#cod asks

——

Already there

Current word count: 2485

Inspiration: @ danaeesarte and 🧼 Anon

Editors: @ mala--draws and @ cchipollo

Status: unfinished (finished one-shot will be posted on Ao3)

Warnings: PG-13? Making out, intoxication, swearing, that’s it

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Pub crawls were nothing new for the task force. Felt like they deserved a small break from it all. A cold pint as a minimal payment for doing the world’s dirty work. The scene in the pub was untroubled. Calm without hustle or bustle. Tidy and clean. Most importantly discounts for any military. Ghost had excellent taste in pubs. Unlike the rest of the 141.

And cognac was surprisingly tasty. Not the sergeant’s usual choice. But smooth, sweet. Fruity with a hint of toasted almond. Warm on the tongue. With that vast robust profile, all unlocked with a simple ice cube.

Kyle glances over at the team. Price was entertaining Soap with regaling tales of his wife. The two smelled of rum and lager. Kyle couldn’t tell which John drank what.

Bitter malt had interfused with coconut-y citrus. An… interesting combination. Which was assaulting his nose. Two smells warring against one another.

Gaz wrinkles his nose. Choosing to breathe through his mouth instead. Less stink, more enjoying the moment. Though, he privately hoped Johnny was drinking the rum.

He hums at the thought. Swirling his drink. Daydreaming about that sweetness on Soap’s lips. The things he’d do just to get a taste.

A dark clothed elbow plucks Garrick from his non-HR appropriate thoughts.

“How’s the cognac?” Skeletor’s nephew prompts.

“Almond-y, quite fancy it really. Might sneak another glass.” With a flick of Gaz’s wrist the yam colored liquid swirls in his glass.

“Careful. Don’t want my favorite ‘angin.”

“Not getting plastered, Ghost,” Kyle took another sip. A part of him, suddenly remorseful about his sober vow. It did taste dangerously dynamite. Scrumptious, not that he could say that out loud. The others would take the piss immediately. Like circling wolves, them. Chomping for any chance at a joke.

Bistre brown meets whiskey amber. Ghost, admittedly, has a staring problem.

“You gonna tell me?” Ghost drops mysteriously. Need to be psykick just to be Ghost’s friend.

“Nothing to tell.”

“About Johnny, Kyle.”

Kyle’s eyebrows twitch. Before he relaxes his face. Nonchalant, act nonchalant. Don’t play your cards. “Well, if you need to know about Soap just ask him yourself.”

Ghost sighs loudly. “Rocky relationship right now, Gaz,” those cozy eyes flicker to his untouched bourbon.

Gaz takes pity on the Mancunian. “Well, what’s got you curious about Tav?”

“You.”

Gaz swallows. Face calm, too calm. “Mate, you’ll need to elaborate.”

“He’s been acting different around you.”

“At least he’s not brooding anymore,” he offers. Ghost grunts in agreement. Still waiting.

“I think he’s taken a shine to you.”

“…you’re full of it.” Kyle counters.

“Maybe.” Ghost’s blonde lashes obscure his eyes. A moment of questioning reprieve. “Might be a shot askin” he mumbles, finally taking a sip from his bourbon.

Silence stretches comfortably between them. Gaz peels himself off his seat. Swallowing down the rest of his drink…

“Going for a smoke,” he announces. Stirring Soap and Price, who are looking none too sober.

“ ‘m’d need a smoke too,” Soap slurs. Face and neck a lovely flushed red.

“Sure that’s wise, Johnny?” Ghost prompts. Voice dripping with mirth. Price’s eyes crinkle. Grinning like a damn mad man. Looks like the wolves found a bone to chew.

“Your blood alcohol percentage is higher than mine, sergeant,” the captain utters. The natural gravel in his voice boosted under the influence. All rosy cheeked like a fairytale maiden.

“My thoughts exactly, you’ll blow up if you smoke,” Ghost muses, voice monotone. The captain gives Simon a good natured pat. Smiling wider at the jokes.

“Haud yer wheesht, o’ ‘ll gie ye a skelpit lug!”

That shuts Ghost up with an unhappy, “Bloody hell…”

Soap smirks pulling himself up. Trailing after Gaz. Stormy blues hazy, but glad as Gaz holds the door open for him. Such a gentleman. Lovely lad. Nice hair. Big smile. Oo, that arse.

“Ky…” he crows. Watching Gaz fidget with his cigarettes. Frowning at the movement. How many smoke breaks has Gaz had recently?

“Ye well?”

“Stressed,” a puff of smoke escapes those eye-catching lips. Smoke flowing out of his mouth, all dragon-like, “per usual.”

“Even oot ta pub?” Goodness, Johnny sounded so childlike and innocent. Despite being a trained killer.

“Even at the pub.”

“Even wit military mates? Ah ken we nae ta softest… but...”

“Even with friends.”

Soap’s pupils seem to dilate at that. Big black pits overpowering the striated bits in his eyes. The Scot welters over. Staring as Gaz breathes in the smoke. Purposely blowing it away from Soap.

“Ye smell nice.”

Kyle tries not to acknowledge the compliment. Keeping his aloofness set, exhaling out again.

“Must be my body wash. Got a new one.”

“ ‘s nice” Johnny repeats. Adam’s apple bobbing as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Drunkenly gawking at such a common sight.

Kyle rolls his eyes. “When you choose a bar that actually has personality, you tend to smell better, luv,” he teases.

‘Luv’ was utterly accidentally irreversibly blurted out. But it seemed to make John’s eyes sharpen, a haze of alcohol aside. Not predatory. No, it’s like Soap was just waiting for the punchline. The usual homoerotic teasing. A way to poke fun at John’s preferences.

Gaz knew the rumors about Soap intimately. Especially after the not so subtle break up.

“Ye tryin’ ta take ta piss?” John starts. Lips forming a readied frown, at Kyle’s lack of an instant response.

“…No,” Kyle starts slowly. Snubbing out the cigarette into an ashy tray. Smoke curling up from the cigarette grave. “Look, Tav… I think you’re astonishing. I wouldn’t poke fun at you being er… gay”

John blinks owlishly. Before he not so smoothly leaned against the wall. Defensiveness fleeting from his body. Defused once more.

“Yer hot.”

“I know.”

“B-f… Bastard…” Soap’s mouth struggles with the familiar word. Cheeks sagging as he gets the word out.

Gaz snorts as Soap grunts. Teetering closer. “Someone ought ta shut yer mouth…” John teases. Bold confident flirtations, undercut by an unsteady body.

Another unbidden laugh escapes Kyle’s lips. Cheeks feeling a bit warmer. Was he tipsy? Why was this working? He didn’t fold that easily for anyone.

“Maybe we should get you inside.” Kyle prompts. Offering Soap a hand, not that Scot would accept. John’s pride wouldn’t allow it.

“ ‘m nae against taking this inside.. but take a bloke ta dinner, first.”

“I’m not cottaging anyone in the bar.” A firm reminder.

Soap glowers at that. Propping himself against the alley wall. Huffing cutely. Gaz takes a moment to let his nonchalance slip. He could take a chance and regret it later. ‘Please let this be okay,’ Kyle whispers in his head. Shoes scuffing against worn cobbles. Getting closer to John. Planting a small peck on the man’s cheek.

Testing the waters.

Soap, thankfully, wasn’t joking about his blatant drunken interest. Pecking Gaz’s lips in return.

Warm lips meeting, eventually. Slowly introducing themselves. Close in such an unfamiliar sense. Something chaste, something light.

Soft pecks lasted longer than expected between two repressed, horny, deprived men. A new record set for military sods just like them. This new sensation has a chance to bloom, before it the fuse sparks. Exploding into manic emotion.

Kyle’s hands move automatically. Cupping Soap’s face. Tilting his head up a little more. Before Johnny’s hands follow, precipitately latching onto his bicep. Squeezing a bit painfully.

It felt like booming fireworks. Kissing his closest confidant like this. These breathless cravings were more entertaining than initially thought. Additionally, to Kyle’s added delight. Johnny tasted just like that golden rum. Coconut with a hint of vanilla citrus.

Garrick, being a greedy man, wanted more. More lingering sweetness. More kisses. More of anything John would send his way. MacTavish was just as desperate as him. Falling into the feverish woes of eroticism.

They needed it. Even if Soap was pretty tipsy, even if someone were to see them. It was as romantic as it could get for men like them. As ironic as that seems. There was nothing better than this (except several things that were, but that was besides the point).

The ecstasies lasted mere minutes, Gaz leans back. Restraining himself. Soap tailing the other man’s lips for but a moment. Chasing that high. Teeth snapping, eyeing Gaz.

“Ta was jost marvellous.” He huffs. Tugging on Gaz’s collar. Lips skimming along Gaz’s jaw line. Drunkenly rambling into warm skin. Mouth dipping. Chin running along the sinew of his throat.

“ ‘s braw. Ah want more than a taste,” the Scot coos. Stubble itching against where it’s perched.

His head was spinning. This was bliss, no other word described it like this. Johnny lumbers closer. Hands tightening around that collar. Teeth bared and ready to leave evidence. Kyle pushes him back. Shaking his head. Breathing out loudly. His skin felt too warm.

“Ye seriously smell nice…” the mumbled words barely escape Soap’s lips. Stumbling from the shove.

“Still obsessed with my bloody bar, no wonder you’re called ‘Soap’.”

“Got ta sign f—fer a cool reason, Gaz.”

“Sure.”

Two whole weeks.

After snogging off his closest confidant, radio silence. From both of them.

Eye contact has been strictly prohibited between them.

Though Gaz’s been sneaking glances every now and then. Price and Ghost have been relentless in their teasing. Which ends up with Gaz acting unbothered and Soap loudly denying it.

It’d be hilarious if it wasn’t them being teased.

“Gaz, thoughts on the current formation?”

Kyle blinks. He’d been zoning out again. His eyes narrow, re-analyzing the map. Mouth twitching into a pout as he looks at the group plan.

“Sir, you want me and Soap leading marines to the southwest quadrant?”

“Problem with Sergeant MacTavish?” Price muses. Eyebrows quirking up. Not so subtly implying something was going on between his sergeants, which nothing was!

“No. Sir.”

That evening, Gaz got an encrypted email of congratulations from Farah and Alex after that meeting. Gaz began his investigations on who his mole was.

Similarly, Soap’s had similar troubles. More Ghost-shaped problems though.

“Soap.”

“Ghost.”

“Johnny.”

“Simon.”

“…”

“How’s things with you and Gaz?”

Johnny’s eyes widened. Before he looks away. “Still playing Cupid?”

“Humor me.”

“Snogged his face off two weeks ago.” Ghost’s eyes got really bright. The lieutenant raised an eyebrow. Clearly wanting to know more.

“Communally ignoring each other. Awkward around him right now…” he mumbles. Writing some more notes down before he stands up. Moving back to the dumbbells. Time to pump lead instead of acknowledging the emotions. Ghost huffs moving to do some dead sprints on the treadmill, like a masochist.

Soap centers himself back on pumping lead. Popping his earbuds back in.

Counting his breaths halfheartedly. Brain whirling loudly as his muscles flex. He feels a hand on his shoulder. Soap ignores it. Shrugging it off as he moves harder. Music blaring louder.

“- MATE- I’M STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO- TAV!” A hand grabs at Soap’s earbud. Removing it and pocketing it. He’s getting burgled in broad daylight.

“Tav.” Gaz repeats. Startling Soap. Who as calmly as possible sets the weights down. Ghost is eyeing the two of them. Like a five year old kid wanting to force their dollies to kiss.

“Aye, sorry, didn’t.. hear you,” his voice is a bit shaky as his expression grows sheepish.

“I was trying to ask you something.”

“Oh..”

“…”

“That all?”

“Uh? Yes? Why, what do you think I was going to say?”

“Maybe something about the alley.”

Gaz’s ears turn a bit darker. Averting his eyes, trying to be calm and chill. “Nothing to say.”

“Nothing aboot us smacking lips together?” Soap brushes his hands onto his own gym shorts. Rough skin catching on the fabric slightly.

Kyle glances at Ghost. Who’s still running on the treadmill. Not giving their drama any attention.

“… I liked it.” The taller sergeant admits.

John’s brow furrows for a moment thinking. Before he takes a risky step closer. “Ah liked it too.”

Kyle’s expression shifts. Not wanting to dwell in vulnerability too long. Soap was happy with that.

Gaz smirks. Eyes glittering with cheeky energy. “If you help spot me, I might give you a kiss for your troubles.”

“Tempting deal.”

“I tend to be rather persuasive.”

Maybe this was fine. Maybe it was okay for them to be like this. A weird in-between place. Toeing the line of lovers but nothing official. Maybe they could make this work.

Soap stands with his hand hovering near the metal. Grinning as Gaz picks up the barbell.

“Sure ye donnae need more weight plates, luv?”

“I’m not- looking to break… something” Kyle mumbles through strained breaths. Soap shrugs, continuing to silently sponge up the sinful sight. Hands grabbing the bar as Gaz’s arms shake subtly. It was more than Gaz usually pressed.

Minutes of pure workout bliss and stink pass.

The bar clanks as Gaz sets it down. Huffing as he lifts himself up. Soap hands him a towel. Eyes tracking every movement. He felt some weird cocktail of ache, warmth, and softness.

“Ky,” he nudges Kyle’s shoulder with a curled index. Kyle looks over, raising a brow. Before Soap pecks his cheek. Nose pressing into flushed skin.

“Hey- I was supposed to reward you…” Kyle mumbles. Eyes crinkled nonetheless at the action.

“Ah was getting impatient…”

The Brit clicks his tongue. Cupping Soap’s cheek. Smacking a big kiss on the Scot’s cheek. The noise and drama of it makes Soap both giggle and fight to push Gaz away.

“Yer slobbering on ma… Gross.”

Kyle doesn’t comment. Cheekily leaving more big fat kisses all over the other’s face. Trying to pull out as many giggles as he can from the man.

“Slobber suits you.”

John scoffs. Rolling his eyes as he uses Kyle’s shirt sleeve to wipe his face off. Causing more primary school fighting to ensue.

John’s got Kyle in a headlock. Giving the other’s fluffy coils a hard noogie. While Kyle tries to give John a wedgie. A firm, “OI!” Cuts through playful roughhousing. As they peel themselves off each other. Right, military base, they’re grown men, SAS sergeants even.

Ghost crosses his arms. Face damp from his high incline sprints. His eyes seem light. Meaning maybe they were not in hot water.

“Bloody ‘ell, you two are hopeless… you confess yet?”

Kyle avoids eye contact, while John’s face becomes very serious. The two of them were betrayed by a ruddy flush on their cheeks.

“No,” Gaz bravely answers.

“Well, sort of, Lt…”

“Christ, stop dragging your feet. I have a bet to win, sergeants.” Ghost adds. “Confess or you’re scrubbing lavatories.” He threatens.

Lovely pressure. Kyle’s mouth feels useless. What do you even say to that? Soap puffs out his chest with fake bravado.

“Kyle, ah like ye.”

“I like you too, Tav.”

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