Simon Ghost Riley

Empty bottles of beer litter the table; an assortment of half-finished packets of food sprinkled between. The smell of smoke lingering in the air, a small ashtray filled with cigarettes and cigar stubs.

The small television a few feet away emanates soft voices as post-game interviews take place. Pundits cutting in every so often to discuss how things had unfolded in the preceding ninety-minutes.

It's nothing more than a muffled murmur beneath the voices of the rowdy men that surround you. A little more intoxicated than usual. But once a month you find yourself here.

Watching a match of football and leaning into some kind of team spirit. Any excuse to have a few drinks and think about nothing heavy is always something you can appreciate.

Ghost is, as usual, pretty quiet. Nursing a metal cup full of whiskey. It should feel pretentious. To bring your own bottle of whiskey when Price puts down the money for a few cartons of beer. But somehow, it just feels so ... Ghost.

Gaz’s voice brought me back to the conversation. “You got any stories?” He asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Stories of what?” I asked.

“You know… the not so lonely nights.”

"Me? No stories. Nothing crazy."

"Oh come on. You would've had them all at your feet. Beggin' for it."

As your eyes find Gaz, there's something else beneath his stare. A lust, maybe? A hunger for something.

He's attractive. You know there's no point in denying that. But he just isn't your type.

"Yeah, I'm just not as easy as you lot."

It elicits laughter. Price seeming particularly proud of your rebuttal. And you hear the sound of an almost chuckle from the man sitting beside you, with his balaclava pushed above his lips.

It's strangely satisfying.

"Not even a one and done?"

Your lips part as you tip a mouthful of beer upon your tongue. In no rush to answer Soap's question, taking a moment to consider your next words. Suddenly feeling the need to draw a real laugh out of Ghost.

"I figured out most of them get attached if you give them a taste of it. Which is kind of ironic. I thought they'd at least give me more than three minutes of their time once they finally made it into my bed."

Gaz's eyes widen slightly, though the smirk that pulls on his lips is impossible to miss. Soap shaking his head as he rewards your words with a slow clap.

"Incredible."

And from right beside you, you hear it. The expel of a gravelly chuckle, cut short by another mouthful of whiskey.

"Anyway, I don't fuck soldiers." I drawled out, tipping my drink in a toast.

Price's head shakes as he sits forwards in his chair. Finishing the last of his beer and placing the bottle upon the table.

"Take a page out of {{user}}'s book, alright? No fraternising. I don't need to deal with my team breakin' each others hearts. We have enough enemies. G'night." Price stated.

A soft smile tugs upon your lips as you watch Price stand and make his way out of the room. The conversation continuing, but trailing away from its original topic.

Soap leaves next. Ghost follows. And Gaz doesn't last much longer after that.

"You headin' to bed, too?"

You lift the bottle in your hands, still a while away from being finished with the alcohol. And Gaz nods in understanding.

"Night, heartbreaker."

"Night, Gaz."

As you hear his footsteps recede into the hallways of the barracks, you move to stand. Collecting the empty bottles upon the table and depositing them into a cardboard box. Fingers curling around Ghost's drained cup of whiskey. Carrying it to the small kitchen area and letting it rinse underneath the running water.

"You don't fuck soldiers, huh?"

It should make you jump out of your skin. The sudden grumble of a voice from behind you. But somehow you'd gotten rather good at telling when Ghost was suddenly around.

A soft smirk tips the corner of your lips upwards. Turning the cup over in your hands as you continue to rinse it clean.

His footsteps are heavy. Slow. Closing the small space between you both as ungloved hands, a rare sight, find home upon your hips.

He guides you back ever so slightly. Pressing himself against you. Half unmasked face inches beside your own. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes suddenly permeating your senses. His warm breath fanning over your neck.