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Thu, 17 Oct 2024 18:28:08 GMT

#ghostsoap fluff // Ghost, like every other fucking English person of Soap’s acquaintance, is really into his tea. Well ‘really into’ is possibly overstating it, that might imply some level of interest in the tea itself, but ‘drinks an ungodly amount of’ is definitely correct.

Soap has known this since the minute he met him, partly an assumption based on Ghost’s accent, partly based on the fact he watched Ghost make at least three cups of tea on his very first morning with the 141. Well. It turns out he’d thought he had known that.

Now he knows differently.

Now he knows the actual phrase should be ‘Ghost makes an ungodly number of mugs of tea but forgets about them about 70% of the time and then sulks when he has to pour the cold dregs away’.

He does feel a little smug though, he’d brought Ghost a new mug as a joke, it’s got a picture of a sheet-ghost drinking tea and says ‘pol-tea-geist’. It’s objectively ridiculous and Ghost had told him as much, still used it to replace his old Sports Direct mug though.

The making of the tea is a sight to behold, Ghost (in Soap’s experience) is a methodical man. He religiously checks and lays out his gear before a mission. Counts everything in and out. His mission paperwork is done neatly and efficiently and always submitted on time.

His tea making is… not that. It’s frankly chaotic. The tea bag goes in, sometimes two (though always, always, Yorkshire), hot water goes in (sometimes too much, sometimes too little but always somehow spilled).

The sugar goes in (but sometimes it’s a sweetener, sometimes it’s sugar, and sometimes it’s not there at all) and then the milk. The milk is the worst part. Soap once saw him run out of his preferred cows milk mid pour and supplement it with an old carton of oat milk.

He’s never once finished in the kitchen without leaving milk and/or sugar on the counter (Soap always wipes it up after him, finds himself getting up off the sofa in preparation even as Ghost is still stirring).

Once Soap has noticed the pattern he can’t stop noticing it, and gets increasingly sad about the waste of cold tea poured down the sink. That and the frustrated slump of Ghost’s shoulders every time he realises.

They’re sitting in the rec room doing paperwork when he finally snaps. Ghost had made a mug of tea ten minutes ago but he hasn’t once looked up at it since, too in the zone with the boring requisition reports he’s filling in apparently.

Soap uncrosses his ankles where they’re propped up on the coffee table and uses a socked foot to slide Simon’s mug along its surface. “Get your foot off my tea, MacTavish.” Simon barks, but moments later he’s picking it up to take a sip.

If his contented little sigh is anything to go by it’s the perfect temperature. Soap has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself smiling. Bites harder when Simon knocks their shoulders together as a thank you.

They go on like that; Simon makes the tea, and makes a mess, Soap tidies the mess and makes sure he drinks the tea. Soap loves to watch him, the way his shoulders relax and his lips quirk up in pleasure when he takes the first sip.

“Si, your tea!” Soap yells across the mess when he has to leave dinner early.

T-E-A he’ll tap in morse onto Simon’s leg when they have to be quiet in a briefing.

“Drink.” He’ll say as he hands Simon the mug he’d left in a different room.

“Why do you always take such good care of me?” Simon asks one evening, Soap having brought over his mug from where he left it on the counter after making it. Their thighs are pressed together hip to knee as they sit too close on the sofa.

Soap shrugs, “Someone’s got to.” and then pulls a sleeve of custard creams out his hoodie pocket. He knows they’re Simon’s favourite to dunk. Simon takes the biscuits, frowns at them. Looks at Soap, frowns again.

“What do you call a tent full of earl grey?”

“I dunnae.”

“A teapee.”

Soap groans around a laugh, throws his head back. “That was shite, LT.”

He chuckles again and slaps a hand down on Ghost’s thigh. He leaves it there just a moment too long though and then there are fingers sliding through his, a hand resting over his own.

“Do you know why I make so much tea?” Ghost asks, and he sounds nervous, wary.

“Yer English and ye run cold?” Soap guesses, thrown by the non-sequitur.

Ghost rolls his eyes.

“It’s because I like the way you watch me when I do.” Soap’s mouth drops open, his hand still pinned under Ghost’s, “It’s because it’s the one time I feel like you’re looking at me and not seeing The Ghost.” There’s a rasp to Simon’s voice, painfully vulnerable.

“Oh, Simon.” Soap tentatively brings his free hand up to toy at the bottom edge of Ghost’s mask, snaps it against the skin of his throat “I look at you that way because I thought you weren’t looking back. It’s how I always look at you when you can’t see me.”

Soap swallows, knows this is somehow two conversations in one, picks his words carefully “It’s how I’d always look at you, if I thought you’d let me.”

Simon pulls off the mask.

“I’d let you.”

“Can I kiss you?” Soap asks, and Simon leans in to press their mouths together.

Soap groans and presses in closer, clutches at Simon’s cheeks, mouth opening to slide their tongues together, hot and desperate.

Soap clambers into his lap with more speed than grace, knee almost landing somewhere a knee definitely should not be landing. Simon laughs at him the whole way, huge hands finally settling high on both of his thighs.

His elbow hits something and there’s a muted thud as it hits the carpet. “Simon, your tea!” Soap peers over the arm of the sofa where the mug had been and spies it lying (in one piece, thankfully) in a soggy mess on the floor.

“Fuck the tea.” Simon hauls Soap back upright to kiss him again, mutters against his mouth “I’m more upset that you’ve been kneeling on the biscuits.” Soap scrambles back and sure enough there’s a deflated looking packet of custard creams where his knee had been.

Simon also stands and grabs the mug from the floor, goes to set it on the counter.

“You coming to my room or what?”

“God, yes.” Soap reaches out to take the hand that Ghost holds out to him, they leave the tea as it is. Soap hopes it stains.

When they wake up together the next morning Simon presses a kiss to his mouth even as he’s still blinking blearily into the sun. Soap makes them both a cup of tea in Simon’s kitchenette, and feels Simon’s eyes on him the whole time. Neither of them remember to drink it.

Thu, 17 Oct 2024 18:20:28 GMT