Call of Desire

19. Disregard

dis·re·gard
/ˌdisrəˈɡärd/
noun
the action or state of disregarding or ignoring something.

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Content Warning: Sexual Content, Alcohol Consumption

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John melted into Simon's arms, listening to his heartbeat. He dreaded leaving for the cold of Russia, the only warmth being Ghost's embrace.

"Can we maybe forget about Russia for the evening?" Soap asked. "If we've only got three days together, I don't want to spend it worrying about the future."

"Of course." Simon placed a small kiss on John's forehead. "I got you a present while I was out earlier." The Brit mumbled, releasing his lover and helping him back into the chair.

"You got me a present?" John smiled, touched by the gesture.

"I did!" Simon went back to the bedroom, rummaging through his box of belongings. He had hidden it there before he got back to the flat. He grabbed the bottle, turning it over. Simon had no clue what went into finding a good rum, so he assumed that more expensive meant better alcohol.

"Back in Israel," Simon began, holding the bottle behind his back as he returned to the kitchen.

"Yeah?" John responded, curiously watching Simon.

"I had you in my arms while I ran toward Nikolai and Price. I made you a promise."

"Oh?"

"I promised you that I'd buy you a drink." Simon pulled two glasses from the cupboard, adding a few ice cubes to each. "And I did." He carried the two glasses to the table, placing one in front of John. Simon sat, popping the cap off the bottle. "I got rum." He smiled.

"You got rum!" John laughed. "You remembered!"

"How could I not?" Ghost first filled Soap's glass, then his own.

"To not dying in Israel." John chuckled, raising the drink.

"To not dying in general," Simon smirked, pulling the edge of his balaclava above his nose. They tapped the rims of their glasses together, both taking a sip.

"Fuck I missed rum." Soap hummed, half his drink gone.

"Mm..." Ghost tilted his head slightly, thinking. "Why are you called Soap? I've been fuckin wondering that since we first met." Both men burst out laughing.

"You could've asked sooner, Simon." John shook his head, smiling as he finished his drink. "Top me up and I'll tell you."

The Brit complied, pouring more rum into John's glass.

"Essentially," Soap began, "They call me 'Soap' because when I had just joined, I was very quick and accurate when it came to room clearance and urban warfare."

"Oh?"

"I hated it at first, but it's been eight years of being called 'Soap' and it's grown on me."

"Huh... I didn't think the story behind 'Soap' would be logical."

"Nah, I wish I got a cool fuckin' name like 'Ghost', cuz 'Ghost' is fuckin' cool."

"I'm 'fuckin' cool'?" Chuckling, Simon sipped his drink.

John smiled, blushing. "Mhm."

"I think 'Soap' fits you."