared, and, with a weight in his stomach, whispered.
"I don't think it ever passes, if you love someone"
Jack hummed, cupping Dennis' jaw and nodding.
"I think you shouldn't have left." he whispers "And I think my idiot husband will rather wallow in his sadness than try to reach out. I wanted to talk to you to see if you'd be willing to give him a chance but..."
Abbot let out a breathy chuckle, leaning his forehead on Dennis' shoulder, causing the younger man to frown.
"I get him, now. Anyone ever told you how irresistable you are, kid?
"oh" Dennis felt his face heat up, looking at Abbot's smirk and affectionate "oh"
inspired by the fucking b-hive again being synced and freaky
tagging the freaks in question: @benjaboyisatwink @bibbidib00 @xenerical @hatsbuckets
johnny's a damn instigator. a fuckin' instigator through and through.
"lt, did anyone tell ya that yer hands are real fuckin' pretty?"
all he said was that simon had nice hands, that's simply it. price seemed to agree, kyle immediately found himself looking at simon's hands.. they weren't wrong.
now though, johnny was sitting with a hard cock on a chair, watching those same hands..
choke the hell out of kyle as simon buries his thick length into the poor sergeant.. not that kyle was complaining when he was on all fours, whining and pleading for this behemoth of a man to choke him harder.
behind simon was price, trying to slip himself into his lieutenant with his big fuckin' hands on simon's hips. they're practically running a train on poor kyle which..
neither of them seemed to mind.
johnny's blue irises were focused on them the entire time, sweaty bodies, debauched whimpers from kyle, grunts from simon feeling kyle's hole and something in his own ass.. with price sighing in relief.
johnny watched until he sees simon looking at him. the lieutenant motions him over with a finger and the scotsman smiles.
lowkey inspired by @benjaboyisatwink and @xenerical sitting in the bee-core (heehee get it, vc?? bee-cee?? no? ok my bad) while i power through my damn midterm, it just had me thinking while i was on my break
it was.. quiet. in price's office. his back ached, his head hurt, and his bones were cracking like he hadn't moved in the past couple of hours.
which.. this old man hadn't. he had been locked in his office since the moment he clocked in. his hat plopped on top of his stack of paperwork, his ash tray fuller than usual and well, here he was. lips pressed to the cigar and adding onto the pile of dust resting on the glass.
it was 1300 hours when he heard a knock on his door, his head flicking up to see one of his sergeants, huge grin and a chipper attitude. price couldn't help but grunt at the sight, he hadn't ever said yes.
"johnny, what'd i telll you about knocking, son." he places his cigar down on the rim of his ash tray. the sergeant finds himself plopping his body on the couch that's in price's office. johnny wasn't much of a frequent visitor seeing as if he had the chance, he'd just piss off simon.
"aye sir, 'apolgies but ah was bored an' i just wan' a quiet place to sketch." the scotsman raised a journal in his hand, leatherbound with some rips on the cover.
the captain narrows his eyes and sighs, nodding before pivoting back to his work. "olrigh', as long as you can keep it hush, mactavish."
"not a peep from me, price." a grin rests on johnny's face, getting comfortable as he begins to sketch. the scribbling of paper and the company of another person made it.. easier to focus.
________________________________________________
however, another knock. this time, they waited.
price raises his head from the report he was looking at before mumbling a small 'come in'. in comes his lieutenant, holding a book and a look in his brown eyes that looked.. tired. johnny turns and grins at the sight, making room for simon just in case he wants to sit next to him.
simon who.. actually glares at johnny before taking his seat on the floor, his back against the old couch. simon opens his book, some survival guide that he found.
the scribbling of paper, the turning of pages, and the smell of smoke.. it comforted price, he seemed to be missing one moreâ
just on time, a quiet creak of the door and kyle garrick finds himself stumbling into price's office. speak of the devil.
the sergeant had a slouch in his back, a tired expression and a yawn escaping lips before.. oh yeah, wrong place? this isn't kyle's room,
his face flushes, solely because he felt.. embarassed?
"captainâ"
"kyle! simon fuckin' hates me, he sat on the floor instead of next to meâ"
"took my fuckin' spot, you wankerâ"
"aye don' care, i made room! tha' dinnae count?"
"make room, mactavish, i need a napâ"
"okay, okay-- kyle, on my shouder? i need to move that to draw--"
"kay, other side then, you whiny bi--"
"simon, did you hear that?"
"loser says huh, mactavish."
"huh?"
"shut up and let me sleep." a grumble from kyle as he repositioned himself to lean comfortably on johnny's non-dominant shoulder while the scotsman doodled. simon sat against the couch, on the floor with his side pressed up against johnny's leg.
price couldn't help but smile, watching kyle settle against johnny and beginning to fall asleep. the scribbling of paper, the turning of pages, the light breathing from a sleeping man, and the smell of smoke.
price buried himself back into his work, the company from his boys helped him get back on track.
God, if you didn't have some bad habits. It didn't matter how many times people warned you. You never learn. Or at least, never made an effort to. Who really cared if you bit your nails, skipped breakfast all some times, left your task until the last minute, or went to bed way too late most days? You were a grown adult. You could take care of yourself.
There's was that one bad habit, though, that was getting infuriating for everyone else and had gotten you in trouble a couple of times. Not fucking knocking before entering a room.
But you probably had never gotten into as much trouble as you where about to, walking into the Colonel's room unannounced.
What you were face with as you open the door was... unfathomable.
Deep down you knew it was Konig in front of you, like the knowledge of that fact was engraved deep in your bones, but your mind couldn't reconsolidate that fact with what was standing in front of you.
You had thought there would be a face under that hood. There should have been a face under the hood. But he was standing there, hood off, and what you were seeing couldn't be described as a face. Actually, you were not even sure you could have described it.
It was... something unnamable that was somehow ending in what you could identify as tentacles, twisting and twirling erratically and without any discernible pattern. The only things you could recognize for sure were his eyes. Unmistakably his and digging deep into your soul. There was an emotion you could quite place going through you at the sight of it all. Not really fear, anxiety, or trepidation. More like a fuck up type of fascination.
Everything was at a stand still for a long moment until you finally managed to find your words.
"I... The new fatigues arrived... I was distributing them..." Unable to tear your eyes away from what should have been a terrifying sight.
And he to stared from a moment longer. "That's it?" He asked. It was still his voice, a human voice, unchanged, yet it seemed to resonate in your mind this time around.
"...yes? Sorry, I guess I should have knocked..." Still with that characteristic nonchalance toward your bad habit, even when faced with something so otherworldly.
"I was talking about your reaction, Corporal." He said with a dark chuckle. "Most people would normally go crazy with fear at sight the unknown, go screaming and running." He extended an arm over your shoulder as he talked, closing the door behind you.
You had no idea how he had gotten this close so quickly. Hell, you hadn't even seen him move. It's like the room had just been shorter for a second.
"Did you want me to scream?" You asked without thinking, before letting out unconvincing and monotone "Aaaaaa..." sound ever, not even a proper scream, lost in your fascination for the multiple seemingly slimy appendages on Konig's "face". They were making that wet sound as they slithered through the air in your direction, as if from their own volition.
It all just made him chuckle again, the sound sharp and predatory to your ears. "What a though nut. Unafraid of staring into the void." He said as he loomed over you. You couldn't decide if it had ben meant as more teasing or degrading.
"I wasn't aware it as 'stare into the void and the void stares back at you' type of situation." You answered breathlessly. You couldn't help but be... affected... by the sight of your very clearly inhumane Colonel looking down on at you.
"More accurately the Depth in this case, Schatz. And it is no simple staring." Staring or not, you couldn't take your eyes off of him. You didn't think you could actually. It was like some invisible, powerful force was keeping you lock, unmoving, to that very spot, looking at those tentacles. How they were moving towards you, their viscus coating drooling and pooling unto the floor before you.
"Do you like what you see, Schartz?" Konig asked, his voice seemingly booming strait into your head the more he talked.
You couldn't stop yourself from answering right away, the words somehow compelled out of you before you could think better. "They're so... so pretty and fascinating. I'd like to touch them, feel then, let them rip me apart, pull my organs out and use my dead body."
A deep, inhuman sound came out of Konig, one you could somehow still interpret as disappointment.
"I'm- I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from." You said quickly, feeling truly mortified.
"Humans, always the same, going insane at the quickest glance. I shouldn't have hoped. You're still going mad like the other, just differently." You could tell he isn't really talking to you anymore. The interest he had hold for you just a moment ago was evaporating at an alarming rate. "You really should have knocked." He added as he stepped away from you.
"No! Please. I'm sorry." You didn't know why this distressed you so much. Before you was standing some kind of horror, and you just couldn't accept to see him go. You stumbled closer, almost by instinct, and reached up to... what? Cup his nonexistent cheeks? It doesn't really matter since his tentacles instantly wrapped around your hands to moment they were in reach.
The appendages were cold, slimly, their color seemingly changed around your touch. And the... how would you have called it? Slick?... covering them had an oil like sheen and left a tingling sensation on your skin.
Konig looked surprised. As if he hadn't expected you to dare or even simply be able to reach out. His eyes simply darkened as he looked down at you. "Maybe I should make use of you before you die if you're this eager."
You barely had the time to stammer out a "What?" before you got pushed roughly into the bed. There was so many more tentacles now, coming from God knew where.
"The higher-ups should really stop trying to recruit humans. You're pathetic compared to us. Only good to die from madness when you inevitably find out about the unseen." Some of those new tentacles moved to restrain and circle your hands and arms. "And for a second you had me thinking you were different, Corporal. Almost special."
Us? So many of the operators of KorTac wore mask. Were they all hiding some secret of an eldritch nature too?
"Ah! Wait. Konig, please." You weren't sure you really wanted him to stop. Maybe he was right, maybe you truly were going mad. But there was something new forming deep inside of you. A want, no, a need to know, to learn, to understand, to feel, to experience him. Yet you were still just enough in control to realize just how irrational it all was.
You tried to struggle against the thigh coils only to find your arms were a lot less responsive then before, almost sluggish.
Konig simply laughed at the confused expression on your face, the noises coming out of him sounding a lot more sadistic this time around.
"Just realizing something is wrong, Schartz?" He mocked. "The mucus coating on my tentacles works as a strong muscle relaxant on most creature. There won't be any fighting out of this for you, I'm afraid."
Some part of you begs to scream, struggle, flee at the knowledge. And maybe you should. You're at the mercy of something otherworldly, something who just implied multiple time you didn't have long left to live. And yet, another part, the one that as been growing in the past few moments, already begs for more of that tingling hot sensation.
"Humans aren't even that good at carrying a brood, only being successful one out of ten times." He said as he undid your pants' closure, a tentacle sneaking in while another pushed under your shirt. "But if you have to go crazy anyway, might as well pump you full. Maybe you'll manage to at least be a good incubator before we have to put you out of your misery."
His words and the knowledge that the more he touched you, the less you would be able to fight back should have concern you, but all you could do was moan and shiver at the touch of his many appendages.
Despite everything You were still looking up at him with so mush fascination. How could you not? There was a certain beauty in what your mind couldn't comprehend. Like how every tentacles seem to move with him, but seemingly of their own volition.
All your thoughts flew out the window as Konig managed to pull bot your pants and underwear off in one motion, and the more sinuous and independent of his limbs seemingly took the action as an invitation to wrap around and explore your flesh.
You gasped as multiple of them seemed to fight to be the one to explore the space between your legs. The Colonel, for his part, pushed you legs apart and pressed them up against the bed as he let out a deep humming noise you couldn't quite interpret.
God, by now you could barely move your arms with how heavy and loose they felt. And he was doing that to the rest of your body?
"Don't bother trying to move, Schartz. Even if the muscle relaxant isn't enough to immobilize you completely, I have plenty of limbs to keep you still." He told you has more of his glistening tendrils moved over you.
It's almost as if they were curios too, pushing and prodding you, wrapping and squeezing around your limbs, ever moving. They liger around certain areas, dig in harder when you make any kind of noise.
Reality studently crashed back into you as you felt them moving higher up your inner thigh. That rational part of your mind that had been drown out for the past few minutes seem to resurface with a sense of panic, finally letting you realize just how fuckup and dangerous this all was getting. "Konig, wait!"
"Too late, Corporal. You're the one who wanted to let them rip you apart, remember?" He said as his voice took on a cruel edge.
Some one the tentacles were prodding at your entrance, pushing and curling against one another in an attempt to be the one to breach you. That didn't last long as one of Konig's hands leave your leg to guide a specific one in.
You let out a cry and arched your back has it pushed inside of you. It was thick. Thicker then it seemed. And it, or Konig, didn't seem keen on taking the time to stretch you out.
"Pathetic little human, clenching around me like you life depended on it. It won't take long before your loose and relaxed enough to take my eggs." He told you.
You didn't know what you had expected him to do, but there was no in hand out motion. No, you had a seemingly very eager appendages exploring every of your deepest regions, coating every inch of you with its sleek.
It had no right feeling this good. But somehow it kept hitting all of the right spot. The viscus coating somehow had you more sensitive then you had ever been and the contrast of the cold tentacles inside your warmth felt euphoric in that moment.
"Konig. Konig, please." You didn't even know what you were begging for, just that all of this was too much and yet too little at the same time.
You let out a loud gasp as another managed to pushed its way in, just as eager to explore you as the first.
You could feel yourself shaking and squeezing around him. Why were you already so close to the edge? Why were you finding so much pleasure in this in the first place?? He most have been right, you were loosing your mind. Well... with pleasure, at least.
His slimy appendages kept moving inside of you, coiling around one another, forcing your hole open. And the stretch, God, the stretch.
The orgasm came over you without warning and with a cry of, admittedly, confused pleasure. It was stronger then any you had ever felt before, making you convulse underneath him. You never thought your body was ever capable of gushing out as mush fluid as it was right now.
You went lax, your body already heavy from his touch, your mind going blank. You felt soo sluggish and tired all of a sudden.
"I'd say your just about ready to receive my brood, Schartz." Konig told you as he let out a vibrating noise. A purr? Your mind was too fuggy to interpret it correctly at this point. The best you could do was whine when his tentacles pulled out.
You didn't even have the strength to move your legs when he let go of them, let alone lift your head to look at what he was doing. You still try to, though, and caught a glimpse of his now open pants.
Obviously, obviously there's more tentacles there. What did you think? But the one that slithered out seemed different. Not exactly the same color as the others with a slit at the tip of it and already leaking a thicker kind of slick.
This time around, your body didn't offer any resistance toward the intrusion, the muscle relaxant having done it's job, leaving you loose and open.
Your body might have been pliable, but that didn't mean you couldn't feel anything anymore. You could still feel everything oh so intensely and it had you moaning once more.
You were getting delirious at this point, letting out some barely audible mumbles that would have been gibberish to most ears. Most human ears, at least.
"Aimgr'luhh, Y' ai..." A small pose for a soft moan. "..S'uhnog, Y' uaaah.." And a long shuttering breath before finishing. "l' ymg' gnaiigof'n Y' goka ya, Cthulhu. llll Y' ahor, llll will, llll fhtagnor ng fhalma gn'thornythh."
"You most really be too far gone if you're murmuring like that, Corporal. I never thought I would hear a human breathe words in the deep tongue. And I suspect you don't even know what you're saying. " Konig pointed out with pity. "But as soft as your being, some of us have sharp ears, and we can't have anyone earing you speak that." He continued as a tentacle slipped into your mouth, silencing you.
That had your last few functional brain cells concentrating so hard on trying to bread around the thing that you were completely oblivious to just how deep the one between your legs had gotten.
That is, until you felt something small and squishy get pushed deep inside. Deeper then you thought possible. And then you felt another being deposited it. Then another, and another, and more after that.
Enough that you started to feel blotted, and heavy weight sitting nestled deep within. And Konig didn't seem like he was about to stop.
You didn't know how long it would still be, but you were so tired, and black spot had started to dance in your vision. As much as you wanted to cling to consciousness, you simply couldn't anymore.
Konig had expected to wake from his slumber to either a poor human with a fractured mind cowering in a corner or a cold body in his bed. He found neither. Actually, you were nowhere to be found in the room.
When he did find you, you looked normal, sane even. Although, he could see the barely perceptible swell of your stomach and the dried oil slick patter still on your skin.
And that's exactly when he realize just how wrong he was about you. You're clearly affected by the unknown, but you are different from other humans.
And now that he knew that, he couldn't let you walk around like that. He couldn't risk the most promising broodmare and a more then likely successful clutch on ops. Neither could he let the others realize just how special you were turning out to be and take you away from him.
Drivers by @cafekitsune | Header by me
That was... a lot of time and effort put into one single post. Hope you enjoy.
Simon was your best friend since both of you were little kids, you two met at kindergarten when you defended him from a boy that was bothering him and from that day on, it was like you 'adopted' him, claiming him as your best friend, which he willingly accepted.
You two were inseparable, whether it be at school, your house, the park, or anywhere else, he was always with you, almost like you were both joined at the hip and couldn't get away from each other, not even for a second.
When he got into trouble you always managed to get him out of it, if his father hurt him, there you were, cleaning his bruises. Even if all he needed was silence, you stayed by his side, keeping him company, making sure he never felt alone, like the good friend you were.
You eased his troubled mind, the only person that he ever let in for his entire life, the one who knew all his secrets, as well as his dreams, even if he didn't have that many. He considered you his best friend as much as you considered him yours.
As both of you got older though, Simon started to notice that what he felt for you wasn't just friendship, he figured his heart didn't beat faster whenever you were around, his chest got warm and his cheeks reddened when he looked at your lips or your eyes just because you were his best friend. He knew it was something else, something more.
But he never dared to say it out loud, he was afraid to even acknowledge it, what was the point anyway? He would never confess, what would other people think? What if it got you in trouble? The last thing he wanted was for you to get a bad reputation because of him.
Worst of all, he knew you didn't feel the same, so he kept quiet, pretending that the feeling wasn't there, telling himself that it was better to be hurt than to end up losing you.
So he just watched as you fell in and out of love with other girls over and over again, he held back the hurt in his voice when you told him you had your first kiss, the sigh that wanted to escape his lips after you went on a date with some other girl, and the sickness that made his stomach churn when you told him you had slept with someone else.
Sometimes he found himself wondering what it would be like to be in their place, but he never dared to give into the thought, he always felt like throwing up, like it was wrong of him to even think about it. He was your best friend and that was what he was always going to be.
You were inseparable since you were little kids, he wasn't going to let a stupid crush change that.
However, when he enlisted in the army and you had to leave for college, things changed regardless of if he wanted them to or not.
At first, you tried to maintain contact, you'd message him, ask him how things were, he tried to answer whenever he could, but different routines, different environments and different realities made you two drift apart, almost like the years-long friendship never even existed in the first place, separating the inseparable.
Simon would never admit it, but it broke his heart for a second time when he realized you two drifted apart. He didn't blame you, he couldn't, not after everything you two went through, even far away from each other, he still considered you his best friend, he loved you, as bitter as it felt every time he thought about it.
It started to hurt less as time went by, but your presence never really faded, it was like you were always lingering inside his mind, always coming back at some point, whether it be at night when he found himself alone, while he was training or even during missions, you were there, tormenting him.
As the years went by, the tf141 turned into his family, and eventually you became a ghost of his past, buried under the grime and blood that came with his time in the military, all the horrors he witnessed hardening his heart for love. He had finally gotten over you.
Or so he thought, until he received a random letter one day, a wedding invitation.
He had to stop for a moment, close his eyes and take a deep breath, he felt as if a derailed train had hit him head on, making all of the feelings he swore that were in the past, come back all over again.
He couldn't believe what was before his eyes, after all these years, why now? Why would you invite him to your wedding? And why the hell was he even considering going?
He knew why, because somehow, you were still a part of him, even after all this time, he wanted to see you again, though he knew it was a terrible idea.
Even so, a few weeks later, Simon found himself at the address written in the invitation, a small church, enough for the few people you had invited.
He stood in a corner, while he watched the other guests interacting, not wanting to sit down beside someone he didn't know, there at least, no one would bother him.
He could feel the happiness in the air, how everyone was buzzing with excitement while all of them waited for the bride to show up.
He wished he felt the same, he wanted to be happy for you, but the longer he looked at you standing there at the altar, a bright smile on your face, he could only feel dislocated, like a stranger crashing a random wedding, like he didn't belong there.
When the wedding march started playing, everyone rose to their feet and got quiet, Simon's gaze fell upon the bride the moment she stepped foot inside the church. She was beautiful, he couldn't deny it, not even if he wanted to.
But as she slowly walked down the aisle, towards you, all he could think about was how he'd never wished to be in her place.
Had never wished for your love, to hold you close in his arms, feel your warmth and your embrace, for you to look at him the same way you look at her, not until now.
He didn't have the courage to stay for the wedding vows, sneaking out so as not to draw attention to himself.
He wished for you to be happy, even if it couldn't be with him.
After all, he still loved you and that would never change.
special thx for my pookie @xenerical that revised this for me <3
Simon didn't feel loved. Hadn't for a while. Everything had been perfect with Johnny, he'd felt wanted for once in his life. Needed for more than just work or someone to cry to. He'd never done well with crying regardless. Now though? He found himself crying more than he ever had. Every time Johnny canceled plans, made excuses, everytime he acted like Simon would be too stupid to see what was going on.
He felt like an idiot, for believing he could be more than just a tool, used and disposed of whenever someone got bored of him. He'd felt that way in the taskforce, because he knew he was good at his job, but he couldn't interact the way the others did. So he stayed behind, pretended it didn't hurt when they didn't even bother asking him if he wanted to go to the pub. He always said no, but it was the thought that mattered to him, and now it was gone.
He felt like a shell of his former self, love can do that to you. Especially the kind of love he felt. The sickening and twisted kind. The kind of affection that made you feel awful when you only had your thoughts to tend to you. Soul ripping itself to pieces because he was idiotic enough to believe Johnny could have wanted him. Wanted him for more than just an easy fuck and a warm bed, but that's what he was good for, it's all he'd ever be good for.
He still loved Johnny, with all that was left of him, even with all the tears, all the nauseating thoughts that left him unable to look at himself in the mirror. He loved him. It hurt more than if he could muster the courage to hate him, because he still let him into his bed at night. Still let him take what he needed, if only to feel useful, to feel loved for a fleeting moment longer. Even though that's all it was.
A singular moment where that affection still remained, until it simmered and burned come morning. Johnny was gone before he even woke up, it's how it'd been the past few months. He got his stress relief, and then he left Simon to piece himself back together. Over, and over, and over again. Picking up the broken shards of his dignity just to have it be shattered simply because he couldn't say no to Johnny.
Couldn't say no to love, because he needed him, had become reliant on the affection, starving for just a crumb of what it used to be like. They used to go on dates, Johnny used to not be ashamed of holding his hand in public. He didn't do it now, not even when Simon was on the verge of a panic attack, too many people, too loud, hot, stifling, made him feel sick. And he didn't have his Johnny, there was a Johnny, but it wasn't his anymore. He'd lost him the second the look in his eyes faded into dull tolerance.
He was an option, not the first, not the second, not even the third, but at least he was on the list. That's the ideal he clung to when he bit his tongue, having to refrain from begging Johnny to love him again. The second he did, he'd never be able to be himself again, if he resorted to begging, then Johnny would have all of him. He already had his heart, his soul, the majority of his dignity, but he couldn't take his pride.
Not even when he cries at the sight of Johnny kissing another man.
Simon didn't feel loved. Hadn't for a while. Everything had been perfect with Johnny, he'd felt wanted for once in his life. Needed for more than just work or someone to cry to. He'd never done well with crying regardless. Now though? He found himself crying more than he ever had. Every time Johnny canceled plans, made excuses, everytime he acted like Simon would be too stupid to see what was going on.
He felt like an idiot, for believing he could be more than just a tool, used and disposed of whenever someone got bored of him. He'd felt that way in the taskforce, because he knew he was good at his job, but he couldn't interact the way the others did. So he stayed behind, pretended it didn't hurt when they didn't even bother asking him if he wanted to go to the pub. He always said no, but it was the thought that mattered to him, and now it was gone.
He felt like a shell of his former self, love can do that to you. Especially the kind of love he felt. The sickening and twisted kind. The kind of affection that made you feel awful when you only had your thoughts to tend to you. Soul ripping itself to pieces because he was idiotic enough to believe Johnny could have wanted him. Wanted him for more than just an easy fuck and a warm bed, but that's what he was good for, it's all he'd ever be good for.
He still loved Johnny, with all that was left of him, even with all the tears, all the nauseating thoughts that left him unable to look at himself in the mirror. He loved him. It hurt more than if he could muster the courage to hate him, because he still let him into his bed at night. Still let him take what he needed, if only to feel useful, to feel loved for a fleeting moment longer. Even though that's all it was.
A singular moment where that affection still remained, until it simmered and burned come morning. Johnny was gone before he even woke up, it's how it'd been the past few months. He got his stress relief, and then he left Simon to piece himself back together. Over, and over, and over again. Picking up the broken shards of his dignity just to have it be shattered simply because he couldn't say no to Johnny.
Couldn't say no to love, because he needed him, had become reliant on the affection, starving for just a crumb of what it used to be like. They used to go on dates, Johnny used to not be ashamed of holding his hand in public. He didn't do it now, not even when Simon was on the verge of a panic attack, too many people, too loud, hot, stifling, made him feel sick. And he didn't have his Johnny, there was a Johnny, but it wasn't his anymore. He'd lost him the second the look in his eyes faded into dull tolerance.
He was an option, not the first, not the second, not even the third, but at least he was on the list. That's the ideal he clung to when he bit his tongue, having to refrain from begging Johnny to love him again. The second he did, he'd never be able to be himself again, if he resorted to begging, then Johnny would have all of him. He already had his heart, his soul, the majority of his dignity, but he couldn't take his pride.
Not even when he cries at the sight of Johnny kissing another man.
Simon didn't feel loved. Hadn't for a while. Everything had been perfect with Johnny, he'd felt wanted for once in his life. Needed for more than just work or someone to cry to. He'd never done well with crying regardless. Now though? He found himself crying more than he ever had. Every time Johnny canceled plans, made excuses, everytime he acted like Simon would be too stupid to see what was going on.
He felt like an idiot, for believing he could be more than just a tool, used and disposed of whenever someone got bored of him. He'd felt that way in the taskforce, because he knew he was good at his job, but he couldn't interact the way the others did. So he stayed behind, pretended it didn't hurt when they didn't even bother asking him if he wanted to go to the pub. He always said no, but it was the thought that mattered to him, and now it was gone.
He felt like a shell of his former self, love can do that to you. Especially the kind of love he felt. The sickening and twisted kind. The kind of affection that made you feel awful when you only had your thoughts to tend to you. Soul ripping itself to pieces because he was idiotic enough to believe Johnny could have wanted him. Wanted him for more than just an easy fuck and a warm bed, but that's what he was good for, it's all he'd ever be good for.
He still loved Johnny, with all that was left of him, even with all the tears, all the nauseating thoughts that left him unable to look at himself in the mirror. He loved him. It hurt more than if he could muster the courage to hate him, because he still let him into his bed at night. Still let him take what he needed, if only to feel useful, to feel loved for a fleeting moment longer. Even though that's all it was.
A singular moment where that affection still remained, until it simmered and burned come morning. Johnny was gone before he even woke up, it's how it'd been the past few months. He got his stress relief, and then he left Simon to piece himself back together. Over, and over, and over again. Picking up the broken shards of his dignity just to have it be shattered simply because he couldn't say no to Johnny.
Couldn't say no to love, because he needed him, had become reliant on the affection, starving for just a crumb of what it used to be like. They used to go on dates, Johnny used to not be ashamed of holding his hand in public. He didn't do it now, not even when Simon was on the verge of a panic attack, too many people, too loud, hot, stifling, made him feel sick. And he didn't have his Johnny, there was a Johnny, but it wasn't his anymore. He'd lost him the second the look in his eyes faded into dull tolerance.
He was an option, not the first, not the second, not even the third, but at least he was on the list. That's the ideal he clung to when he bit his tongue, having to refrain from begging Johnny to love him again. The second he did, he'd never be able to be himself again, if he resorted to begging, then Johnny would have all of him. He already had his heart, his soul, the majority of his dignity, but he couldn't take his pride.
Not even when he cries at the sight of Johnny kissing another man.
