#gazghost

you guys voted for ghostgaz ✨ so here are the babies absolutely fluffed fluffed

The coffee shop was the kind Kyle liked, small, a little worn in, the sort of place that had been there long enough to have the smell of grounds and leaves in its walls. Simon had let him pick. He usually did, following in behind with a finger hooked on his.

They'd gotten a table by the window, quiet with a view of the street. Simon with his back to the wall, Kyle across from him with his coffee held in both hands, the ceramic warm and smooth against his palms. Outside, London was doing its Sunday thing, a little grey and pigeons on the pavement.

Kyle was telling him about a film—something he'd half-watched on his phone during a long flight back, something with a car chase that made no sense—and Simon was listening completely, focused on Kyle between sips. Watching Kyle talk like it was the only thing in the world.

Their feet had drifted together under the table. Kyle's ankle against Simon's, the toe of his shoe pressing against Simon's calf.

He was mid-sentence when he caught Simon's gaze drift to the window.

Kyle turned his head.

A parade had come around the corner. Colour spilled into the street, flags and streamers catching the late morning light. Then the sound arrived, a warm rolling wave of bass and laughter and a brass section. People flooded the pavement, bright-faced, phones raised, some of them dancing and some of them just beaming with delight. A pair of women held a flag the size of a bedsheet over their heads. A golden retriever in a rainbow tutu trotted along at the end of its lead with enormous, delighted certainty.

Kyle looked back at Simon.

The small furrow between his brows had smoothed. His eyes moved across the parade slowly, carefully, like he was making sure he didn't miss any of it.

Kyle felt the space beneath his ribs fill warm and fond.

He finished his coffee and put the mug down.

"Let's go see," he said.

Simon met his eyes, and Kyle was already standing, the softest smile on his own face. Simon got up.

Outside the air was soft and warm and smelled like summer. Kyle found them a spot just off the edge of the crowd where they could see without being swept up in it, and Simon came to stand just beside him and wrapped a hand around Kyle's forearm, a firm hold to keep Simon from going far.

Kyle felt him breathe.

The parade unwound past them in joyful pieces. A group in matching yellow, earnest and a little chaotic, laughing at each other. A float shaped like an enormous glittering sun. People cheering from across the street for everyone and no one, just throwing it into the air because of course. Because they were here and alive and warm and the day was good.

Kyle watched it, and he watched Simon watch it.

Simon's thumb moved against Kyle's arm, slow and absent.

Kyle looked at the parade and smiled as the sun broke through the clouds again.

Then Simon's arm was around his waist. Easy and warm and so absent of firm intention Kyle thought it might have been an accident. Simon's hand squeezed then, as if he'd heard the thought, and then relaxed, some last held thing in him let go.

A woman near the front of the next group caught Simon's eye and grinned at him enormously, pointing finger guns at the two of them, entirely delighted.

Simon, just with his eyes above the black medical mask, smiled back.

Simon watches from his seat on the toilet seat. "What's the next step?" He rumbles as Kyle opens up a new container of moisturizer.

"This is for dark spots and blemishes. It's the last lotion for the night." Kyle explains as he carefully dabs his face. Simon scoffs at the word blemishes. There was no such thing on his beautiful lovers face. He was perfect. Kyle playfully wrinkles his nose at Simon, smearing some leftover moisturizer onto his cheek. "I can hear your thoughts."

"Can you?" Simon teases, leaning into Kyle's thumb when he massages the product in.

"You're thinking that I'm the most handsome man you've ever seen." Kyle teases, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. Simon turns his head to softly kiss Kyle's palm.

Ghost is a wardog through and through. He's not truly a person after roba, doesn't do well without structure or someone to control him. Last time ghost took leave off base he ended up in the woods with dead bodies he didn't remember killing. He gets...weird, when left to himself. Less and less human.

So he doesn't fight back when gaz starts hanging around more, starts well...controlling him. Gaz will sit food on ghosts desk and stand there until he eats every bite, or reach across the table to take folders from him and say "you're done for the night. Go sleep."

Gaz is willing to put in the effort price hasnt. While price wants loyalty, gaz wants involvement. He enjoys deciding when ghost does stuff and why.

And ghost? He's absolutely in love. In the weird, codependent way only a traumatized soldier can be. He doesn't hold gazs hand, doesn't ask for kisses or sex, but the intimacy of gaz picking out ghosts shampoo or toothpaste is so much more than any act of physical intimacy.

Only when Simon was a few too many beers in did he paw at Gaz's arm to take him to his barracks. And Gaz would never say no to his Lieutenant.

Gaz's attention snapped back to Simon's face as he garbled something into Gaz's fingers.

"What was that, Simon?" Gaz asked as he pulled his out his fingers from his mouth because with Gaz it was never "Ghost" or "L.T.", it was always "Simon".

"Please Ma- fuck-" Simon hiccuped, humping desperately against Gaz's thigh. His jeans were disgusting, covered in pre and sticky. "Ma- mama, lemme cum- please- guh-"

Now, this was new. In bed, despite being damn near blackout drunk, Ghost insisted on only calling Gaz, well, Gaz. Kyle or Garrick if he was feeling needy, but never "mama"

Still, Gaz was a man of his word, he'd never say no to his Lieutenant.