A/N:I know she's been making a lot of appearances lately, but Kira's is the safest place for the guys to go and just be whatever they wanna be at the moment. This one takes place a few days after "Birthday Tease" and the inspiration comes from ameij's DeviantArt picture "Tag Me" and my own tags and obsession with them. :3 PLEASE NOTE! I don't normally update this fast, but I've been hit with a few waves of inspiration for this fandom and I wanna run with it while I have the chance. Reviews are fuel for the slash machine. ;)
PhonyPrincess: Ameij is my Muse for the moment, especially considering my real Muse is hiding in the basement of my mind with a bottle of vodka, a copy of Prototype and a muttered curse about not seeing Alex Mercer's face more. -_-' ANYWAY! I'm glad you loved them and I think Ghost is a wonderful tease. :3
xGhostxStealth: Mmmmmm UPDATE! Anyway. I'm so glad I love Ameij and basically everything that is drawn by her. :) This one actually references the "Kiss Meme" WIP. :D
GrassWing-TreeTail: I hope you did manage to find the pictures. They're nothing short of awesome. And I'll get around to more Roach/Stray soon. I'm planning on developing Stray's character as much as Kira's. ;)
duvalia: I love it when you bother me. :) The next chapter will probably be taking place shortly after this one and will probably reference what's in those Roach/Stray pictures. /evil laugh. XD
The weight was cool and comforting and reminded him that they were safe. Their tags could be worn only when they were on a safe, familiar, friendly base. On missions, they were very, very, very rarely supposed to be wherever they were and their respective countries couldn't be held responsible for their actions, regardless of the outcome. Their tags were left on their last friendly base, glinting, gleaming reminders that when they were away from safe-havens, they had no names, only their call-signs. Their names would be retrieved when they returned to the base after the mission.
There was a soft clink from behind Simon and he smiled to himself. He was laying in bed, not exactly on-base, but still safe. A warm chest pressed against his back. There was a cold metal press against his skin and he could feel the grooves of the letters in the flat tags. He felt lips on his neck and he tilted his head so the lips had more room and skin to work with. He hummed with pleasure and content. He turned and faced John. His dark hair dropped into his eyes as he did, and John gently brushed it away. It was like the presence of their tags, confirmation of their identity, made them human again. They were freed from being "Soap" (the one who always got out of a situation squeaky clean, the one with clean kills and moderate obsessive compulsive disorder) and "Ghost" (the one that left a negligible paper trail, who could walk over bubble wrap in combat boots and not make a sound). They could be John and Simon.
The Lieutenant lifted the cool metal identification tags from the Captain's chest and turned them over in his fingers. They caught the light and flashed brightly in the sunlight coming through the window across from the bed.
"MacTavish, John. Catholic. Blood: AB+. Special Forces."
Simon didn't need to see the tags. He knew them. They were like fingerprints. They were unique and strictly John's, and he knew them. To Simon, they acted as a thin metal barrier between the rough, harsh, unforgiving persona that John adopted in the field, and the way he could allow himself to be when there were no missions and orders and directives. As if sensing what his partner was thinking (which probably wouldn't be much of a stretch, given how well they knew one another), MacTavish kissed Riley's jawline with uncharacteristic gentility.
They eventually pulled themselves from bed and showered, shaved, dressed, wandered into town with the subtle clanging of their tags to remind them that they were safe. They fell into step as they walked, more out of subconcious habit than any cognizant reasoning(1), and they smiled to themselves as they realized it. For a few hours, they were content to walk aimlessly and without worrying about the enemy sneaking up from behind them. If ever they were nervous, the tiny "clink" from their chests helped ease the anxiety. John suggested they head back to his sister's house and rearrange the furniture while she was a few dozen kilometers away, arguing with the zoning board on whether or not a home extension could cross zoning lines and the repercussions of such an addition. Simon laughed and agreed.
They didn't actually rearrange the furniture too much, just enough to annoy Kira. They sprawled on the cool grass under the shade of a large tree and talked about anything and everything that they could think of. They spoke of vacations they could take, and if Kira would ever meet a man she could tolerate long enough to get married. Simon laughed at the thought of Kira "serial dating" until she found someone that wouldn't bore her and the light filtering through the trees caught the silvery tags and made them flash.
"Riley, Simon. Agnostic. Blood: O-. Special Forces."
John didn't have to look at the tags to know Simon. He knew things the tags could never tell anyone. The tags wouldn't tell you he hated eggplant, they wouldn't tell you his favorite color was the same shade of blue found on the Scottish flag, and they certainly wouldn't tell you he was afraid of spiders. But they were undeniably Simon's. They carried the weight of his identity and they kept him from being just a Ghost. They proved that he was real and he was there and he was with John. He looked up and noticed a look in Riley's eyes and MacTavish smiled. He knew the smile and he knew where they were headed.
They walked up to the house and to their room. The door closed behind them and Simon began pulling his shirt up over his head. John's hands curled around his hips and he planted light kisses over his lover's back. The shirt slid down Simon's arms and to the floor and John kissed the Brit's shoulders. The Lieutenant leaned heavily against his Captain and let himself be pushed against the wall where his neck was kissed and his pants unbuttoned.(2) He hummed and purred and growled and arched and and twisted and moaned at every kiss and touch.
Simon soon found himself on his back with John above him, in him. The cold brush and drag of John's dog tags somehow heightened and revitalized the entire experience and made it all seem more real. They were safe. They could enjoy it. They didn't have to rush and hurry and get the hell out of here before they were shot or blown up or discovered.
After the sex, Riley rested his head on MacTavish's chest and closed his eyes. He could hear the dull thud, thud, thud of the Captain's heart and the faint whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of his lungs expanding and contracting. He soon found himself asleep again. Such a feat was unheard of and even impossible in the field... In anywhere that their tags couldn't be worn.
John was half-asleep when he heard his sister's car pull into the driveway. He wanted to get up, get dressed and have a beer with her while Simon caught up on sleep (though the stubborn Lieutenant wouldn't admit he had a sleeping disorder), but his movements resulted in Riley's hand curling tightly around the chain to his tags, pinning him to the bed. Simon murmured something about him staying put and pressed closer. John wrapped his left arm around Simon and laid his head back down. Riley shifted in his sleep and the tags around his neck and in his hands clinked together and the sound was one of safety and comfort. They had another month and a half to spend with Kira. John could afford to spend this one day in bed, listening to the subtle click of Simon's tags as he moved and shifted. For now, he could enjoy the safety and the cold touch of his identification tags.
(1): I did NJROTC (pre-military class in high school) and this is actually something I do. Out of sheer fucking habit, I'm often in step with whomever I'm walking next to, especially if it's someone I know. o.o
(2): This was basically ameij's latest WIP, "Kiss Meme". Can be found at DeviantArt, as always. Such an inspiration... lessthanthree. :3
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them, I just borrow them heavily. Very heavily. Except Kira. She's mine. :D