PLEASE CAN WE HAVE MORE GAZ AND SOAP?! ITS SO GOOD!!!!
ask and you shall receive! ur my first ask n now hold a special place in my heart lol. idk if you want more angst but this one will be some fluff with slight sprinkle of angst, hope u enjoy! cw: nudity (not explicit), non-sexual intimacy, showering together, nonverbal emotional processing, fluff w/ a pinch of angst
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Before the movement Gaz touched down on the tarmac, he had been a ball of nerves and adrenaline. Price had noticed, from the rapid shake of his leg after they were strapped and ready to the slight tremor in his hands. Under the captains watchful gaze, nothing went unnoticed by him.
So he didn’t say a word when Gaz all but bolted out of the helo, boots thumping against steel platform and hard concrete, with just a nod. Price new his men, almost as well as he knew how to disassemble any gun and build it back up again. And he knew when his soldiers needed to be something less—something lighter, softer, that he has been in years.
It’s with a tunneled vision that Gaz stops by the armory, drops off his kit and whatever weaponry he had checked out, before he heads straight to the barracks shared solely by the 141.
He needed a shower, a proper one to wash off the dirt and grime clogging his pores. Maybe then he’ll feel a bit more human, more like Kyle and not Gaz.
The trip from the armory to the barracks is short and Gaz stormed through the threshold with a force that had Soap cocking his head curiously, attention moving from the rec room’s old television to the door. When he sees Gaz he instantly brightens, lips pulled into a wide smile before he calls out. “You look like shit, mate.” he says in jest, but when Gaz doesn’t throw out his usual sarcastic reply, his face falls.
“Kyle..?” This time he kept his tone low, controlled, and filled with the faintest hint of concern once he noticed the signs. In a matter of seconds he’s on his feet, crossing the rec room to get to his mate, his best friend and everything that exists beyond.
There’s a murkiness in Gaz’s eyes when he approached him, the dark brown around his irises a lot more cloudy than usual like they don’t even register what’s happening around him. At least, not until warm calloused hands pressed on Gaz’s biceps gently, dragging him back into the present even if it’s by a fraction.
“Ah got you, m'eudail. Let’s get you cleaned up, aye?”
He only gets a slow nod from Gaz, but that’s all that he needs to take his hand in his own, fingers slotting together like they have hundreds of times before and will continue to hundreds of times after. They walk to the showers where Soap knows everything Gaz needs will be there already—he was getting far too restless waiting for his other half to return so he took it upon himself to restock their shower necessitates and tidy up around the barracks.
Soap makes quick work of gathering two towels and a wash cloth for them before he stands in front of Gaz. He looked a bit more lucid than a few minutes ago, but Soap has known him long enough to not expect much verbal response when Gaz gets into this headspace. But he still talked him through it, his hands and voice a delicate blanket for Gaz to wrap himself into.
“Need you to strip for me, love. Do you want any help?” he smiled big and wide when he received a small hum. His hands are gentle as he worked the buttons off Gaz’s shirt, precise and steady, and lets the thin fabric slip off his shoulders.
Soap moved with haste undoing the buttons on Gaz’s trousers along with the black pair of briefs he preferred over boxers when hunting down terrorist organizations, pulling them down lean, taut legs then tossed them on the wooden bench where the rest of his clothes laid. He’s quick to undress himself, adding to the small pile of cotton and polyester.
“Let’s get ye nice and clean, bonnie. C’mon.”
Gaz’s hand is cold against Soap’s own as he leads them towards the row of shower heads, he turned the water on and the spray hits them both, warm and comforting. The tense stiffness in Gaz’s shoulders relax visibly and he hums appreciatively, drawing a small grin from the Scott.
He eyed the bottles of shampoo and conditioner that Gaz always uses on those special wash days he does. “Do ye want to use the shampoo and conditioner today?” he asks.
Gaz looked at him like he’s processing Soap’s words, rolling them around in his war torn mind like some mysterious puzzle. His voice is strained when he answers, “Just shampoo.”
Soap hummed, taking the bottle of shampoo and once it’s opened he squirts the liquid directly onto Gaz’s head, copying the method he’s watched the man do several times before when he wanted nothing other than to stay close to him.
Peppermint hits Soap’s nose quickly, causing it to crinkle from the intensity, but he worked the shampoo into a generous lather, strong yet gentle fingertips massaged circles into Gaz’s scalp, dark curls looping around thick fingers.
The combination of the hot water against his skin, the precise fingers working out every bit of tension from his crown and the space all around, and the comforting presence that Soap always brings when he’s around lulls a deep, satisfied groan to slip past Gaz’s lips. He leaned into Soap’s touch, basking in the warmth surrounding him.
It draws a chuckle out of Soap. He always enjoyed moments like this, when the two of them could exist together without the stress of dodging hostile fire or fighting against time to find a missile before they cause another world war. When they could breathe each other in, wordlessly and away from prying eyes.
After a few minutes Soap deemed Gaz’s hair clean enough then leads his head under the spray, carefully rinsing away the sweat, dirt and thoughts of machine guns and mission briefings. He takes the only bottle of body wash present, wet wash cloth already in hand when he pours the milky soap onto it.
He swiped the cloth firmly in wide circles, much to Gaz’s relief, and took his time to clean every surface of skin and between every divot of muscle and joints. With each passing second Soap can feel Gaz’s body going softer, more pliant. Brown warm eyes watch silently as Soap bends to clean his legs, thorough and firm.
The mission had been an exhausting one, leaving him teetering on the edge of anxiety and frustration like any small hiccup would have him falling off and crashing to his untimely death. And while Gaz had come to know that feeling intimately, it never came easy to ignore.
By the time Soap is done Gaz feels a little bit more like himself, all of the nasty, unpleasant deeds now washed down the drain.
He guides Gaz away from the stall, turns the shower head off, then grabs the clean towel to dry Gaz off first. He wipes away droplets of water starting from his shoulders, down and across the expanse of Gaz’s chest and arms, to the toned torso, until every inch of skin is free of dampness.
When Soap stands at full height again he’s greeted with a soft expression. His eyes look brighter, big and soulful and Soap almost gets lost in them. How could he not? Gaz was the most beautiful and handsome man he’d ever had the pleasure of landing his eyes on, like a sunflower he couldn’t help but stop and admire.
“There he is, m'eudail.” he says, slow and full of so much love. Kyle feels his heart swell, but can’t find the right words to say in this moment, so instead, he leans into Soap’s warmth and pressed a long, deep kiss against his lips. Soap feels like home against him. Like fresh baked cookies and watching a shitty drama while snuggled up on the couch.
He admired the color that spreads across Soap’s cheeks and neck, complimenting the tan shade of his skin.
“Thank you, Tav. For everything.”
Soap smiled, ear to ear. His arm wrapped around Kyle’s waist, pulling him closer until their bare chests touched, their heartbeats pounding in sync. Soap doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to when he knows Kyle can see all the words left unsaid in the way he looks at him, in the firmness of his touch, and in the way his heart beats just for him. Kyle melts into him, like he’s trying to merge their naked bodies together and never let go.
And it’s in the emptiness of the locker room where they stand, chest to chest, that Kyle feels like more than just a weapon of war.
