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injestedsoap · 2 months ago

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Hear ye! Hear ye! I’ve returned with an offer for the COD Fandom. Please put down your pitchforks and torches (and don’t mention how I haven’t finished that fic I started last October thank youuuuu). This is a little Ghost-centric fic, primarily focusing on our favorite traumatized, autistic-coded, millennial and his complicated relationship with his own self-worth as a sexual partner.

Was inspired to write this by this post by @on-a-lucky-tide and others where he’s converted me and the many to the glorious, holy truth that is Soap old man hunting for Nik. This fic is also the most explicit I’ve ever been with sex and smut (it’s not much, don’t worry, will still tag it mdni though) and that is 100% because of Jack’s bad influence. So thank him for all of this.

Featured Pairings: GhostSoap, NikPrice, NikSoap (previous, mentioned), and GhostPrice (as a framing device and maybe setup for something in the future?)

Enjoy!

Next Best Thing

Price slid his shirt off, revealing a well-built chest and abdomen carpeted with brown hair Simon had seen hundreds of times by now. Yet, in this moment, it was different. This wasn’t two soldiers—brothers in arms—changing in front of each other, having bled together so much that the prudish sensibilities of an average man has long since withered; uncaring of nudity and privacy. No, this was not so fraternal…well, in a way, it was…

“Havin’ second thoughts?” Price paused with his balled up shirt in his hand, seconds from discarding it to the floor. He held Simon in a stare that pierced inwards and nonverbally begged ‘talk to me’. It was a look Simon was used to from Price at this point.

It was only then that Simon realized he had audibly gulped at seeing Price shirtless, his brain having a hard time catching up with his body. For all his bravado and cocksureness, and much to his own chagrin, Simon would often be suddenly pulled back in time. Briefly becoming the same small boy dolefully learning to match his footfalls with the bootprints ahead of him—desperate to fly under the radar in general and avoid poking the bear he had for a sperm donor. Here, staring down the half nude form of his CO, a man he looked up to and leaned on in equal parts, one of the few living people he could say he…he loved—Simon was wracked with a bone-deep anxiety. A certainty that he was making a mistake, doing something wrong, about to ruin everything.

He didn’t realize his legs had carried him to Price’s bathroom until he was slamming the door in the man’s anguished and concerned face. As Simon brought his hand up to his face to readjust his suddenly suffocating mask, he recognized the tears on his face. Simultaneously, he clocked the red mark on the pale skin of his wrist—Price’s valiant but futile attempt to ground him—that he hadn’t even felt until now. Fuck, what was wrong with him?

How did he even get here?

---

The previous night…

When Nik had finally convinced Price to hit the town it was only with the caveat that it would be nothing more than pub crawling with his men, so he invited the 141. Then Johnny had joked it would be a double date despite all of them being far too tired from the latest op to plan anything nearing romantic, causing Gaz to decline the invite and declare that he “didn’t want to be a fuckin’ fifth wheel, but will go for a bevvy and find bird or bev of his own to spend the night with”. Lucky him, means he missed an absolute shitshow.

It was fine, even fun, for about two or so hours. Then, Johnny had to tell that stupid joke. It started when he had opted to grab refills for the booth, and was inches from the table when he stumbled. If Price hadn’t caught him, the mess would have been large enough to ruin the night of the poor sod who would have to clean it up.

As soon as the drinks were safe and Johnny was seated, Nik leapt at the chance to tease, “Having trouble walking already, sergeant?”

And without hesitation, “Nah, but if t’night ends how ah want, dinnae say anything if ye see me walkin’ funny in the mornin’.” Johnny gripped Simon’s arm at that; all the subtlety of an anvil.

Price snorted and took a swig from his drink. Simon huffed, rolled his eyes, and lifted his mask to do the same—but truth be told, didn’t pull away from Johnny. That could have been the end of it, it wasn’t the first raunchy joke of the evening, it likely wouldn’t be the last. But Nik added fuel to the fire he didn’t know he ignited.

“Ah, you are still biting off more than you can chew, I see.”

That caught Simon’s attention, a dark look shot at Nik betraying probing scrutiny. Price, similarly, paused and looked at Nik then between him and Johnny, and then finally at Simon and back at Nik; assessing the situation like any good leader. In the split second where these looks were thrown across the booth, Nik’s smirk slowly fell as he too realized he may have misspoke. Yet, like a car already on a collision course, none of them could stop for correction before Johnny opened his mouth again.

“Ah dinnae dae much chewing and ye ken it, Nik!” The way he barked a laugh and took a couple deep gulps of his drink, it was obvious Johnny was not aware of the newfound tension at the table. But that wasn’t the case for long.

Simon ripped his arm out of Johnny’s grasp and glared down at him, “Wot’s that mean?” A question so laser-guided and heated, it’s a miracle a hole didn’t burn between Johnny’s eyes.

Finally, the tipsy Scotsman was left waylaid and blinking rapidly as a way to catch up with his own words. Uselessly, a strained and slurred, “whit?”, left his mouth.

On the other side of the booth, Price audibly winced and Nik looked like he had been caught wetting the bed.

“Wot the fuck does ‘you know I don’t do much chewing mean’?” Simon was so lost in the need to hear the answer he didn’t want to ever hear, he forgot what the word volume even meant—let alone how to control his own.

“Ah, Lieutenant, I—“ Nik raised a hand to his neck, but didn’t get to continue.

“Not from you!” Simon snarled at Nik. “You.” He locked eyes with Johnny.

Johnny shook his head, as if finally clearing his mind of the few clouds that began rolling in with the booze, “Ghost, ah—it isnae whit ye think, ah swear.”

“What I think? What am I thinking? Use your words, sergeant.”

Witnessing Simon pull rank, Price finally stepped in, reaching his hand out to place it over Simon’s. “Simon. At ease. At least let him explain.”

Though it was an attempt at comforting him, Simon only took it as confirmation that he was the only person out of the loop. Still, he barely contained his rage long enough to hear Johnny out. And he did not like what he heard. Apparently, some years ago, after the 141 had gained their footing as a unit, Johnny and Nik started a “mutually beneficial sexual relationship”. Both of them grimaced when Simon told them to just say they were bloody fuck buddies. They kept it on the down low for a while, but eventually Price found out, and soon after that it ended.

What floored Simon was two facts: one, Johnny had been the instigator—actually, Nik even compared him to dog chasing after the pilot like a piece of meat—and two, after prying for more information it was revealed that the relationship didn’t end because Price forbid it, well not exactly, anyway.

“You were…jealous?” Simon asked Price, incredulous.

Price sighed, not exactly proud of the moment. “Ya could say that, yeah.”

“The wrench you threw at my head flew hard enough to dent my Malishka.” Nik lamented the damaged Black Hawk.

“Ye had me running rookie drills, twice a day, every day for two weeks.” Johnny bemoaned.

“Alright, yeah, I was jealous.”

“It was not hard to figure out,” Nik recalled, “so I amicably ended things with the sergeant and offered myself to John instead. He resisted at first,”

“‘Cause I didn’t want a pity fuck, especially not from him at that moment.” Price finished for Nik.

“Da, I think you called me ‘your junior officer’s sloppy seconds’ then.”

Johnny laughed despite himself. “That’s stone cold, sir.”

Price hid his face in the brim of his hat in shame.

The whole time, the cogs in Simon’s head had been turning, reaching an awful conclusion. Before the three men could continue their trip down memory lane, Simon kept his eyes on the table—unsure what he’d do if he looking in Johnny’s eyes right now. “So, you only stopped cause Nik left you for Price.”

The booth froze again and Johnny, clearly having thought Simon would’ve laughed this off by now, glanced over. “He dinnae leave me, ah wasnae his boyfriend,” Johnny laughed again but it was hollow, an attempt to disarm rather than express joy.

It was the wrong answer. Simon hadn’t asked a question, but somehow, it still felt like Johnny gave him the wrong answer. Or maybe, Simon just felt wrong sitting at this table all of the sudden. How could he feel right? The three of them had been holding onto this little secret for at least two or three years at this point. Why? You don’t keep secrets for no reason. Maybe Nik did it to keep the peace. Maybe Price didn’t think it was his business, though based on his part of the story, he could’ve easily assumed it wasn’t a secret. But Johnny? His Johnny. Johnny knew Simon didn’t know, who would’ve told him? So why didn’t he? Why why why why—

“Simon!” Price called to him across the table. The three men were looking at him, Price clocking he was on the precipice of a spiral just with a look.

Simon blinked once. Twice. Then he cleared his throat, without sparing Johnny a glance, “Let me out,” already shuffling to get past his partner and escape the booth.

“Si, ah—“ Johnny reached to stop him.

With a quickness usually reserved for hostiles, Simon grabbed Johnny’s arm and pushed it away, bodily moving the man out of his way in the process as he stomped his way to the bathroom.

Simon barreled his way through the bathroom door and began pacing near the sinks as the door swung closed on its own, gloved hands gripping the air restlessly. No more than five seconds after he entered, the door opened once again.

“Si, Simon,” Johnny had spotted him immediately, it would’ve been hard to miss someone of his stature stomping around a bathroom so hard there was a real danger that the tiles would crack, even if he weren’t the only one in here. Actually…

Simon paused and took in his surroundings. Luckily, no bodies at the urinals and no feet in stalls. Cost was clear. He internally scolds himself for walking into the room without a perimeter check—even off duty.

Simon froze when he felt two hands on his cheeks through the fabric and pulled his face to lock his storm grey eyes with overwhelmingly warm blue ones. “Haw, whit’s wrong?”

Johnny had no right to sound so…so, so damn soft and fervent. Not after what he just admitted to. So easygoing and jovial, too, the bastard. Simon couldn’t help himself—and honestly, didn’t want to—when he frowned beneath the mask and pulled away from Johnny, turning away with a huff. He could hear the shorter man release a quiet noise of disbelief; not quite a scoff, not quite a gasp.

“Wit—are ye pissed? Wit for? At me?” He sounded increasingly incredulous, the soft worry hardening to a heated concern that Simon could tell was on its way to belligerent frustration. Johnny had one hell of a hair pin trigger—though from his current stance, Simon wasn’t allowed to judge.

There were several long moments of silence where nothing was said but the tension and temperature in the sour-smelling room grew. Earlier on in their relationship, Johnny likely wouldn’t have let a single moment of silence pass, more than willing and able to yell and shout even to the brick wall Simon would often become. But now, two years and counting, the demo expert learned that in a way, Simon was his own kind of bomb and as content as he was to sit in silence, when Johnny was quiet it was only a matter of time before Simon blew.

Finally, sarcasm dripping from his low voice, “Do I seem mad?” If words were weapons, Simon knew his were tantamount to a pebble to the temple: non-lethal but fucking annoying.

The Scotsman cursed, near unintelligible to Simon. Petty as it was, Simon felt a bit satisfied at successfully getting under his skin without much effort. “Dinnae dae that shite, Si, and fuckin look at me.” He demanded.

Simon tensed and loosened his jaw as he faced Johnny again, but he wasn’t done. “Why? When ya could be looking at Nik instead.” It was childish. A low blow, really, but so disgustingly satisfying feeding the green-eyed beast he didn’t even know he housed.

Johnny’s eyes rolled hard and he threw his hands up in exasperation. “Christ Almighty! Dae ye even hear yerself?! That was years ago! We huvnae fucked in years!”

“You said,” Simon agreed, “as you laughed in reminiscence. Miss bouncing on his cock, Johnny?”

“Awa’ a bile yer heid!” Johnny proceeded to devolve into a string of incoherent cursing, and much pointing at Simon. In any other situation, seeing Johnny this riled up would be a turn on for Simon, but right now, he was getting a different—more vindictive—kind of pleasure. “Ah cannae laugh at the pub wit my friends now? Means ah’m gantin’ for it? Fuck ye!”

“Wouldn’t you rather fuck N—“

“Dinnae! Dinnae ye dare!” Johnny pointed at Simon with a look that could kill, shutting down the potshot. “Ye—fuck me,” He pulled his pointer finger back and rubbed his face in vexation. “Ah ken yer not really angry.” Johnny glares at Simon, daring him to break eye contact, knowing he won’t. “Ah ken yer just hurt, feel insecure, ‘n ah want ta empathize, even though yer being a cunt aboot it but ah—“

Surprisingly, it’s Johnny that breaks eye contact first, needing to collect his thoughts. When he looks back at Simon, his eyes are a touch glassy. “Ah winnae be treated like some clatty skag, especially not by my partner for shite ah did ‘fore we were together.”

Simon struggled to stand his ground. It was hard looking at Johnny this impassioned and clearly now hurt and still wanting to be angry. Was he angry? Or was Johnny right? But he’s not insecure it’s just—he’s just—fuck, he didn’t know. Simon opened his mouth, unsure if he was about to argue or offer an apology when a man drunk off his ass from the pub stumbled in, breaking the tension and prematurely ending the moment.

Inebriated and unaware, the man shuffled to a urinal and began to relieve himself loudly. Both Simon and Johnny had turned to eye the intruder of their conversation—argument(?)—and when their eyes met again Johnny’s had grown cold and distant. He shook his head, “Ah need air,” and without another word he turned and strode out of the bathroom; all but running from Simon.

Simon, for his credit, was quick to follow, though his words still failed him—his brain unfortunately not as quick to act—so he was more of an oppressive specter than a yearning partner like he was aiming for. Ironic considering his entire persona. As they both broke back into the lively pub, the air charged vibrantly, Johnny paused and looked over his shoulder at Simon.

“Alone.” It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a command; it was the placing of a wall. It took everything within Simon not to reach out and grab for Johnny as he stormed out of the pub into the night. As a blessing, Simon’s mask covered most of the conflicting mix of shame and anger on his face as he noticed a few people nosily looking in his direction—it did nothing to conceal him from the pairs of eyes belonging to Nik and Price, over in the booth Simon has stomped off from a few minutes ago.

Price was actually split between looking at Simon and the pub door that closed behind Johnny’s disappearing form. A large hand landed on Price’s shoulder and with a nod from Nik, Price looked back at Simon with a solicitous but curt look before getting up and leaving the pub; a man on a mission. Simon watched this all happen in a matter of seconds and was left reeling with how quickly the night went tits up.

Still at the booth, Nik waved Simon down, with a look on his face that made it clear this wasn’t a request but a command. Maybe Simon was starting to feel bad for being petty to Johnny, but that was only because it was Johnny and he looked like he was about to cry. As friendly as he was with Nik, he felt no qualms with being a arse with him, so Simon instead shoved his hands in his pockets and walked past the Russian and left the pub, walking into the cold night air.

From his immediate surroundings, he couldn’t tell what direction Johnny or Price went. Maybe they had made their way back to the glorified minivan Nik drove them here in from base. Simon took a step in that direction before he felt an unfathomable warmth around the back of his neck and when he recognized it as a hand, Simon immediately yanked himself away and turned to see who had a death wish.

Well, he tried to do to, anyway. As soon as Simon made to move, an arm wrapped around his torso—trapping one of his arms in the process and prematurely halting his escape. Simon grunted and groaned in protest as he felt himself dragged backwards into a nearby alley. It had been damn near two and a half decades since he’d ever been so quickly restrained and overtaken, and back then he was 15. The blood rushed to his ears and adrenaline flooded his system and he used to his free hand and limited movement to throw a punch backwards. Expectedly, he connected with nothing but air but the person holding him still ducked reflexively and that was enough for Simon to gain his footing and twist himself out of their arms. Within the time it took his breath to show in the air though, he was pinned to the brick wall for his troubles. When he brought his hands up to go for his attacker’s eyes, he froze at the sight of Nik’s shit-eating grin.

“Uspokoit'sya, lev, it is only me.”

“Nik? What the hell is wrong with you?” Simon struggled against his grip and all it did was get Nik to use his entire body to press him further against the brick. This close and in the frigid night, Simon could tell Nik was like a walking furnace and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to fight off his body’s natural reaction to lean into the warmth.

“I wanted to have this conversation like civilized men but you act like stubborn koshechka, so I scruff you like one.”

“What? What bloody conversation?” Simon still struggled, though he was making even less headway than before. Trying to avoid Nik’s heat while attempting to push him away was like being stuck being a rock and a hard place. Or in this case, a brick wall and a man who apparently had the core of the sun in his wide, strong chest—a chest that made that leather bomber jacket strain and had curling hairs poofing out of the top of his shirt and—NO, DAMN IT, NO!

“John and I spoke while you and the sergeant were in the bathroom and it was clear to us that like John, you were—Lieutenant, cyka blyat! Stop moving, I will not hurt y—oh.” Fed up with Simon’s struggling, Nik fully pressed his chest against the blond’s—easy enough as they were the same height—and moved his leg between Simon’s to force him to freeze. Freeze he did, but so too did Nik, as his knee made contact with Simon’s crotch and felt Ghost Jr. greet him. “Ah, then it will be easier to convince you than John thought.” Nik couldn’t help the small chuckle.

Simon’s brain had froze along his body with the contact, quietly praying to simply fade away in shame. When that didn’t happen, his brain unscrambled the words he heard Nik say and understood them. “Con-convince me?” Gun to his head, he’d swear the stutter came from the cold and he’d deny that he was wearing a thick sweater of his own.

“As I was saying, it is obvious that you are jealous. Like John was when he first found out years ago.”

“I’m, argh,” Simon growled at the absurdity but also at the situation he currently found himself in—hard as a pubescent teenager pinned up against a wall by a man he was just shooting death glares at. “I’m not bloody jealous!”

“Lieutenant, you are too honorable to lie to poorly. Relax, I do not think less of you.”

“Fucks sake.”

“So, like then,” Nik trucked along, undeterred by Simon’s denial, “we believe the solution is for you to get a taste of what you were missing. I was going to offer you John—an eye for an eye, in a way—but now I wonder…would you rather me?”

For a solid second, Simon believed himself delirious or even in a fucked up coma dream, but then he felt the very real throb of his very real erection.

Annoyingly, Nik smiled. He felt it too, the bastard. “So that is a yes?”

“N-no! Fuck. Lemme go!”

“Lieutenant, please—“

“No! Damnit I—“

Nik, with balls of steel, grabbed Simon’s cheeks with one hand, silencing him. “I will not force myself on you, nor will John. You know this. If you genuinely are disinterested, when I let you go, you will walk to the car, I will pay the bill and then join you, and we will wait on John and the sergeant like nothing happened. But if you aren’t, do not deny yourself such a simple pleasure, stay with me and we will talk this out more comfortably, da?”

Simon slowly nodded. Nik first stepped away, then dropped his hand from Simon’s face. Embarrassingly, Simon had to stop himself from following after Nik’s touch. Nik raised an eyebrow as Simon looked towards the exit of the alley and back towards him.

---

There was a soft but insistent rapping on the bathroom door. Simon shook his head of the memory as he came back into himself.

“Simon! Hell, c’mon, lemme in, I put my shirt back on, it’s fine!” Price sounded desperate. How long had Simon been in here?

After yesterday night, Simon eventually agreed to spend a night with Price. He refused to admit that sleeping with Nik intimidated him. Johnny hadn’t spoken to him about it, but based on what Price said, he agreed apathetically. Just wanting to be over this. Thinking about that made something in Simon’s heart ache. God, he could feel a spiral coming on again. He didn’t want to think about that, about the possibility that he’s fucked up a love he held dear.

But there was something he could prove he wouldn’t fuck up.

Simon ripped his shirt off as he moved to the door and open it. In the doorway, a fully dressed and deeply concerned John Price stood.

“Simon! Sitrep, you broke—“ Simon silenced him by pulling him in for a heated kiss by the collar.

Catching the quickest breath, “No. Not broken.” Simon pulled Price’s shirt off again and bullied the man backwards in his own room until he fell back onto the bed.

“Christ, Simon, wait,” John barely caught Simon as the big lug followed him into the bed, lips latching onto his neck as he reached to pull his sweats down. “Simon!” He gripped the man by the hair and pulled him away. “You sure you’re solid? Don’t make yourself do this.”

Simon sighed. “I’ll be alright. I wanna do this.” He leaned in again, but John pushed once more. This time, he gave Simon a staunch ‘don’t bullshit me’ look. Simon frowned. “I’ll tell you after. I promise.”

John looked into Simon’s eyes, looking for something. Finally, he grabbed Simon by his right cheek, gently rubbing blond stubble. “Olright, but the second it’s too much, we’re done, and don’t try to hide it if you’re not feeling it anymore. Got it?”

“Got it.” And with that, his lips crashed into Price’s as he fell on top of him in the bed.

He knows what he promised, but Simon swears to himself internally that he wouldn’t pull away from Price at risk of death. He needed this, right here, right now. Price’s moans as Simon took him apart inside and out did a great job of silencing the spiral in Simon’s head. And maybe that wasn’t healthy, maybe the healthy thing was to sit down with Johnny and talk about why he lashed out so strongly at the idea of him having slept at Nik. Maybe he should talk about how he hasn’t been able to erase the feeling and memory of Nik’s hand on his neck and knee between his legs. Maybe he needed to get his shit together.

But every time he slid in and out of Price, a part of Simon that was much larger than he was willing to admit told him that maybe all of that was true—but this was the next best thing.

#absolutely lapping this up thank you

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