Yikes™

Retaliation came in the form of distance first. Burning, singeing looks from across from boardroom debriefs and crowded circle planning groups. She was there; eyes almost lighting fire to his clothes with lust-filled stares. It was hard for him to miss, hard for him to ignore her eyes dragging over him slowly as if she had every intention of stripping him down within her mind and taking him apart. She made the conscious decision to meet his eyes at times, intent on seeing if her handiwork had any effect and each encounter he saw that her gaze had the same wolfish grin buried underneath faux innocence.

Next was fleeting touches. Finally electing to close the space she’d set between them, [Y/n] had started small and it all began with forgoing her usual gloves. Her bare hands would find their way to his forearm on the days he had his sleeves rolled up, fingers slowly traveling, trailing up and down the visible skin there in almost absentminded thought. It always ended the same, always with her hand floating gently through his palm and her thumb running along his knuckles before fluttering out of his grip as if nothing happened, as if she hadn’t just touched him out of nowhere in the midst of a conversation. 

The touches get less innocent as the days drag, as she moves on from gentle and fleeting, damn near loving touches, into something altogether more wicked. The heat of her palm finds its way to the inside of his thighs anytime she’s sat next to him, which these days seems to be every damn chance she gets. It always starts out slow, her thumb rubbing slow, tender circles on the outside of his knee beneath the table, in a manner that could be considered comforting if Ghost hadn’t known much better. Yet, he does. He knows entirely all too well that this is just where the game is beginning, where the torture really starts. Her hand drags it’s way limply up his thigh only gaining a slight grip as her ring and middle fingers trace broken shapes along the inside of his thigh as they begin their ascent higher. And just when she’s close, so close that her pinky is barely skimming along the crotch of his heavy cargo pants, she descends back down to his knee to start the process all over again. Spider relents sometimes, opting to continue her journey up to grasp at his clothed cock to feel his legs widen slightly and his breath hitch under her brief touch. Her eyes dart to him quickly then, hoping to catch the trace of arousal in his eyes as he glares down at her when her hand trails its way leisurely back down.

It’s not without reprimand though, because he grabs her wrist one day when the meeting has ended in a silent demand for her to stay. So she relents, batting her eyes up at him as his fingers wrap around her wrist with a strength that could break it without proper restraint. A small reminder of his dominance and their size difference, before releasing her. 

Spider is quick to feign her innocence in front of Ghost, blinking up at him shyly behind soft, lust blown eyes. “Something the matter, sir?” It’s almost hard to miss the devious smile in her voice, and it’s times like this Ghost wishes he could see her face because something about the glint in her eyes and the tone of her voice makes him certain she’s chewing on her lip in an effort to keep an amused smile at bay.

“So it’s voyeurism that does it for you as well, not just praising yourself.” Completely ignoring her previous question, Ghost’s voice is rough, heavy with lust and accusation when he speaks to her.

“Yes. I also get off on knowing that you’ll come crawling to me when you’ve had enough. I’m wagering it’ll be a pretty sight.”

“How do you know I won’t just do something about it myself?”

“Because if you were going to, you would’ve done it by now.” And she’s right, he could have already found some other way for release, but he’s holding out for her; because to give in to the pleasure himself would mean that he’s lost, and he refuses to be his own achilles heel. “I’m not one to crumble quickly, Lieutenant. I hope you aren’t either.” 

“I know of an experience that says otherwise.”

“Dig your hole deeper, sir. It’ll just be more of a pleasure watching you eat your words later.” Her tone has started to take on a taunting edge, much like the one he used with her on the roof so many weeks ago.

“Which word’s would you be referring to?”

“I believe they were ‘Doubt that’ in reference to my declaration that I would be getting back at you for leaving me high and dry. That is, if my memory serves me right.”

“High, maybe, but dry? Definitely not. Are you trying to prove something with this little venture of yours?” He questions her as if the conversation had been boring him, but his burning stare was betraying his facade of disinterest.

“Prove?” She shakes her head as if his idea was completely ludacris, “No. No, see this isn’t about proving anything, I already know what I’m capable of. It's about retaliation. Punishment. It’s about the things you’re going to want to give me in due time.”

“And what does your vengeful heart seek from me ‘in due time’?”

“I want to see you trembling for me.” She shrugs loosely and her hands move in incredulous thought as she adds, “And I believe you still owe me something, but all good things come to those who wait and I do enjoy playing the long game.”

“Come again?” Ghost’s mind is still chasing the high of the first thing she’d said, reeling at the thought that she is actually going to try and get the best of him.

“Don’t worry,” She soothes facetiously, “You might get the chance to. If, of course, I’m feeling particularly kind, but,” She intercedes her own sentence to raise her finger to tap lightly where her lips were beneath her mask, “I don’t consider myself a very merciful woman, Lieutenant.” With that, she lifts herself almost victoriously from her seat, counting this conversation as a win for her and begins making her way to the door before stopping and turning back to face Ghost, adding one final nail to the coffin, “Do come find me when you’re ready to admit defeat.”

The final straw, however, was the intentional attention she gave Soap to increase the tethering string of tension between Ghost and herself through jealousy. Anything she could do to get a rise from him was fair game. Any lingering, passing touch or innuendo thrown between Spider and Soap was pushed a bit far with the intention of making Ghost’s spine burn with jealousy and anger, as he further sat with the consequences of her ‘long game’. 

There had always been something just fizzling below the surface when it came to Spider and Soap, however no one knew exactly what it was. It had taken Laswell witnessing a single interaction between the two before she pulled Price over to ask him what exactly was going on between them. However, no matter who or how many times they were asked, the answer always remained the same from both of them, ‘Soap/Spider’s just my friend’ or even ‘We just get along really well.’; regardless if some of their actions and the words that flowed between them were teetering on far from just friendly.

Ghost had first found them outside of a plane hangar sitting with Price watching as the planes took off in the distance, only the way they were sitting had him bristling with wanton anger. Spider had been sitting on a chair, one that she’d no doubt dragged out from the hangar but Soap was sitting on the ground in front of her, leaning back into the space of her parted legs. To make matters worse, one of Spider’s thighs had been thrown over Soap’s shoulder and every so often, when she was looking over at Price talking, Soap would lightly smack at the leg on his shoulder to get her attention when a plane was getting ready to depart.

Then he had found them at lunch, a plate sitting on the table in front of them but only Soap was eating out of it. Spider, however, just sat there with her legs straddling the seat beside him and her hand on the back of his neck, fingers looping and twisting and untwisting the chain of his dog tags absentmindedly as they spoke.

Then it was an all too playful disagreement over the outcome of a card game, leaving them in a stand-off mere inches away from each other. Soap had claimed that Spider was cheating, hiding cards up her sleeves or in her mask or somewhere he couldn’t see, taking them out and swapping them when he wasn’t looking. Spider claimed she had no reason to cheat when Soap was this easy to beat at cards to start with. The banter thrown between them in the following moments was tethering the edge of an unresolved tension.

“Spider,” Soap had goaded, “the last person that looked at me like that, I got laid.” And Spider had laughed back in response, laughed so earnestly that it caused her shoulders to shake with life and Ghost had wished he could see how her face scrunched up at the motion without her mask.

“Well, if we’re gonna stand this close we’ve only got two choices. Fighting or fucking, so we’d better decide now where this is heading.” She had joked back with Soap, jabbing a finger into his chest at the proclamation. His hand made a quick movement to catch her wrist and his grin overtook his face.

“Careful what you wish for.”

“Table looks sturdy enough to me.”

“Right in front of everyone? I never would have pinned you as the type.”

“What can I say?” She shrugs. “I like to put on a show.”

The final phase of Spider’s plan had people questioning their involvement together now more than ever and after a single joke made by Gaz on a particularly late night when both her and Soap were missing, Ghost decided to find her, inwardly debating on throwing in the white flag.

“You seen Johnny?” Ghost had called out to Gaz as he passed him in the hall, “Price is looking for him.”

“He’s with Spider, in her office. Careful though, they sound like they’re really going at it.”

The warning comes as genuinely no surprise when he nears the room because all he could hear was exasperated loud sighs and expletives. Yet when he opens the door he’s almost more surprised to see that they weren’t actually fucking in there at all but rather fighting. Spider’s head is thrown back in frustration for a second as her hands invade the space between where her and Soap stand in front of each other in the space behind the desk, flexing in irritation. 

“Windage, Soap! Windage!” Her voice is a groan of agitation at this point.

“We can’t account for windage if we don’t even know if it’ll be fucking windy!”

“It’s on the fucking coastline Soap, of course it’ll be fucking windy! I’m not saying account for it now, I’m saying be ready to account for it!” The tension in the room only seems to gather further as the two continue with their argument and angry pointing to the map and scattered papers on the desk. 

“Johnny, Price is asking for you.” And it’s funny for Ghost to watch as neither of them break eye contact, neither willing to admit defeat, even as they stand there with Spider’s masked face craned back and Soap’s tilted down to account for the height difference. “Now.” Ghost commands when Soap makes no movements to leave.

“This isn’t over.” Soap remarks as he backs away from [Y/n] to leave.

“Yes it is, cause I'm locking the door when you leave. If you come back, you can argue with the fucking door instead.” 

Releasing a heavy sigh, Spider turns back to her side behind the desk, placing her palms down flat on it as she leans over looking over schematics in front of her. Ghost makes his move into the room and shuts the door behind him.

“I’m serious, lock the door.” She drawls, “If he comes back I’m putting him through that fucking wall out there.”

So he does, twisting the lock on the door handle, before he journeys into the room over to where she's standing.

“Soap ever won an argument between you two?” Ghost asks absent-mindedly as he takes a seat in the leather chair a bit to her left behind her.

“I’d rather gargle sand than lose.” She mumbles back, her eyes never breaking from the work in front of her.

“I’m not surprised.” He countered bemusedly. 

“It’s one of my less redeeming qualities.”

“How so?” Ghost’s inquiry comes with the addition of his hand finding purchase on the interior of her thigh, his thumb tracing back and forth on the space right below her ass. 

“Not knowing when to admit defeat isn’t a virtue, it’s a fault.” Her voice stays level, almost taking on a bored tone as she answers his questions while retaining her full focus on the calculations in front of her. “Have you come to admit defeat?” She ponders and Ghost hums back in thought.

“I came to find Soap.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

“Yes it does. I just told you why I’m here.”

“You always deliver news like this to your soldiers then?” She asks, referring to his hand holding onto the inside of her thigh. “I’m gonna be a little jealous if Soap is getting the same treatment as me.”

“The only way he’s getting it, is if it’s from you.”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your voice, L.T?”

The air between them fills with silence for a few minutes, with the exception of the sounds of scribbling coming from Spider’s relentless writing. And Ghost uses this time to run his hand up from its spot on her thigh, over the curve of her ass and delve under the fabric of her black hoodie before resting on the bare skin of her lower back.

“I’m gonna gouge my fucking eyes out. I’m going wrong somewhere with these plans.” [Y/n] sighs as she turns around, Ghost’s hand follows the motion sliding from her back to grasp at her waist and then trailing down her legs to rest on her knee when Spider braces on the desk and lifts herself to sit on it as she looks down at Ghost. 

“It’ll be hard being my best sniper when you have no eyes.”

“I’ll figure something out,” her feet lift to brace on the arms of the chair Ghost occupies and his hands move to capture her ankles, “I’m resourceful like that.”

“Resourceful enough to get new eyes?”

“Stranger things have happened.” She’s lost in pensive thought, no doubt still thinking of the figures and plans she’d been working on for hours with Soap, unable to let them best her in her mind. But after a few seconds she sighs out, closing her eyes as she leans back to brace her hands behind her on the desk and when she opens them back to lock eyes with Ghost, there’s something entirely different there. Something dastardly and beyond devious. She sits firmly atop the desk, confidence and something akin to dominance oozing from her posture.

“You didn’t come all the way down here just to come find Soap.”

“Yeah? What makes you think that?”

“Walkie-Talkies.” She states matter-of-factly. “You could’ve radioed on the talkies and told me to send Soap to Price. But you didn’t. My guess is because you wanted to see me.” [Y/n]’s head cocks to the side in mock thought, “Unless I’m wrong. If so feel free to correct me sir, but something tells me we both know I’m right.”

“Something tells me you get off on being right.”

“You seem to think about what gets me off quite often these days. I must keep you awake at night with how frequently you think of me with my hands between my thighs.”

“You’re giving yourself too much credit, Sergeant.” Comes Ghost’s calculated reply. He’s trying to retain the upper hand he feels like he has in this circumstance but [Y/n] is quick to flip the power back to herself.

“Don’t play coy with me Simon, it doesn’t suit you.” [Y/n] teases, and a rush of air escapes Ghost’s lungs at the sound of his name rolling off her tongue for the first time. Spider’s eyes widened a fraction at that, humming out a satisfied noise at the effect she had with just one word. “Getting a bit hot under the collar now, are we?” It’s taunting, and the lilt in her voice is betraying just how amused she is, just how much she was enjoying this. “Is that what does it for you, L.T? Hearing your name?”

Ghost remains silent where he sits, hands still held tight around Spider’s ankles, “Nothing smart to say back?” She inquires at the silence, “Come on, I wanna hear why you’ve come to visit me at this late hour. I’m hoping that it’s for what I’m thinking it is.”

“I came down here with the intention of fucking you against this desk.”

“Hmm…” She ponders curiously, “that’s not quite what I wanted to hear, but regardless, do you really deserve that?” And the question rattles around Ghost’s brain as he realizes [Y/n] was using his own words against him. The same ones he uttered to her on the rooftop. “Because last I checked it’s not a punishment if you enjoy it.”

“What makes you think I won’t enjoy punishment?”

“Because you’re here. If you enjoyed it you wouldn’t be here right now. Besides, I did tell you to come find me when you’d had enough.”

“I can hold out longer than you think.”

“I bet you can, but are you sure you’ll want to?” Spider teased. Leaning forward, her hands left the table to grab at the bottom of her hoodie, pulling it up and over her head causing her dog tags to clank against her bra-clad chest after they escape the fabric. She extends one of her arms over, throwing the hoodie to the floor beside the desk, forgotten. Her left hand reaches backwards to brace herself back into her previous leaning position but her right hand reaches down to thoughtlessly undo her belt, sliding it out through the loops in a flash of motion and when that’s done her fingers pop the button on her cargo pants open. 

Ghost leans forward speculatively, dragging his hands up from her ankles to her calves, intent on a better view.

“Did you know that it’s actually rare for healthy adults to die from most venomous spider bites?” The sound of her zipper going down cuts through the tense air between them and [Y/n] makes show of letting the sides of it fall open. Ghost makes slow work of rising from the chair, eyes never leaving hers as he moves in closer to her, invading her space. The presence of his body causes her to widen her legs more to accommodate the size of him as he bares down around her and plants his hands beside her hips on the desk. “Neurotoxins from the spider’s venom enters the bloodstream and attacks the human nervous system causing side effects like dizziness, difficulty breathing, muscle rigidity, and blurred vision, but most people live. Do you know why?”

 “Why?” Ghost answers her as his hands come off the table to grab at her thighs intent on spreading them apart further before pulling her clothed core closer to his.

“Antivenom.” She breathes out as her legs hook over his waist in compliance. “Most people bitten by venomous spiders will immediately seek medical care, drastically increasing their chances of recovery. The people that don’t, however, tend to suffer. It almost seems like it’s human nature to be stubborn, wouldn’t you say?”

“Are you insinuating I’m stubborn?” He asks as he leans back, straightening his posture to create space between them so he can drag a hand across the plane of her bare stomach. 

“Absolutely.” Spider remarks grabbing at his belt loops to pull herself up, invading the space he had just created. Her head is craned back at an angle to peer up at him when she purrs, “Wouldn’t it just be so much easier to admit to me that you’re throwing in the towel? That you need me? All you have to do is ask me nicely for what you want.” Her hands move to make slight work of slowly trailing up his abdomen, sliding up leisurely to reach for the zipper of his jacket and pulling it down as if there was nothing in the world but time to waste. “I’ll accept any form of ‘I’m sorry’, ‘You win’, or even ‘Let me make it up to you’, it’s your choice really.”

“And if I chose none of the above?” He stutters out as her hands take hold of his belt, undoing the buckle and jerking the fabric of it quickly, effectively removing it from its spot on the loops and dropping it to the floor near them. There’s an intoxicating heat clouding his eyes and the presence of it has [Y/n]’s dominance wavering for a second. She wants him to push her flat against the desk and ruin her, but the teasing defiance bubbling up between the two of them is saturating the air too deliciously for her to want to give in and she was yet to figure out if her pride was a virtue or a fault in this moment.

“Then remember, I like playing the long game.” She recounts as she pushes at his chest and slides off the desk, “I’ll just go see if Soap is busy.”

The movement that happens occurs so fast her head spins from the intensity of it and the moment she registers that she’s bent over the desk with Ghost pressing a large hand between her shoulder blades to keep her chest down on the wooden surface, she starts laughing.

“Something funny?”  

Spider’s laughter fizzles down into a giggle before breaking into a squeal when his free hand makes harsh contact with her ass. “When you don’t like the rules, you change the game, but I’m gonna win regardless.”

“I can always leave you ‘high and dry’ again. That doesn’t sound like a win.” He threatens. 

“If you wanna try that route, I can always hop back onto this desk, make you watch me get myself off, and then leave.”

“You’re bluffing, sweetheart.”

“If you wanna take that chance then be my guest.”

“Well, if you’re so intent on giving a show, then let me help you.” And his left hand snakes from her back to wrap around her neck and pull her up from the desk, pressing her firmly against his chest. 

“Is that your way of making it up to me?” Her voice teases low. Ghost only hums lowly in response and his right hand reaches for her’s, capturing and dwarfing it beneath the size of his own. He makes slow work in guiding their hands to rest upon [Y/n]’s stomach, leisurely trailing down the expanse of it until their overlapped pinkie’s lay at the edge of her panties.

He feels her shaky exhale rattle through her lungs and the deep swallow against the hand still on her throat in anticipation, “Easy,” he purrs, applying light pressure to her throat, “we're just getting started.”

There’s something delicious about the erotic feeling between the two of them as their hands breach the fabric of her panties and make their way down to her heat. Ghost’s forefinger guides [Y/n]’s to collect the wetness at her slit and bring it up to circle at her clit, and her reaction is immediate. Her back arches against his chest with an airy moan and her left hand comes up to grasp at the wrist he has planted firmly against her throat. They stay like this, fingers rubbing at her clit until sweat gathers on her skin and she can do nothing but pant and moan eagerly against him. And only when she begins to feel the heat begin to ignite in her tummy and electricity shoot up her spine, does he guide their hands down until their forefingers catch on her entrance before sinking in.

It’s a feeling that makes her tremble, breath catching and the fire burning on skin engulfs her as she calls out for him. Her mind is reeling, head spinning as she thinks about how he is guiding the two of their fingers inside of her, curling and plunging them in and out to catch the reaction in her breath, and in her body as she grinds down against their hands and his clothed erection behind her.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one trembling.” Ghost taunts, a smile playing at the edge of his panting voice.

“Y-your time will come.”

“Oh? Will it now?”

“Absolutely.” She moans, but it's quick to break into a whine at the addition of their middle fingers.

“We’ll see.” 

“It’s getting a bit hot in here, wouldn’t you say Simon?” [Y/n] heaves out breathlessly as she raises a shaky hand from off his wrist around her neck. It happens almost too fast for him to grasp, because one second her grip is tight around him and then the next it’s fleeting up to her face, sliding off her mask and throwing it down onto the desk in front of them. In a flurry of movement her hair tumbles out from the confines of the mask in a mess and she throws her head back to peer up at Ghost, a lust-filled, sly smile dancing on her face. “Much better.”

“F-fuck you.” He stutters out and his left hand moves up towards her chin, catching it and forcing her to tilt her head back further so he can see her face. The action causes her back to arch dangerously, pressing their fingers further into her and her ass to dig into cock.

“Fuck me? We-we’re not playing that game yet, but you may get the ch-chance if you keep being nice.” 

“Is that right?”

“Absolutely,” her word catches on a yelp when his hand presses hers down, causing the heel of her hand to dig into her clit, “I did say I’d let you have sex with me.” The reminder is met with him doubling the speed of their hands, intent on flinging her closer to her release as she feels her wetness drip down their hands and her head dizzy from the pleasure while the coil tightens in her stomach. 

“Please don’t stop this time… I’ll even beg if I have to.” Moans are biting through her panted words as she shakes in his hold and closes her eyes from the intensity burning through her pulsating core.

“Maybe later, but since you asked so nicely, I’ll let you have this one.”

Her head is fuzzy from his words, from the explosive static in the air, so when his hands make no move to stop, she keens out a broken “thank you”. Her mind blanks and white casts over her vision when he leans down to her ear, mumbling out a gentle, “Take what you need from me, pretty girl.” And so she does, crying out when her release washes over her in waves of white hot pleasure and his hand continues to guide theirs through it, only stopping when her whines and moans turn to sobs.

“Good?” Ghost asks her when she finally opens her eyes and [Y/n] finds that he’s already staring down at her with a revering look in his eyes.

“Great.” She mumbles breathlessly, a small, gentle smile taking over her lips. “You gonna fuck me against the desk now, Simon?”

“Fucking hell. You’re gonna be the death of me, kid.”

“I hope not, I quite like you alive.”

There’s a breath of time that passes between the two of them where neither of them move. Both seemingly taking their time as [Y/n]’s breath evens out from its previous pants and only after does Ghost move. His hand untangles from hers and leaves its grasp around her neck to caress down her back. The motion is gentle and tender as he splays his hand across her back to bend her over until her hands catch on the edge of the desk. Yet she has other plans. Electing to turn around, facing him again as she had been some time early and lifts herself up on shaky arms to sit atop the desk once more. Spider’s hands reach forward to grab at her boots still on her feet, and her hands make quick work of unlacing them and tearing them off, throwing them to a forgotten part of the room. Ghost cuts her off before she can even ask for his help with removing her cargo pants with a simple command of, “up” when his hands reach her waistbands and pull down. Before her pants can even leave the grasp of his hands, her legs are wrapping around his waist, bringing him in close to her. 

A fire ignites at the base of her spine when one of his hands takes hold of her lower back and the other grabs onto her thigh, pulling her in that much closer. [Y/n]’s skin blisters at the proximity, at the hazy burn of intimacy that suddenly filled the air. Her hands move down, shaky and slow, and her eyes never leave his as she pops the button on his pants and slides the zipper down.

There’s an overwhelming breathless moment that filters between them in the few seconds of her pulling his cock out of the confines of his pants and him moving to slide within her. Blood rushes in her ears, the sound of her heartbeat echoes loudly through her dizzy head when he fully sheathes himself in her and there’s a sizzling looking Simon’s eyes as he peers down at the place where they’re joined.

“Simon.” Her lips whisper against where his own are trapped by his mask. They’re so close, so fucking close that their noses brush against one another with each thrust and their breaths are one shared; and God it’s so needy, so intimate that tears catch on the edges of her eyes and a watery smile catches on her lips at the feeling of veneration blooming in her heart at the action, at the closeness.

“Is this what you wanted?” Ghost whispers to her. “Yes sir.” She chokes. She feels so full, so fit to burst that it’s too hard to catch her breath at the feeling of him inside of her. “‘S all I’ve ever wanted.” She slurs out.

“Spider, do you copy?” The walkie on the corner of the desk buzzes to life, vilely interrupting the moment with Soap’s voice and neither her nor Ghost move an inch at the sound of it, “Price needs you and Ghost on the tarmac ready to go in 20.”

By the time they board the plane 20 minutes later, Soap notes the same desperate anger burning in both Ghost and Spider’s eyes.

.

The comms had been radio silent since she fell, with no one calling or checking in, no sign of Ghost or Soap anywhere, so she finds an empty alley, mind set on damage control. It’s nothing to reach behind her and grab the back of her balaclava and pull it over her head, but it’s the feeling of the wet fabric sliding and sticking to her face as she pulls it off that makes her grimace. “Gross,” she mutters lowly with her hands wrapped tightly around the fabric, wringing out her sweat and the rain. Her back braces on the stone wall behind her and she slides down slowly until she’s sitting on the cobblestone road. [Y/n] lets out a shaky exhale as she reaches her hands down and begins to undo her belt, sliding it off in a quick jerking motion and then proceeds to fold her balaclava into a makeshift bandage before laying it over the wound on the outside of her left thigh. The belt is then used to tighten the balaclava down, applying pressure to keep bleeding to a minimum while she finds her way out of this shit fest. It takes her a second of sitting and fidgeting with the tightness of the belt before she decides to slink her way back up the wall again to stand.

“Alright,” She breathes heavily, talking to no one but herself, “we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” She laughs lightly under her breath and her hand makes its way to where her sidearm had been just moments before her tumble, only to find it gone. “Fuck me,” she whines, head falling back onto the stone wall behind her dejectedly, “hard way it is then.”

[Y/n] makes quick work of pushing off the wall and beginning to limp slightly farther down the alleyway, clicking through the channels on her comms as she goes, until Ghost’s voice pierces through her ears causing her to stop.

“Soap- This is Ghost. How copy?” There’s a moment of silence that registers for a second too long and she feels her blood run cold when there’s no response. “Johnny…?” No response. “Johnny… How copy?”

“Solid.” Soap’s response comes quickly and she lets out a relieved exhale. [Y/n] is quick to glance around, trying to find the easiest way down and out and she thinks for a second too long before throwing caution to the wind and her legs move into a slight skip before picking up into a run into a shop across the road. 

“You injured?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Life or death. Keep your blood in, you’ll need every drop.”

“Thanks for the tip.” 

“Spider. How copy?” She hears him, vividly so, but her mind is too sidetracked to reply. To focused on finding a way out whilst sneaking up to the Shadow in front of her. She quickly grabs onto the knife that's strapped and sheathed to her lower back and imbeds it into the juncture of the Shadow’s neck, twisting and pulling harshly to retrieve it from his skin as she moves to lay the body to the ground silently.

“Kid,” His voice more demanding now, “how copy?”

“Alive.” She pants evenly through the receiver.

“Thought we lost you there, kid.”

“Never. I’m gonna live forever L.T, remember?” She laughs breathily.

 Sometimes she catches Price staring at them with some far off solemn look in his eyes. A certain softness laced with ‘what if’ that you could only catch if you were genuinely looking for it and it startles her every time, making her feel a bit guilty that he cares so much for them. Guilty to know that if one of them died he’d be heartbroken.

“Stop staring at us like that.” She lowly speaks to him, her words taking on a teasing edge as she stares at the Captain.

“Like what?”

“Like we’re terminal cancer patients.”

“I do no-“

“I’m gonna live forever, Captain.” She interrupts so matter-of-factly before lifting her left hand and jamming her thumb in the direction of Ghost to her left, “And you can’t kill a Ghost.” Her thumb falls only for her index finger to point over at Soap who’s sitting on her right side, “And Soap,” she begins, “well Soap can’t die because we fuckin’ told him not to.”

“Copy that, Sergeant.” Price responds with a tilt at the edge of his mouth. Almost a smile, she notes.

Ghost peers down at her from where he’s seated next to her and she looks up at him with a smile present in her eyes and nods once in his direction in confirmation. Her black balaclava does nothing to hide her emotions, not when they’re always written right there in her eyes, and he vaguely wonders if she wears it because her face is more of an open book than her eyes appear to be. Yet it’s a thought he buries deep when she winks up at him, her eyes still dancing with humor and he’s turning away, not wanting to be drawn in by her gaze.

 “Where are you?”

“There's a church. I’m heading to it. Let’s RV there.” Ghost declares. “You’ll need to improvise to survive.” 

“Oh, joy.” comes Spider’s quick retort. She makes hasty work of digging through the dead Shadow’s pockets, taking his knives and his gun before taking a quick once-over glance over him. An idea toys in her mind for a second and she reaches forwards, unclipping the helmet on his head equipped with night vision and immediately puts it on her own and clipping it down, adjusting the strap to fit. The rifle she picked up is then slung over her chest and it rests heavily on her back on top of her armor and she begins her journey away, crouching low and moving to the next building. 

“Welcome to guerilla warfare.”

Ghost and Soap continue talking, but [Y/n] had taken to tuning them out, too concentrated on taking down the Shadow’s in her path. One after another they each fell easily from the blades she kept stealing off of their associates corpses and her hands made quick work of ripping the ammo clips from their pockets and depositing them in her own on her vest. It was messy work and the realization that it was no longer sweat and rain wetting her face, but blood as well, did not go unnoticed by her. Her arm was quick to reach up every so often in an attempt to clear her face but it felt only as if it just smeared everything on her face, making a bigger mess.

“Gimme a sit-rep.” Ghost’s request digs her from her concentration, her decision making stopping momentarily and she goes to reply first but Soap beats her to it.

“Outside… Gated alley.”

“Kid, sit-rep?”

“Outside… Alleyway with a few dead Shadow’s.”

“Your handiwork?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Atta girl.” Ghost's quick reply is all she hears and [Y/n] feels her face heat from the praise.

“What can I say? I live to please.” And then she's back to radio silence, she wants nothing more than to get the upper hand here, but she still feels like she’s failing at it. Moving on the ground amongst the Shadow’s hoping to not stumble across one didn't feel right to her, didn’t feel smart. She was a sniper. She yearns for the high ground and distance and she’s been robbed of the one thing she feels like gives her the tactical advantage, so her brain is working overtime to fix it. It’s a mumbled ‘fuck-it’, that has her chancing it and she decides to take to the rooftops. It’s not without difficulty, climbing up to get to the roofs, but the real bitch comes when she has to make the jump from building to building. Each impact making her wince and gnaw at her lip to stop her from groaning at the pain in her leg. But she feels better from here, being able to survey the land and pick the Shadows off from above, thanks to a silencer she klepted off one of them.

“You’re gonna owe me for this.” Came Soap’s voice from the comms but Spider takes note that it echoes, if only slightly and her mind begins turning. No, not an echo. He’s nearby, close enough for her to hear with her ears and the comms piece.

“Why?”

“We’re fixing each other’s problems.”

“What’s my problem?”

“The mask… Take it off…”

“Show my face?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Negative.”

“Are you ugly?”

“Quite the opposite.” Smug bastard. He’s smirking, she just knows it.

“What about you, Spider?” Soap questions, shifting the conversation to include her.

“What makes you think you deserve to see me, Johnny?” She teases back in response, prompting Soap to huff back a simple, “Cold.” into the comms.

“Tell you what,” she propositions, “come find me and I’ll show you anything you want.”

“Both of you, get to the church. Now.” 

“Yes, sir.” They both echoed. 

It’s not hard for her eyes to catch Soap’s movement, pinning him in her gaze as he maneuvers the alley to her left. Her eyes leave his form as they glance forward to the Shadows ahead of him and she makes the decision to take them out for him. Opting that this was the way to gain a favor for him, having not forgotten how he constantly volunteers her for first watch whenever he can. His reaction is immediate, dropping behind cover and glancing back when he hears the heavy thud of the Shadows bodies hit the ground and he’s looking around to try and find where the shots had come from.

“Who the hell was that?” Soap’s distressed voice rings through the comms.

“It was your guardian angel.” 

“Spider? Are you on the roof?”

“Affirmative.” Was Spider’s quick reply, “I’m coming down… Wait for me?”

“Yeah.”

“By the way,” her voice cracks vividly through the receiver, “you get first watch next time Soap. Consider it my payment for saving your life.”

 “Spider, you’ve got first watch.” Soap shouts across the room to where [Y/n] is sitting, propped up against a wall with her eyes closed.

“What?” Her eyes fly open in surprise at his statement, “No, I had first watch last time. Switch with me.”

“No.” He tries to sound stern but laughter seeps through the word as he watches her throw her head back into the wall with a thunk and groan lowly at his lack of negotiation with her. After only a few seconds she sighs deeply before lifting her head from the wall and locking eyes with Ghost. 

“Switch with me, Ghost.” She whines back exasperated.

“No.” It’s short and curt and she doesn’t let his vague hostility deter her. She wants second watch at least, because right now her eyes feel like someone put sand in them with how horribly tired they feel, with how heavy she is with want for sleep.

“I’ll let you have sex with me.” It’s stated so plainly and so forwardly that it sounds less like a negotiation offer and more like a proclamation. 

“Fucking hell.” Ghost shoots back, his tone barely containing the hint of bewilderment in his voice, which is almost completely drowned out by Soap’s loud and shocked, “What!?” from across the room. But [Y/n] watches Ghost’s eyes closely, noting the change that happens within them. His normally cold eyes had taken on a flicker of heat and the burn of his gaze in that moment made her skin itch with want. It had been a joke, a joke with a bit of truth behind it, yet a joke nonetheless, but the fact that he almost seems to consider her offer makes the hair on the back of her stand up and her mouth parched. Price’s cough of disapproval rips through the air, but [Y/n] decides to dig herself in further.

“I’m kidding…” Her easy, nonchalant laughter bounces off the walls of the small room, “Unless… unless you actually will trade with me then maybe we can work something out?” Her voice trails off taking on a slightly higher tone as she shrugs her shoulders and gestures her hands between the two of them vaguely. 

“No one is trading sexual favors for watch times.” Interrupts Price’s loud voice, hellbent on stomping out whatever the hell this is that’s going on right now.

“What?” She questions, mildly defensive with an all too innocent tone, “I don’t have anything else to really offer right now. Unless you want my knife,” She adds, shifting her gaze from Price’s scolding and directing the offer solely back to Ghost with a hopeful tone, “Then I’ll give you my knife for second watch.” Her eyebrows raise up beneath her mask and her head tilts slightly forward into Ghost’s direction as if to imply that the deal was getting better.

“No.” Price answers in Ghost’s stead, although the fire behind Ghost’s eyes still does not quell as he continues to stare at her motionless. [Y/n] releases an empty sigh, sliding her eyes closed and throwing her head back into the wall.

“Fuck!” She exclaims roughly in defeat, “Fine.”  And Spider picks herself up off of the floor and her hands move to grab the sniper rifle propped against the wall next to where she’d just been sitting. “If any of you need me I’ll be on the roof.” She groans out as she makes her way to the stairs, only stopping to call over her shoulder, “Try not to need me.”

‘Try not to need me.’ It rattles around the empty air downstairs after she’s gone until it sticks in Ghost’s mind. ‘Try not to need me.’ Too late.

It’s well into over an hour of her watch shift when she feels the hair on the back of her neck standing up in defense, when she feels like she's not alone anymore. So she turns her head from where she had been laying prone with her rifle watching the streets below between two cinder block openings on the edge of the roof, just in time to catch sight of Ghost making his way over to where she was, sitting next to her with his back to the cinderblock wall.

“You should be sleeping.” Spider mumbled out to him.

“You should be paying attention.” He motions his head slightly to the roads behind him in direction. He catches the way her eyes roll and he can tell she makes a face beneath her balaclava by the way the skin on the bridge of her nose crinkles up slightly.

“Really useful advice L.T,” She mumbles out deadpanned, he can hear the exhaustion clear in her voice, “you ever thought about writing self help books?”

He only hums absentmindedly in response and an empty silence fills the air between them for only a few seconds before he adds in, “You look tired.” 

“Be still my foolish heart,” Spider remarks sarcastically,  releasing her hand on her gun and grabbing at the center of her chest, “Ghost, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you just invited me to bed.”

“Obviously you know better.”

Spider hums limpidly in response.

“Go get some sleep. I’ve got the rest of your watch.”

Her head shakes and a simple reply of “no”, is immediately followed by a yawn and she turns her head over to look into Ghost’s eyes again to scold him limply. “Stop talking about sleep, you're making me yawn.”

“You look like you’re gonna fall asleep on watch. A punishable offense if you do.”

“Maybe I wanna be punished,” Spider teases in a tired voice, “help keeps the brain awake.”

“Can’t punish you if you’re dead from falling asleep on watch.”

“Sounds like you have to be proactive, L.T. Punish me in advance.” The fire is back in his eyes and [Y/n] realizes how deep she’s dug herself in this time, and so she does the only thing she can do. Dig deeper. “Are you going to punish me, sir?”

“It’s not a punishment if you enjoy it.”

“A morale booster, then?” She offers instead, “Promoting healthy team relations and engaging in bonding activities with your soldiers can have a positive influence on their morale and mission performance.”

“You think wanting to fuck your superior is healthy?” 

“No. I think of it as an investment in the betterment of the team, Lieutenant. I stay awake and they stay alive. A win in my books, if you ask me.”

“Yet I didn’t ask.”

“No sir, you didn’t.” [Y/n] takes her time sitting up onto her knees from the position where she lay and moves over easily to sit next to Ghost, back pressed into the cinderblock wall. She reaches over him, torso pressing dangerously into his thighs as she grabs her bag and begins to riffle through it with a leisurely pace, before drawing out her heartbeat sensor. Within a second she is sitting back upright, hands moving to grasp firmly around the device before powering it on and placing it where she had just been laying watching the streets. She peers back up at him, something burning deeply behind her gaze. The smile normally dancing around in her eyes now gone completely, replaced by something altogether darker, and her voice is serious when she tells him, “But all you have to do is say the word.”

“Fucking hell. You’re a minx, you know that.”

“One of my finer qualities, I believe.” She whispers out breathily. [Y/n] makes slow work of invading his space, leaning in until their faces were only inches apart and throwing her leg across his lap, straddling him. Yet she doesn’t lower herself down, opting instead to reach up and release the latches holding on her body armor effectively slipping it off and dropping it to the side.

“Now, what are you going to do if you get shot at?” His question is fair, but it’s simply meant to tease her so she takes the bait.

“Pray they’ve got bad aim.” She states to him as she sits herself down onto his lap.

“And if they don’t?” He presses further into the hypothetical and his hands move from his sides to rest on the outside of her thighs in a teasingly light grip.

“Then I hope you take mercy on me and save my life.”

“I’m not a merciful man.” He states matter-of-factly, hands working up from their spot on her thighs to start moving up to her belt, where they make slow work of undoing the buckle there. Her exhale is shaky at the motion and she breaks eye contact to glance down as his hands work at their agonizing pace. Taking his time as if he had nothing better to do than make her wait for him.

“Then I hope you’ll make my last moments worthwhile.”

“Hmm,” He ponders curiously, fingers popping the button of her pants open, “do you really deserve that?” 

“I’m hoping to win your favor.” She mutters back hopefully as Ghost leisurely pulls down her zipper.

“How do you plan to do that?” Ghost questions her evenly, not a single emotion betraying his voice.

“My dazzling wit and charm?” She’s ready to burst, almost shaking with anticipation as she watches him remove his glove to trace the skin above the edge of her panties.

“Hmm… Try something else.” He remarks mockingly. 

“I’m useful.” She declares in a whine, hands reaching forward to braces on his shoulders as her eyes close with frustration.

“How so?”

The air is silent for a second too long and when he feels as though she has no intention of answering back he captures the elastic band of her panties and lets it snap back harshly against her skin. “I asked you a question.”

“I’m… I’m good with a rifle.” She stutters out quickly, “One of the best.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m light on my feet, quick,” She’s trying to think, her mind reeling trying to remember notable attributes of herself but her brain short circuits and she begins tripping on her words the moment he slips his hand into her pants, cupping her heat through her panties. “I-i can get in and out of places without detection.”

“Keep going.” He presses her, hand moving to pull her panties to the side so his finger can run through her slit, collecting the wetness there.

“I’m good under pressure. Rational.”

“Is that right?” He seems to contemplate her statement, weighing the validity of it given the current circumstances as his finger begins to circle roughly on her clit. Her response is almost immediate, choking out a sobbed “yes” as her breath quickens. 

“Go on then.” He continued plainly, his voice just as even and level as it always was, even as he slips his finger from her clit down to her entrance and plunges into her.

“I’m…” And she has to stop to take a stuttering, stabling breath before lifting her head up from where it watches his hand work into her so that she can lay her forehead on his and stare into his eyes. “I’m damn good at my job,” her left hand moves from his shoulder to fist into the mask at the back of his neck for support, “you know it's true.”

“My intelligence.” She yelps out before he can even tell her to say another thing.

“What about it?”

“I’m. Very. Fucking. Intelligent.” [Y/n] enunciates between panting moans and gritted teeth, “One… one reason Price wanted me in 141.” Her chest is heaving as she shakes her head lightly to clear her thoughts, a poor attempt to get a cohesive string put together. “He found me as a Private. Fuck me,” She whines, “I was exemplary. The goddamn best at everything. I won him over.”

“How’d you manage that? Your dazzling wit and charm?” Ghost teases her with her own words as his thumb moves to rub at her clit in time with his hands sliding in and out within her. [Y/n]’s eyes flutter for a second at the added pleasure and her hand clenched tighter on his neck, twisting the mask fabric in her grip as she leans forward further into him, pressing her hips down to seek his hands movement. Their noses are touching now, barely any space between their mouths as they share each other's breath.

“The spider spins her web to catch what she wants.” She mumbles out through a shaky keen. “I’m soo useful Lieutenant. M-more useful than you could ever know.” Her eyes looked pleadingly into his as her hips moved in time with his hand, “Please don't stop.”

“You get off on praising yourself, Sergeant?” His voice is so goddamn taunting and the slight shame of it burns her face. There’s no other sounds in the air outside except their back and forth, and the sound of his hand moving within her and the slick wet sound of it has her mind reeling with longing and want.

“You’re m-making me.” [Y/n] counters back, “I’m doing what I’m told.” Ghost makes a noise in acknowledgment to her statement before adding a second finger in, working faster as she begins to drip down his hand. 

“Then we’ll add that to the list. The good girl can do as she’s told.” His words of praise are met with her clenching down tightly on his fingers.

He’s startled when he feels the cool, trembling grip of her hand grasping desperately into the bare skin of his wrist beneath his sleeve. There’s something exhilarating about the feeling of her skin on his in this desperate attempt to ground herself to him, with him, when they’re both so covered. And God it feels like fire, feels like every nerve in his body has just been sent into overdrive because all he feels is the cool skin of her hand wrapped firmly around his wrist as her nails dig in sharp and the wet heat of her cunt dripping down his hand.

“You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything you wanted, Ghost.” She rasped back in confirmation, throwing her head back.

Ghost’s free hand shoots up from where it had been holding tightly to her thigh, capturing her chin in a bruising grasp and pulling her head down roughly until her forehead rests back on his. Holding her there until they’ve returned to sharing breath and air and there's almost no space between them, before continuing its journey downwards to her neck. Her eyesight falters then and her eyes slide shut when he squeezes at her neck just right and she preens at the motion.

“Look at me. Keep your eyes on me.” He demands and he squeezes her throat slightly harder at the command and her eyes slide open, teary and tired. “Atta girl.” And she can’t help but whimper lowly at the praise, panting heavily and tightening her hands grip on the wrist working between her legs. “See, that's not so hard, now is it?” He taunts lowly.

“No sir.” Her head is dizzy and her eyes are swimming with tears and pleasure each time he squeezes his hand around her throat, throwing her that much closer to the edge. [Y/n] can't help the choked, “oh God” she releases when his hands decided to speed up, the movement of her hips failing to keep up with his ministrations. The arch of her back makes quick work of closing the space between their bodies as she gets closer and closer, and her hand leaves his wrist in favor of bracing her forearm onto his shoulder for added support.

“You close?” Ghost asks, and had [Y/n] been in her right mind she would have noticed the glint of something devious slide though his gaze, but instead she just nods back with a tender “please” in response too focused on chasing her budding release. Ghost’s hand doesn’t relent in its hurried pace fucking into her, but he seems as if he’s waiting for something. Holding out on something until the last second and as she begins to spasm around his finger he seems to find exactly what he was looking for, exactly what he’s been waiting for.

His hand leaves from within her and off her neck in an instant and before she can register what's happened she hears her zipper being slid back up. It sends a panic straight through her when the thrumming of her body catches up to her brain and she realizes that she’s been left high and dry. He didn’t let her finish.

“Wh-what? Why?” [Y/n] wants to cry and for a second she’s very close to it. She wants to scream at the fizzling out of her high, shaking from denial she looks down just in time to catch Ghost’s hands thread her button back closed and slip her belt through the buckle tightening it. She lifts her eyes up for a second searching desperately for his and she sees a smug laughter swimming behind them before she draws her line of sight back to his hands. Hoping that if she stares at them long enough she can will them back to work, back to finishing her. 

“You should go get some sleep.” He declares, adding a firm slap to her ass before holding onto it, and he sounds like he’s genuinely on the verge of laughter, like this was some kind of game he’s playing with her that he’s enjoying just a bit more than she is.

“But-but I didn’t…” And she stutters over her words, unable to form anything reasonable in her denial.

Her hand tries to reach down to where Ghost’s had just left, anticipation and her denied release eating at her bones telling her to finish the job, only to get intercepted before she can complete her goal. Ghost’s hand grips at her wrist tightly, bringing it up to rest in the air between their chests. At the same time his other hand rushes up to grasp harshly at her chin bringing her face up in front of his and he slowly peels his eyes away from her hand after a second to look into her own. The heat in them is different now, taking on a chilling burn that leaves her frozen on the spot beneath his gaze. 

“What makes you think you deserve it? This is a punishment, remember? That is what you wanted. What you asked for.”

“Please… ” It’s a pathetic whine, one that he laughs at and her face burns dangerously beneath the fabric on her face.

“Go get some sleep.” Ghost orders again.

“I-i don’t think I can anymore.”

“You will. Consider it a test of your self control.” And when she makes no effort to move from his lap, he cocks his head to the side slightly, adding a taunting, “That’s an order, Sergeant.”

“Th-this isn't over.” [Y/n] states heatedly behind furrowed brows and heavy pants, “I’ll get you back for that.”

“Doubt that.” He husked evenly behind his mask.

Ghost finds her a few hours later when his watch had ended, next to Soap. Both of them sleeping on their backs with her head laid on his shoulder and his arm loosely wrapped around her neck with a light grip on her shoulder. 

“He’s got the kid in a headlock.” Ghost remarks to Price.

She answers with a hum, electing to turn around in the tub ‘til she’s seated in it correctly, sinking within the water until she’s laid out, stretching her body until her ankles hook at the narrow edge in front of her and she is submerged to her shoulders.

She’s denied him the view of her now, so he pushes off the door frame, shutting the stained glass door behind him and walking forward until he’s in front of her. He easily catches her ankles in his hands as he gazes down at her, but she remains unmoving and seemingly relaxed, her eyes remain closed as if she’s far off in thought somewhere. Yet Solas knows her too well, knows that she is no master at ignoring him once he gets his hands on her. That she is quick to crumble beneath his gaze, so eager to please, that this is the only reason she has her eyes closed and her body is buried within layers of bubbles to block his view and hopefully his lingering hands.

She tries to flinch her legs away from him as he begins to rub delicate circles against her ankles, but he’s too quick, too strong, and his grip tightens tenfold around her. There’s a split second where she fears he may pull her legs until she’s dragged under the water as some form of childish punishment for her silent treatment and her eyes fly open at the thought while her hands shoot from beneath the water to brace on the side edges of the tub, but Solas makes no move to do so. He only loosens his grip, resuming his earlier task of rubbing her ankles. The corners of his eyes crinkle under his boyish grin as she glares up at him petulantly, deciding then to dip her hands back into the water before bringing one back up to flick water onto his face.

“If you want attention so badly, why not go find Varric? You know how he likes to talk.”

“Maybe I will.” He laughs, but he makes no indication that he is going to take his leave. That he will walk out of this room and go find the aforementioned, leaving her here alone in the burning water and bubbles of her bath.

“Then I certainly will not hold you here, Solas.” There’s a teasing glint to her words, she’s prodding him for a reaction, and it works. He hums an acknowledgement, nodding his head as he peers down at her contemplatively. She knows he will not leave, but what exactly he will do instead, she is still entirely unsure of. He loosens his grip on her ankles and his hands leave her for a split second as he begins to slowly make his way from the end of the tub in the middle of the room. His right hand finds purchase on her right leg, dragging leisurely and dipping beneath the water as he makes his way around until he’s kneeling next to her.

“How can I get your forgiveness, ma vhenan? What would you have me do?” He’s asking her jokingly, she knows this, but there’s something hidden behind his eyes that tinges with want; want for forgiveness, want for her.  

“I don’t know. I guess you’ll have to figure it out yourself.” She chides, smirking, feigning innocence and ignorance of the answer to his question. And he hums back in turn, seemingly contemplating her words and his own actions from here on out, with raised brows. His right hand emerges from her thigh beneath the water, liquid dripping down and disturbing the bubbles.

He repeats her own action from earlier and lifts his hand to flick the residual water from his hand onto her face, before he lifts himself from his kneeling position beside the tub. He walks easily, barely a step away then forwards, he finds himself standing behind her and kneeling again. Behind the tub and her, his hands glide easily down her arms that lay perched on the side of the tub until they are rested over her own.

“You’re awful, you know that?” She grinds out behind closed eyes and gritted teeth, but there’s the hint of a laugh behind her words that she can’t hide, no matter how much self-control she thinks she has.

“Hmm, really? You must tell me all about it, my love.”

“You know,” she pauses, laughing slightly under her breath, “if you wish to have something around that you can tell what to do, perhaps we can get you a dog.”

“And if you wish for an apology, then I’m willing to give you one.” His breath grazes across the nape of her neck, his teeth nips at her ear and travels down to her pulse point to gently lay a kiss upon it before he begins, “I’m sorry.” Kiss. “I’m sorry.” Bite. “I’m sorry.” Kiss. And it goes on and on as he works his way down to her shoulders and back up again, until the little lavishes are painted upon both sides of her neck.

Not one to be distracted by the pursuit of his mouth upon her neck, Lavellan hums out in thought before furthering her teasing. “You know, if you think this will be enough to gain my forgiveness you are sorely mistaken.”

“Oh?” A feign of shock, “And if this was the only trick I had up my sleeve, then what?”

“Then I suppose you’d have to try harder.” She pauses but not a moment too long before gesturing vaguely to her desk across the room, “After all, you did ruin many important documents which, with the utmost urgency, required my signature to keep the Inquisition afloat.”

Solas knows that’s simply not true, any document possessing any value at all were signed in front of Josephine and immediately filed or sent accordingly, but he plays along regardless. Although, he has no real clue as to what he spilled ink all over earlier that morning when he’d swiped stray paper and quills off her desk as he hoisted her on top of the then cleared surface.

“The Inquisition will be alright for a few days while they are rewritten.”

One of Solas’ hands leaves it spot from on top of her own to return beneath the water's surface, grabbing at her thigh before slowly trailing down, closer and closer to-

“Oooh”

“Interesting.” He jokingly ponders as his fingers tease harsh circles on her clit. And her back arches in response, pressing further into his hand as her head falls back onto his shoulder, wetting his shirt with her damp hair.

“Sh-ut up.” There’s no malice, just her sighed out desperation, heated face, and the overwhelming focus she’d now put into the movement of his hand. She remains silent, or rather, tries to as whines bite at the edge of her labored breathing.

“You know what? You’re absolutely ravishing when you’re at a loss for words.”

“A-nd you annoy me.” She tries her hardest not to let the moan slip between her clenched teeth, unwilling to let him win, but it’s a short-lived victory she can’t possibly consider when two fingers move down to catch at her entrance and push in.

“Really? You don’t seem particularly annoyed with me right now.”

She gasps out, face twisting in mock anger and her hands grip tighter on the edge of the bath, “You’re not playing fair.” It’s breathless and warm and he can’t help but chuckle lightly at the obvious beginning of her fall to submission, as her breath quickens and her chest heaves causing the movement of water to slosh around his arm more.

Solas is humming out in reply, brows raising while he looks tauntingly down at her. “Is that so?” He asks as his hand continues to work inside of her.

“Mmhmm,” she takes a second to draw in a shaky breath, “Y-you can’t stand to lose, s-so you cheat.”

And Solas nods contemplatively behind her, “I can stop then. It would be terribly dreadful to your new predicament but if you are so adamant that I am being unfair…” So he does, removing his hand from between her legs and beneath the water's surface, back up into the warm air of the room.

“W-ait. N-no… That’s not what I meant.” She stutters out.

“Then what did you mean, Inquisitor? And please be sure to be detailed, we wouldn’t want anything else misconstrued, now would we?”

“What have I told you about calling me that when we-“ And her complaint is dead in the water as his hand descends on her breast, catching a nipple between his fingers and twisting lightly.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He pauses for half of a second before adding teasingly, “Inquisitor.”

“Y-you’re playing a dangerous game right now Solas.”

Johnny feels it, the same pain in his chest that echoed in hers when they first met. The same one that still spins in her’s on nights like these. The guilt of survival and inconvenience.

“Don't have to apologize to me.” He says it so gruffly that it seems like he’s blowing her off, pushing the apology under the rug to forget about it, but V can feel the change in the stirring emotion of her head. He cares for her. Always has.

“I know, but I want to.”

Johnny can feel the weight of what happened to Evelyn pressing heavily against V’s conscience, and the lingering jab from Rogue was truly no help either. She was aware of the bodies left behind her on the job she’d taken and hated to be reminded of them, so she’d snapped at her, bringing the death of Johnny into the conversation when she knew she shouldn’t have.

“In the darkness of my second death I’d like to meet my creator,” she begins slowly, lowly, eyes cast over him and then across the room, “and I’ll ask if it was ever me that was the unlucky one, or if it was everyone else that was unlucky ‘cause they had the displeasure of ever being acquainted with me.”

V is smothered by emotions she doesn’t feel like she understands anymore, all her thoughts have become the strongest and strangest amalgamation of her own and Johnny’s; and she can’t pull apart who she is at this point; who she wants to be; who she will be. It feels like the weight of worlds is braced against the interior bones of her skull and the pressure of it is too much already and yet it still feels ready to crack until it bleeds into the open air, even without her acknowledgement or permission. So she sits up in the bed, hands flying to brace against her temples. She’s ready to see the Relic Malfunction flash through her vision and for the pain to wrack through her body, but it never comes. V cries out in frustration, she’s tired of this, of the pain and the deterioration of her own body and the constant feeling of her slipping control. Tired of feeling like a prisoner in her own body, while something eats at her like a fucking parasite.

V turns in the bed until her legs hang off the side and her elbows press into her knees, as her hands still hold onto her temples. She counts her breaths now, to calm her sobs, in and out, until they become as even as clockwork. Until it’s just tears and not her body's own visceral reaction. She wants to feel something other than the dichotomy of worlds inside her right now and this thought winds around the edges of her consciousness until it tangles with Johnny’s.

Johnny glitches in front of her now, kneeling down before her and grabbing her wrists in a gentle motion. He pulls her arms apart, removing her hands from her head, beckoning her to lift her head and look at him. V does, a second later, she sniffles and does her best to wipe her tears onto her shoulders, because Johnny’s still got her wrists in his grasp. She tests the waters and slowly moves her hands to grab a hold of the sunglasses on his face, slipping them off in a tender movement. They stay like that for a second, before Johnny lets her wrists go, stands, and gestures her to lay back onto the bed again.

“Come on Samurai, you know what to do.”

Heat gathers on her cheeks and spreads down her neck as she lays back, her gaze following his movements as he rests his knees on the bed between her legs. V reaches up to grab at his shirt and remove it but he mindlessly swats them away, muttering to her how this isn’t about him. Instead he focuses on undressing her, pulling clothing away piece by piece, until she’s bare beneath him.

Johnny’s hands run up and down her thighs slowly, barely touching the skin there and he stares down at her taking in the view of her figure.

“Tell me what you want.” He tells her gruffly. And she wants to answer, she truly does, but she hasn’t an inkling on what to ask for, wracks her brain for an answer, but still comes up empty. V lightly shakes her head, chanting over and over in her mind that she doesn’t know what she wants. Truthfully she’s willing to take whatever he is willing to give her, anything to distract her mind and derail her thoughts. He knows this, hears her inner turmoil and watches the way her brow knits in light frustration. He begins again as he starts to lean over her form. “So I’ll choose for you then.” It’s teasing and chiding the way he says it and V wants to flay the skin from her body because he shouldn’t be able to make her feel this way, shouldn’t make her skin feel like it’s half a second away from melting off her body. It’s not fair.

His right hand continues his trail up and down her thigh, back and forth, as the left stays put holding her legs apart, tenderly gripping at her thigh. And when his right hand finds the apex between her thighs, her reaction visceral when his fingers delve in. Her back arches off the bed and her breath hitches in her throat, releasing as a broken moan. Static fizzles behind her closed eyes and her trembling hands reach for anything they can grasp. Anchor onto as she falls apart. The sheets, his shirt, his hair, his wrist between her thighs.

She wants to cry out, curse the world for all it’s worth, as she quakes beneath him, because he’s ruined her. Ruined her for the rest of time. Nothing for the rest of her life will ever match the feeling of his hands between her thighs, will never match the way he’s gazing down onto her, smirking like he knows he’s that damn good.

Then suddenly it’s all too much and her nails dig into the skin of his wrist while her other hand reaches to grab at his neck to pull him down to catch his mouth with hers. She shivers against and pleads against his mouth for a release he lets her have.

Through the hum of her release, V hears the clink of a belt followed by the sound of a zipper. She peers up at Johnny through tear coated lashes, as she hooks her thighs tightly around his waist bringing him so much closer. She’s stifled by the fullness she feels when he enters her and her head falls back at the feeling. V feels metal on the base of her skull, finger grasping at the hair there, her head is pulled back ever more, slowly as Johnny’s grip tightens and his lips follow the curve of her throat while her head tilts away.

It’s all too much, the pressure, the feeling of him, the entanglement of their emotions swirling inside her mind and she cries out to him, murmuring praises and begging him for something she can’t place yet. There is a hope in her, simmering beneath the surface of pleasure, from feeling wanted, from seeing herself how Johnny see’s her, and she wants to combust from it all. The feeling in her stomach is spreading warmth throughout her body and static is catching all over her body.

Johnny’s right hand leaves its place on V’s thigh, fingerprints singed into the skin there, to the sheets by her head so that he can tower over her, look down and gaze at her. He grasps her hair tighter, forcing her to look up at him. And she meets his eyes with a weak, watery smile, her pupils blown from pleasure and stimulation, and her mouth falls open with a call of his name, Johnny. Johnny. Johnny.

Her nails dig desperately into the skin of his back, trying to force him back to her, so that she can feel his skin on hers as he moves inside her. He follows her grasp down, laying against her and resting his forehead against hers.

“Let go, Samurai.” So she does, in a frazzle of cries and tears and sobs of his name. In desperate grabs and scratches and sloppy kisses.

When it’s over they’re a tangle of limbs, woven tightly in the safety and comfort of the sheets and Johnny’s metal fingers pass up and down her spine slowly, tracing small, inconsistent patterns there, until her breathing calms, the remors leave her body and her tear tracks dry on her cheeks.

“Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.” It’s stated in a hushed, watery whisper, lowly, so that Johnny knows it’s for him. Tranquil words wrapped between the two of them.

“Here I was thinkin’ you didn’t read books.”