Work Text:
The first time you joined Task Force 141 on a mission was a year ago, having been asked to be their aerial support. Unlike the regular formal introduction that happened where you would meet your new team and mission in a conference room, you had been introduced on the tarmac. You were just doing the final safety checks with the engineer when the 141 arrived.
You thanked your engineer before leaving to meet them. The only one you knew from previous collaborations was Captain Price. And it was Price who introduced you to everyone else. You tucked your helmet under your arm, catching it on the curve of your hip so you could have a free hand to shake with.
“Nice to see you again, Stitch,” He dipped his chin at you, before sweeping a hand at the pack of men behind him.
“Always a pleasure,” you gave him an easy smile.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, this is the 141,” he pointed to the first individual, “Soap”, his grasp was firm and as you shook his hand, and gave each other a curt nod. Then Price moved the next, “Gaz,” you did the same with him, he offered you a sweet smile and you couldn’t help a matching one from growing on your own face. The last soldier was more stoic than the rest, harder to read, “and Ghost. This isn’t everyone but it’s who will be on today's mission.”
When you met Ghost eyes you knew immediately he was dangerous. Extremely dangerous. You were thankful he was on your side. Thankful that you’d never have to come toe to toe with him. You took note of the fact that his eyes lingered on you too. Dark eyes roamed over you. Not in a heated lewd sense, but like a calculating predator. He was taking note of weaknesses and blind spots already. You wanted to wave a little white flag at him, marking yourself as an ally.
Just then your co-flyer, having previously focused on the manifests, joined in on the pleasantries.
“This is Dutch,” you knocked your shoulder against his, “The best gunner and partner a pilot could ask for.”
“How long have you guys been flying?” Gaz inquired, cocking his head to the side.
“Three years with this girl,” you threw a thumb over your shoulder to the aircraft behind you. It was an apache helicopter, one of the most advanced technologies all packed behind the painted green casing. The most exciting piece of equipment is the integrated helmet display, allowing either the pilot or gunner to slave the live footage of the chain gun to the helmet. It tracked an individual's head movement to provide an even more accurate aim.
The apache was one of the most dangerous helicopters in the sky and you got to pilot it. You almost cried when you got your placement after flight school. You did cry after your first flight.
Gaz let out a low whistle, “Is she treating you well?”
You nod, “As long as I give her proper aftercare.”
That first mission went smoothly, really smoothly.
The Apache was built on the premise of being agile and lethal, and with you and Dutch inside the cockpit, the aircraft was able to reach its full potential. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t show off for them just a little. Show them who you acquired your callsign, Stitch. Bobbing and weaving around bullets and missiles. Threading between the terrain. Dutch provided firepower with unmatched aim. Dutch hammered the enemy with chain gun rounds, rockets, and HELLFIRE missiles. You’d also be lying if you said the elated cheering of the 141 over the radio didn’t boost your ego.
You had provided them with as much support as you could be having to RTB for fuel.
Every mission was no different from the first. All of them a success. And you couldn’t help the exciting you that hopped around in your chest every time you got assigned to the 141.
One of the reasons was that you had grown a certain affinity for one of the members.
Today’s mission was a little different. It started off with you being called to one of the conference rooms with Dutch right at your side. When you entered the room and found out who you were meeting, you grinned.
“Hello, boys,” you immediately started searching the room for one person in particular, finding him seated at one of the tables. He had one arm resting on the table in front of him, and his head resting on his other fist. His eyes were already on you, slowly racking down your body. The heat behind his eyes made you feel good, made you want to ravish him right then and there.
The tension was there from the very beginning, and it only grew every time you saw him next. You could feel it swell and surge between you guys, and you were damn sure he could too. Neither of you had acted on it though. Mostly because of the conflict of interest. Partly because the chase was fun.
His gaze met yours, heavy-lidded with filthy vehemence.
Some flighty and skittish part of you taking the reins and you had to look somewhere else. Anywhere else. You landed on the table he was sitting at, littered with maps, pictures, and documents. You slapped down on that piece of yourself, cursing at it. He made you nervous and loathed him for it. No man has ever made you nervous.
“What’s on the itinerary for today?” your voice came out a little higher than it usually did. You shifted a document over to get a better look at the map. Price ran through the plan, briefing you and Dutch on your roles.
The flight started off as expected, being called into action when the 141 had difficulties shaking the enemy and were in a vehicle chase. Their ammo was running low and one of them was shot. The wound wasn’t mortal but apparently, he was hurtin’.
They were speeding down a desolate street of a deserted city when you reached them. You maneuvered your heli to hover behind a highrise, waiting until the enemy forces sped around the corner at the end of the street. When finally they did you rolled over into the middle of the street, hovering high in the air. Dutch fired away, taking out the forefront.
“Fuck yeah!” Soap yelled into the radio, and you could see him shoot a fist out the window of one of their trucks.
You shifted, barreling forward, adding pressure. This allowed Dutch to make a run with the chain gun as you flew overhead. You didn’t like the position but the highrise buildings on either side of the streets gave you no choice.
“Let me know when you guys see smoke!” you had to yell over the sound of Dutch’s bombardment and strafe. You dipped between two buildings and met the reflection of the apache in the windows. You gave Dutch a quick salute in said reflection to which he returned with his own, before repositioning to enter the battle further back. More space meant more time for reaction. You would support them for as long as you could, they just needed to get out of the intended location or when they lose the tail. Or when you get rid of them.
“Smoke!” Ghost shouted, warning us of the heat-seeking missile.
“Flares!” you counter. Inverting the aircraft you released flares. The maneuver was the only way to get them out and in front of you in time to counter the MPADS missiles. You swore, “That was too fucking close.”
Even Dutch seemed a little uneasy about it. You rightened yourselves, wanting to gain distance and height.
“Switching to helmet display,” you announced, joining Dutch in the shooting. The 141 raced underneath you, and you applied as much cover as you could manage before needing to refocus on piloting. Four blocks away were reinforcements for them. You could manage it, Dutch could manage it.
“RPG!”
You merely had to dodge these ones, leaning left then right as they blew past you.
Three blocks.
Two blocks.
Dutch signalled to you that he was out of HELLFIRE, and Missiles, “I got 50 rounds left in the chain gun,” he remarked, his voice calm and collected. One of the reasons you loved him as your gunman.
“We’re RTB, we’ve given you guys all we could,” I hailed down to the ground, pulling away.
“Thanks once again, CADAVER,” Price replied, calling you guys by your aircraft callsign, “See you two back home.”
“We’ll have dinner ready and on the table for you guys,” you said, already heading back.
“Sunday roast?” Soap joined in.
“It’s Thursday, Mate,” Ghost answered for us dryly. You couldn’t help but smile at the familiar exchange.
They were back on base an hour after you guys, and we met up for a quick and dirty debrief before being let off for dinner. You had purposefully chosen the seat beside Ghost during the debrief. He had also purposefully knocked his knee against yours underneath the table. The fleeting and seemingly innocent touch made you throw your other leg over the other and squeeze your thighs together.
Like always you dreaded the inevitable paperwork that you had to complete and hand in tomorrow. You had just finished it when an idea formed in your wicked thoughts.
With your action report in hand, you knocked on his door, plastering an innocent look on your face before opening the door. An expression of pleased confusion passed through his dark eyes, darker still when they dilated at the sight of you. He was still in his gear, only he was missing his weapons. You had strategically worn easy-to-remove clothes. An oversized sweater you’d stolen from the locker room(and nothing underneath you might add), and plain black leggings.
You waved the piece of paper in front of him, “I thought it would be a good idea to compare notes.”
You catch the ghost of a smile in his eyes, and he scanned the hallway before stepping aside to let you in, “Brilliant idea,” he shut the door behind him.
It was your first in his barracks, and if you hadn’t known any better you would have assumed the room was vacant. Apart from the paper and folders on the desk, the rest of the observable room was pristine.
Before answering the door he was probably working on the same report as you were. His writing was neat and tidy, a mixture between print and cursive. You examine the papers with a hum. He stayed a step back, he wanted to let you make the invitation before closing in.
“I hope you’re not gossiping about me in here,” you jest as you drag a finger down the page.
“Never,” he said, his voice low and serious, “I only ever say the most wonderful things about you.”
“Oh?” you tilted your head, your loose hair falling over your shoulder, “Like what?” You dared a glance back at him, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. There was the invitation he was looking for.
“How the team always feels safest when we have the infamous CADAVER watching over us. How professional and talented you are,” the emphasis he put on “professional”, wasn’t mocking, but a challenge. A disguised question.
Are you sure?
You bit down on your lip, “Mhm.”
He took a step closer, reaching to take your report from your hand and placing it on the desk in front of you. His other hand comes to plant itself on the wood beside your hip. You could smell him, like smoke and rain.
“How I’m finding it harder and harder to work alongside you,” you could feel his chest against your back. The bulletproof vest getting in the way of feeling the muscle and heat you knew to lay just beneath.
“Because all I think about is how good I could make you feel,” he reached his free hand around your hips, pulling you back into him, his fingers digging into the flesh. Your breath caught and you placed one hand on the desk for support, your other one reaching for his around your waist. Your fingers disappeared under his sleeve to wrap around his wrist. You don’t know why but there was a fleeting shock when you met warm skin. Maybe you were half expecting him to be an actual ghost, with cold lifeless skin.
“The sounds you’d make for me,” oh, he was arrogant, and it didn’t bother you one bit. No, his confidence and conviction made you hot, and your breaths came out in bursts. He drew you closer so you could feel his own response to the proximity, “How you’d crawl back to me and beg for more.”
Your eyes almost rolled into the back of your head and you leaned your head against his shoulder, “Ohmygod,” it came out more slurred than you had anticipated. You reached up to his masked face, tugging at it slightly, “Kiss me please, Ghost.”
“Go on,” he instructed.
“Tell me when,” you breathed as you twisted to pull up the mask, stopping at the bridge of his nose when he said. He let you take him in, the strong curve of his jaw, his full lips, and the…light spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks. You traced his jaw, fingers dancing across his skin. Lingering on the light scar above his lip.
“You’re beautiful,” it was barely a whisper, barely audible. But it was enough for him. His hand shot from the desk, wrapping around your jaw before crashing his lips against yours. The kiss was erratic and deprived. After a year of circling each other and building up the frustration and tension, it felt like this was it was your time kissing anyone. The sensation of his mouth on yours made you burn. His tongue swept the line of yours, to which you wantonly open for him. He delved in, tongue running along the roof of your mouth, your tongue. The action made you well aware of the fact that if he got between your legs he’d make you scream with pleasure. You moaned, and he caught the sound, sucking your lip, and teeth biting down. He trailed wet, openmouthed kisses across your cheek, down your jaw, and sucked bruises into the supple skin of your neck. You whimpered, and it must have been a little too loud because a hand came to cover your mouth.
“Unless you want to fill out an incident report tonight too, I suggest you use your inside voice,” he brought his mouth to your ear, his own pants fanning across your skin. You tugged at his vest, asking him to remove it. He removed his hand, “Say pretty please.”
“Please, Ghost,” you tugged again, “I need to feel you,” Lord knows you’ve already waited long enough.
He removed himself from you to unsnap it from his body with trained military ease, next was the black canvas jacket. The fabric of the black dry fit underneath was pulled tighter across his shoulders and chest. You were going to eat him alive. You were going to let him ruin you. You turned to face him fully and you hardly got the chance to reach out to him before he was over you again. His hands drove into your hair, around the back of your neck. Your hands ran across his chest, feeling hard muscle, the heat of him searing your palms. You travelled lower, untucking the shirt from his pants to gain access to his skin. Nails dug into his abdomen, leaving behind red lines. He hissed at the delicious pain.
Before you could register it, he was lifting you onto the desk and standing between your legs. He tugged you until you were flush with him, his hands securing you to him. You could feel his hard cock through the pants as it pressed into your stomach. You were in trouble. He was going to rip you apart.
“Don’t worry, I won’t put it in until I have you nice and ready,” he must have felt you tense at the realization. You met his gaze, then started to roll your hips against him. His eyes widened before he slammed them shut and faced the ceiling. He didn’t let you get any further though. His hand shot to your chest, pushing you back until you were laying on your back. His nimble finger pushes your sweater up and pulls your pants down to your ankles.
“Jesus fuck,” he croaked when he was met with your bare cunt. He pushed either leg to the side so he could have an interrupted view. His fingers grazed over you, and you jerked your hips up trying to meet his touch.
“Don’t tease me,” you mewl at him, half tempted to relieve the ache yourself.
All he could do was shake his head, eyes fixated on your arousal as it dripped down onto his desk. This time his fingers slide into your folds, coming to a halt at your clit. He made slow circles with his thumb. You gasped and had to bring the sleeve of your sweater to your mouth to bite so that you didn’t get too loud. He moved down and slid in two fingers, his brows furrowing in bliss as you greedily took him in. Your breasts tighten and you reach under your sweater to cup one and squeeze. His attention flicked to the activity and shoved the sweater higher so he could watch. The cold air was jarring, and your nipples hardened from both the temperature and arousal.
Then he pulled his fingers back a couple of inches before slowly guiding them back in. He switched between watching your face morph with ecstasy and your pussy, enthralled with both but not sure which one to choose. He found a slow, teasing pace. One that was going to drive you to tears if he kept it up.
“Faster,” you choked, trying to grind yourself on his hand but he stopped you with a stern grip on your hip. Yet he did as you asked, picking up speed and angling his hand so he could reach just a little deeper, and curving his fingers inside you. You couldn’t contain the moans anymore, and he seemed to have forgotten about the need to stay quiet. You started to shake as you neared your climax. You caught his expression, his lips parted and eyes glassy, you didn’t think he’d remember his name if you called to him. Your cunt tightened just as you started to cum.
He removed his fingers.
And dropped to his knees.
He looked up at you, his pupils were completely blown, and placed your thighs on either shoulder and brought his mouth to you. You sobbed, frustrated with the stolen orgasm and the new stimulation. You placed your hands on the back of his head and pushed him further in. His tongue was way better than his fingers, and when he dragged it up the length of your length you thanked him. He sucked and licked and tasted you. The filthy wet sounds as he ate you out filled the room. You were so sure that if someone pressed their ear to his door they’d be able to hear it too.
This time when you neared your orgasm you held him there, making sure he wasn’t going to pull away again. He groaned into you, and it was at just the right moment that the vibrations of it sent you spiralling.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you pant, tears pricking at your eyes. Your body went taut before it loosened. He stayed to lap you up. Placing chaste kissing on your clit. When he rose, he only wiped at the bottom of his chin to get rid of the cum dripping there so he could lick the rest of it from his lips. He leaned down to kiss you, allowing you a taste for yourself.
You were going to ignite, and the only thing keeping you from doing so was digging your nails into his back.
“Do you want more?” He asked, giving you an out should you have changed your mind. The thought of him going unrelieved after what he just did to you was absurd. You wanted him again and again and again.
“I want all of you.”
He pulled away only to remove his shirt and undo his pants. His cock was hard, and you could see it pulse. He wrapped a hand around the middle, his thumb gliding over the head.
“I’m on the pill. And Im clean,” you babbled. You wanted to feel him, without any barriers.
“Are you sure?” he eyed you, “I have-”
“Yes.”
He didn’t waste any more time. He tapped the head of his cock against you, sliding his length into your folds, collecting the slick there. He rocked back and forth, holding himself against you with a thumb, “Shit.”
“Fuck me. As hard as you need to,” he said before picking you up and sitting back into the chair behind him with you straddling his lap. He rested his hands on either hip; not to control or take charge but just because he wanted to touch you. Feel you in his arms.
You swallowed as you guided him in, pausing at the head to adjust. Relax. If he hadn’t taken the time to warm you up, you would have shot right off him. The slight burn and stretch as you sank down onto him forced a cross between a squeak and a moan. You wished you could have captured his reaction on tape. His breath quivered, and he leaned his forehead on your shoulder. The both of you had thin coats of sweat on your hot, sensitive skin. Everywhere he touched you it felt like he brought with him flashes of lightning.
“Just like that,” he grounded, tilting to the side to get a better look at where you connected. When you made the first rise and plunged back onto him, he nearly whimpered. You pulled back slightly, gauging his appearance before continuing.
“I’m good,” he half laughed before tilting his head back and exposing his throat to you, “You’re just bloody tight.”
“Well, you’re big,” you retorted, lifting yourself up and back down.
“Mmm,” he shot you a conceited smile.
So, he liked the occasional praise.
You braced your arms on his shoulders, fingers dipping under his mask so you could grip at his hair underneath. You dragged a tongue up the column of this throat, the salt taste of sweat, and nipped at his jaw, “And so fucking hard.”
His hips jerked up, meeting you on your descent. Hard. Lightening shot up your spin, and stars blocked your vision. Your pace picked up, chasing that pleasure. Riding him like it was the only thing keeping you alive. You racked your nails down the front of his chest, catching on his dog tags. Little red lines appeared. The desire to carve your name into his chest surfaced. You settled for your initials.
He hissed at the mixture of pain and pleasure. His cock twitched inside of you, “Atta girl, mark me as yours.”
You rocked your hips against him, the muscles of his stomach providing extra stimulation against your clit. It left a trail of slickness and you would make damn sure licked him clean after.
His groans turned into hot desperate whimpers, and his grip forced himself up and impossibly deeper. You squeezed around him.
“Good-” he choked, pulling you in to rest his forehead on yours, “Cum for me, baby.”
You did as you were told, your body convulsing and shuddering. You could feel it drip out of and onto him.
He followed, fast and hard. You could feel him pulsating as his seed painted your walls white. It was hot and… a lot. He was leaking out of you and he was still inside you.
You stayed like that for a couple of minutes. Catching your breath. Collecting your mind.
“You think,” you paused, “you think they heard?” you asked, his team wasn’t far. They were either in their own room or congregated in the common area. Which was just down the hall.
He pulled back, eyes searching your face, “Umm, yeah. You’re loud.”
You faked an insulted gasp, “You’re loud.”
“No’m not,” he was. He wasn’t the silent type. You liked that. Liked it when your partners were vocal.
“Liar,” you lifted yourself off him, cum dripping out as you did so.
His chest seemed to puff out at the slight, pleased with his work.
“You think they’ll see me?” you tightened your pussy, to keep it from leaking onto his floor. You pointed to the clothes he’d tossed onto his bed and he tossed you your shirt and pants.
“They won’t say anything. There’s a shower in the bathroom,” he offered, you were just going to go back to your room and shower there, but it was a little risky. If the room smelt like sex, you did too. He followed you into the bathroom, flicking on the light, “Next time bring panties so you can walk around with my cum inside you,” he murmured as he watched. He pulled his mask back down over his face. At some point, he had pulled on some sweatpants.
“You’re dirty,” you said playfully, locking eyes with him in the reflection.
“Or better yet, we can fuck in your room so you won’t have to sneak back out.”
“You want to do the sneaking next time?” you tilted your head back to look up at him.
His eyes narrowed, “I’m really good at the sneaking.”
Because of his mask he wasn’t able to join in on the shower. But he did bend you over his backroom sink, holding your hands behind your back with one hand, and the other hand wrapped around your neck so he could make sure you watched as he fucked you from behind in the mirror.
It was an hour before curfew when you finally slipped out of his room. He almost didn’t let you, tried pulling you back in. When you stepped into the common rooms, Gaz, and Soap pretended to be really interested in the walls, carpet, and couch. Price was nowhere to be seen.
“The captain left a couple hours ago,” Gaz didn’t even look in your direction.
He left a couple hours ago because that's when it all started and if he couldn’t hear anything he didn’t know anything. If he didn’t know anything he couldn’t get mad at anything.
“Thank you,” you shoot back before very quickly exiting their barracks.