Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Simon had been retired from the military for almost a decade now. Moved to just outside of Leeds for a fresh start. It was almost a decade because he was almost 45, having been medically discharged at 35 after one too many close-calls on the field left him with a tremble in his hands that rendered him unable to hold a gun steady, amongst other aches and pains. It was an anniversary that was hard to forget, and for the past nine years, Ghost had gotten pissed on that same day every year. Not often did he turn to the booze, but there wasn’t much else he could do about it. He tried not to let it get to him, but it was a vicious cycle; feeling sorry for himself for being retired, drinking, and then feeling shit about drinking. Sometimes it reminded him too much of his father. At least it wasn’t every fuckin’ day. 

He was able to get himself a nice house at the end of a lane in Adel with a double garage for his sleek black McLaren P1 and classic red 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, all of which he bought with the sizeable government payout for veterans. The Camaro was sort of a prized possession of his, something he spent most of his days tinkering with and cleaning. The car was a fixer-upper, having been off the road for at least two decades before he bought it. But it was gorgeous, and it gave him a purpose in life that was hard to come by, post military.

As far as being an integrated and accepted part of society post-retirement went, Ghost was the opposite. He hardly ever spoke to his neighbours, let alone even had the chance to with how little he went out during the day. He was vaguely aware that most of them were elderly, though that was a given, since the neighbourhood was somewhat fancy to put it simply. Of course, he still felt the need to have security cameras up on every plane of the exterior of his house. Paranoia never truly let him rest, always at the back of his mind saying ‘what if’. 

One day, Ghost’s next door neighbour —of whom, for the life of him, he could not name— came to his door to tell him she was moving to a retirement villa and to take care of himself. She was a sweet old lady, it seemed, and it almost made him sad to see her leaving. From that day on, her house sat empty with a ‘for sale’ sign stuck in the front garden. A couple of weeks later, he noticed moving vans parked outside of the house, and what seemed to be a family’s belongings being moved in. Within a handful of days, the family appeared to be fully moved in, and that was that. Until one night, whilst Ghost was sitting in his study, nursing a bourbon and reading a book, a bout of shouting came from the house next door. The sound of a loud motorbike starting up made Ghost want to look at what the fuss was about.

Moving to the window, he saw a young man hopping onto what looked like some model of Kawasaki Ninja, a backpack slung onto his back. The front door of the house was open, light streaming out and outlining a man in the doorway, presumably the boy’s father.

“Ye cannae tell me what tae do wi’ ma life!” The boy yelled, a thick Scottish accent colouring his words. “None o’ ye fuckin’ business what I’m doin’ wi’ it, ya fuckin’ bawbag!” He continued, kicking the kickstand before revving the bike and speeding away from the house. He must’ve seen Ghost standing in the window, because as the kid drove past, he lifted a hand to flip him off for watching. Great. His quiet retirement was now compromised by some rebellious kid and his flashy sports bike. And he was a fucking Scot. Ghost watched the boy speed down the road, rolling his eyes as he realised the kid had a fucking mohawk. There was no way he could be any more cliche.

—

Ghost watched as the next morning the kid pulled up to the house and parked his motorbike, before standing on the deck with a cigarette between his lips, taking hasty drags and holding them in for too long. Ghost had his morning cup of tea in his hands, sitting at the kitchen bench and looking out the window. Ghost glanced at the house every now and then, watching the young man alternate between running a hand through the hair of his mohawk and taking a deep puff of his cigarette. It was evident that he was under some sort of stress. Probably some sort of school or girl troubles, or something to do with what he saw the previous night, if he had to guess. Not that he was actively thinking about some kid's life struggles. But it was hard not to fixate a little. After all, his almost 10 year streak of undisturbed living was now being very much disturbed. 

The boy looked to be no older than maybe 23, definitely uni age, but he still had that aura of teenage rebellion. His dark brown hair was usually styled up into a mohawk, but was now ruffled from him running a hand through it, and his outfits commonly consisted of a band shirt, skinny-jeans, jacket, and a lot of chains and spikes. Clearly aiming for a certain aesthetic there. Ghost sort of got the appeal, spikes and dark clothes. An obvious deviation from society’s expectations. He was just never as outspoken when he was that age. Didn’t get much of a chance as a kid, not with his bastard of a father striking him for practically everything, and then joining the military so early meant still no chance, since the whole point was to be part of the machine. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t dressed similarly as a teen, and his whole skull mask thing in the army was similarly eccentric.

About eight minutes later, a red mk3 Ford Escort pulled into the driveway of the Scots' house, a pretty, dark skinned boy in the driver’s seat with his free arm resting on the open window. He gave an exaggerated wolfwhistle to the boy on the deck, making him throw his head back with a laugh. Ghost heard an affectionate “Awa’ an bile yer heid!” before he hopped down from the steps and leaned in the window to kiss the other. In all honesty, Ghost could’ve looked away then, it weren’t any of his business, but he did anyway. The kiss turned from a kiss to more of a snog, a little too long to be considered a casual friendly smooch, and almost bordering on a short make-out. Definitely not girl troubles then. Unless that’s what the youth were doing nowadays with their friends. The boys separated and the Scot walked around the car and jumped into the passenger seat. Ghost could see them chatting for a second before the car was reversed and driven away from the house, the purr of the engine fading quickly into the distance.

Chapter Text

“Ah'm telling ye, he’s got tae be a vampire or somethin’, Gaz!” John insisted, taking a bite of his sandwich. The two were sat in one of the university’s many art rooms, working on their most recent assignments and having lunch. “Ah dinnae think ah’ve seen him leave the house during the day in the whole week we’ve lived there.” 

“Maybe he’s a ghost or something, mate. Or maybe you’re finally losing it, and ‘he’ is a hallucination.” Kyle teases. “You’re off your head, or whatever.”

“Och, ah’m no’! Look, ah would ask one of the neighbours aboot him, but ah think the way ah look scares them.” John says with a huff. Remembering how most of his elderly neighbours had actively avoided him since they moved into the neighbourhood. It wasn’t really that surprising, but he was just sick of it at that point, everyone giving him stares and being afraid of him. When all it is, is his self-expression.

“Really? John MacTavish scaring the elderly population across the United Kingdom? Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re.. y’know.. Scottish. It’s probably like seeing a fuckin’ unicorn move in next door.” Kyle said with a grin, his tone blatantly sarcastic.

“Yer a right wee cunt, Kyle Garrick.” The scot replied, half-arsedly throwing an oil pastel at the other. “If ah was a unicorn in Scotland, they’d fuckin’ love me. National treasure and shite. But nae, ah’m in fuckin’ Leeds.” He took another bite of his sandwich, chewing about half of it before beginning to speak again, “‘e’s go’ t’ be hidin’ s’mefin’ anyw’y..” He started, realising that he was almost incomprehensible with a full mouth and decided to swallow. “He’s go’ cameras on every fuckin’ surface of tha’ hoose, swear. Plus ah see him watchin’ oot the windae sometimes. Dinnae think he’s go’ many friends.” 

“That or he’s a creep.”

“Or tha’.”

Once they were done with their lunches, the two packed up their sketchbooks and supplies and made their way outside to where Gaz’s car was parked. “Ye want tae come in once we get there? Ah could use some help unpackin’ ma shite. And maybe testin’ oot the new room.” John said with a grin as he hopped into the car.

“God, maybe you’re the creep, Soap.” Gaz scoffed, rolling his eyes lightheartedly and giving the Scot a soft punch in the arm. 

The two had met through a pen-pal programme in primary school when they were around 7 and continued to speak through letters and then on the phone until they were teenagers and able to talk privately on their mobiles. After that, they would frequently call on skype and once in a while had the opportunity to meet up in-person if either of them were travelling near the other. During their teenage years, the two realised they weren’t straight; with John being gay, and Kyle figuring out that he didn’t really have a preference since he had been interested in both guys and girls at the time. Having each other at that time meant they were able to support each other whilst growing up queer. They had grown very close, despite the limitations that a long-distance friendship brings, and they found out quickly that they could both jerk off on call and it was better than being alone. This mutual relationship turned into them being comfortable with making out and sharing hand jobs on the rare occasion they saw each other in person. 

“Yer the one shaggin’ me.” Soap replied with a huff.

“You wound me, Soap MacTavish.”

—

Arriving at the new MacTavish household, Kyle and John hopped out of the car and made their way inside, where they were startled by the loud startup of a car from next door. They stopped in the kitchen to peek out of the window, watching as a black McLaren pulled out of the garage. “Fucckkk, mate. Didn’t tell me that he was fucking loaded!” Kyle whisper-shouted, eyes locked onto the car. “Get on that immediately.”

“He’s probably like twice my age!” 

“Like that’s ever stopped you. Slag.”

“Weesht, ye fuckin’ bawbag.” 

“I’m serious, mate. He could be your sugar daddy or somethin’.”

Soap scoffed and made his way upstairs, tugging Gaz along by the shirt hem and choosing to ignore that statement. Once they were in his room, Soap wasted no time in starting to kiss Gaz, groaning against his lips when the other fisted his hair. During the kiss, they ended up by the window, allowing Gaz to glance out at the neighbour.

“Not a vampire then.” Gaz stated, breaking the kiss to turn towards the window fully and look down at the man cleaning his car. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts, his bulky physique on full display. “Unless vampires aren’t allergic to the sun somehow.”

“Shite that’s hot.” Soap breathed, leaning against the windowsill to peer down and struggling not to grind his semi against the wood. “He has a tattoo sleeve, Gaz.” Soap continued to stare blatantly at the man rubbing a wet sponge over the shiny black McLaren. It was like something out of an erotic magazine or a wet dream, a big, buff, tatted-up man getting all wet and soapy whilst washing his car. John was all over it. His brain started getting fuzzy as blood started rushing to his cock, all of his thoughts put on hold as he drooled over his middle-aged neighbour whom he’d never spoken to before, and also flipped off once.

“Is this seriously the first time you’re seeing him?”

“Aye, usually he’s wearin’… more clothes… or it’s too dark tae see the cunt proper like.” John murmurs, pressing his now almost fully hard cock into the windowsill. “Am ah a pervert for watchin’ this with a stiffie?” 

“Nah mate, this is proper normal neighbour stuff.” Gaz deadpanned before breaking out into a grin, his own gaze focused outside too.

“Yer such a cunt.” Their eyes were glued to the man as he dragged the wet sponge over the car, his muscles bulging with every movement of his arm. His skin was light and covered with scars and a sheen of sweat that made Soap drool in his mouth. From what he could see, it looked like the man had massive thighs as well, the muscle showing under his shorts. “He could probably throw me ‘round like a fuckin’ ragdoll wi’ all tha’ muscle.” Soap caught himself lightly grinding against his windowsill, pausing and glancing at Gaz like a guilty dog. “Right, we’ve git tae stop.” He groans quietly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ah’m so fucked, mate.”

“C’mon, just have a wank about it.”

“Or ye could blow me?” Soap said, giving Gaz the world’s worst pout and puppy eyes.

–

Kyle did end up blowing John, right in front of the window, one of John’s hands on his head and the other bracing himself against the glass. Soap couldn't help but glance out at his neighbour as Gaz sucked him off, and that probably made him cum harder and faster than ever. 

Gaz swallowed, catching his breath and looking up to see Soap wide-eyed and staring back at him. “Fuck, mate. We’ve got to get you talking to him.” He said with a small grin, still in slight disbelief at the speed of the blowjob. He tucked Soap’s cock back into his boxers and planted a little kiss over the fabric.

“Ah’m fucked.”

“Not yet, you’ve gotta talk to him before that happens.”

“Cheeky fuckin’ cunt.” Soap exclaimed, running a hand over his ‘hawk.

“I should probably get going. I’ll come and help with your room another time, yeah?”

“Aye.” He agreed, helping Gaz to his feet and kissing him deeply for a bit.

The two made their way downstairs, John lighting a cigarette each as they got to the deck. He passed one to Gaz and held the other between his teeth. 

“Go and introduce yourself before he disappears.” Kyle urges, taking a drag of his cigarette and using his free hand to smooth out Soap’s hair a little.

“Och, fine. Ah’ll do it.” He sighs, shooing Gaz back to his car.

“See ya at uni.” The other boy waves, pulling out of the driveway and blowing kisses with his cigarette hand. 

—

John stood smoking for a bit before making his way towards the garage of his neighbour’s house. The man had finished washing his car and was currently finishing drying it off with a towel.

“We haven’t met yet. Ah’m John MacTavish.” John says, sticking out his hand. 

The man stared at his hand for a while, almost like he was considering whether he should shake it or not. Apparently he decided against it, leaving John to take back his hand awkwardly. 

“Simon.” The man, Simon, responded in a deep grunt. “Or Ghost.”

“Nice tae meet ye, Simon.”

“Preferably Ghost.” He said immediately after John spoke his name.

“Aye…” Soap murmured, trying desperately to keep his eyes above Ghost’s shoulders, as if he wasn’t just checking him out from inside of his room not even 10 minutes ago. “Well, Ghost. Just thought ah’d come an say hi, introduce maself proper like, y’ken?” He says, playing with one of the spikes on his choker awkwardly. “Ah like yer cars.” He added.

“Thanks. Your fly’s down by the way.” Ghost mentions bluntly, before walking back up to the garage and packing away his cleaning things.

“Shite-” John cursed, fumbling with his jeans to zip up his zipper. “Ah’ll leave ye tae it then!” He called out, walking back to his house as quickly as possible and throwing himself onto his bed like an embarrassed teenage girl. He pulled out his phone after a couple minutes of wallowing in shame and began texting Kyle.

Soap: Ah’m so fucked, Gaz.

Soap: He thinks Ah’m a right bampot

Soap: Also ah think he saw us.

Gaz: I take it he refused your offer of being a sugar baby?

Soap: Ah’m blockin’ ye.

Soap: Ah was speakin tae him with ma zip down an half ma pants out.

Gaz: Yikes. Prayers, mate.

John then went and took a shower, had an embarrassment-fuelled wank, and then promptly fell asleep on his bed, towel still around his waist.