Little continuation to this because I can’t help it
Seal Soap that gets along with seal Reader better than anyone else: better than Price, better than Kyle, better than Ghost.
Drives the latter one a little mad that his boy is so fucking whipped.
That his boy can’t help but stick with you and smooch you like there is no tomorrow. Like that’s a perfectly regular thing to do.
And while Kyle (who came back flustered and smitten) tried to explain the delicacies of seal to seal communications, Simon doesn’t fucking buy it. There is no such thing as wordless communication, there are scents of course, there are signals and sounds. But completely silent talk initiated by kisses? No, that’s bullshit if you ask him.
Unfortunately, no one fucking does.
Johnny walks you to breakfast and lunch and dinner. Johnny jogs to yours side as soon as you enter the gym, Johnny rolls over so you can have a spot next to him when he’s sunbathing (and bastard never rolls over, he’s greedy fuck who doesn’t like sharing his warm sunny place).
Johnny twitches his upper lip to show off sharp teeth when someone else gets too close to you, guarding new seal on his team like a bloody treasure.
And you don’t seem to mind all the attention.
No, you hum pleased when Soap shares his fish with you, you give him back scratches and quietly groom him in the rec room, you share parcels from home with him.
Simon doesn’t like that you get so quickly acquainted with his boy. Simon doesn’t like that you seem not interested much in whether or not he likes things.
Simon is used to be the biggest meanest dog in the compound, but when he presses you don’t back down and don’t cower. Seems like he isn’t the biggest one anymore.
You smile at him, sharp points of your teeth peeking from under your upper lip but your eyes are cool and it takes him every ounce of willpower not to growl in your face.
Slippery fucking seal, he hates that he doesn’t have grounds for being a bigger dick to you than he already is.
He hates that both Kyle and Johnny seem to disapprove that.
But you aren’t going anywhere.
You chuckle when Gaz shows off his sharpshooting skills, you patiently watch their eagle’s training routine and offer to spot him. You pretend not to notice the way sergeant Garrick stares unblinking at the sliver of skin that shows when you stretch your hands above your head and your T-shirt rides up a little.
You kiss Soap whenever and wherever you feel like, not paying any mind whether or not someone might see it.
You press a short smooch to Soap’s lips during the drills and missions — getting returned one as quickly as yours was given, because Johnny is whipped and “it helps to calm the nerves”. Because apparently you can’t just communicate with words like the rest of them and need to have this secret third thing.
You catch Johnny’s lips routinely, biting his lower lip, rubbing against his stubble like it really can give you some information that you can’t get otherwise. You kiss him after swimming, getting salt off his lips, getting his spirits so high a little more and sergeant is gonna become a bloody kite.
You cup Johnny’s face and press your lips to his — slow and gentle, tongue already sliding between his lips, Soap’s hands holding onto your hips — fingers sinking into the fatty tissue of your ass. It’s not rushed in the slightest, your cool lips meeting his, Soap thumbing the dimples on your lower back so you arch into him. So he has a “just” reason to get handfuls of your ass.
Simon accidentally walks in onto one of these sessions and like a bloody creeper stays in the shadowed corner because the two of you seem a bit preoccupied with whatever “conversation” you have been having.
But to give you two your due — the make out session is indeed silent. There are no whispers, no exchanged sweet nothings, no secret confessions. Nothing.
Like you two can actually talk like that.
Like it is an actual thing.
Simon doesn’t want to admit that it unnerves him ever more. A fling, a moment of passion added to urge to mess with the team he could understand. This? Whatever this is, he can’t. He doesn’t know how.
There is a quiet soft intimacy in the way you hold each other, in the way your kiss seems never ending, in the way you two break it only to rub cheeks or noses. It’s intimacy Ghost hasn’t seen before and he doesn’t know what to make of it.
Not like he can ask, right?
Simon leaves as quietly as he came, trying to mull it over, trying to come up with something — anything — that would fill in the gaps he can feel under his ribs.
He is all heavy bulk and heavy boots and heavy glares, but it doesn’t seem to phase you when you finally corner him in the gym.
Eyes so calm it drives him up the wall, eyes so gentle he feels like wrestling you to the floor so you finally get the point and stay the fuck away from him.
But you just angle his face to you and tap the hem of his mask silently. Eyes calm and chest pressing into his, pressing him into the wall so he can’t run and hide. Slippery fucking seal, he should teach you some fucking manners so you don’t get too cocky around your superiors.
And maybe if you said a single thing he’d push you away. Maybe if you asked him for something, he’d bristle and growl and sneer. But you don’t so Simon is not sure what to make of it.
He just pulls balaclava just above his lips, scar crossing them, part of his upper lip gnarly ugly thing that healed a little too high and left him with perpetual snarl. It’s not pretty.
He isn’t pretty.
Not like Johnny with his shiny eyes and wide smiles, not like Kyle with his full lips and proud slope of the nose.
He knows he isn’t pretty but the wolf in him still gets ready to snap jaws on your neck the moment you mention it. Simon knows he is nothing special, he’d rather a pretty seal didn’t comment on his appearances.
You don’t know his story and he prefers it stays that way.
The feel of cool fingers on his jaw snaps Ghost out of it, your eyes still calm and endless, your breathing ghosting over his lips — you are close enough to drink into his every breath. Close enough to taste desperation rolling off him in waves.
Close enough for him to get handfuls of your ass and pull you flush against him.
Got you, slippery seal. He caught you. He won.
But you don’t seem to mind it, your nose just pressing to his cheek — slowly, like you aren’t sure how much you can do before Simon loses his mind and either mounts or mauls you right on the floor of this gym.
Simon isn’t sure himself what he’d like to do more.
Your breathing on his cheek is feather-soft when you gently rub on his stubble. The same way you did with Johnny just a few days prior. The seal greeting you two do tirelessly.
Ghost hums quietly and tilts his head to the side, so you can reach better, his hands no longer gripping but slowly groping your bum now. Like he is finally letting himself savor it without the fear of your slipping right through his fingers.
There is a beat after which you finally press your lips to his, catching them like he’s an old friend you are happy to see — your tongue asking for permission like Simon isn’t pushing his in your mouth the moment you kissed him.
Simon is all hunger and sharp teeth and heavy glares, but you kiss him and he melts. You open the soft wet heat of your mouth and be pushes his tongue inside, finally tasting for himself salt on your tongue and points of your canines and the gurgly needy sounds your throat makes when he devours your mouth.
When his fingers get to underside of your ass and inner side of your thighs.
Slippery seal, don’t you know that he is the biggest meanest dog in this compound?
But your palms slide under waist of his pants, your nails digging into his lower back so he can’t help but arch into you.
Well, not anymore, he is not.
Ghost grins in your mouth and licks the grin off the tips of your teeth, hoping to poke himself too hard and finally bleed in the chatty mouth of yours.
Seal to wolf communication, eh? That’s something he can understand.
That’s something he’d like to become proficient in.
The next time you press a kiss to Johnny’s lips is during brief and no one spares you a second glance.
By this point, it’s a routine and you two never lose too much time doing this so if seals need to communicate, the rest are going to leave you to it.
Only this time you don’t limit yourself with just Johnny, reaching out to Simon right after — pulling him in by the scruff of his neck and giving him a short smooch as well. Like it’s a completely normal thing too.
Price pauses mid sentence, giving you a long unreadable stare before finally arching his brow, thick cigar between his lips heating up when he pulls air in.
Komodo dragons thrive on hierarchy and you are starting to push it. Thin ice there.
“Seal to wolf communication, sir.”, your grin is wide enough to show off tips of your canines, eyes crinkling when Kyle looks at Ghost with the look of utter betrayal on his face.
Yeah, you will need to come up with something to sweeten it for pretty eagle sergeant as well.
“Didn’t know it was a thing. Can he talk with seals too?”, Price looks utterly unimpressed, eyes heavy with something you can’t quite make out.
“No, sir.”, the answer is as honest as they get, your grin only widening when Ghost slowly licks his lips, lieutenant’s eyes heavy in a way that unrolls a sweet aching in your belly.
Big mean bastard he is. Big bad wolf.
“But he can feel the vibes. Right, L.T.?”, you turn to him and Simon tilts his head to the side, his tail wagging behind him, his tail smacking your thigh every time it moves.
Price looks at Ghost with the look of exasperated parent but lieutenant seems to be finally content with the way things are.
Lieutenant finally doesn’t mind the seal to seal communication.
Not when he has his own now.
Big bad wolf just wanted to be included, didn’t he?
“Yeah. I sure can.”, he finally huffs out and leans on you, corner of his lips twitching when you have to steady yourself not to tip over. Big mean bastard.
Simon tilts his head to the side, like never before reminding you of his animal side — deep seated eyes of his glimmering from underneath the dark hover of his brows.
“Though I feel like the first check was too hasty”, he muses words slowly, syllables rolling on his tongue, accent thickening. There is laughter simmering on the bottom of his irises, the heated sort of fun.
“Mind givin’ it another go, luv?”
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