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Retirement had never been meant to be an achievable goal for Ghost. A pipedream, meant for civilians with deskjobs and families waiting for them back home, not a soldier who lived their day-to-day not knowing if it would be his last.
So to be tucked away on a peaceful, Scottish isle, dozing husband at his side, Simon feels like he’s living a dream, each and every day.
It’s early autumn, weather just starting to cool, air crisp and delightfully fresh. The gossamer curtains in their bedroom flutter with the gentle breeze, and stirs Simon just enough to mumble and shift onto his back. A barely there grumble comes from Johnny, disturbed from his sleep, but he quickly settles on his side with a whisper of a sigh.
Caught in the quiet moment between sleep and wakefulness, Simon shuffles his head deeper into his pillow and kicks the sheets down so his bare skin can bask in the warm glow of the morning sun. Dusty orange paints their rumpled, white sheets, shedding light on the traces of their tender embrace from the night before.
Ghost had never been one to laze about in bed, luxuriating in sleep warmed sheets and the soft breathing of his partner next to him, but Simon sure enjoys indulging. The new aches in his joints, days with no plans but to take their motley pack of rescue dogs out to explore, and all the damn fine time in the world, has led him to become rather lazy. He dares someone to say anything in opposition of his newfound joys in the mundane.
Listening to the birds outside, Simon drifts off again, one arm under Johnny’s pillow, the other thrown over the serene rise and fall of his own chest.
Bliss.
He dreams of tranquil waters, disturbed only by the bait on his hook sinking under the glassy surface. That’s what they should do today — go fishing. They haven’t had any nice trout in a while. Would go lovely in a delicate lemon butter sauce with fresh herbs from the garden.
He hums in his sleep, fingers twitching against his ribs. The warmth next to him shifts, not enough to fully wake him.
He’ll have to see what fresh veg is available at the market. Maybe a nice pumpkin or squash to make a pureed soup with —
Simon moans and fists Johnny’s pillow, his weight gone from his forearm. Simon’s body is far warmer than it should be, even in the muted sun. An answering chuckle has his eyelashes fluttering, squinting against the soft light that greets him.
“Mmh, fuck…”
His back arches from the bed, hands clumsily reaching down to cup Johnny’s face. Rough scruff greets his palms as Johnny sinks down again, nose buried in golden curls, Simon’s cock lodged in his sinful throat.
“Tha’ mouth of yours…” Simon groans, sleep-worn and deep.
Johnny retreats, cheeks hollowed, tongue swirling around the head of his cock before pulling off with a wet pop.
“Mornin’, Si,” he purrs, gorgeous blue eyes darkened with lust.
“Could get used to wakin’ up like this,” Simon sighs.
Johnny’s teasing him with playful kitten licks and kisses along his shaft, worshiping every inch of silky skin he touches. Fuck, it feels amazing… Doesn’t matter that they just had sex, Simon can’t get enough. A bead of precum drips to the trail of hair on his belly, swiped up by Johnny’s thumb and pressed to his tongue.
“Well, when I roll over an’ see the sheets tented, wha’ am I s’posed to do?”
Mischief glimmers in Johnny’s eyes as he props himself up on his elbows and takes in the sight of his husband stretched out like a content cat before him. He smiles, rivaling the sun that bathes his freckled, bronzed skin, exposes the silvered scars along his battle-torn flesh. His mohawk has grown out into a beautiful mop of messy, silver-streaked hair, sides still neatly trimmed.
Simon strokes the scar on his temple and smiles back. Johnny’s only gotten more handsome with age, lines on his brow deepening and crow’s feet permanently etched at the corners of his eyes. He could stare for hours — and has.
“Come ‘ere, love…”
Johnny crawls up his body, lips leaving a searing trail of kisses in his wake. They slot together, the pieces of an intimate puzzle falling into place, hips lazily grinding together, cocks trapped in the tangle of limbs and sheets.
Perfection — absolute heaven on earth as the breeze cools their flushed skin, cheeks red, with laughter in each other’s mouths as they work themselves up.
Simon grabs Johnny’s arse, pushes him down with the next roll of his hips. He eats up the gasp from Johnny’s lips and nips at him.
He doesn’t have to say a word. Johnny spits in his hand, slicks Simon with his saliva and precum, and slowly lowers himself onto his cock.
They moan together, airy and calm, as Johnny sinks down in one, smooth motion, still wet from Simon’s previous release. The thought drives Simon insane with possessive hunger, that Johnny’s body still remembers him, takes him perfectly with no complaint, like they were made for each other.
Johnny takes his time, sits there for a while, gently rocks his hips in tiny circles while he gives himself a moment to adjust. Simon’s a big bastard, but they have all the time in the world.
Scarred hands rest on Simon’s belly, not quite the same, cut abs that he’d had in their time in service, softened with healthy fat and more reasonable muscle tone. Not that Johnny minds. He kneads into the tenderness that’s taken to Simon, no less attracted to how their bodies have changed with the years, learning to love and cherish what life brings them.
Because they’re alive, and they’re happy, and nobody can take that from them.
Reverent hands help guide Johnny up, supporting him as he hisses coming back down.
“Your knee?”
The answer is written in the pinched brows on Johnny’s face, the little grimace that bares his teeth.
“Aye…” he grumbles out a string of annoyed, Scottish gibberish that Simon still can’t fucking understand, clearly pissed that the old injury still bothers him — always will.
“Shh, don’t pout.”
Please, don’t stop pouting…
Johnny, brat that he is, doesn’t stop pouting. His lip juts out, but he’s still hard, thighs trembling with need, cock leaking onto Simon’s belly as he tries again, only to yelp and curse.
“Olright, ‘nough of tha’. C’mon…”
Johnny laughs when Simon lurches up, scoops him into his arms, and tosses him to the bed, still stuffed inside as he cages Johnny against the mattress. The sigh of relief is immediate, sore leg falling to the side, the other wrapping around Simon’s waist.
“Beh’er?”
“Much… Oh!” Johnny tosses his head back when Simon gives him a sharp thrust. “Yeah, much better.”
“Gonna make you into the pillow princess you deserve to be.”
“Do I get a crown? Maybe a pretty dress?”
Simon hides his face in the hollow of Johnny’s throat and laughs. “Menace…”
Their laughter dies off into soft moans, the whispering of sweet pet names and adoring words filling the otherworldly atmosphere.
Johnny’s a sight below him, gripping at Simon’s biceps, cheeks flushed a pretty pink as his nose scrunches up on a low groan. He could never grow tired seeing how Johnny falls into their pleasures, every time more beautiful than the last. Always complained that he makes ‘ugly’ faces when he’s close to coming, but Simon’s never seen anything prettier.
His pupils blow, lids heavy with parted lips, soft little ah’s and wispy moans that seem so out of place, but perfect, coming from the built Scot. It drives Simon crazy.
He starts to lose his rhythm, the slap of their skin growing erratic as Johnny’s body rocks on the bed, springs creaking under their combined weight. He claws at Simon’s back, just hard enough to leave pink lines on his skin.
“Simon… Oh, Simon…” he pants, eyes squeezing shut as he spills onto his belly, cock twitching with each pathetic pulse, not much to show after already being wrung dry.
And Simon’s right behind him, tipped over the edge by how tightly he’s being squeezed, reveling in how Johnny’s hole ripples around him in time with his orgasm.
They lay there in the afterglow — catch their breath as the morning marches on around them.
Johnny could be a saint the way the brightening light halos him on the pure white sheets. All for greedy Simon, not willing to share the blessing he’s been bestowed.
“God, I love you, Johnny…” Simon sighs against Johnny's throat, hidden away, unable to gaze upon the dream he gets to experience day in and out.
The sheets are thrown back over their sweaty bodies, shivers taking over as they cuddle up to escape the breeze. Their hands weave together, gold bands gently scraping.
“Love you too, Si.”