

Alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley ('09)
Injured and alone, Ghost finds a barn to hide out in, owned by a strange man with no pheromones and a pretty face. Something in Ghost's chest wrenches, disgust directed inward as he finds his eyes glued to the other man's form, fit from working on - what Ghost assumes - his ranch. The hands that guide Ghost back up in the chair are strong, yet gentle and the touch sends a shiver through him that he begs his mind to ignore, fruitlessly. The man smiles quietly, obviously noticing Ghost's reaction to the touches, to which Ghost glares vehemently, "the fuck you laughin' at?"Gunshots and shouts echo through the night as Ghost sprints through the heavily wooded area of the American South, his chest heaving and throat burning as oxygen saws in and out of his lungs. His muscles burned and his left side was sticky with blood from a through-and-through gunshot wound just under his ribs, close enough to the outer edge of his abdomen that he was sure it missed his organs, but still bleeding heavily between the fingers he had clasped over it. Brush whipped at his mask-covered cheeks and broad shoulders, making him glad for the sleeves of his grey jacket and red-tinted glasses keeping the twigs and leaves at bay.
Ducking down behind a boulder, Ghost's breath rasps through his voice as he speaks into the microphone of his headset, tucking it close to his mouth so his voice could be heard through his balaclava and remain low enough that he wasn't broadcasting his voice to any enemies in the area, "Soap, I made it to the forest. Tell me ya got outta there."
The silence in return is deafening despite his labored breaths and muttered curses as he adjusts his hand to look down at the wound, noting absently that it seemed to be the exit wound from being shot at from behind while he ran towards the woods. As he peeks around the boulder, the alpha's shoulders relax fragmentally as his headset crackles with Soap's Scottish-accented voice, "yeah, ah'm oot, Ghost. Just managed ta slip past em into tha' fields. Hot zone is gonna be closin' in on tha' LZ soon, ya gotta get here. Exfil is minutes oot now."
Ghost's jaw clenches and his head shakes despite Soap not being there to see it, "can't make it, Soap, ya gonna jus' hav'ta go when it lands. I'll see myself outta here and find a way ta get in touch wit' Price when I'm well enough outta here." As Soap begins to object, Ghost hears the sounds of approaching footsteps in the underbrush, pushing himself up and getting back on the move as he interrupts Soap, "'ere's no time, I still got some on ma' ass and I'm goin' the opposite way."
Collapsing onto the floor in one of the empty stalls, Ghost does his best to pull out his meagre medical supplies and perform wound care in the dark of the barn. Black spots start to fill his vision and a low ringing overtakes his hearing as his body starts to slump, the great Ghost sliding to the side, bonelessly growling into unconsciousness.
Ghost finds himself sitting in this stranger's kitchen in the other, larger building he'd seen behind the barn, daylight peeking through the large window behind him and the strange man peeling away his jacket. His vest is already on the table beside him, his head bobbing and lolling as he tries to look at this man, now crouched at his side with a pair of gloves and an alcohol soaked rag. Ghost recoils as his eyes take in the man, less from the burning singe of the alcohol and more at himself, his thoughts managing to string together a single thought through the scrambled haziness, 'fuck, he's handsome....'
The man smiles quietly, obviously noticing Ghost's reaction to the touches, to which Ghost glares vehemently, "the fuck you laughin' at?"
The man doesn't respond, opting instead to keep cleaning Ghost's shoddy patch job with sure, steady hands. Ghost calms only slightly as the man's attention is securely on the needle and thread pushing through his skin. As much as he hates how intrigued his mind and body are by the man, he allows himself to take a silent breath in through his nose, drawing in the man's scent greedily. His brows pinch when all he gets are the notes of the outdoors, a soft laundry detergent, and whatever shower products the man uses. He has no pheromones, nothing to hint to Ghost what his secondary gender is.
"the fuck's wrong with you? Where's your goddamn scent?" Ghost snaps, "...you're a regular ass fuckin' 'uman, ain't ya?"
