Work Text:
“—Of course I fuckin’ love you.”
“Well, you have a piss poor way of showing it.”
God damn it, if that wasn’t anything but sobering.
Simon could’ve snapped back. Could’ve easily sunken his teeth in, and let them stick, till he’d wrenched away. Leaving empty craters in his gums.
Losing teeth didn’t seem worth it. Much less worth it, would be losing Johnny.
“I know.” Simon didn’t apologize. That was probably the closest they’d get to a sorry. It wasn’t that he was above apologizing. He just wouldn’t, for something he’d already said would be a problem.
God damn it, he wanted to change though. He’d never wanted to adapt for a person, before Johnny. The feeling was odd.
Simon observed carefully. The grinding of that bearded jaw. Those burning, bright blue eyes. Hardened in barely concealed frustration. He watches those crossed arms drop. Heard the low sigh that reverberated through the room.
“Just tell me why, Simon.” Johnny muttered, “I deserve that much, don’t I?”
Johnny deserved the world. Simon would find a way to throw the earth into the sun if Johnny asked him to.
But he couldn’t say it. He never could say anything, when it mattered.
He stared. Gaze indiscernible.
And Johnny. Ever patient Johnny. Didn’t turn and walk out the door like he probably should have.
He sat on the edge of the bed next to Simon. Elbows resting on his legs. Hands clasped between his knees. His eyes downcast.
The silence resounded through the room. Pressed down, compressing every pretense out of Simon. Slowly. Painstakingly. His shoulders dropped. Traitorous feelings stirred in the back of his mind. Ribs locking up with a strange dull throbbing in his chest.
“I love you. I do, Johnny.” Simon whispered. Hands clenched into tight fists as he said it. Voice impossibly strained.
“Aye. The whole ‘I’m gonna pop a blood vessel’ look is really sellin’ it, Si.” A scoff rang out from both men at the exact same time. “Shut up…” Another tense moment. “Always feels like there’s a ‘but’ waiting when ye tell me that you love me..” Oh. That fucking hurt. “Johnny…that’s not—” he swallowed thickly. Hands clenching into the fabric of his pants instead now. “—That’s not true. That’s not how I—“
“Not how you meant it. I figured.” Johnny peered up at Simon through his lashes. “Still came off that way though.” “Johnny…” Simon trailed off. Mouth open and closing. Words swirling around and around. He wouldn’t even have words with anger backing him up, at this rate. He just sat there like an idiot. The silence stretched on longer and longer.
“I like being around you. Even if your stubborn arse can’t comprehend that.” Simon couldn’t help the quiet laugh that bubbled past his lips. “Even after doin’ your nutting all week, huh?” “Especially then! I could give less of a shit about this—this petty shit.” He sighed. “I don’t need labels to be loved. None of that shit matters to me Simon. Not if I don’t have you by the end of all this.” Simon paused. Swallowing thickly. Rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans. “Me?” “All of you. Ghost. Simon. If there’s another bloody bloke in there I’d really like to know now before I go any further—“ “Johnny— Oi. Johnny.“ Simon immediately fought to soften his tone when Johnny's head shot up. “I get it. No, there ain’t another…bollocks, why did you say it like that, huh?” That light laughter passed through the both of them again. Things were still…heavy.
A different kind of heavy. Two men who didn’t want to let go of each other. But Simon didn’t know how to let go of the shell of a man he had become. Out of the two of them, Johnny seemed to be the only one who knew that he didn’t have to let go.
A beat of silence.
“Don’t wanna get you hurt.” Simon murmured. “More than capable of handling myself, Si.” Johnny replied. Too damn easily.
“What if I get you killed?”
“You won’t.”
Simon scoffed, raising his head to look at the other man. “Don’t say it so confidently.”
“You won’t.” Johnny repeated calmly, his own eyes locking onto Simon’s. ‘Stop that.’ Simon thought. But he didn’t say anything. Another brief pause. “I’m no good at this. Talking. Feelings shite.” Simon grumbled. Glaring holes into the floor. Digging crescents into his palms with his finger nails.
Johnny shrugged, leaning back with a soft sigh as his gaze trailed across the ceiling. “Not exactly my forte either.” “Better at it than me.” Johnny suddenly looked back over. And there was a twinkle in his eyes. Mischievous. Buried under the fog of their intense conversation.
“That mean I’ve gotten better than you, finally?”
Simon could only huff into his palms “Yeah, don’t you push it.”
God, it was so normal. Everything about this was normal. Loving, even. Johnny was happy. Despite their brief argument. Simon thought, maybe he’d be able to breathe again, without the guilt corrupting his temperament.
…Then, Johnny laid his head on Simon’s shoulder. And Simon, it didn’t register with him for a moment. The simple act of physical contact was nice. Something for Simon to lean against.
The calm didn’t break. For a pause. A long pause. A beat…two…a few more.
The domesticity of it all might’ve gotten to Simon. The next thing he knew? His breathing got faster. His chest started to ache. He hoped Johnny wouldn’t notice.
“Simon?” He sounded so worried.
Simon felt like a fucking idiot for hoping something like that.
He didn’t fight. Not when warm hands cupped his masked face. Thumbs brushing over fabric-covered cheeks. Simon pressed into it, like the greedy little mutt he was…something like a whimper, not quite, but rather high-pitched. It tore out of Simon’s throat. And he hurried to rub at his leaking eyes.
“Oh shit— Hey, hey…hey…” His voice was lowered, as if tailored to navigate the confines of Simon’s frazzled mind.
“I’m—I’m sorry…” Johnny opened his mouth, a clear retaliation quickly stopping him from going any further. “No, just let me finish!”
Simon’s breath trembled with painful frustration. A physical manifestation of not being able to fucking articulate himself. Like a struggling child.
“Johnny…” his voice cracked pitifully.
“…I’m listening, Simon.” Johnny was too good to him. Too good. The better man between them. “I…I can’t…” Simon hiccuped, being overwhelmed with tears and nerves so fast that it genuinely terrified him. “I don’t want you to stop loving me…” he was crying, “I don’t want to be the reason why you stop loving me. What if you leave me ‘cause I did something stupid and hurt you again.” Simon was crying.
Not just crying.
Sobbing. Full blown, snivelling, breathless crying. Chest heaving with pained silence. The practiced kind of crying only perfected by years of suppression.
“Oh, Simon.” Johnny wrapped his arms around him so tight, his head started spinning.
The dam broke.
The moment his forehead made contact with Johnny's shoulder, the sobbing started. Pitiful, quiet cries. Trembling breaths against sun-kissed skin as Simon buried his face into the other man’s neck. He held on so tight, he might as well have ripped a hole in Johnny's shirt with his fingernails alone. “It doesn’t matter what you think, Simon.” Johnny said, essentially pulling the larger man to settle in his own lap. “I’ll never stop lovin’ you, for nothin or nobody…”
…
Simon cried harder at that. Johnny was still there. Patching him up, where the rest began to fade into nothing but the sound of that soothing Scottish drawl…It felt nice to finally let it out, at least. Simon Riley was so madly in love with John MacTavish. It felt like his molecules were being torn apart every waking moment. And Johnny was here.
Alive.
Breathing.
He still wanted to be his.