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At first, Simon had not been keen on the idea of hooking up with you; Sure, while Ghost had to admit there was a certain allure to the newest recruit being a very capable, mouthy and feisty little thing such as yourself- There was very little reason to tread over the delicate line of teammate and devastate the state of order of Task Force 141. Don’t get it mixed up, He’s a healthy man with healthy male tendencies- he’s definitely thought about what your lips would look like when they weren't whispering on your radios; He’s no stranger to late-night visions of you stripped down, uncovered by military-issued tacticals. However, the consequences of even entertaining such an idea would result in a stern lecture from Price and an overload of policy reviews over fraternisation that Simon frankly doesn’t think he has the patience for. He reckons the cons of engaging in such frivolous carnal fantasies seem to outweigh the pleasure he’d really get from it.
It’s not until he watches the way you squirm in response to Soap’s flirtatious throwaways, or the way your breath catches when Gaz recalls a raunchy rendezvous he’s had on leave, that he reconsiders his position. That usual bravado and confidence that seems to naturally ooze out of you is nonexistent at any moment one of the lads brings up any nature or evidence of sexual experience. It irks him. Fascinates him. Today in particular, it’s easy to shift his focus to examining you, analysing your little tell-tale signs of shyness as you’re all lounging in the common space of their current basecamp. A mission had gone well enough for a calm debrief and a comfy game of cards, and it takes less than an hour for each round to be punctuated with hormonal testosterone-fueled bouts of gloating over each other’s sex lives. So, as he eyes the way your lips seem to zip up and the rosy tint of your cheeks gives away your flustered thoughts, he can’t help but push the line when given the chance- just to study your usually measured reaction:
“Not one for a cheap fuck, sweetheart?” Simon’s accent amplifies the teasing tone of the pet name, and he nearly croons when he watches your lips purse and your eyebrows twitch with slight nervousness. Soap had been regaling tales of one-night stands gone awry, and Ghost couldn’t stop analysing the fidgety energy that suddenly consumed you; it was too easy to test how awkward you could get.
“Don’t tend to sleep with the slop, is all.” You try to brush off the comment, but the way you murmur it under your breath digs you deeper into the kind of talk that the group usually reserves for when you’re much less sober.
“Nothing wrong with wanting to get laid, Bonnie! You’re human enough!” Soap cackles out, You give him a light thwack but Ghost notes the slight shake in your shoulders. You defend yourself, trying to act all passive about it. Excuses fall out of your mouth like a rehearsed performance: No interest, Job makes it hard, Waiting for the right one- each one of the half-baked examples gets less and less convincing. When you're in the midst of bickering with Gaz about the philosophy of getting someone’s number, Simon zeroes in on your next excuse with strange laser-focused curiosity:
“They all disappoint.”
That one ticks in his brain. Stews in it, sticks and lingers like smoke caught in a small room that fogs up every thought he has of you. Even a week later, he keeps coming back to it, the thought of you being unsatisfied. A pretty thing like you who would no doubt have little trouble in bedding any man with a pulse, wasted and left unhappy enough to start getting nervous and pathetically antsy at the very idea of sex. Besides his baseline attraction (something he’s already decided to lock up and not poke when you joined the team) It’s partial irritation at this blatant detail that has him suddenly deciding to push the boundary with you. Whether conscious of it or not, his mind proceeds to prioritise making you blush after this confession of your. Tempting you into innuendos and dirty jokes just to psycho analyse your expressions. While the others don’t seem to pick up on Ghost's sudden uptick of quick-witted, sexually-charged quips, it doesn’t escape your notice. It all comes to a head when a dirty joke aimed directly at you mid-mission over the comms has you nearly faltering on a particularly important shot. You corner him alone the moment there’s downtime- singling him out as he’s walking to one of the combatives rooms.
“What the FUCK is your problem recently?!” You snarl it, exasperated and done- you had to sit through a minor telling off from Price just minutes early for a lack of focus, and Ghost just happened to have slipped out of that bit of the debrief conveniently.
“No idea what you mean darling.” He remains impassive. Behind his mask, he wears a shit-eating grin that you can’t see as you stare up at him, flabbergasted.
“You know what I mean. The jokes.” You stumble through the accusation, suddenly aware of how ridiculous you must look trying to intimidate a man twice your size, “It’s bad enough from Soap and Gaz, but now you’re taking a real piss-.” You poke at him, and Ghost can’t help himself in grabbing your tiny wrist- all too pleased at how your eyes widen, and you immediately lose track of your sentence.
“All just banter. Too easy to rile you up.” He says it plainly, not even hiding the fact that he enjoys your struggle. You huff out in frustration, your eyes darting to focus on his, narrowing and suspicious.
“I’m not easy to rile up.” You pout with angry brows, and Ghost can’t help but keep that mental image of your poor attempt to defend yourself in his mental library for later.
“Ye, you are. Could use it against ya in an interrogation. Acting like a right bloody virgin darling.” He leans down, dropping your wrist and practically hums it in your face. The blush on your face has him feeling more victorious.
“I-! What?! I am not a virgin, excuse you!” You bite back quickly and are much too sensitive about it all. He almost laughs openly at how ruffled you are. You try to build your case; you mutter on about various partners and relationships of days gone by, and Simon just nods and tilts his head, not convinced whatsoever. He’s only half listening. “...and besides, who cares about sleeping around anyway? They all just-”
“Disappoint?” He throws back at you your plain excuse from ages ago. Your voice stops, and you snap your eyes to the floor, where his boots barely touch yours. When did you two get so close? When did the air get so tense and thick with this strange feeling of being perceived? You nod, and after a solid three awkward seconds of no reaction, the tall soldier tuts and goes to lay a palm on the top of your head as if petting a cranky kitten.
“Hmm. Sounds like you’re the issue then, sweetheart.” He purrs it mockingly, and it has your mouth agape.
“As if you’d know!”
-
He’s not really sure what happened in the blur between you confronting him in the hallway and now, which is having you pinned down in his private quarters, struggling to hide your arousal as he’s buried himself into the crook of your neck. Hands had flown needily and quickly, and he vaguely remembers you challenging him to make good on his word about showing you a good time. He supposes how he’s gotten here doesn’t really matter- no, it really doesn't when you look so pretty and far gone already as he’s pushing your shirt up and helping you unclip your bra.
“M’ Make sure you ain’t gonnae regret this luv.” He whispers into your ear as he roughly paws at your trousers- pulling them off you as if on a time limit. You barely say a word- whimpering a simple hmph as you let him manhandle you. You look beyond your usual embarrassment, and Simon loves how cute and ridiculously shy you’re acting- a woman who's murdered and killed without hesitation, so pliant and on edge by his grip. His large hands go to smooth into your hips, rubbing circles on them with his thumb as he dives deep to kiss your protruding nipples. He kisses and caresses you with a little too much adoration for someone who's just trying to prove a point; neither of you comments on it.
It feels feral and deranged, how precise and rehearsed he is at undoing his belt and shifting to prep you; His fingers blunt and big, pulling sweet noises out of you as they dip into your folds with refined practice. Your legs quiver and shake as he plays with your clit, eyes darkened as they stare, watching your face morph into pleasure at every flick of his fingers. As he witnesses the bud of your nerves plump and hears the tell-tale pants of a woman on the edge of overstimulation. He has to bite his tongue and choose his words:
“That’s it, love, feels good, right?” He coos it, checks you, gauging how to push more of your lovely spots and make you leak into his palm. “Keep clenching, you’re so tight- gotta get you ready for me.” His confidence in full swing worsens when he hears your sweet moans, and he has to stifle his own amused huff of awe at the way you slicken up so perfectly in response to his voice.
“You like that? My voice turn ya on?” He asks it, but needs no answer as he feels your warm walls press against his fingertips and feels your tits on his chest as you try to get closer to him. “Absolute slag. Getting off on this.” His hand pushes on, fingers squelching as they pump steadily. He feels uncharacteristically chatty- vocal with the only intent to drive your arousal to match his own.
“It’s alright, darling. I’ll get you nice and fucked- I don’t disappoint.” His other hand goes to snake down to his own pants. Pulling out his cock, he revels in the way you double-take watching him; his dick is big and hard, and fuck, it’s leaking all shiny and ready with precum. “Goannae talk you through it- don’t you worry, sweetheart.” He focuses on your bated breath and your moan of slight shock- He knows he’s a lot, and if you weren’t writhing and wet for it, you’d smack him for his cocky attitude. You are about to try and say something to knock off his boastful demenour but the way his tip lines and pushes on your entrance knocks the wind out of any response. It nudges at you, and Simon rearranges your position so that your legs are wrapped around his waist.
“Christ- gotta make sure you fit love. Starting slow-” His own words cut off as he pushes in. The slight pain melts into ecstasy as he fills you up nice and snug. Both of you struggle to catch a breath as he bottoms out and keeps rubbing those damned fingers into you in an attempt to soothe your needy and willing body. He swears under his breath when he attempts to move- it’s mind-numbing how good you feel, all tight and gooey, trying to fit all of him. He swears he can feel you struggling, and the way you can’t hide your stuttered moans has him careening into thoughts of how else he could defile you later. “Ah fuck- Doing so well, pretty girl.” He murmurs the words like a prayer into your skin as he starts thrusting harder and deeper; he wants you undone and dumb on his dick, needs to see it.
“You can take it, take it so well-” The rambling, low growl of his voice fills the room and has you in a haze of heady want. Simon preens and smothers himself further in the depravity of having you speechless and clenching on his girth. When he hits deeper in your depths with deadly aim, you near squeal, and it has him babbling reassurances as if trying to domesticate the little creature you’ve become in your heat for him. “That’s it. Good girl, good fucking girl…perfect little thing..” The noise of your combined wanton pleas of more and his grunts and praises has you both delirious, chasing the pleasure easily. It hits him suddenly, egged on by the way you go to scratch at his back and the broken way you say his name as you climax on his dick. His balls are heavy, and the imagined string inside of him keeping him from cumming too quickly snaps. He unloads a tremendously messy amount onto your body as he races to pull out in hasty panic, covering you up in the warm sticky puddle of him.
There’s very little said as you blush and try to cover your face; the post-sex clarity makes you fully aware of the perverse turn your relationship with your teammate has taken. Simon simply sighs and smirks, satisfied at how you look, and goes to slump down near you; he’s almost peeved at himself with how easily it was to get off with you- it almost worries him how easy it all felt to let himself enjoy it with you.
“Well, you’re definitely not the issue, sweetheart.”
You tell him to shut up.