#and they both would be the kinds of arseholes toying with a crowd like that

[leathfaic]

Ghost is a man who never needed to do much to draw attention when he goes clubbing. His impressive frame ensures he gets plenty of attention. That natural air of authority honed over years as a commanding officer ensuring he has his space if he wants it, unwanted approaches stopped before they even begin.

Still lots of eyes stick to him casually leaning against the bar. Always had an easy pick of those brave enough to approach him. Even before the scars in his face he attracted a certain type, the twinks that wanted to be thrown around, bears wanting to play with someone in their own weight class they weren't sure they could out-wrestle and everyone in between who just likes tall, strong blondes. Ever since the scars that has only intensified, might be that he loses out on some vain types, but the daredevils flock to him even more now.

So really he can't complain. He's not the biggest fan of the places, avoids scrungy punky ones altogether for very personal reasons, but they serve their purpose. Finding a quick lay mostly. Sometimes just enjoying a space where he's not the only gay man for miles and miles.

When he starts to go clubs with Soap though, it becomes a very different experience.

First of all he's not looking to take anyone home or to a convenient dark corner.

No, he's here because Johnny likes dancing and what Johnny wants he usually gets. Simon could never deny him anything.

So there is no one Ghost is looking at but Soap. And bloody fucking hell it is worth looking.

Johnny's easy confidence bleeds off of him and mixed with his natural charm he commands the entire rooms attention. His body helps, sure, sculpted muscles barely hidden by a mesh shirt and jeans so tight there's nothing left to the imagination, but there's plenty of good looking men around.

None of them carry themselves like Soap does though.

He watches as Soap enters the dance floor, seeming to melt into the beat. Dancing as effortlessly as he cleans an entire building of hostiles. A fucking vision in strobing lights as he let's the rhythm dictate his movements. Wide fucking smile painted on his face.

People flock to him, wind themselves around him in more or less proficient dance moves, probably hoping to leave an impression over the gaggle of obvious suitors.

Soap toys with them, dancing with those he finds entertaining, neatly sidestepping those he doesn't. Bathing in the attention of wandering hands and lips.

Ghost wonders if they can feel how dangerous of a man he really is. If they can smell the slight hint of sulfur from the demolitions workshop he's been crammed in all day. If they can see the edge in his eyes, that predatory glint of a man trained to kill walking through a crowd of unaware civilians.

Most probably can't.

Some who can probably find it exciting.

In the end none of it matters anyways.

Because it is Ghost's gaze that Johnny seeks when another man winds around him, littering his neck with kisses. And it's on Ghost's wordless command that he abandons the crowd of hopefuls. Meandering over to him, well aware of all the looks following him as he sprawls himself in Simon's lap unabashedly.

It's a unique rush of power having the man they all want at his beck and call. To take a sip of whisky and shamelessly kiss it into his mouth. Making sure just a little spills over painting a golden line for him to lick up.

Keeping his eyes on the crowd and bathing in their envy, their hunger and their shock.

He indulges for a few minutes, let's Soap shower him in affection while keeping him and the room in check with his dominance over the situation.

It's a game they both know Ghost will lose down the line, will drag Soap out of the club like his life depends on it. Maybe throw him over his shoulder just to make a point.

But not yet. Now he makes sure Soap drinks some water and sends him off again with a well aimed slap to his arse.

And Johnny smiles bright and wide. Drifting into the crowd, the crowd that is apprehensive at first but before long they can't help themselves. There's some wary glances shot at Simon, but his ongoing indifference seems to embolden them. Crowding Soap like moths would a light.

And Ghost finds himself suddenly enjoying clubs a whole lot more. Revelling in Soap's obvious bliss and the knowledge that the man who drives the whole dance floor senseless will follow him in the blink of an eye.

Let them get their hopes up, he's got nothing to fear, to be jealous over because he knows the only thing that matters:

Soap commands the whole room without even trying, but Ghost is the only one who commands his attention.