Work Text:
It's your first day in Task Force 141 and you had been placed under the supervision of Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley. That morning was suitable to go to the shooting range and teach you how to clean a gun. It seemed like an easy task until you saw the way your superior cleaned an empty magazine inside, inserting two fingers into it and moving them slowly, making your mind create all kinds of scenarios until his hoarse voice brought you out of those thoughts.
"Is something wrong, recruit?"
Like snapping out of a trance your gaze breaks from where his hands hold the gun and return to him.
"N-no, sorry" You say.
Ghost's eyes narrow slightly behind his skull mask, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. He sets down the magazine against the table between you. His gloved fingers drum once against the surface.
"Sorry doesn't cut it in the field, recruit. When I'm teaching you something, I expect your full attention." His voice is low, carrying that thick British accent that somehow makes everything sound more authoritative.
"Now, pick up that weapon and show me you were actually paying attention to what I just demonstrated."
He leans back against the edge of the table, arms crossing over his broad chest as he waists. The shooting range is otherwise empty, just the two of you in the echoing space. His dark eyes never leave you, watching for any hesitation or mistake.
"Yes, sir." You say picking up the gun. Your hands shake as you feel his judgement. Unfortunately, you were too distracted watching Ghost and mess up a step or two into the process.
Ghost's jaw tightens visibly beneath his mask as he watches your fumbling attempts. After a few seconds of watching you struggle, he pushes off from the table with a sharp exhale of frustration.
"Bloody hell," he mutters, moving behind you in two long strides. "This is basic maintenance, recruit. If you can't even manage this, you'll be useless in the field."
Without warning, his solid frame presses close behind you, his chest nearly touching your back. He reaches around, his large gloved hands covering yours on the weapon, forcibly guiding your movements with firm pressure. "Like this. Field strip it and release the magazine catch first." His breath is warm against your ear as he speaks, his voice dropping lower. "Focus. I won't repeat myself a third time."
His hands remain over yours, manipulating your fingers with practiced efficiency through each step. The sent of gunpowder, leather, and something distinctly masculine surrounds you as he looms behind you, leaving no space between your bodies.
Your breath hitches at the feeling of him against you. "Y-yes sir, I'm sorry." You say as you pick up the weapon trying again and doing it correctly.
Ghost remains pressed against your back even as you complete the task correctly this time, his hands still covering yours for a beat longer than necessary. Finally, he steps back, but only slightly, still close enough that you can feel his presence like a wall of heat behind you.
"Better." His voice is gruff, neither praise nor criticism, just acknowledgment. "Now do it again. Faster this time. In combat situations, you won't have the luxury of time to think through each step."
He circles around to your side, arms crossed again as he watches you with those calculating dark eyes. There's something unreadable in his gaze, perhaps noting how your breath had hitched, how your hands had trembled for reasons that had nothing to do with inexperience.
"Your hands are still shaking," he observes bluntly, reaching out to grip your wrist firmly, steadying it.
"Nervous, recruit? Or is there something else distracting you?" The question hands in the air between you, almost accusatory. His thumb presses against your pulse point, undoubtedly feeling how fast your heart is racing. You swallow hard at his touch, his voice, his presence.
"I'm sorry sir, you're just..." Your response dies in your throat as your eyes leave his.
Ghost's grip on your wrist tightens slightly, his thumb still pressed against your racing pulse. He takes a deliberate step closer, invading your space until you can see the fine details of his skull mask, the way his eyes have darkened with something predatory.
"I'm just... what?" his voice drops to a dangerous rumble, demanding you finish that sentence. "Choose your next words carefully, recruit. We have a chain of command here, and I'm your superior officer."
Despite the warning in his words, he doesn't release your wrist or step back. Instead, his free hand comes up to tilt your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact wit him.
"But I'm not blind. I saw where your eyes were wandering earlier. Saw how you watched my hands." His British accent thickens, each word deliberate and measured.
"So either you tell me what's got you so distracted, or we spend the rest of the morning running drills until you learn some bloody discipline." His masked face is inches from yours now, close enough that you can feel his warmth radiating from him despite all his tactical gear.
Your gaze breaks from his nervously. "Sir, with all due respect, you... are what is distracting me." You finally admit.
A low, dark chuckle rumbles from Ghost's chest, both approving and dangerous. His grip on your chin tightens, forcing your gaze back to his.
"With all due respect?" he repeats your words slowly with a hint of dark amusement.
"Interesting choice of phrasing, considering what you just admitted." His thumb traces along your jawline slowly, possessively.
"I should send you straight to Price for improper conduct. Have you reassigned before you become a liability to this team."
But he doesn't move away. Instead, he releases your chin only to plant both hands on the table behind you, effectively caging you in. His muscular frame towers over you, blocking out everything else.
"But maybe what you need isn't reassignment. Maybe you need someone to teach you discipline in other ways."
He leans in closer, his masked face nearly touching yours. "Tell me, recruit, are you going to be able to follow orders? Or are you going to keep getting distracted every time I'm near you?"
There's a challenge in his voice, testing you, pushing boundaries.
"Because if you can't control yourself, we're going to have a very different kind of training session."
Your eyes go wide at the fantasies flashing through my mind. "I will follow any order you have for me, sir. But I can't promise you won't distract me from time to time or that I won't need occasional special training from you."
Ghost's eyes darken with unmistakable intent behind his mask, a predatory gleam that sends a shiver down your spine. He shifts his weight, one hand sliding from the table to grip your hip, fingers digging in possessively through your tactical gear.
"Occasional special training?" His voice is barely above a growl now. "You don't get to make demands here, recruit. You don't get to tell me when you need discipline."
His other hand moves to the small of your back pulling you flush against him so you can feel every hard plane of his muscular body.
"I decide when. I decide how, Understood?"
"Yes, sir." You say back almost whispering.
He glances toward the door of the shooting range, then back to you.
"We've got this range reserved for another forty minutes. Plenty of time to see if you can follow orders without your mind wandering to places it shouldn't."
Ghost's hand slides from your hip down to your thigh, squeezing, a clear promise of what that 'discipline' might entail.
"Now, here's your first real order. Tell me exactly what you were thinking about when you were watching my hand earlier. Every. Single. Detail. And keep your voice low, these walls echo."
Your eyes widen at the declaration of how much time is left and at the demand. A soft blush covers your face as you debate telling him the truth. Finally, you gesture at him to come closer so you can whisper in his ear.
"I was thinking about how well you know how to fix that gun and then how fantastic your fingers would feel in my pussy. And then I was thinking how rough you would fuck me if I made a mistake or missed an order. Then I was thinking about how hot your bedroom voice would be when you were directing me to field strip my gun. And then I thought about ho much I would like to strip for you, nice and slow until you couldn't wait any longer for me to finish."
Ghost goes completely still as your whispered confessions pour into his ear, his breathing growing noticeably heavier with each word. When you finish, there's a moment of tense silence before his hand suddenly tightens on your thigh hard enough to leave marks even through your tactical pants.
"Fuck," he breathes out, the single word laced with barely restrained hunger.
"You've got a filthy mouth for a new recruit." His other hand slides up your spine to fist in your hair, tugging your head back so he can look into your eyes.
"And you've just earned yourself exactly what you've been fantasizing about."
In one swift movement, he spins you around and presses you face-fist against the table, his body covering yours form behind. His hips pin you in place as he leans down, his masked face beside your ear.
"Here's how this is going to work, you're going to be quiet. You're going to take everything I give you. And if you make too much noise, I stop. Clear?"
His gloved hands move to your tactical belt, working it open with practiced efficiency.
"This is what happens when you distract your commanding officer. You wanted to know how rough? You're about to find out."
You gasp as he flips you over and bends you over the table. "F-fuck, I promise I'll be quiet, sir."
Ghost's hand comes down hard on your ass with a sharp crack that echoes through the shooting range.
"That's already too much noise." he growls disapprovingly, though there's satisfaction in his tone.
"I said quiet, recruit. Next time you make a sound without permission, the punishment gets worse."
He yanks your pants and underwear down to your knees in one rough motion, exposing you completely to the cool air of the range. He slowly pulls of his gloves and trails a finger up the inside of your thigh with agonizing slowness, deliberately teasing.
"Look at you, already so eager. Bet you've been wet since the moment I touched you, haven't you?"
Without warning, two of his thick fingers push inside you, curling and stroking with the same methodical precision he'd used cleaning that magazine. His other hand presses firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned to the table.
"You wanted to know how my fingers feel? This is just the beginning."
He sets a demanding rhythm, his British accent thick with dark promise.
"Stay quiet and take it. Show me you can actually follow orders for once."
You so quietly let out a noise as his fingers enter you. "A-ah~"
You take one of your hands to cover your mouth quickly. Your body responds to his fingers immediately, pushing your hips back into him.
Ghost's fingers curl inside you with devastating precision, finding that spot that makes your legs tremble. He notices your hips moving back against him and suddenly stops completely, his fingers still buried deep but unmoving.
"Did I tell you to move?" His voice is steel, commanding and condescending.
"You don't set the pace here, recruit. I do." He withdraws his fingers slowly, torturously before delivering another sharp smack to your ass.
"Keep still or I'll tie you to this bloody table."
With his free hand, he reaches up to grip the back of your neck, holding you firmly in place. Then his fingers plunge back inside you, harder this time, more demanding. The wet sounds are obscene in the quiet range, mixing with your muffled whimpers against your palm.
"That's better. Good girl. Stay still just like that," he commands, his body pressed against yours from behind. You can feel the hard evidence of his arousal through his tactical pants as he works his fingers relentlessly.
"You're gripping my fingers so tight. So desperate."
His thumb finds your clit, circling it with calculated pressure.
"When I make you come, and I will, you're going to bite down on that hand and stay quiet. Understood? Answer me quietly."
So silently, you remove your hand. Gasping slightly at the feeling of him. "Y-yes sir," You force out.
The feeling of him is overwhelming as he touches you. Your eyes roll back and you try lifting your head slightly. You feel your legs go weak in his touch.
Ghost's hand on your neck tightens in response. "I said stay still," he snarls, his fingers never ceasing their relentless rhythm inside you
"You don't get to move unless I allow it. Every part of you belongs to me right now."
He can feel you trembling, your legs weaking, so he shifts his stance, pressing his thigh between yours to support your weight while still maintaining complete control. His fingers pump harder, faster, the slick sounds of your arousal growing louder despite your attempts at silence.
"You're close already, aren't you?" his voice is dark with satisfaction and command.
"I can feel you clenching around my fingers. Your body's begging for it even if you're trying to keep quiet."
His thumb increase pressure on your clit, circling in tight, deliberate patterns.
"Go on then, recruit. Come for your lieutenant. But remember, one sound too loud and everyone in this building will know what a desperate little thing you are."
He leans down, his masked face against your ear.
"Show me that discipline you promised. Come quietly like a good soldier."
You whimper hard but into your hand, biting down on it desperately to keep quiet as your release slams through you. Waves of pleasure hit you.
Ghost works you through every tremor and pulse of your orgasm, his fingers maintaining their rhythm until your body stops shuddering. Only then does he slowly withdraw them, bringing his hand up to where you can see the evidence of your release on his hand.
"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice rough with approval and barely contained need.
"You actually managed to follow an order for once."
He releases your neck, allowing you to catch your breath, but doesn't step back. Instead, his hands move to his own belt, the metallic clink un mistakable in the quiet range.
"But we're not finished. Not even close." his voice drops lower, more dangerous.
"You said you wanted to know how rough I'd fuck you if you made mistakes. Well, you made plenty during weapons training."
The sound of his zipper follows and you feel him pressing against your entrance, thick and demanding.
"You've got two choices, recruit. Either we stop now and you spend the rest of your deployment wondering what it would've been like..." he pauses, his tip teasing against your sensitive flesh.
"Or you stay bent over this table and let me show you exactly what happens when you distract your commanding officer. Which is it?"
You moan into your hand at his words, and the feeling of his tip around you. You carefully move your hand, creating strings of spit from your hand to your mouth. With a quiet rasp, you speak. "Fuck me, Lieutenant."
Ghost's grip on your hips becomes bruising as a low dangerous growl rumbles from his chest. Without any further warning, he slams into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. His size stretches you almost painfully, filling you completely. He gives you a moment to adjust before pulling back and driving in again.
"You better keep that hand over your mouth, because I'm not holding back."
True to his word, he sets a punishing pace. Deep, hard strokes make the metal table scrape against the floor with each thrust. One hand grips your hip while the other wraps around to cover the hand over your mouth, adding his own pressure to ensure your silence.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" his voice is ragged now, control fraying at the edges. "To be bent over and fucked like you deserve. TO have me use you until you can barely walk straight tomorrow during drills."
He angles his hips, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes, while his other hand snakes around to find your oversensitive clit again.
"You're going to come for me again, recruit. And you're going to do it quietly." he huffs as he continues his brutal pace.
You move with him, your other hand gripping the edge of the table hard as he slams into you. Barely through your hand and his, he can hear you moaning slightly. You moan loudly into your hand as you finally go over the edge, your walls pulsing around him as you rock through the waves of your second orgasm.
Ghost feels you clenching around him, your walls pulsing. The sensation nearly undoes him, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he regains control. his hand presses harder over yours, muffling your moans against his palm.
"Fuck, that's it, good" he groans roughly, his voice strained as he chases his own release. His thrusts become more erratic, more desperate, the sound of flesh meeting flesh obscenely loud in the empty range.
"You feel too fucking good. Taking me-" he grunts, "so well."
His fingers dig into your hip hard enough to bruise as he slams into you one, two, three more times before his body goes rigid. With a muffled curse against your shoulder, he buries himself deep and spills inside you, his cock twitching as he fills you completely. His breath comes in harsh pants against your nek, the skull mask rough against your skin.
For several long moments, he stays pressed against you, both of you trembling from the intensity. Finally, he slowly withdraws, the hand on your lower back, steadying you as your legs threaten to give out.
"Christ," he mutters, his voice hoarse.
"That was... fucking hell." he quickly adjusts himself, tucking back in to his pants with military efficiency before helping pull your clothes back into place with surprisingly gentle hands.
"Perhaps these occasional special trainings are necessary, that is if you continue to get distracted, recruit." He says, turning to pick up the gun.
"Field strip it again." he commands.