#does he ever

But now, somehow, you're discovering this 'home'.

Creating it, even.

You've landed, exited the helo, and are now standing just inside the doors leading home.

Simon's fingers tugging on your sleeve pull you from your thoughts, your dreams, and back to the present moment.

"Here." He hands you a box wrapped haphazardly in brown wrapping paper.

You eye it warily, looking up at Simon for some sort of explanation.

"S'not much," Price chimes in, "just a little going away gift me an' the boys put together for you."

You go to hand it back to Simon, but Price stops you with a gentle hand on your forearm.

"We put it together for you, Mouse. Not for him."

You frown, looking between the box and the Captain.

It takes you a few moments to process this, but eventually, you pull the box in toward yourself.

"Thank you," you finally murmur, unease settling heavily on your chest.

The older man gives you a gentle smile, then takes a half-step back.

"Well, you two stay safe. Stay outta trouble, Mouse." Soap gives you a gentle pat on the shoulder in farewell, and Gaz gives you a wave, and then you're standing there alone with your Ghost.

Slowly, you turn to face him, eyes wide and full of wonder and fear and excitement.

His gaze is locked on yours, face covered by a black medical mask, but his eyes. His eyes are there, they always are.

Brown and soft when they rake over you, full of softness he's kept hidden for years, decades even.

And now it's all yours, spilling through the cracks in his cold hard exterior. A pot of love and light and all the good things he can muster, boiling over on the stove of his heart.

And you're the one who lit the fire.

"C'mon, Mouse. Let's go home."

The entire drive through the city, your eyes are trained out the window. Looking at anything, everything. The gloomy clouds that spit a few tears every now and then, the stragglers walking wherever they need to go

A fire truck races past in the opposite direction and you swivel around in your seat, craning your neck to try and follow it as much as you can. 

And Ghost says nothing. 

He’s silent the entire drive, as he usually is, but this time it’s different. So different. This time he’s not going home alone. 

No, now he has you, his sweet little mouse. And the last thing he wants to do is pull you from the window where you sit and stare in awe. 

“Look!” You exclaim suddenly, a smile spreading widely across your face.

He follows your finger, brows drawing together as the car slows to a stop at a red light. 

“Look look look!” You point harder, pressing your finger firmly against the glass. 

“What is it, love?” Simon asks curiously, rolling down your window. 

You gasp, looking at him with pure bewilderment written across your face as if he’s just performed witchcraft before your very eyes. 

“There! That one!” 

Finally, he sees what you’re pointing at, and he can’t help the sad smile that tugs at his lips. 

“That’s a school bus. Kids get on that and it drives them to school. S’where they go to learn how to read and write… do math. That sor’a thing.”

The more you learn about that world, the more you realize you’ve missed out on. 

All of this, every single thing, is brand new to you. The giant glowing signs in the sky, the vehicles - some different shapes and colours, the supermarkets, banks, hotels, train tracks. 

The reminder of your bleak upbringing tugs on Simon’s heartstrings, and he reaches across to rest a hand on your thigh, giving it a loving squeeze. 

Your eyes drop down to where his hand meets your leg, and then you lift your gaze up to his face. 

The car starts moving again, but Simon glances over at you every now and then. 

“What’s goin’ through that head a’ yours?” He asks after a few moments of silence. Moments spent, mostly, staring at him. 

“What do we do now?” You finally ask, voice small. 

He gives your thigh another squeeze then gently rubs his thumb back and forth against you. 

“Now we do whatever we want. For a bit, at least.”

He’s got three weeks off. Three whole weeks to spend with you doing whatever the two of you please. 

“What does Simon want?” 

A number of things happen in the few heartbeats that pass between your question and his answer. The first being him falling even deeper in love with you. 

The second thing that happens is a deep contemplation of your words. 

What does Simon want? 

You. That’s what. 

He doesn’t care if you spend the next three weeks in his bed too fucked-out to move. 

He doesn’t care if you want to go to Saskatoon, Paris, or the moon, for that matter. Whatever you want is what he wants. 

Whatever makes you happy he’s sure will make him happy. 

And so he answers as honestly as he can. 

“I want you, sweet Mouse. S’long as ‘ve got that ’m a happy man.”

The smile that stretches your cheeks is the same smile that melts his heart. 

His hand moves from your thigh to your hand and then he’s lacing his thick calloused fingers through your small, fragile ones.

He tugs your hand over toward his face, chapped lips kissing your skin for a long moment before lowering your hands. 

“How ‘bout we go home, spend a few days there, and take it from there. How’s that sound?”

You give his hand a squeeze and settle into your seat a bit more.

“We go home,” you agree, sighing softly and turning to look out the window again, this time with a lovesick smile on your pretty pretty face. 

~*~

‘Home’ turns out to be a small one-bedroom apartment in what Simon describes as an ‘affordable’ area of a rainy city that you wouldn’t be able to point out on a map. 

The people here sound similar to your Simon, but none quite have the same accent. 

It’s a short trek up three flights of stairs and down a damp hallway, but then he’s unlocking the door and motioning for you to enter first.

You hesitate just in front of the threshold, unsure eyes darting up to his and waiting for his confirmation before you take another step. 

He watches you for a moment, then gives you a gentle but definite nod.

You step inside, breathe your first breath of home, and it’s nothing but Simon. 

His scent clings to the cold air in his apartment, wrapping around you when you take another step further inside. 

“Sorry for the cold. No point havin’ the heat goin’ when m’ not home.”

You don’t answer him, far too amazed by all that surrounds you. 

Now, Simon makes good money. Far more than he really needs, but that doesn’t mean he splurges. 

He’s away from the apartment more often than not, so why buy expensive furniture, or soft area rugs, or more than one chair for his kitchen table? 

His apartment, though impeccably clean, could compare to the shit-holes he’d often find you living in. 

But to you? This is luxury. 

Simon sets his bags down and locks the door, leaning against it and watching as you slowly and carefully explore your new home. 

You drag your fingers over every surface you can reach, tears prickling your eyes at the beauty surrounding you. 

The walls are intact and don’t have a single bullet hole. None of the windows are broken, and the couch might be the softest thing you’ve ever touched. 

Simon follows you as you venture over to the balcony, peering outside curiously. 

The view catches you off guard and you quickly look over at Simon, as if confirming that this is real, you’re not dreaming.

He only gives you a soft smile and a gentle nod.

Taking a shaky breath, you continue exploring. 

You dust your fingers over the bookshelf, across the spines of well-loved books about who-knows-what.

And then you’re venturing into the kitchen, curiously opening cupboards and then peering into the fridge. 

“We’ll go grocery shopping together. Get you some real nice snacks.”

You nod absentmindedly, leaving the kitchen and heading toward the other two rooms, opening up every single closet on your way. 

Simon can’t help but chuckle when he hears you turn the water on and off and on and off and on and back off in the bathroom. 

When you make your way into the bedroom, he follows, moving silently and watching as you trace your fingers over his bed.

Your bed, now. 

Besides that, there's a single nightstand with a lamp on it serving as the only other piece of furniture in the room. Another thing he plans on changing now that you’re here. 

“So? What do you think?” He asks after a moment, watching the way you stare at the bed, topped with an old duvet and one single pillow. 

Another thing he needs to change. 

“Home,” you murmur, pressing your hand flat against the bed and then looking over at him. 

He nods and makes his way over to you. Two strong, deadly hands push your hair away from your face, and then they’re gently holding you, tilting your head back. 

Your lips part and your lids flutter closed, and Simon marvels at how easily you let him touch you, handle you. 

“S’right, Mouse. We’re home. Jus you ’n me.”

He catches the falling drops as you melt into him, cradles you against him and presses kiss after tender kiss to your head. 

The two of you stand there for a long while, long enough for him to groan when you finally pull back to look up at him. 

“‘M’gonna shower. Care to join?”

You nod up at him eagerly, slipping your fingers under the back of his shirt and humming when you feel his warm skin. 

A chuckle rumbles in his chest.

“‘F I didn’t know any better I’d think you just want me naked,” he muses, slowly walking the two of you backward. 

You follow his lead effortlessly, your eyes focused up on his as a mischievous smile spreads across those lips that he wants to kiss. 

Your wish is promptly granted. 

Soon enough, the two of you are bare beneath the spray of the water. Water that will get warm and stay warm, unlike what the two of you are used to. 

Simon washes your hair for you, massages the three-in-one into your scalp then rinses it while trying to remember the last time he bought shampoo. 

Another thing he’ll need to change. 

The list grows with each room he sees you in. 

A toothbrush for you, a new tube of toothpaste because his is not looking the best. 

Another mug, because maybe one really isn't enough. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts by those soft hands of yours, wandering down his belly, following the happy trail. 

He sucks in a sharp breath when your little fingers wrap around the base of his semi, quickly chubbing beneath your delicate touch. 

You look up at him with those wide, innocent eyes, and he sways a little on his feet with how quickly the blood rushes south. 

Curiosity cocks your head to the side and pulls your hand upward, then slowly pushes it back down. 

Simon pushes a heavy breath through his nose and drops his head back as one hand grabs your wrist while the other braces against the wall. 

The water rains against your back as you slowly stroke his shaft, bottom lip tucked securely between your teeth as you watch the big man before you slowly come apart.

The hand on your wrist tightens but doesn't stop you nor does it push you to pump him faster. 

No, he’s more than happy to take things at your pace, to let you have your way with him, do what you want to him. 

And that’s exactly what you do.

Slowly, you sink to your knees in front of him, a position he’s only ever imagined you in, and one he’s not sure you knew about. 

One day you’ll tell him about the website you stumbled upon that someone must’ve left open on the tablet, but today is not that day. 

Instead, you push your hair back and stroke his length a bit faster, leaning forward to place a gentle kitten lick on the tip.

His hips stutter forward and his knees buckle the tiniest bit and you can’t help but giggle.

“Fuckin’ hell. You tryna kill me?”

You grin up at him and lick your lips and fuck if that isn’t the sexiest thing he’s ever seen in his life. 

He has half a mind to stop you so he can grab his phone and take a photo of you and make it his lock screen. 

Wet hair clinging to your face in some spots, eyes wide, back arched, chest up, pretty hand around his cock and prettier lips pressing against the tip. 

The thought leaves his head though when you wrap your mouth around the mushroom tip, tongue swirling around experimentally while your hand continues stroking him. 

His abs flex, shoulders hunch forward and his breathing becomes laboured. 

Water runs down the strong bridge of his nose, falling over his lips only to be blown away with each pant of air. 

The hand on your wrist moves to your head, not pushing you down but certainly stopping you from pulling back (not that you had any plan on doing that).

Encouraged by his reaction, you flatten your tongue against the underside and slide down his length as far as you can go, stopping only when you feel like you may gag. And then you pull back and do it again. And again. And again. Each pass brings you further and further down his heavy cock until your nose is nestling in the blond batch of hair at the base. 

Your eyes water as you fight your gag reflex again, but the look on his face is so worth it. 

His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s flushed pink from his chest to the tips of his ears. 

You hum around a mouthful of him, coughing when he snaps his hips forward the tiniest bit, forcing more down your throat. 

You pull away, gasping for air, and he opens his mouth to apologize but all that comes out is a choked moan when you immediately drop your mouth back onto him.

“Fuck!”

You don’t stop, mimicking what you saw in the video, and it seems to work because in no time Simon is gripping your head with both hands and trying his hardest not to fuck his cum down your throat and into your belly. 

It surprises you a bit, the thick warm salty ropes that spurt in your mouth and down your throat, but it’s not unwelcome.

It tastes salty and so distinctly Simon that you can’t help but moan and greedily suck it out of him. 

This time he can’t control it - his hips stutter forward when you continue sucking and licking at his oversensitive cock, not stopping until he physically pries you off, and even then you whine up at him like he ruined your meal. 

You stay on your knees, warm water raining down on you, lips covered in spit and cum and fuck you’ve never looked better. 

Simon leans his shoulder against the wall, panting heavily as one hand reaches out to stroke your cheek lovingly. You lean into his touch, humming softly, and he feels himself wrap around your finger a little bit tighter. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, reaching for your hand and tugging you up to your feet. 

Your legs ache a bit, but that disappears the moment he presses his lips to yours.

He kisses you with such fever you squeak in surprise, the sound quickly silenced and devoured by his hungry mouth.

His hands, big and warm and so made just to touch you, to feel you, find your waist and pull you flush against him.

You melt against him as the warm water beats against your back, rivalling the intense heat radiating from his chest.

Finally, when your lungs are aching, he lets you break away from him.

Your heavy breaths mingle in the damp shower air, and you can't help but giggle softly up at him.

Blond hairs dangle close to his eyes, water dripping from them as the corners of his scarred lips tug upward.

"What?" He asks, "Somethin' funny?"

You shake your head and tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, then gaze up at him with wide eyes full of admiration and adoration.

And in his eyes, you find an exact mirror of your own.