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Ghost sat back in his chair, barely hearing the ominous creaking of its aging parts as he stared down the man across from him.
"Explain it again." He ordered, tone gravel rough. The private cleared his throat, face pale but shoulders squared. It was admirable, mildly.
"There was a … Sergeant MacTavish and Sergeant Garrick were in a fight with a couple of the guys in that visiting team. They're currently under watch in the infirmary." The kid cleared his throat, eyes sliding gunshot quick to the door and back. Ghost let him stew in his fear sweat.
This was … unusual. His Sergeants were more likely to become best friends with the new crew than start trouble. Finally he sighed and stood. Slowly. Rising until he was towering over the kid. Private Baker, if he remembered correctly. One of Johnny's favourites on the demo range. Loyal enough to actually brave Ghost's office for him.
"Dismissed," Ghost rumbled, snorting when the kid snapped a rapid salute and hightailed it out of there.
He took his time making it over to the medical building, stewing in his own thoughts, barely conscious of the men moving out of his way.
Price had been off base for two days and already his teammates were under watch and would need disciplinary action. Couldn't they have picked a fight with some of the men on base? Did it have to be a visiting team?
His footsteps slowed as he entered the building. There was no nurse at the front desk, and a surprising lack of … anybody, really. He scoped out the small foyer, before leaning over the desk to check the notes in their book. He found his men's names quickly, room number scrawled beside them. In a ward, so not too injured then.
Having been here multiple times, he knew where he was going, and shouldered his way through the double doors.
It soon became apparent why there was no one around.
He could already hear the commotion.
"-suck off your daddy too, with that mouth," a decidedly american accent drawled. It was overridden by an utterly indecipherable string of scottish brogue that had Ghost sighing heavily. Of fucking course.
"Lay off, would you?" Kyle was almost shouting to be heard. A nurse brushed quickly past Ghost, heading away from the noise, looking harried and rumpled. She didn't even realise who she'd bounced off. Odd.
Ghost shouldered through another door and paused.
Whose fucking idea had it been to put the fighting parties in the same room? Two nurses were working on strapping Johnny to a bed while Kyle was almost sitting on his chest to keep him there. Johnny was … not okay. His face was red with anger, but under that he was pale white, the kind of sickly he looked on the field after he'd been seriously injured.
"-Bet you're good at it, what with how you got in the team and all," American arsehole was still taunting, perched on his bed while a doctor worked on stitching up a nasty looking wound on his scalp. "Can't imagine how someone as incompetent as you got here otherwise." The soldiers watching them shifted nervously. They all looked dishevelled and tired. And worried. One by one they all noticed Ghost looming in the doorway, spines straightening as the fear of god entered their souls. Normally an amusing response, but right now?
"Ay, this your boss then?" Another American asked, smaller than his antagonistic friend, with a bruise blossoming ugly under both eyes, blood smeared under his nose and down his chin, splattered down the front of his jacket. "Some junk operation you're running here, Sir. Get your men under control. This how you treat all visitors?"
"Put them somewhere else," Ghost ordered darkly. Johnny finally stopped thrashing, head turning towards him. He looked really pale.
The doctor cleared her throat.
"There isn't one, Sir," she said. "Had that mission come back this morning with a lot of injuries, and there's a training operation underway in the other wing." She looked genuinely apologetic about it. Her normally smooth bun was escaping its tie.
"Get them out of here when you're finished then. What's wrong with him?" He jerked his chin to Johnny, who now looked a little hazy. Kyle was off his chest, hovering awkwardly at his side now the nurses could finish strapping him down without the strain.
"Needed a little discipline," the first American said, apparently unable to shut up. Ghost was starting to see the problem here. "Almost injured my team in his little demonstration and wouldn't apologise for it."
"Demonstration?" Ghost turned his attention to Kyle, who looked three seconds away from snapping. Impressive for such a usually calm man.
"Soap offered to show them the demo range, had some leftover charges from last week he needed to dispose of," Kyle said. Ghost nodded, he had the paperwork on his desk, and Johnny was permitted to use the range and whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Despite his brash attitude, the man was reliable and professional when it came to the highly dangerous components he was always fiddling with. When Ghost said nothing, Kyle sighed and kept going, his attention shifting to the Americans on the other side of the small room. The rip of Johnny's shirt was loud even over the general ambience of so many people in such a confined space. "He gave the usual brief, explained what he'd be doing, the range required. He set the charges, made sure everyone was clear, and then nothing."
"Nothing?" Ghost looked back at Johnny, who was now gritting his teeth as one of the nurses began pressing his fingers down Johnny's side. There was bruising, and some of it looked questionable, possibly veering towards internal bleeding. The nurse obviously thought the same, because he was calling the doctor over urgently. The American squawked in protest as his stitches were left half done.
"Yeah," Kyle said. "They saved Price's arse last week, but today? Soap waited a few minutes to make sure there wasn't a delay on the charge, told us to wait, and headed out to check the lines. A couple of the yanks didn't wanna wait and followed him out." A flurry of activity stalled the report as Johnny was suddenly wheeled out of the room, shoving Ghost to the side, out of the way.
The American snorted.
"Bit bad at his job, eh?" He sneered. His friend laughed, and Ghost balled his fists, turning his back on them and focusing solely on Kyle. There was blood on Kyle's knuckles, scrapes on his cheek.
"They broke protocol, and when Soap realised he tried to get them back. They didn't listen, and one of them bent down to, I dunno, I couldn't really see. He did something though, and then Soap was ordering them off his field when the charge detonated. Caught him pretty hard, but Captain Macho there wasn't well pleased his team was on the field and laid into Soap when he got back to us."
"So our … guests … ignored briefing and protocol, tampered with an explosive demonstration, risked one of my men's lives on, what, a joke? And then got mad when they realised they could've been hurt too?"
"Yeah," Kyle said. The Americans scoffed.
"Ain't like that," Captain Macho said, rubbing at his chin. His friend had taken over the stitches and was almost finished. Ghost wanted to add a few new wounds for stitching.
"Asshole wouldn't shut up, couldn't understand half of what he said. Men thought he told 'em to follow, so they did. He almost blew them up!"
"Why would he try and blow himself up?" Kyle snapped back, angry again. As though they hadn't witnessed Johnny almost blow himself up multiple times. But he was different on the range, professional. Communal microwaves didn't count in that arena, according to their resident pyro.
"Get them back to quarters when they're done," Ghost ordered the soldiers by the door. He then tilted his head to the door. Kyle fell into step behind him.
"They're right cunts," Kyle muttered.
"Rog," Ghost said, cursing Price under his breath for leaving him in charge.
The two of them milled uselessly about in the cafeteria while Johnny underwent scans and testing. He underwent emergency surgery while they sat in Ghost's office, scratching out their reports and signing paperwork and personnel rosters. They sat up late sharing bourbon, waiting for news.
True to form, Johnny was all smiles when they walked into his room the following morning.
"Aye ye fuckin' dafties," he cheered. "I was gettin' lonely without seein' ye ugly mugs in ma room." He giggled, slumped comfortably back against his pillows.
"What happened?" Ghost demanded, exhausted and strung out in a way that even haywire missions never left him. Kyle had managed a couple of hours slumped over Ghost's desk. Ghost was running on no sleep. The American's had fortunately remained quiet, perhaps realising that their suddenly frosty reception was because they'd purposely injured one of the bases favourite men.
"Ack, well," Johnny went to lift his arm and winced, lowering it rapidly. "Doc says ah got myself banged up good. Caught shrapnel in ma back, but landing against a wall did more damage, ye ken?"
"I ken, Johnny," Ghost said, settling his bulk into the tiny visitor chair beside the bed. Kyle perched himself on the windowsill, the room crowded with IV lines and beeping machines. It looked like Johnny was back from a hard mission.
"Fuckers laid me out moment ah stepped off the range. Didn't see it. Right to the face, caught me in ma gut. Couldn't fuckin' breathe. I think Gaz got 'em off me, but I cannae remember much to be honest."
"How'd the charge go off? Kyle said you waited."
"One of the fuckers disconnected the line," Johnny's face darkened, the hard edge of violence sharpening his features. "Thought it'd be funny to make me look like an idiot. Didn't realise it'd enable the charge to go off immediately. What else was gonna happen? Lucky I took the brunt of it or there'd be an international incident, eh?" He chuckled, but it was bitter. The three of them were aware that Johnny was grounded now while he healed. That he wouldn't be in on the run they had planned next week, once Price returned.
"Too late for that," Kyle muttered, flexing his bruised hands. Ghost huffed.
"Passed your … Baker? On the way here. Looked a little more battered today than he did yesterday. Didn't remember his hands looking so bruised." Johnny flushed.
"He's a good man, that one," Johnny nodded. "Whole group is. Pay attention when I tell 'em shit." A moan slipped past his lips as he shifted position.
They fell into banal chatter about Johnny's injuries, about what a hero Gaz was for saving Johnny's honour, or what was left of it. It was interspersed liberally with Gaz yawning from his perch, eyes bleary and shoulders slumped.
"Gaz, mate, you look beat. Go get some sleep. I'm not goin' anywhere soon," Johnny said after the umpteenth exhausted interruption. The two men shared a quick hug before Kyle left with the promise to be back later.
Johnny and Ghost stared at each other for a long time once he'd left.
"If Price was here I'd deal with them for you."
"Downside of bein' in charge, eh?" Johnny said, blue eyes glimmering darkly, pupils slowly expanding.
"How's the side?"
"Aches."
"Medication?"
"Pain killers, but ye ken I can't be on the strong stuff. Sends me mental." Ghost huffed, still staring at him. Johnny smirked. "They didn't cut my cock off if that's what you're wondering."
"Good to know," Ghost drawled, as if heat wasn't licking up his spine and curling in his gut now that they were alone together. Johnny shifted slightly, legs parting under the blankets. The shift of fabric loud in the silent room.
"Yer a fuckin' right perv, ye ken? Here I am right after surgery and you wanna get off?"
"What can I say Johnny? You bleed real pretty." Johnny scoffed, but his face flushed, and his blanket was beginning to tent. Ghost leant forward, smirking under the plain balaclava he wore. He knew Johnny knew. His Sergeant could read him like a book.
"Don't even ken if I can get off right now."
"Wanna see?" Ghost wasn't touching him, just leaning forward, staring intently. Johnny huffed, groaned and then slumped further into his pillows.
"If you dinnae touch me soon I'm gonna chafe under the blanket," he said, hips bucking up, and that was all the invitation Ghost needed to yank back the coarse blanket, tug up his mask and swallow Johnny down whole.
There was no teasing, no need for finesse. Johnny bucked up hard and immediately hissed in pain. Ghost shifted to press his arm against his Sergeants hips, pinning him to the bed. He didn't mind the buck, the feeling of Johnny's cock slipping purposefully down his throat, but he also didn't want the man to re-injure himself. The salty weight on his tongue, heavy and warm, was all the reward he needed. This he could do to make his man feel better. He bobbed once, twice, then swirled his tongue, savouring the taste and humming with it.
"Fuck, ye take me like a right queen," Johnny slurred, seemingly already delirious. He'd clamped a hand on Ghost's forearm, fingertips digging deep enough to bruise. His other hand curled over the top of Ghost's head, snagging on the balaclava, not pulling, just resting. "Gonna cum down yer throat, taste gonna make ye cum in yer pants like a teen." Ghost had to pull off at that and peer up at him.
"Johnny," he couldn't help but laugh, voice gravel rough and jaw mildly aching. He could feel tears burning in the corners of his eyes. Johnny stared down at him blearily, expression confused as to why Ghost wasn't still sucking him off. Ghost took pity, licking up a bead of precum before it could slip down the side of Johnny's generous cock.
"Wanna cum, LT," Johnny moaned once he realised Ghost wasn't going to continue, because he was still laughing.
"Gonna cum on your face, love, not my pants."
"Oh." Johnny's gaze cleared a little at that, hot instead of fuzzy. "Yeah, okay." He said dumbly. With another lick to Johnny's slit, momentarily savouring the spongy texture, Ghost got back to work, getting lost in the feel of it. The thrumming pulse, the slick drool, the utter mess he was making of the both of them.
From above, Johnny was chanting, back on his ridiculous diatribe. As much as Ghost had laughed, they both knew he got off to it, loved Johnny's filthy mouth, the way his crooked mind worked. He was spouting off on blood or something, but Ghost was only half listening, nose buried in Johnny's pubes, cock lodged past his gag point, swallowing thickly. He heard the words hitch, the sharp hiss of breath, felt the twitch in his mouth, the sharp dig of fingers in his arm. And then came the scots, bleary and slurred as Johnny came so hard only Ghost's arm on him kept the man from jackknifing or bucking into it.
"Simon," Johnny moaned as he came down, but Ghost was already standing, pushing his cargos down and yanking his glove off his right hand. He slicked up Johnny's cock, soaked with spit and dribbles of cum, slopping up his palm, before gripping himself hard and fucking into the wetness. "Fuck, Si-" Johnny said, watching it happen.
The position was awkward, and Johnny's injury was a little worrying, but true to reckless form, Johnny managed to tug Ghost closer so that he had a knee on the bed, cock hovering over Johnny's deliriously happy face.
"Yer such a pretty fuckin' cunt. Dick's gotta be the prettiest I ever saw," he was saying. "Can't wait to sit on that fuckin' thing. Feel you right in my guts, Si. Gonna feel so good." It didn't take long. Couldn't, not with the taste of Johnny still in his mouth, wet against his chin, the slick feel around his cock, the sound of Johnny in his head. Ghost could only grunt his warning, jaw clenching hard as the heat in his gut tightened sharply before burning hot and exploding out.
He watched, wanting to see his Sergeant filthy, only to hiss out a delighted curse as Johnny returned the favour, lips wrapping around the head of Ghost's cock and swallowing every drop he was given. Blue eyes gleaming, smug and pleased and so fucked out Ghost wished he actually could rail his Sargeant into tomorrow. They had the toys for it, a remote controlled vibrator they didn't use nearly enough. Fuck but he was going to torment the man when he was healed.
"Simon," Johnny sighed again, slumping back against his pillows, groan a mixture of satisfaction and agony.
"No cuddles today," Ghost said, tucking himself away and slipping his glove back on, over the sticky mess.
"Mmm, no," Johnny whined, looking pathetic and small in his hospital bed, blinks getting slower as he slowly drifted to sleep. "Wanna-" he trailed off in another language, and Ghost smiled, before stooping down and pressing a kiss to Johnny's lips. Licking up a smear of cum as he did so.
"I'm gonna fuck those american cunts up for you," he murmured into Johnny's mouth. He received a huff of laughter, and then a stilted snore.
Ghost took the time to set Johnny back to respectable rights before he left.
Price was somehow in his office when Ghost went back to work after a few hours of sleep.
"Heard there was a mishap," he said dryly.
"Johnny's alright, sleepin' right now."
"I'll bet," Price said, eyebrow arching knowingly. Ghost shrugged a shoulder. "They've been politely told to leave. Transport at 0500."
"That so?" Ghost said. "It's only 1400 now."
Price hummed in response, the picture of disinterest as he flipped through a manilla folder on his desk.
"I released them from their rooms. I believe they're a little banged up, but they're currently in the gym. If you wanted to … steer clear."
"Rog," Ghost said, folding his arms over his chest.
"I believe Gaz is in the cafeteria right now, with a few of Soap's trainees." He flipped another page, picked up his pen and signed something. "You should probably get something to eat."
Ghost huffed in amusement.
"That's an order."
"Copy, Captain." Ghost closed the door on his way out, moving on to find his other Sergeant so he could spend Johnny's medical leave with him.