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dagh0stking · 11 days ago

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I want to think that during the time Jason isn't legally resurrected, he'd be a damn menace. His siblings are quick to catch onto his shit, and decide you know what?They want in.

[Live Stream Starts]

Dick, sporting his typical Dick Grayson smile: Hey, everyone! Welcome back to Wayne Wednesdays! I've got all my sibs here with me—

Tim, already holding a mug of coffee: This is a terrible idea

Steph, leaning into frame with jazz hands: Wayne kids Unfiltered!

Damian, slumped into the couch and scowling: This is beneath me

Cass, smiling softly as she waves at the camera

Duke, shyly: I'm just here to keep the chaos to a minimum

[Behind them, Jason slowly slides into frame, standing creepily in the corner, arms straight at his side. He whispers low, barely audible for the camera]

Jason, eyes wide: I'm watching you

Chat EXPLODES:

"WHO IS THAT???"

"There's someone behind you!!!”

"Wayne Manor is haunted confirmed."

Steph, not phased as she reads a question: Favorite family vacation spot?

Tim, scrolling on his phone: Anywhere with functioning Wi-Fi

Damian, tone flat and bored: Anywhere far from Grayson

Dick, pulling Damian into a side hug with a grin: Anywhere with Dami!

Cass, signs "mountains" and Steph translates

Duke, brightly: Beaches! Sunlight's good for you Tim

[Jason drifts behind Tim, staring directly at the camera. Whispers again.]

Jason, creepily: I'm behind you

Chat loses it:

"WTF"

"Did Tim just not hear that???"

"Blink twice if you need help"

Tim, completely calm as he squints at duke: lies

Dick, excitedly: Next question! Who's the most dramatic Wayne sibling?

All at once: Dick.

Dick, gasping as he clutches at his chest: Betrayal. And on my own livestream.

[Jason slowly opens a cupboard behind them. It barely creaks. He whispers louder]

Jason, ominously with a blank expression: I'm here for your souls

Chat goes feral:

"WHAT IS HAPPENING."

"That's definitely a ghost."

"Why are they so chill???"

Steph, casually sipping from her drink: Don't be so dramatic Dick. Anyway, next one-favorite comfort food?

Duke: Pizza. Classic

Damian, making a disgusted face at Duke: Tt. Dolma

Cass, signs "ice cream" and Steph translates

(Jason then drags himself across the carpet with one arm like a mangled corpse)

Chat MELTDOWN:

"DICK HE'S RIGHT THERE."

"Why aren't they running???"

"Wayne Manor needs an exorcist."

Dick, ignoring: Lucky charms for me!

Damian, giving Dick a nasty side eye: A child's choice

Dick, pushing Damian away with a chuckle: Anywho, That's all the time we've got, folks! Thanks for hanging out with us tonight!

[A collective of goodbyes as the stream ends. Meanwhile the last thing chat sees is Jason crawling out of frame like a horror movie extra]

[Once the stream ends, everyone immediately bursts into laughter.]

Steph, gasping as she clutches he stomach: Oh my god—chat legit thinks this place is haunted. Jason that was drop dead hilarious

Tim, scrolling through his phone eagerly: You're even trending! #WayneHaunting, #GhostInTheManor, and—wow—#VictorianOrphanEnergy

Jason, leaning back against the wall smugly: Finally, recognition for my talents

Damian, deadpanning: You crawled across the floor like a deranged cockroach

Jason, shrugging: Fear is fear, demon spawn

Duke, chuckling: When you whispered "I'm here for your souls"? Half the internet probably fainted

Cass, signing quickly as Steph translates while laughing: She says you should've added rattling chains

Jason, mock-serious whisper: Next time

Dick, groaning into his hands, but clearly smiling: Bruce is gonna find out about this, and then he's gonna give the lecture

Jason, cocking a brow: About online safety? Or about pretending to be the spirit of a murdered Victorian child?

Tim, pretending to think: Both. Definitely both

Damian, sporting his own devious smirk: Although you do resemble a Victorian orphan

Jason, glaring the child down: Thank you, I do try

Cass, snorts into her hand

Tim, face back into his phone: Someone already edited you into The Conjuring. Sending the link.

Jason, smirking as he rubs his hands together: Perfect. That's going on my resume

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dagh0stking · 11 days ago

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Bad time to be called

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dagh0stking · 12 days ago

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Yep

Okay seriously. Reblog if you're OLDER than 11.

Yep.

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dagh0stking · 13 days ago

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I just started reading Promise of Blood by Brain McClellan.

My head is empty save for the Tamas/Olem ship.

‘Tamas glanced down as Mihali took the mug from him. He heard Mihali say, as if from a distance, “You’ll need to carry him up to bed. He shouldn’t have any problem sleeping now.” Pg: 290

Mihali was talking to Olem. He was telling Olem to carry Tamas back to bed. His bed that is 6 floors above the kitchen. 6 fucking floors.

I need details damnit!

How did he carry him? Did anyone see? Did people see but pretend not to? Did Olem have to take a break half way up? *gasp* Olem had to tuck Tamas into bed. Did he pet the hound’s head when he left? Did he watch him sleep for a while to make sure he was okay?

Details!!! These are important details!

Seriously, though, I am enjoying this book for the actual story and not just my ship.

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dagh0stking · 15 days ago

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nikolai your grandfather has been dead for YEARS and he’s ghosting aroudn every other night, do you really need to go out and mourn him through the hedge and make yourself sad after a good workout

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dagh0stking · 15 days ago

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frown -141

Ghost and his facts

Soap: *chilling in the common room*

Gaz: *chilling in the common room*

Price: *chilling in the common room*

Ghost: did you know it takes approximately 17 muscles to smile and 43 muscles to frown?

Gaz: okay and?

Ghost: that means being an asshole is a better workout *stares at them all with a cold, stern face*

Soap: *whispers* I told you we should've given him up to Nikolai

Price: shush

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dagh0stking · 15 days ago

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Happy birthday, British man

A little collab gift for @on-a-lucky-tide from me and @gomzdrawfr since we heard a certain someone has his birthday this weekend :)

Hello Jack! Here’s a small gift from us, I hope you’ll have a pleasant weekend ahead, we love you 💛 - Gomz

You're a really good man, and I hope you realize how much respect and admiration we have for you. You make a much bigger difference in the world and our lives than you probably think. The world is so much better thanks to you in it ❤️🦍 - Juju

Happy birthday!

A tin can lands on his desk with a flat thud. Raising his exhausted eyes, Price stares at the dark mass that is Ghost with a gaze that would make mountains weep – but apparently the Lieutenant is more of a moody cemetery hill on a healthy diet of dead men or something, because he stares right back, unmoving, unfazed, with a dirty skull-faced bally covering everything but his eyes framed by frosty white lashes. Was probably doing a late drill with the rookies – smells like it, too; if the skin-tight shirt on him wasn’t black, there would be vivid dark spots of sweat marking a good workout.

Price would appreciate this equivalent of flirting on Simon’s part if it wasn’t for the overwhelming volume of paperwork he’d been dealing with for several days straight already – thanks to a new useless fucking bureaucratic invention of the paper rats up in the foodchain trying to justify the budget they hogged. With a heavy sigh, he runs his rough hand down his face, as if trying to wipe the sticky exhaustion off, and gives up, asking.

“Wot’s this.”

“Open it.” Very helpful of Ghost. There’s irritation bubbling up John’s veins; if his temper fuse was just an inch shorter, he would blow up on Simon and let out all the frustration on the Lieutenant and his sometimes fantastically inappropriate sense of humour – now is really not the time or place, not when he’s tired like an old race dog. But – he doesn’t; instead, Price grabs what looks like a beer can and cracks it open.

A forceful geyser of something colourful and sparkling shoots up, making him wince, and settles on his desk, shoulders and hat in an even layer of tiny paper confetti. Price blinks, still holding the now empty can, and slowly moves his stern gaze back up to Ghost towering over the unnatural disaster.

“Happy birthday,” Simon hits him with the same deadpan stare. There’s a pause.

“He forgot, didn’t he?” suddenly chimes in a smooth rumble with a familiar accent from the doorway – Ghost has to step aside with his broad shoulders to reveal Nikolai standing there, leaning on the frame with his arms crossed and a softly disapproving look in his smiling eyes. “I knew we should have intervened sooner. John, it’s your birthday, solnyshko, get out from that desk.”

John has to steal a glance at his watch to see the date – and it stings him in the back of his neck with some bitter realization that he indeed forgot completely. His birthday never seemed like a big deal to him, but the sharp, head-on imagery of him not noticing his own life passing – quite literally – while he’s wasting it on useless paperwork for assholes who don’t know how to be useful at all – feels like a sharp blade slashing his skin and letting hot liquid blood drain from his slouched form. Nik smells this metaphorical blood like a white bear in the vast icy desert and pushes off the doorframe, making his way to Price.

“Captain? How copy?” His big fingers with a faint smell of machine oil and iron tilt John’s chin up and carefully pick a blue confetti piece out of his beard. “Come, John. Lieutenant shall finish the paperwork for today, he knows how to forge your signature, right?”

Ghost lets out a calculated grunt – enough to confirm without directly incriminating himself – and walks around the desk from the opposite side of Nikolai, successfully capturing Price in a bear trap between them.

“Ya’re the only one with a birthday ‘ere, sir,” rumbles he with an underlying tease and leans down, pulling his bally up to let John feel his hot scarred lips against his ear. “Gotta celebrate for the three of us, eh?”

His close breath and a brush of a kiss prove enough to distract John in his sleep-deprived state, and before he knows, his prized boonie hat flies off his head to land onto Simon’s smug skull. He himself is pulled out of his chair by a pair of burly arms – very unceremonious of Nikolai – and thrown over a mighty shoulder.

“See you later, Lieutenant,” purrs Nik, patting outraged Price on his arse, and carries him out of the office just like that – ignoring every bit of objections falling from the Captain’s lips and rolling off the pilot’s broad back like sea waves roll off the big dark rocks in the ocean. The last thing Price sees, before Nik shuts the door behind them, is Ghost squeezing his fat arse into the desk chair and rubbing his big hands together, almost too devilishly delighted to take over the paperwork.

Price has no idea when they had the time to do all this – but back at home there’s a whole feast awaiting. Nik sits him down in front of the table and turns into a caricature of every grandma – especially a Ukrainian one – ever, filling John’s plate with a hot, savory meal. While Nik pours him some soup, he makes sure Price is chewing on a gloriously shiny pirozhok with cabbage and egg filling; after that – assembles a crisp sarnie to go with the soup, stoically withholding every commentary on English cuisine he has stuck on his tongue.

“You are not getting away from this table until I see you unbuckle your belt to breathe,” threatens he in a sultry, rumbling voice, kissing a crumble off the corner of John’s soft lips, and John has no choice but to grunt, stuffing his face with full, heavy spoons, watching from the corner of his eye as Nikolai assembles some kind of soft honeyed meat slices on a plate for the second course.

It seems though that it was Price who underestimated the degree of his hunger, because he clears out both plates and polishes it with a healthy little bowl of buttery potatoes before he actually starts to feel full. Nik comes to rescue – pushing a mug of black tea towards John, he slides his arms around his waist and undoes his belt, using this as an opportunity to slide his big palms under John’s shirt and pet his hairy belly, now healthier and rounder with proper food being processed inside. His hands stay respectful, without escalating the touch, but don’t go away either, as if Nikolai is mesmerized by the feel of John’s warmth in his arms and can’t make himself let go of this treasure.

“Makin’ me regret that last plate, Nik,” grumbles John a bit self-consciously, leaning his head back to find the man’s cheek and nuzzle it with a satisfied grunt.

“Bullshit. You’re beautiful,” Nikolai huffs, squeezing the softness of Price’s lower belly, and dips his head to kiss his throat. “I’m just trying to stay patient until Simon gets here. But you’re making it so fucking hard, John…”

“What am I making hard, hm?” Price chuckles – a soft, finally weightless sound, not burdened by the responsibilities and expectations of him he left in the office, and Nik almost growls in response, leaving a longer, wetter kiss on his neck, unable to resist this more relaxed Price. His big palm covers John’s eyes, forcing them to rest, and Price lets out a breathy sigh, feeling Nik’s lips slide over his slightly greasy from the stuffy cabinet work skin, badger-striped stubble teasing and prickling tender little folds around his neck.

“I see you turned the birthday boy into the birthday meal.” They both miss Ghost’s arrival, too busy with the long, sweet kisses – Nik doesn’t seem fazed at all, pulling back and brushing his thumb over John’s lower lip. When their eyes meet, Price feels the rumbling tired ocean inside of him get hit with a heavy thunder of love in Nikolai’s gaze, making the waves surge up into the skies and splash around like a fan made of water feathers. His breath stutters, and Nik smirks – a kind, just a little playful expression, before straightening up and finally letting Simon get an eyeful of slightly rosy, satiated, relaxed Price with adorably ruffled hair.

“Simon,” John tries keeping his voice straight and clears his throat, sitting up in the chair. “Good to see ya, uh…”

“He’s ready for cake,” announces Nik proudly, and Simon nods, pulling his bally off and landing a hasty kiss on Price’s cheek as he passes him on the way to the kitchen. There’s the sound of the fridge door opening and closing, rattling of cutlery, then silence and – a click of a lighter.

Nikolai stands behind John’s chair, peacefully taking out stubborn confetti pieces that got stuck in the fluffy strands, already having cleared out the space right in front of Price – and Ghost appears from the kitchen, gracefully clicking the light switch with his arse so that the little flames on a hefty round cake shine brighter.

“S dnyom rozhdenya tebya,” muses Nikolai the immortal tune, same for every language, and winks at Simon, who sets the cake on the table with poorly hidden pride. Price bites his lip for a second, almost panicking he has nothing to wish for – but then shakes it off and blows out the candles, leaving that distinctive smell in the air.

“Good job, luv,” mutters Ghost gruffly, as Nik goes to turn the light back on. There’s wonky, ugly icing writing on the cake – and light chocolate brown doesn’t flatter the little… caterpillars of letters at all. John doesn’t even need to guess: it’s clear that it’s a creation of Simon and his fingers with fucked up joints, probably shaking like crazy as he was squeezing something so different from a rifle trigger making this cake. “Ya like it?”

John looks at the cake again, squints, weighs the probabilities, and finally asks:

“Did ya draw a prick on me cake, Riley?”

Ghost scoffs, crossing his arms, and looks like a child who was told that his ugly ass scribbles won’t get the front placement on the fridge.

“That’s J for John, ya bastart,” grumbles he and reaches out, turning the cake around to show the backside. “Now this is a prick…”

Price doesn’t miss the absolute delight shining in Simon’s eyes as he presents his masterpiece, the whole poker face ruined by the small smile lines in the corners of his eyes. He almost calls out the cheeky bastard for it, but Nik distracts him with packaging rustling, and next to the cake there appear gifts.

The distraction works again – while John is busy looking through the presents, his partners work swiftly, clearing up enough of the table for the tea and cake part of the birthday party. Lifting his eyes from his dream rugby match tickets there was no chance for him to get, Price catches Nik pulling Ghost in by the back of his head and placing a soft peck on his mangled lips – and it feels like an even greater gift. There are others: a sharp new Swiss knife (“For your fishin’ trips, old man,” adds Simon, passing by with a hot teapot), a bottle of Scottish whiskey – no need to guess who it’s from, several books with a card signed by Kyle’s calligraphic handwriting and a quality beard brush with a nice wooden handle with a cheeky note from Kate.

“It got wonky after baking so there’s more filling on one side,” Simon’s low grumbling pulls John back to the dining table as he plops a generous cake slice on a plate and pushes it closer. “For your fat arse, sir.”

“Ya’re one to talk,” scoffs Price and gives Ghost a squeeze before reaching for the teaspoon, but Nik intercepts him and shoves the first cake bite into John’s mouth himself. “So tha’s the plan? Feed me till I can’t walk?��

Nik and Simon share a glance; Ghost shrugs and lets the sly Russian do all the talking.

“The plan is to do whatever the hell you want, solnyshko,” purrs Nik, picking up a rogue olive from the appetizer plate and throwing it in the air, catching with his mouth with disgustingly low effort, as if he didn’t even notice it. “Do you want to go out? Could dance the night away or get drunk… or what else do you Brits do to celebrate surviving another year.”

John opens his mouth, the answer ready on the tip of his tongue, and suddenly shrinks like an old balloon, rapidly getting into his head with a new heavy weight on his shoulders. From under his fluffy eyebrows, he casts a quick glance at his partners, worried they might have noticed the sudden change in his demeanor – but they stand there, both picking bits of his birthday meal, serene and relaxed, two steady mountains just waiting for his word, whatever it is – like they always do.

Simon’s jaw is unchlenched like it always is when they’re together at home, Nikolai exudes patience. They’re both waiting – with a calmness that slides off the slopes of their broad shoulders like warmed up buttery frosting off a spoon, leaving a greasy, smooth, sweet residue of a lack of expectations. Even the paraffin droplet sliding down the cheap birthday candle cools off and rests in place, stopping the fire clock timing John’s decision and letting him actually think what he wants.

He just wants to sleep.

There’s a voice inside him, pressuring him to live up to the demand to “celebrate for the three of them”, mocking Price for becoming a boring old man at such a young age, preferring his bed and blackout curtains to a nice party or at least a proper pub crawl – after all, his partners are ready to celebrate all night, why isn’t he?

But his eyelids are drooping and his headache just starts to get fucked from the first proper meal in quite a while, and the back of his head is actually itching to sink into the soft pillows. Price taps his fingers on the table near the teaspoon they fed him the first cake bite with and clears his throat before finally outing his deepest, darkest desire.

“Good,” just says Nikolai, cupping his cheek to wipe a smidge of icing with his thumb off the moustache, and starts gathering dirty plates. “Simon, take him to shower. I’ll join later.”

And just like that – Nik goes on to clean up the whole table, while Ghost sits next to Price, watching him eat his cake with a soft look on his face – his white lashes form a misty veil over his dark eyes, giving him a surreal, angelic look, enhanced by the messy slightly coiled blonde strands hanging onto his forehead. There’s a hidden, tamed fire in the brown depths of his irises – calmer than the devilish torches in Nikolai’s; both sharing that inexplicable burning adoration whenever they look at Price – a feeling he still struggles to accept he evokes and deserves.

He chews on the slightly dense sponge cake Simon baked for him, watching Nikolai’s huge forearms, bared from under rolled up sleeves and covered in long, dark fur, appear in his line of sight, pick up a few plates and disappear again – accompanied by a soft purring melody Nik’s humming under his nose. There’s something like an invisible warm blanket settling on his shoulders as he processes this whole birthday arrangement – the way warm breeze at the southern shores slowly covers one’s feet with little dunes of dry sand, a soft, ticklish, friendly feeling.

It doesn’t go away when Simon tugs him inside their comically small shower cabin – only grows as Ghost crowds him under the warm waterfall and brushes his scarred fingers through John’s heavy, darkening hair, massaging slightly pine-scented shampoo into the roots and running his hands over Price’s physique with reverence. Simon behaves – only letting something slip when he runs his palm down John’s shaped thigh, feeling the smooth, soapy skin under his wet fingertips; their freckles on pale skin align, as if they’re two parts of a mirky reflection of night sky in the windless surface of the ocean, and Simon lets out a raspy, shaky breath, squeezing John’s flesh and pressing their lips together in a spontaneous, blood-rushing, overwhelmed kiss.

“Easy, lad,” murmurs John, licking the warm, faintly chemicals-tasting water off his lips, unable to hide the flush in his cheeks from this kind of raw need for him. Ghost huffs and snorts under the water stream like a dog, resuming his devoted worship of Price’s body, rinsing him off and then wrapping in a warm fluffy towel. He helps to dry his rich chest fur and beard before simply picking John up and carrying his warm, softened by warm shower, hearty meal and overwhelming care body to their bedroom.

There’s an outrageously huge pillow nest on their bed, and Simon puts John in the centre of it, letting him sink into the supported softness before climbing in with him. It’s only when he pulls Price to his broad, hot chest with barely visible dusting of soft blonde curls, that John can feel how fast Simon’s heart is beating. Their hands find each other in the thick blanket mess, and John presses his ear to listen to the rapid heartbeat, still in awe that he’s the reason for that. Ghost’s big embrace envelops him, and scarred lips press to the top of John’s head, muttering something indistinguishable – like a doberman grumbles, expressing its undying love.

Price dozes off to this lullaby, missing the sound of the shower starting and ending again, and only stirs awake when the mattress dips under Nik’s weight.

“Happy birthday, my love,” whispers Nikolai, when John tosses and turns, seeking him blindly, and kisses his temple. “Rest. It is your day.”

His heavy arm wraps around John’s waist, the heat of his broad chest with rich dark fur pressed to Price’s side seeps into his tired bones, and finally Nik’s huge bear paw covers the lock of John’s and Simon’s fingers, to keep them warm and secure – all night.

John Price feels the sea waves sting his eyes and nose before he allows himself to soak in the peace and falls asleep, with the only expectation hovering above him being – the expectation to let himself be.

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dagh0stking · 15 days ago

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cw: hair pulling, 141 sexcapade discussion.

"You know, I've never understood it," Gaz said, folding another hand as the cards Nik turned over on the table ruined his chance of a Full House. They'd had a few, so Gaz's brain was wading slowly towards its point when Soap folded too.

"Ye dinnae ken much, Garrick. Ye gonnae have tae narrow it doon."

Ghost raked in his winnings and then stood with a grunted, "need a slash."

Gaz scowled and flipped over one of the cards they'd been playing with before Nik could tidy it away. The set was raunchy, with depictions of busty girls in various states of undress and intimacy. The Ace of Spades had a brunette facing out of the card, her lover behind her with one hand in her hair. "Why do girls ask for this?"

"Why ask for doggy?" Soap asked, smirking around the top of his beer bottle.

"Nah, mate. The hair pulling. I've had at least two birds ask me for it. It can't be fuckin' good, can it?"

"Aye, well, I dunnae tend tae pull the freaky ones, so..."

"Alright, alright. Shut it. Nik, help me out here." Gaz looked over at their dealer, who was busy expertly shuffling the cards for the next round.

"There is a right way and a wrong way to pull hair, sergeant," Nik said.

Gaz raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Da, observe." Nik placed the deck down carefully and turned towards Soap. "The wrong way is to grab a random tuft," he lifted a large palm and snagged a handful of Soap's mohawk, shaking him from side to side, "and just start pulling them about. It is wrong. Hurts, no?"

"Ah, Jesus fuck, Nik," Soap squawked, batting at Nik's forearm. "Aye. Feels like ye scalpin' me."

Ghost returned, chuckling low in his throat at Soap's bleats of protest. He rolled his bally up over his nose and took a swig of bourbon, observing the little scene he'd stumbled back in on with interest. "Li'le scrote finally run his mouth too much, Nikolai?"

"Naw, Nik's showin' Garrick how t' pull a lady's hair in bed." Soap growled, head still tilted at an odd angle where Nik had scruffed the strip of ferret fur he called a hairstyle.

"Oh yeah?" Ghost's eyes slid over to Nik, lingering on the hand that released Soap's mohawk. "G'won then, show us the proper way."

"Regrettably, the sergeants both favour the short back and sides, but yours is longer." Nik rose to his feet, matching Ghost in height and bulk. Ghost's hackles should go up, but with Nik, they hadn't in years. It had something to do with how Price was around him, Ghost reckoned. When your damn leader relaxed, you were relaxed. Like a good dog. Nik spread his hands. "May I, lieutenant? Your mask will remain on."

"C'mon, L.T. Lessee."

"I'll buy you a drink at the pub when we get home, sir."

Ghost swallowed, levelling Nik with a heavy stare. "Ya pull my hairline as far as yours and we'll 'ave a problem," he murmured, emptying his glass before placing it down on the table. When Nik stepped into space, he got a hit of expensive cologne and engine oil that sat pleasantly on the back of his tongue. Damn handsome bastard too, all things considered. Ghost tried not to scrutinise what having him so close did to his heart.

Nik's hand settled on Ghost's shoulder first and then slid around the back of his neck, careful to keep his thumb tucked to avoid Ghost's throat.

"You slide your hand up their neck through the roots at the back," he said softly, his hand moving as he spoke, fingertips sliding beneath Simon's bally to the softness of his blond hair. "And you pull upwards, keeping your fingers close to their scalp."

What was left of Ghost's soul left his body momentarily as Nik pulled. His belly did a little flip, his knees suddenly weak, shoulders rising as he sucked in a shocked gasp. The sensation that bristled over his scalp settled behind his eyes, and they rolled closed as it continued down his spine. The world screeched to a halt as Ghost zeroed in on the man before him, his instincts firing off like sparkplugs in an engine struggling to turn over. Frozen.

Nik was watching him closely, his head tilted to the side. "It should not cause pain, but it is a... mammalian response, like a cat scruffing its kitten. It should inspire a feeling of pleasure in submission."

Ghost couldn't breathe. His eyes flickered open and he zoned in on Nik's dark eyes, the fullness of his lips and the unshaven scruff of stubble around his jawline. In that breathless moment, Ghost's entire body tingled with heat and want. He could feel Nik's warmth, so close and yet not touching him at all but for the hand in his hair; a sturdy bulwark waiting to catch him. What Ghost would give to press his face into the open collar of his shirt and rub through the dark hair he could see there, while--

"'Ear that, L.T.? Ye like a big fuckin' kitten."

Soap's jibe broke the spell and Nik released Ghost's hair, stepping out of his space to return to his seat. His gaze lingered on Ghost's eyes before he turned, and for a tense second Ghost was fockin' worried he'd be outed for whatever the hell that was. But Nik sat down with a nonchalant shrug.

"Shut it, Johnny," Ghost grunted. "Don' see what all the fuss is about."

"Aye, ye tell 'em, sir. Missionary with the lights off fully clothed is the only way, eh?"

Ghost flipped Soap his middle finger and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. "Gonna hit the sack, long day tomorrow. Don' fuck around too late." He left the room at what he hoped was a reasonable pace, but his mind was already elsewhere, namely on the aching boner stretching down his right trouser leg. He was grateful no one could read minds; if he was thinking of Nik as he had a sad, furious and slightly drunk wank, then that was between him and god.

Nik watched Ghost's retreating back over the rim of his vodka glass, his head tilted to the side in thoughtful consideration. The embers he had watched flare to life in those somber brown eyes were unmistakable. He had seen similar in two twin baby blues only two mornings ago.

Khoroshego vam nastroyeniya i do vstrechi, Simon.

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