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The small hut was barely enough for two bodies and a mountain of supplies. It was unpleasantly stuffy, and the wood smelled rotten and just looking at the crooked foundation gave the sensation of getting a splinter in your fingers.
Ghost set up shop in the far left corner, tugging off his pack and rifling through its contents. He had started up the fireplace, but that did little to permeate the frigid Russian winter. The hut had its fair share of hidden openings that let in just enough snowy hair to nip at your nose and flush your face. There was a small hole in the ceiling as well where a steady but light fall of snow came through. The joke about always wanting a sky light died on your tongue when Ghost grumbled that comms weren’t going to be of any use.
Stuck in a crappy little Russian hut. Not ideal by any means.
But better than the storm battering the outside and the frostbite that waited out there.
“Get closer,” Ghost sniffed, adjusting the straps of his vest. “Fire won’t do any good if you’re a mile away.”
It was the most he’d said to you since the two of you stumbled across the hut. He seemed none too pleased to be stuck with you, in this situation or any other. But perhaps that was the nerves and the frustration at being in the blizzard talking.
“Right,” you murmured, stepping away from your unspoken half of the hut to sit next to the tiny stove. You passed underneath the ‘skylight’ where snowflakes landed on your hair.
Ghost prodded at the fire with his foot, moving around the few pieces of wood available. A man prepared for every scenario. He whipped out a silver zippo lighter and started the fire before you could brush the snow off your back.
An awkward silence settled over the two of you while you rubbed your hands above the flame. His hand rested on his pistol, observing the crooked glass window just to the left. Though you suspected that there would be no one stupid enough to try journeying through the snow for the two of you, Ghost was far less trusting of the sanity of others.
“I don’t think they followed us.”
His hooded eyes didn’t glance away from the window. “Probably. Just making sure.”
“The snow storm will have covered our tracks,” you reasoned, touching your palms to your face to warm your cold cheeks. “Hypothermia is all anyone out there can hope to find.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders and made no reply.
Ghost wasn’t known for his conversationalist. He kept to himself or kept to Soap, who he had developed a strong rapport with. The other members of the unit were lucky to prod a few words out of him outside of a mission. Soap shared with you that Ghost had ‘dad jokes’ but you wouldn’t know; he never told you any.
“Any more luck with comms?”
“Rubbish,” he replied, and you imagined him frowning beneath his mask. “This storm is fucking with everything. We’ll have to wait for it to die down before we try to move or try to radio for help.”
More awkward silence and you shifting uncomfortably on the wood flooring. You wished for a couch or even a thick blanket. Anything to chase away the chill settling in your spine like someone was dumping ice down your back.
“Coast is clear for now,” Ghost said, pulling his pistol back into its sheath. “You could use some shut eye. It’s making me tired just looking at you. You’re no good dead on your feet.”
“I’ll be fine, sir,” you shot back, though you felt like death incarnate. During the mission, on top of the one idiot who tried to engage in a knife battle, a bullet had grazed your cheek, slicing through the delicate flesh and leaving a long thin welt in its path. Ghost had patched it up none too gently earlier, and it still throbbed when you spoke.
He shot you a weary look, emphasized by the black paint around his eyes. His gaze was fierce in any setting. If he could talk about something pleasant, like the weather or his favorite type of ice cream, you were certain even that would sound grave. “Suit yourself. Just be ready to move out in a few hours. We’ll make a break for it when the storm dies down and try to establish a connection with Johnny.”
You winced, touching the stitched wound on your face. “You think the other’s made it back okay?”
“Course they did,” Ghost answered. “They got to the trucks. We had to make a break for it.”
The mission, which had only gone to shit a few hours ago, but felt like a lifetime away, had ended poorly when the splinter group decided they would rather blow their base to kingdom come then let any of the intel get back to your superiors. Soap and Gaz scrambled back to the trucks and cleared the scene, but you and Ghost had to tail it out of there on foot while the remaining members of the organization fired at you. A twinge of pity struck you at the idea that these men must have been unaware that others in their group were planning to blow the base, regardless of who was still behind. Even at the distance you had traveled, you could feel the heat licking at your back and your hair from the volatile explosion behind you.
Even in the present and brutal cold, you could still feel that warmth on the back of your neck and it made you want to strip out of your uniform and scratch it.
But that would mean stripping down in front of Ghost and that was out of the question.
“You’re going to undo my handiwork if you don’t stop fondling that scar.”
You hadn’t realized your gloved hand was touching the cut. “Right, sorry. First one on my face. There goes my modeling career.”
He exhaled, not quite a laugh but close. “Guess you’ll have to consider staying in your current profession.”
It occurred to you that none of the others had ever mentioned seeing Ghost’s face. Soap and Ghost seemed fairly close, but he’d never mentioned what Ghost looked like under his signature mask. He’s probably ugly. Or maybe he’s got a snaggle tooth. Soap’s teasing words entered your mind. I asked him if he was ugly and, get this, the fucker said quite the opposite. Soap had laughed, but that just made your mind conjure up potential faces for the man. And, for reasons your lizard brain couldn’t fathom, he wasn’t ugly in any of those versions.
You shook your head, shaking off flecks of snow that had got on your cap and exposed hair. It was wrong to think of Ghost like that. And even more so now that you were stuck with him in some run-down shack and there was no privacy for either of you.
“Give me the radio. I’ll try outside for a bit.”
-----
The sharp and cold air raging outside helped soothe your inappropriate thoughts. It was like pinching yourself to distract your body from an injury. A reminder of the situation was what you needed to remember that Ghost was not a piece of meat that you could ogle at or daydream about.
Stepping back into the hut, you came by a new arrangement of your packs and the crate Ghost used for a makeshift chair found new life as kindling for the small fire He had tugged off his vest, and the packs strapped to his legs were placed next to the vest. It was strangely domestic to see him wearing nothing but his boots, jeans and a long sleeve shirt. It was rare to see him not decked out like a war was about to break out at any second. But his mask was still present and accounted for, though he had removed his ear muffs.
“I’m knackered. If you won’t get some shuteye, I will.”
He had rolled out his pack like a makeshift pillow and laid out his gray jacket as protection against the firm wood floor.
“You..” You trust me?
He looked back at you from over his shoulder and huffed. “You’re going to make me act like your mum? I said not to touch it.”
A glance down at your left gloved hand revealed dots of blood and you hadn’t even realized you had been picking at your cheek.
Ghost strode across the shack in a few steps until he was towering over you and his gloved hand was holding your chin, tilting it for him. He smelled like smoke and wood. His hand on your chin was warm and you could feel each digit digging into your already sensitive flesh.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he sighed, releasing your face and motioning for you to step over to the fire. “I’m gonna have to redo this. Don’t pick anymore, you got it?”
“Sorry.”
He rifled through his pack until he found a thin string and a needle. Again, a man was always ready for crisis at the drop of the hat. His fingers went back to your face, tugging the two of you closer to the fire, which was the only light in the hut.
“This won’t be pleasant. Again.” It was the only warning you got before he began his stitching with his fingers working like he was leading an orchestra. His gaze directed at his work, but your face still burned at the proximity and the intense concentration in his eyes. They were blue like the sky.
You slammed your eyes shut, mostly so he wouldn’t see the sting of tears in them. But you could feel the muffled breath from his mask on your face. He was far smoother and gentle this time around, but it was still an uncomfortable sensation.
“Better.” He announced, snipping the string with a swipe of one of his throwing knives. “Don’t tell me you were one of those kids who picked their scabs.”
It wasn’t a ‘dad joke’ but it had been a joke and that was worth a laugh itself. “No, I don’t think so.”
“A glutton for punishment, then?”
You opened your eyes and found he was still quite close. The crackling of the fire and the wind pushing against the hut were the only noises you could make out as you stared at the slits of his mask where his eyes were. “No, sir.”
A quirk of the bottom part of his mask made you wonder if he had smirked. “Don’t like the sir. Ghost is fine.”
“Do you sleep with the mask on?”
If your candor surprised him, he didn’t say or show it. “From time to time. Never know when something might happen. Saves me the trouble of fumbling around my room for it.”
You imagined Ghost sleeping with the entirety of his gear on just for the slim chance that something would go wrong. “Sounds uncomfortable.”
Another exhale that you could pretend was a laugh. “So is getting caught off guard.”
“Earlier,” you began, licking the chap away from your lips. “Were you really going to sleep?”
“Believe so, why?”
“You trusted me enough to sleep in front of me?”
He leaned back onto the palms of his hands and directed his eyes up at the stream of moonlight coming through the roof. “You’ve been with us for a few months now. Don’t think you’re untrustworthy, but can’t be too careful. You watch my back, I watch yours.”
“All my stuff was in here anyway,” you reminded him, thumbing the air behind you where your pack and gear were still against the wall.
His eyes flickered down at you like he was looking down at you so much through his nose that he had to look up. “Big mistake.”
“You pee with a weapon?”
“I sleep with a weapon,” he fired back, bouncing off his palms to show you the blade tucked away in his left sleeve.
“Just the one?”
He pulled another from his high ankle sock. “Never just the one.”
You grinned, the action causing throbbing in your cheek, but you didn’t really care. “Soap was wrong. Guess not all of your jokes are god awful.”
His head snapped away from the roof and you could make out the roll of his eyes through the lighting. “You and Johnny talk about me? Couple of gossiping hens the two of you.”
“Two goldfish in a tank,” you began, already cracking a cheeky smile as you tried to imitate Ghost’s gravelly voice. “One turns to the other and says ‘do you know how to drive this thing?’”
“So he’s been telling my jokes,” Ghost tsked and leaned forward in his seated position. “What else has Soap been saying?”
You think back to the talks you’ve had with Soap and how you spitball probable reasons his codename was ‘Soap’ with the promise he would tell you when you got it right. “He says he thinks you have a snaggle tooth. Or a big face tattoo, maybe of the British flag.”
“He’s wrong, it’s actually Casper.” He put his hand up to his face and brushed his finger across his left cheek and down to the middle of his chin. “Big expensive fucker. Takes up half my face.”
“That or he said it was just a tattoo of your mask.”
“Anything else?”
The warm flame would be your excuse if he called out the rising flush in your cheeks. “He told me when he called you ugly you had the, and I quote, nerve to say you were quite the opposite, like an action star in a shitty 80s action movie.”
He shook his head like a man who had been subjected to an awful story. “The man asked why I kept the mask on. I just answered honestly.”
“He called you a bloody liar,” you continued, mocking Soap’s accent to the best of your abilities.
“Sounds like Johnny,” Ghost mused, eyes darting from the fire to you. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
He was leaning in close like he had been when he was stitching up your cheek. When had he got so close? “What do you think is underneath?”
The creak of the wood under your fingers was the only reminder you had that your body was moving because you felt as taught as a bowstring. You could see his hands resting just out of reach, perched on his knees even while he invaded your personal space. Like he was waiting to reach out and touch you.
You swallowed dryly. To lie or not to lie. “I haven’t given it much thought.”
Your heart raced as he tugged off the glove from his left hand and brought it against the skin of your neck. Thumbing over your pulse, which was quickening by the moment, and you flushed at how pleasant the action of him smoothing your skin was. “You’re a piss poor liar. Try again, darling.”
If your pulse wasn’t going a mile a minute before, it was at the nickname. “Sometimes,” you sputtered out as his left hand traveled further up your neck until it cupped your jaw and the wisps of your hair that poked out from under your cap. “I think sometimes you’re smirking and I want to know what it looks like.”
“Been thinking about my lips?” His voice was sly. Teasing.
“Yes.” The word is so breathless you can barely register it as your voice.
He hummed, pleased and stood up from the floor, his hand still holding your jaw. You feel as if you’re worshiping him the way your gaze flutters up to the two blue eyes looking down at you and the way you’re still seated obediently. His eyes were glassy with lust and his gaze was heavy enough to pin you to your spot.
A finger ghosted over your wound reverently. “Stand up.”
Feeling as if you are moving through settling concrete, you rise slowly to your feet with his eyes still gazing into yours. Even as you move, he doesn’t let the pressure on your face let up or push down at your scar. The idea of him regarding you as a thing to be worshiped twisted your stomach in the most delightful way.
As you stand to your full height, he leads you toward the wall behind you until you feel the sensation of hitting the wall on your back. The heat emanating off his body was inviting and an escape from the frigid air just outside the door. You could feel the soft fabric of his shirt when your hands touched his arms, and he froze while you continued your ministrations.
He was solid as a rock, not that you had doubted that for a moment. You had accompanied him on a mission during the summer and his arms had been on full display, giving you an eye full and something to think about later that night. The warmth of him filled your fingertips, sending bolts of electricity through your body.
Your hands worked their way up to the mask and to the edges of it just around his neck. He went so still he may have turned to ice as you lifted it just enough to expose the skin of just above his collarbone. It was soft and warm to the touch.
“Don’t,” he whispered hoarsely, shattering your train of thought, and you felt the movement of his Adam’s apple under your fingers. Your traveling fingers paused, already stuck between the fabric of the mask and his neck and slowly dig themselves out, unwilling to cross any line. “Not yet.”
You nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. Turning your attention to the rest of him, you peel the gray long sleeve off him, careful to not take the mask with it. His chest is as solid as the rest of him, littered with old scars and marks. A few bullet wounds, even. But it’s still him and you can feel heat rolling off him in waves. You want nothing more than to sink your teeth into the soft-looking skin near the part of his neck left exposed when you had pulled on his mask.
So you do.
Leaning forward, you pressed your face into that sensitive spot and pressed a kiss to the skin. You feel and hear him inhale underneath you, gripping your shoulders as you continue your ministrations. You can feel his pulse quicken under your mouth.
“Take off your clothes.”
Feverishly, you're ripping off your layers. Pulling off your shirt and sports bra and tossing it into the pile where his shirt is. The cold air hits immediately, even with the fire going just a few feet away. The skin on your arms and stomach begins to pimple with goose bumps. Arousal shoots through you as his gaze hardens at the exposed skin you’ve shown him. He thumbs the hem of your panties, smushing the fabric between his fingers. He gives it a gentle tug, pulling it down your legs as he drops to his knees to follow their trail down your body.
He’s face level with your most intimate area and gazing at you like you’re a holy figure and he is a pious man. You see his throat bob, his voice comes out raspier than you’ve heard before. “Perfect. You’re fucking perfect.” His hands wrap around your thighs and give a gentle squeeze that has you grasping his bare shoulders. “What do you want? Tell me.”
“Please, Ghost, don’t tease me,” you whimpered, sounding unrecognizable to your own ears. One of his hands reaches up and palms your breast and your head knocks back into the wall. He gives it a none too gentle squeeze and your fingernails dig into his broad shoulders.
“Never.”
Goosebumps break out along your skin while he begins to slowly brush the outside of your slit in a slow languished pattern. The only thing you can do is expand the distance between your legs as wide as possible and clutch at his shoulders to keep yourself from collapsing onto the floor, letting him work. You can hear the roar of your blood in your ears as he takes the time to explore you. “You...you said no teasing.”
“Shh, relax, tell me what else,” he murmured, before moving both fingers to spread your lips apart, your slick heat seeping out to coat his fingers. But how can he expect you to be silent when he’s working you so skillfully with his hand? When your brain is so fried, even though he’s barely touched you. “Fuck, you’re already so wet.”
“Please, please, Ghos--” You choked. His barely there touch of his fingertip next to your sensitive clit, before he’s firmly pushing down and tracing a cruel slow semicircle over it. Your toes curl and your fingers dig a little deeper into his shoulders, causing him to hiss out.
“Focus, darling, I asked you a question.”
If there was some level of embarrassment you were supposed to be feeling because you were fully nude in front of Ghost or being naked in the middle of some Russian shack, it wasn’t there. “Your hands, Ghost. Now, for fuck’s sake, please stop teasing me.”
“Simon,” he whispered, switching the direction of his act, and your entire body trembles. “Call me Simon.” You’re soaking his hand, soaking through the glove and simultaneously destroying and lighting every nerve ending in your body. His other hand wrapped around your left leg, slinging the limb over his shoulder and knocking one of your hands to the side.
You bite your lip, feeling your cheek and lip throbbing. “Simon, please, more. Please, please.”
“Can I trust you?”
Part of you wants to smack him for doing this right when he has his fingers inside of you, and the other part is your soul returning to its mortal vessel, leaving you breathless and looking down at him through your lidded eyes. His gaze is making you clench around his fingers, and you see his eyes widen a fraction with that little action. At that point, you’d tell him anything he wanted to hear. “I trust you with my life. You can trust me with yours.”
“Fuck--” He whispered. “I’m going to take off my mask. Don’t.. fuck you soaked through my glove.”
“I won’t look, I won’t, I won't,” you moaned, saying the words like a mantra already guessing what he was going to ask. You tilted your head up toward the roof, staring at that little opening. The night sky was clear and blue. You’re aware of the movement below your neck. You can hear Simon pulling off his mask and feel his breath against your thighs.
“Good,” he growled, his voice only sounding a little less muffled than before. You try to imagine what kind of face he’s making as he looks at you. Does he look at you like you're his prey? Or like you’re a deity? “Nobody will hear a damn thing with that fucking blizzard raging. Don’t hold back.”
You shudder as his hands squeeze your hips and he places open mouth kisses on the inside of the leg thrown over his shoulder. His lips are rough but not uncomfortable and they’re warm. It feels divine and you can’t stop the sharp moan that erupts from the break of your throat when he nips at the skin. You can feel the barely there scruff of his bear as he gets closer to your core.
You’re a shaky mess waiting for him to stop with his teasing and biting, and the only way you can tell he is finally done is by the hot glide of his tongue against your pussy.
You gasp and your eyes slam shut as he begins his assault. His tongue licks softly at your clit and each time it feels like you’re a live wire and the shock jolting through your body is enough to make your free hand grip his hair. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t seem bothered, so you grip the locks there and hold on for dear life. Tugging a little as he takes your sensitive clit in his mouth, making you twitch and beg for him to continue. You tug again and his moan sends shockwaves through your body and your brain can only guess what his whimpers would sound like.
You promised not to look, so your mind conjures the visuals instead, making you feel like a voyeur of your own pleasure. Simon, half-naked with his face buried in between your legs, eating you out like a man starved while one of your hands twists in his hair and the other leaves crescent shaped marks in his shoulder. Completely naked, head tilted skyward and basking in the midnight glow from that stupid hole in the ceiling.
A sharp stinging sensation jolts you back into your body and it takes your brain a second to play catch up with the realization that the feeling was him slapping your ass and pressing your hips closer to his face. One hand kneads the fat of your ass, and slaps it, while the other is focused solely on bringing you as close to him as humanly possible. He switches to licking languidly and giving teasing gentle bites to your clit.
You gasp, seeing your air come out as a puff, and you fight the urge to glance down to look at him. You can feel his eyes on you if he’s waiting for you to break your promise or if he’s admiring your lust filled expression, you don’t know. If there’s even the slightest chance that looking at him will make him disappear into his corner of the hut, you won’t risk it. His mouth is soft and warm as he tastes you, his fingers leaving their own marks on you where no one else will see.
“Turn around, now.” His voice is pure sex and the sound of it sends more heat pooling to your lower body. You didn’t hesitate to flip around, still looking straight up, and pressing your breasts into the wooden wall. It’s cold and you can only pray that you don’t have splinters later. You feel his hand press into your lower back, molding it just the way he wants and you stick out your ass until he gives you a loving smack against your cheek. “I want to hear it all, you understand?”
You exhale sharply and nod.
“Need you to say something.”
“Yes, shit, I understand Simon.”
He hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your exposed ass. “That’s a good girl.”
Your breath comes out in heavy puffs of air as you wait for something. You can hear him shift behind you, perhaps admiring the view of you, a decorated and talented soldier, with your ass poking out and your panties around your ankles. The anticipation caused you to grit your teeth together, waiting and waiting.
You feel his hands palming your ass against, spreading them apart and you bite your lip until you taste copper. His breath fans your exposed pussy and your brain tries to grapple between the multitude of sensations ravaging your body.
Nothing can prepare you for him movement of his tongue across your pussy as he begins to eat you out from behind. His hot mouth and strong, thick fingers work you closer and closer to the edge as you try to find a perch to hold on to. “Simon, holy shit--”
His tongue works at licking and covering every bit of exposed flesh that it can while one of his hands wraps around your waist, shimming down your belly button until his thumb is at your clit where he can move his fingers in slow and precise movements. Your own hands grip any exposed bit of wood they can as you moan and pant in time with his efforts. His other arm pushes at your lower back, keeping your ass jutting out into his face and you can feel saliva and your slick dripping down your bare thighs.
You can hardly call the sounds, leaving your lips on your own. They are far too hoarse and loud to be yours. You can only hope that Simon’s original assessment of your situation was correct; that no one could hear you. If anyone on the team heard, you’d surely never be able to look any of them in the eye again. Not with the way you were cursing and begging. You feel more vibrations shake your foundation and you realize it’s Simon moaning again, pulling you close and increasing the pressure on your clit.
“Simon, I’m going to cum,” you rasp, hoping he can hear you since your fogged up brain can't guess your volume. He doesn’t speed up or increase his pressure, just keeps you building right where he wants you. The mark of someone who doesn’t lose their cool or tempo, but knows exactly what to do. “Oh, fuck, Ghost…” Your brain feels so scrambled you can’t help babbling a mixture of his two names, the one you know him best by and the one he granted you permission to say.
It builds and builds inside your gut, making you squirm in his hold, but he holds you close, unwilling to let you pull away. Like riding a roller coaster, and getting closer and closer to the top, where you can finally enjoy the descent down. Your forehead presses into the wood so strongly it wouldn’t surprise you if there was an indentation, your lips flapping wordlessly. You feel it then with a particular swipe of his trained finger and the wood wall you’re looking at becomes engulfed by a flash of white light. Your gasps and pants sounded too loud with the roar of your blood in your ears.
You can feel your brain sorting through the sudden rush of hormones and collecting itself, even as you continue to pant like you just ran a marathon. He’s merciful enough to not overstimulate you as you try to catch up with the rest of your thoughts and let your mind get through the fog of your orgasm.
The hand that was once pressing down on your back to keep that perfect arc is gone and you slowly rise back to your full height, still not daring to turn around. You can hear him shuffle behind you and you can only guess what he is doing now.
“Close your eyes,” he slurred, and you barely have the chance to do so before he’s flipping you forward and slamming your back into the wall. The world spins, but you’re relieved to finally have the pressure off your forehead and your hands grope the space to get to him. You so badly want to touch him against it almost hurts. The urge to open your eyes and see what his face looks like returns.
He pressed his finger to your lips, and you obeyed his silent command to open your mouth. You lick the digit and taste yourself as you hear his breath hitch and a stream of curse words leave him. You obediently lick the mixture of saliva and your own cum off his fingers, listening to him moan and praise you. “Good girl. Fuck, woman, you came all over my face. Best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“I want to kiss you,” you moan, muffled by the finger dipping into your mouth. “I won’t look. Just please.”
His fingers pause for a moment before withdrawing and you can hear him move closer before you can feel his hands taking your face into his hands. Is he shaking or are you? You can’t tell anymore. It’s impossible to tell if one of you surged forward first or if it was a coming together that neither of you could quite understand.
But his mouth was finally on yours and that was what mattered. His lips were warm and chapped, but somehow soft. He tasted of you and of something unrecognizable, but not unpleasant. His mouth fits yours like the last piece of a puzzle slips effortlessly into place. His hands press harder into your jaw, pulling you closer and closer until you’re flinging your arms over his shoulders and tugging him back. You are overwhelmed by the feeling of his mouth slotting against yours. Even as you hold him in place by his hair, it still feels like he is too far away. You can feel the soft press of his skin against your bare breast and make out the scratches and scars he has. His kiss is dominating and intoxicating, and you want it burned into your memory so you have something to think about when you're alone in your room.
He pulls away, but you feel the press of his forehead against yours and his hands still hold your face delicately. He’s mindful even now of the scar, even with all that has happened between the two of you. Or maybe because of it.
With him pressed so snuggly against your body, you can feel the shape of him pushing into your thigh and you involuntarily shudder. You move your hands off his neck, fumbling with your eyes closed to find his face, and you settle on the outline of his jaw and rest your hands there. You can feel a slight scratch from a beard underneath your palms and a strongly formed jaw shifting underneath your fingers.
“Getting a lay of the land are you,” he teased, his voice still foggy with lust but still very much the voice you know so well. “Trying to guess if I’m ugly through touch?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He chuckled, actually chuckled, and, after it passed, he kissed you once more. He was like a fire himself, leaving trails of heat where he touched your face and wherever he wanted to explore with his hands. The heat was intoxicating, even more so in part because of the cold. You returned your arms to their resting place around his neck and pulled him closer until his arms were sliding around you. His fingers traced your spine, starting from the end and working as close as he could to the top without bumping into the wall. He only let go to press kisses to the pulse point along your throat and your hands slid into his hair as you sighed.
While you wanted to see his face, it heightened every sensation when your eyes were shut tight. You could feel the vibration from every one of his moans, feel the quirk of his lips against your neck, the scruff of his facial hair, and the smell of him. You could hear the way his fingers worked against his belt and the sound of the zipper being yanked down. He never stopped kissing you as he undid his pants.
“Simon, can I…?”
His hand grabbed yours and lowered it slowly to his cock until you could feel it against your palm The hiss he released when you wrapped your hand around it went straight to your core and your ego. How many people could say they could make Ghost moan? You felt his forehead drop to your collar, his breath warming your naked skin. You licked the palm of your hand and put it back on him and smirked into the darkness when his teeth sank into your collar bone in response. He was so warm and thick. And playing him like this, having him moan and bite you to keep himself from being too loud, was a power trip.
“Atta girl, you’re so good. So perfect.” Just his voice made you want to cum again. How could he do so much with just his voice? “So good to me.”
His praise was making your head swim, and you tried to keep focused on the task before you. Your thumb slid over the top of the head and he hissed out a slow ‘fuck.’ Rocking into your hand as he turned his attention to your breasts, pressing open mouth kisses and teasing your nipples. His hair tickled your nose when he began to suck on the skin around your nipples, and your brain was giddy with the concept of waking up with hickies on your chest. It made you want to leave more marks on him.
“If you want something from me,” he grunted, licking the area on your collar that he had cut into with his teeth as if to apologize for the rough treatment. “Just ask.”
“You’re such a fucking tease,” you chuckled breathlessly, squeezing his cock gently until he was panting back into your chest. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”
You could feel his eyes burning holes in you, even without seeing him. “I believe I spoke first. Now, what’s your next move?”
Perhaps it was the ego speaking, but you persisted. “You already made me cum. You’re the one who will be left high and dry, Simon.”
“No shame in quitting while you’re ahead,” came the cheeky reply.
You squirmed in his hold. He continued to place feather light kisses to your collarbone while squeezing your breasts in his large hands. The hands that killed were holding you so delicately you thought you might faint.
“Don’t be an ass.”
A languid lick up your throat. “Just ask, darling. I’ll give you anything you want.”
For the first time in the night, you felt a little shy. “Please, fuck me, Ghost.”
The petty act of rebellion went unmentioned as the soldier clung onto you again, kissing you deeply and excitedly. As if one more moment of your little back and forth would’ve broken him, and the thought sent more thrills down to your gut.
You felt him move your left leg, hoisting it up to his hip, and you curled it instinctively around his waist. The thrum of blood in your ears and the anticipation made you cling to his back, hopefully leaving your fingernail marks on his back. He guided his cock to your entrance and you could feel the tip brushing against your folds, making you buck forward into him.
He pushed in and sank inside you with a single thrust, gripping your hips as he did. Your back pushed off the wall, arching into him and scratching at his exposed back. You heard him hiss through clenched teeth as he seemingly waited for you to adjust or for his own mind to stop racing. He was thick and warm and not like anyone you’d been with before. You felt him hit that spot inside you that had stars dazzling your black vision.
He thrusts into you slowly, but the way he sucks in his breaths against your collar, he’s holding back. But that’s not what either of you want.
Your fingers thumb through his hair, “More, more. I can handle it. Just please give me more.”
“Fuck,” he growls. His hand squeezes your thigh hard enough to leave a mark. His hips assume a rougher and faster pace that has the wall digging into your back painfully, but you don’t care. It’s what a fucking Ghost would be like. Rough and aggressive and taking the air right out of your lungs. Your body tenses and you feel yourself clench around him and slam your head back into the wall to keep yourself from crying out any more. “Don’t. Don’t do that. Want to hear you.”
His fingers return to your clit to slowly rub the bundle of nerves there and his cock is throbbing hotter than hell inside you, hitting that sensitive spot over and over again. His precision, like with all things he does, is breathtaking and terrifying. You’re overwhelmed by the multitude of sensations your brain has to shift through. He’s rubbing tight circles over your clit and pounding into you with such force and precision that it curls your toes. You do as he directs and let every sinful and lustful sound known to man out from your lips and cling to him as he thrusts upward to reach a new height.
You try desperately to keep up with the pace he has set and do more than just cling to him and claw at his back. The sound of your bodies slapping together and how wet you are would have made you curl into yourself in embarrassment, but it’s such an erratic experience. You roll your hips up and down, trying to do something. His encouragement, a string of curses and praise, heats your blood up to dangerous degrees and the power trip it’s giving you is one you doubt you’ll recover from.
“Fuck, atta girl,” he grunts, his voice cut up by his own moans and breathy noises. “Go ahead. Do it. Cum with me. I’m right there with you.”
His words are enough to shove you just over that cliff and into the nothingness below. You clench around him, with your fingernails drawing blood, and he continues to rock you through your build up. The kiss to your scar is the catalyst that triggers the blinding light behind your eyes and nearly has you screaming into the night, bringing your body to a new plane of reality. You feel the aftermath of both of your releases and slump forward into his waiting arms.
You feel a kiss on your temple as Simon pulls away from your clit and doesn’t torture you with more touches. “I’ve got you.” His voice is gravely and sinful and your whole body shivers from just the sound, but the truth is there; he will take care of you. You hear him rustle around, presumably for his mask, and wait patiently with your eyes still closed and most of your body weight still on top of him. “You’re clear.”
Your eyes flutter open, and your cheek is pressed against his pen. His skin shined with a thin sheen of sweat, but you felt too exhausted to pull away. You can see a few month old scars right below your nose on his chest. His eyes, that are normally half lidded in boredom or disinterest, are now lidded with pleasure and sleep. He looks proud if you had to guess. You swear you can see the smirk outlines under the mask. There’s the sensation of being cleaned in what might have regularly been sexual but, instead, filled you with feelings of domesticity. You brush him off when he attempts to hand you your clothes back, reaffirming that you and your shaky legs were not completely incapable of dress. You pretend not to notice his eyes follow your ass as you leaned down to grab your clothes.
And you pretended not to notice that he had pocketed your underwear.