#flamehairedwritings

As Murray sets off on another rant, you raise your eyes to the heavens, or rather the dirty, damp ceiling, and tip your head back against the wall, exhaling a long, long breath.

You knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Not impossible, but not easy.

And even Hopper had known Murray was your only hope with this kind of thing.

This kind of thing being that neither of you speak Russian and Murray does.

You’d heard the message over the Hawkins Police Radio two days ago while you and Hop were working late in his office. He’d been adjusting the frequency, fiddling, more like, when the voice had suddenly come through, delivering a short message. You’d both stared at each other, then it had come through again. You’d realised it was the same passage and had quickly grabbed a pen, repeating it to yourself as you wrote it down phonetically on your notepad.

Neither of you had known what to do, so you’d just carried on with your evening, working on your new case. But it had weighed heavy on your mind when you’d left; with the strange things that had gone on in Hawkins in the last couple of years, you are suspicious of everything. Hopper apparently had shared your thoughts as, the next morning, he’d called you into his office, shut the door, and asked if you’d kept the note. When you said you had, you’d both then decided that deciphering it would put your minds at ease.

... Except it was really fucking hard because none of the words sounded close to anything you recognised.

Barely ten minutes later, Hopper had shoved his chair back and hissed out curses.

“We’re gonna go and see Murray,” he’d muttered as he’d strode out of the room to get more coffee.

You’d watched him go, irritation prickling at you because everything needed to be done right now with him these days. In the four years you’d known him, he’d never exactly been a very patient man, but this was different. In the last few weeks he was quick to rile, short-tempered, irritable, yelling more often than not, and you were starting to get sick of it.

So maybe it’s a good thing that he can let that all out on Murray now, who can give back as good as he gets, often, actually, better.

Not that you don’t stand up for yourself when Hopper is in one of his new moods and snaps. He never yells at you, he never has, just raises his voice slightly or gets unnecessarily snippy or even borderline patronising, but your usual tactic is to just walk away, leaving him to stew until he comes to you and makes his kind of apology (offering you a hot drink or a pastry), or you try and lighten the mood. That’s just getting tiring now, though. 

And it’s also a huge turn-off.

Yeah, okay, fine, you’ve admitted it to yourself, you’re attracted to him, but it’s a line you don’t like to cross; he’s your boss and your close friend, too, considering everything you’ve both been through with El, Joyce and the kids.

Now, though, you’re not even sure you want to be his friend.

You’ve tried to talk to him, ask him why he’s so God damn angry all the time but he just brushes you off or says he didn’t sleep well. The latter is nothing new, he was a mess when you’d arrived in Hawkins, sleeping for a few hours at a time on his couch in his trailer, but he’d really come into his own since then, especially when he’d had to start taking care of El. The former is new. Living through life or death situations, spending many late nights working together, and the town being small has brought you two closer together, and you’ve confided in him and he in you, so it stings when he brushes you off like you don’t have a history, like you aren’t his friend. Like you don’t matter.

“Do you know what it fuckin’ says or not?” Hopper thunders in the next room, and the patronising edge to his tone has your nose wrinkling.

“Of course I do, you neanderthal, if you give me the fucking piece of paper then I will be able to write it down for you.”

For once, and you never thought that you ever would, you’re on Murray’s side.

There’s the muffled sound of cursing, then a patronising ‘thank you’ from Murray, and then it’s quiet, except for the sound of a chair squeaking as one of them sits down. From the huff, probably Hopper. Folding your arms across your chest, you exhale another breath as you let your gaze travel the room.

It’s exactly how you’d imagine Murray’s place would be. There are... things everywhere, on every surface, some things you don’t even recognise like devices and folders with foreign writing on them, all just strewn around. To your left on a counter there’s even a corked jar marked ‘DO NOT TOUCH’, filled with a russet-coloured liquid, an unfamiliar, what was once probably red, flower head submerged in it. It looks rather like a lily, but there are strange, swirling patterns on the petals that you don’t recognise.

Your attention is diverted by the sound of the chair squeaking again, boots on wood, and then Murray’s voice.

“Ah, ah, ah, what do I get, Chief?” 

“What?”

“What do I get for my services?”

“What do you get? You don’t get a fuckin’ broken nose, you asshole.”

There’s the sound of paper sliding against skin.

“... What the fuck is this?”

“It’s what was written for me, word for word, so unless you got something wrong, then that’s it.”

There’s silence, then the sound of Hopper striding closer to the room you’re in.

“You’re welcome,” Murray calls as Hopper exits the room, and you press your lips together at his thunderous expression.

“Thank you, Murray,” you answer for him, raising your voice a little.

“Ah, you’re welcome.”

Dropping your arms as Hopper nears, you raise your eyebrows. “So?”

“It doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense,” he mutters, thrusting the note towards you.

Taking it from him, you read it, then frown as you read it again.

The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west. A trip to China sounds nice if you tread lightly.

Inhaling a long breath, you shrug and look up at him. “Yeah, that makes no sense to me.”

“Yeah, I thought it wouldn’t.”

You make yourself interpret that in a kind way as you look at him, watching him lean against the counter beside you and take the note from you, shoving it into his pocket.

It’s complicated. It doesn’t make any sense. He’s not making a comment on my intelligence.

Licking your lips, pressing them together for a moment, you open your mouth, then close it... then open it again, your voice low, “Do you think this maybe has something to do with what Joyce was saying about the magnets? And the lab?”

If his expression was thunderous before, it’s just full on pissed off now. His gaze darting up to you, you can see how tight his jaw is.

“We don’t know that.”

“I know we don’t, but it’s a little suspicious—”

“Or it could just be some people communicating via code.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s suspicious, isn’t it—”

“Not necessarily—”

He goes to put a hand on his hip as he huffs out a breath, but his elbow knocks against the jar, pushing it off the ledge, and your eyes widen as your hands dart out in the same moment Hopper’s do. Both of you acting on instinct, it fumbles in both your hands for all but two seconds as you try to catch it, in the process the cork top sliding off and some of the liquid spilling onto your hands and his arms and you’re waiting for it to sting and burn but it doesn’t and then— 

And then it’s falling and smashing on the floor.

You stare at the spreading liquid, the flower resting limply on it before your eyes dart up to meet Hopper’s, your mouth open. His is closed firmly, his hands, like yours, still raised.

“What was that?!” Murray calls, and you hear him approaching, your eyes now darting to the archway.

“Uh, it—”

“Nothin’, bye, Murray.”

Hopper grabs your hand and pulls you towards the front door, shoving it open and leading you out into the fresh air. He releases you and pulls his car keys out of his pocket as you head for the passenger side of the Blazer, both of you swiftly climbing in once he’s opened it. He’s starting the engine and turning the Blazer around before either of your seatbelts are on properly. Good. There’s only so much shit a human being can take from Murray.

Your seatbelt secured, a glance in the wing-mirror shows you the man himself, waving his arms frantically and faintly yelling for you to come back.

Absolutely fucking not.

Whatever it was, you’re sure it’s replaceable. Sure he collects weird things but it was just a flower, how precious could it be?

You hear Hopper blow out a breath as you head back to the main road, both of you relaxing. Leaning your head back, you keep your eyes on the road, letting the riddle swirl in your mind. You’re certain it’s connected to Joyce’s theories; in all the time you’ve been working at the Station you’ve not once heard someone speaking in code over the radio that wasn’t one of your own or kids, and as for Russian? You’d be very surprised if anyone in the little old town of Hawkins spoke it.

You want to broach the subject with him again, but maybe not now when you’re stuck in a hot car with him and only just starting a nearly two hour drive.

Boy, is it hot.

It’s just gone noon and it’s already sweltering. Rolling the window down, you tilt your head towards it, expecting some kind of breeze. There’s a light one, but it does nothing, so you grip the front of your shirt between your thumb and forefinger and waft it, trying to create some air. The way the shirt moves against your skin... every time it touches against it, slides against you with the movement, you’re hyper-aware of it. Maybe it’s just because you’re more aware of your body in general considering how hot you are.

God, it is uncomfortably hot.

You’re about to ask Hop to put the aircon on when he does so, angling a few of the grates towards himself. Glancing at him, you notice a few beads of sweat at his hairline.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?”

“Hm.”

Oh, well, that’s that conversation over.

You give him the benefit of the doubt, assuming he’s probably thinking about the riddle, too, so you return your thoughts to it, repeating it, turning it over and over—

It’s so hot it’s actually quite hard to think. 

Blinking and widening your eyes a little, you say each word of the riddle slowly in your mind, but they just end up being words, and when you try and say it all together again you just end up stopping halfway through, forgetting it momentarily.

Just wait until you’re back, you can have a cool drink, whack the aircon right up and think about it until you go mad.

You angle the grates on your side so one’s sending a cool breeze to your face, the other your body, and then drop your hand into your lap—

Jesus Christ.

Your leg jerks a little, involuntarily, as you register the sensation of your fingers on your clothed inner thigh. You quickly move your hand to your side but even that, your fingers gliding over your leg, makes your stomach muscles tighten.

It had felt good. Far better than it usually did.

You’re just hyper-aware of yourself because of how hot you feel, it’s fine.

You shift a little in your seat and— 

You catch yourself before a sound escapes you.

Fucking hell, that had felt good. So good in fact, your pussy is actually starting to ache.

Usually when you’re turned on, very turned on, the smallest of touches can have you gasping but... Are you turned on? You take a moment to consider it and find... Fuck, you are. Where the fuck has this come from? 

Hopper clearing his throat pulls you from your thoughts, glancing at him. He’s sweating a little more and he’s gripping the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles almost white, but that’ll just be the heat, another thing that pisses him off.

You need a distraction from... whatever this is your body has decided to feel.

“Maybe it’s from another town.”

“What?” He says it so sharply, almost like you’ve said something completely ridiculous.

“The message? Maybe it’s from another town and just carried over—”

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

Your mouth closes tightly and you return your gaze to the road, staring at it.

Take a breath. He’s in one of his moods. Murray has riled him up. Just let him ride it out... Fuck that, I really need to say something to him about his attitude.

It’s the perfect distraction, planning in your mind what you’re going to say when you get back to Hawkins, coming up with retorts and come-backs to whatever he could say, acting out the conversation in your head and going down every route imaginable. You get so in to it, in fact, that you manage to just about forget how warm you are, and you don’t notice that Hopper is sweating profusely, his hips shifting every few minutes.

—

Your clothes are sticking to every inch of you. Your entire body aches.

What the hell is going on.

You’ve been in the car for a total of thirty minutes now, but it feels like a God damn lifetime. Thinking about arguing with Hop had only gotten you so far; it had channelled some of this weird energy you’re feeling but then suddenly you’d thought about ripping his shirt off and shoving him onto his God damn uncomfortable couch and sitting in his lap while you told him all about how God damn annoying he is.

And then the aches, the bone deep aches, had started.

Fuck, do I have the flu?

You just feel awful. Your elbow rests against the car door, your hand supporting your head, and you stare out of the window, taking slow, deep, steadying breaths. You feel nauseous and your skin is on fire. You’ve tried to keep quiet but you actually think you might be sick, and between throwing up in his car and asking him to pull over, you think the latter will annoy him less.

“Hop’.”

“What?” He doesn’t snap this time, instead he sounds... strained.

“Can we pull over soon? I don’t feel well.”

“Yeah.”

Wow.

Okay.

That hadn’t been so hard. 

His voice is still strained and short, but, again, that could just be the heat. He doesn’t pull over immediately and as you glance up you notice a sign for a motel not too far ahead.

Oh, good.

Ten minutes later, the tyres of the Blazer are screeching as he turns sharply into the parking lot of the motel. You have to grip at the handle of the door as he swings in, parking swiftly and braking hard.

“I’ll get rooms.” The words are said so sharply it’s like they’ve been punched out of him.

God, he really doesn’t want me to throw up in here.

Wait, ‘rooms’? Are we staying for a night? That’d be nice.

You both climb out, and you’re almost dizzy from the action. Hopper’s already striding towards the reception booth and you slowly follow after him, wiping the sweat from your brow. You have to walk with your legs slightly apart because your thighs rubbing together... What the fuck is going on? By the time you reach Hopper he’s already got a key and is turning on his heel, walking back behind you.

“C’mon.”

As he passes you, his elbow brushes against your arm and you both flinch because, fuck, a weird little electric shock thing happens. Except, whereas when that usually happens you only feel it on your skin, this time you feel it all over your body, spreading down and curling somewhere in your lower stomach.

And it felt good.

Beads of sweat run down your arms, back and chest as you follow him up a flight of stairs to the first floor. It takes every ounce of energy you have to get up there, whereas Hopper’s almost running. The door’s open when you finally reach it and he’s got the aircon on high which you’re grateful for. Closing the door behind yourself, you’re about to thank him when you look over at him and you notice that he’s drenched in sweat, just as you are.

He glances up and briefly meets your gaze before he runs a hand through his damp hair, his eyes sweeping the room as he paces, his eyebrows raised.

“Only one room left. Sorry.”

You shake your head, the action just increasing your nausea, as you shrug. “No, it’s okay. It’s not like we need to spend the night. Just... think I need a nap, or something. Feel like I’m gonna be sick.”

There’s a short silence in which you sit down on the nearest of the two double beds, your hands on your knees.

“Me, too.”

You look up at him, your brow dipping. “What?”

Hopper gestures at himself before he drops his hand, exhaling a hard breath. “Feel like... feel like I’m gonna be sick, too. Feel so fuckin’ hot, can’t think straight.”

“Yeah, me as well...” Your frown deepens. “Are we both sick?”

“How’s that possible?”

“I don’t know. It came on so suddenly, too, only after we left...”

You meet his gaze as he presses his lips together, following your train of thought.

“That son of a bitch...”

Crossing the room, he grabs the phone from the bedside table and dials Murray’s number. At any other time you would have laughed that he had it memorised. Like they’re pals.

His tongue darting over his lips, your eyes following it for some reason, he holds the phone to his ear, his jaw clenched.

Murray answers on the first ring.

“Hey, Murray—”

You can hear the other man even from where you’re sat.

“You broke the jar, didn’t you.”

“Uh, yeah, but I can—”

“Oh, you fucking idiot. Is she with you?”

Hopper’s eyes briefly dart to you. “Uh, yeah, hey, I’m sure it’s replaceable, I can pay—”

“One, no, it’s not, and two, it’s not me you should be thinking about, you ass.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, are you feelin’ a little weird, Jim? Huh? Is your lady friend?”

“Uh...” He glances at you again before turning his back, lowering his voice slightly. “Yeah, why?”

You stood up instantly as he turned, and, ooff, there’s the dizziness again, though you manage to move closer to him, a frown pulling at your features as you tut, so you hear Murray’s humourlessly chuckled reply.

“Oooh, hoooo, you’re both in for quite a day.”

“Why, you fuckin’ asshole?”

“Let’s just say you’re going to be feeling certain urges... or maybe you’re already feeling them?”

Hopper glances at you yet again before turning his back away from you again. You hiss and move closer, brushing against him, which just makes you both grimace because there’s the electric current again. You try to stay as close as possible without touching him.

“Just tell me what’s fuckin’ goin’ on, Murray.”

“The best and most polite thing to call it would be an aphrodisiac.”

You frown as you glance up at Hopper, but he’s just staring at the wall.

“What? Why the fuck do you have something like this, Murray?”

“I was going to dilute it to sell in certain markets.”

“As what?”

“An aphrodisiac, dumbass.”

As Hopper snarls and opens his mouth, you grab the phone, your fingers brushing together making your stomach flip and something clench inside you.

Holding the phone to your ear, you swallow before exhaling a breath and murmuring, “What do we do, Murray? How do we stop feeling awful?”

He sighs, and you’re surprised and also slightly unsettled by his tone softening a little. “There’s not much you can do, except what you have wanted to do for a long time that neither of you will admit.”

Before you can speak, Hopper calls, even though he’s right beside you, “And what the hell does that mean?”

“Fuck each other!”

Your mouth drops open as you think your heart stops, and Hopper freezes beside you.

“I’m sorry... what?”

“Oh, come on, you know what I mean—”

“No, Murray, I mean,” you quickly cut him off, rubbing at your damp forehead as you lick your dry lips, your cheeks burning. “What did you, why would we need to, uhm, do that?”

"It’s the only way to ease the aches and pains, honey, that—”

“Pain?”

You’re aching, yes, but you wouldn’t say you’re in pain.

“Stop interrupting me, Jesus...” You press your lips together at his exasperated sigh, before he takes a breath. “The pollen from that flower is like an instant aphrodisiac. If it comes into contact with your skin, that’s it, kiddos, you’re horny. I was diluting it so it’s less lethal, hence why it was in that jar marinating in that liquid. I’m assuming you got some of it on you when you oh so cleverly broke it for no reason?”

“Yeah, but we didn’t mean to—”

“What did I say about interrupting? Depending on how much you got on you, you’re gonna feel hot, then your whole body’s gonna ache, then’ll come the urges and the pain, and once those hit, hooo... so you two had better get to it.”

You feel like you’re having some kind of a fever dream. Rubbing your forehead again, you close your eyes for a few moments as you almost trip over your words, “What, hang on, w-what do you mean by lethal, what happens if we don’t, you know, do anything? It’ll just wear off, won’t it?”

Murray’s silent.

Oh... this is bad.

“C’mon, Murray, answer her.” Hopper’s sudden voice makes you jump.

There’s a quiet sigh. “You gotta take care of each other, together, or... or you’ll die.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard Murray speak in an entirely gentle tone.

You don’t know what stuns you more; that, or his words.

“... What.” Your voice is so quiet.

Hopper is silent.

“I don’t know how much you were exposed to but no matter how much, the need and the pain, if nothing is done, can get so bad that your organs start to fail and shut down. If it was just a little, it’ll take longer, if it was a lot then I’d say it’s only a matter of time.”

“No, it... it was just a little. Few splashes. I think.” Your voice sounds far away to your own ears.

“Well, you’ve got some time, then. But it’s gonna be uncomfortable so get to it.”

“Right... Thanks, Murray.” You place the phone down, feeling so far out of your body, hanging up before he can say another word.

Silence.

You look up at Hopper as he clears his throat and moves away, being very careful not to brush against you, his hand running through his hair again. As he sits down in the armchair, you sit on the edge of the bed opposite, staring at the floor.

It’s... it’s... You don’t have the word for it. Wild. Outlandish. Crazy.

“He could be lying, right.” You look up at Hopper as he speaks, meeting his gaze. “He could be mad that we broke somethin’ of his and is just makin’ this all up.”

“Yeah,” is all you can think to say.

“This could just be a reaction to it.”

“Yeah...” You shrug after a moment, blowing out a breath. “Pretty fucking bizarre thing to make up.”

“Well, that’s Murray.”

You both fall silent as he stares at the wall and you stare at the bed. It’s got a patchwork blanket on it, all red squares with other panels of red floral designs. It reminds you of the damn flower. It’s like it’s taunting you. As are the beads of sweat sliding down your spine. And the new, faint, throbbing in your cunt.

You believe Murray.

It’s... wild and bizarre and you don’t understand it at all but, yes, you believe him. Your lips are suddenly dry, either from the realisation or the flower, and you lick them as you lift your gaze to Hopper. He’s still staring so intently at the wall, hands gripping the armrests.

His eyes flick to you as you speak gently.

“I think we should stay the night. Until this wears off. Don’t want to infect anyone else, if that’s possible.”

He nods curtly, expressionless. “Okay.”

Thankfully, Joyce has El for the night, Hopper having asked her to take her in case you both stayed longer than you thought you would, so that’s one less thing. You think about saying that out loud to him, then swiftly decide against it. Of course he’ll already thought about that, will probably take offence at you asking and think it implies you think he hasn’t.

You hate the silence of the room, though, hate the space it provides to think, so you continue instead with, “We’ll just... ride this shit out. It was only a few drops. We’ll be fine.”

Hopper may be expressionless, but what you can’t see are his blunt nails digging into the fabric of the chair. 

“Okay.”

—

It was a mistake, turning the TV on.

It’s too loud, too bright, but, fuck, you need the distraction. Your eyes are fixed on it like you’re possessed, and your shirt is soaked, sticking to your skin. Uncomfortable. Your skin is slick, you can feel sweat sliding down your face, arms, back. A loud commercial comes on and you grab the TV remote, turning it off as a wild burst of irritation suddenly flashes through you.

Focus on the room. Two double beds. Bare desk. Mini fridge. Bathroom. Standard motel room. Boring. Plain. Dull. So dull. Think about how dull it is.

It doesn’t work. It hasn’t been working for the last twenty minutes. Has it been twenty minutes? Longer? Less? You don’t know and you don’t want to know. Your body is aching, not only physically but with need, like you’ve never, ever felt before. You feel almost drunk, too, unchallenged words on the tip of your tongue, your brain doing the bare minimum to stop them from coming out... but they’re not just words, they’re pleas.

Touch me.

Kiss me.

Fuck me.

Your eyes dart to Hopper. He’s not moved but his shirt is soaked, too, the hair on his chest, peeking out the top of the grey, flannel button down, damp. That hair... You stare at it. How far down does it go... What would it feel like if you ran your fingers through it...

Your pussy clenches around nothing and tears start to sting at your eyes.

Fuck, I need to be touched.

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, thick with unshed tears. “Hop’, I feel awful.”

A muscle in his jaw moves. “It’s just a reaction to whatever it is—”

“Yeah, and what if it’s the kind of reaction he was talking about?”

Hopper finally looks at you, brow dipping. “You believe him?”

You hate the way he says it, all disbelieving, making you feel like you’re an idiot. 

“Yeah, I do. Why would he lie, especially about something like this? Yes, he’s a dick, but he’s not this much of a dick. He’s more likely to just rip into us and go on and on than make something up.”

“You can’t say that, you don’t know him.”

Brushed off. Again.

Your chin rises slightly, meeting a challenge you might be imagining. “I’ve known him long enough.”

His jaw moves as he arches an eyebrow. “Oh, you hang out all the time do you? You best pals, know everythin’ about him?”

“No, it just doesn’t seem like him—”

“Doesn’t seem like your good pal Murray? How would you know? You can’t just make assumptions like that, he is a—”

The words lash out of you. “Oh, just shut the fuck up, Hopper.”

He pauses, lips still parted, his own words dying on his tongue... until new ones return, his eyebrows raising as his head tilts. “... Excuse me?”

Anger feels good, it channels some of this increasingly restless energy swirling inside you. “Just shut up, you’ve been a real asshole all week, all month, all the time I’ve God damn known you, actually—”

“You didn’t think I was an asshole at the Christmas party.”

You freeze, staring at him.

Last year’s Station Christmas party.

Why did he bring that up.

Was he thinking about that.

You know he was thinking about that.

Because you’ve been thinking about it, too, minutes earlier, intently. It had suddenly come rushing back to you, his hands on your waist, your lips on his, tongues stroking at each other, the moaned sigh you’d released as he’d pressed against you.

You’d both been drunk, though, and lonely and alcohol makes you horny so you’d wanted him to kiss you and he’d spent the last hour before it looking like he’d wanted to, too, your eyes constantly finding each other, looking, really looking, and then you’d just bumped into each other as you’d come out of the bathroom, but it seemed like he’d almost been waiting for you and then you’d talked, no, you’d flirted, he liked your dress, you liked his comically festive tie, and you were both laughing, your hands somehow on each other, maybe to steady yourselves, and then you’d... then you’d kissed.

Neither of you had brought it up, ever, until now. You’d been so horribly hungover the next day that you hadn’t even remembered it until late in the evening and you’d felt so embarrassed. You’d fretted for the rest of the night, wondering if you’d ruined your friendship and a relationship that meant so much to you, but when you’d gone into work the following Monday he hadn’t said a thing, hadn’t even looked at you differently. You’d been so incredibly relieved, but it had come back to you every now and then; how good his lips had felt, how passionate the kiss was, how his hands had felt on you.

All this time you’d thought he had just forgotten it... and it appeared that wasn’t the case at all. 

Your already warm face becomes warmer.

“I was drunk.”

He’s got a fucking smug look on his face, like a fucking petty bastard.

“You kissed me.”

“I did not.”

“You did, you pulled me in.”

“Oh, just shut up, Hopper, it doesn’t matter or count anyway because we were drunk.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I saw the way you were lookin’ at me—”

“Why does it matter so much to you?” you snap, staring at him.

He pauses, the smug look quickly fading. Then, he shrugs, the corners of his mouth turning down. “It doesn’t.”

“Good, shut up, then.”

Silence descends.

And you fucking hate it. At least while snapping at one another you don’t think about how your panties are now soaked and you just want to feel some fingers against your cunt and a cock deep inside you...

A strained groan slips from your lips.

“You okay?” he mumbles, and you blow out a harsh breath.

“No, I’m not, I just—”

Oh, fuck.

You were just about to say it. You were just about to ask him to fuck you. Rolling your neck, your breaths slightly shorter, ragged, you lick your dry lips again.

What the fuck do I do, I’m literally about to ask my boss, my friend, the absolute pain in my ass to fuck me so I don’t, possibly, die.

Then, it comes to you.

“... You just what—”

“Just need the bathroom,” you cut him off exasperatedly, every intonation of his voice prickling your skin, and not in an entirely unpleasant way.

“Jesus, fine,” he mutters, and you hope he doesn’t notice how quickly you turn your back to him as you stand, striding towards the wooden door to the bathroom.

Closing it firmly behind you and turning the lock, you step back from it, releasing a breath that has your shoulders relaxing minutely. You catch your reflection in the mirror to your left and release another breath at your expression; sweaty, tense, and, yes, there’s a trace of panic in your eyes.

Just do it. Do it then you’ll stop thinking about it and then it’ll be over and you’ll feel okay.

Your fingers, seemingly of their own accord, move to your jeans, fumbling with the button and zip. In your haste, the zip catches on the material and tears fill your eyes again.

Oh, come on, come on, come on, please...

You don’t realise you’re murmuring the words out loud, so fixated on what your fingers are doing. Finally after a moment or so you can shove them down, your panties with them, and then you’re spreading your legs as one hand braces against the door and the other slides between your pussy lips.

You can just about muffle the moan that falls from your mouth as your finger tips glide back and forth over your clit, your teeth sinking into your lower lip.

Oh, fuck...

It feels heavenly, unlike any pleasure you’ve felt before from a first touch. You’re dripping, too, so soaking wet that you can hear it as your fingers quicken their pace... but it’s not enough.

How is it not enough?

Tears are slipping out of the corners of your eyes as you grit your teeth, a need so desperate coursing through you that it’s painful.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck... Why isn’t it working?

You slip two fingers inside your pussy, hoping filling yourself even a little will help but... no. It just makes you crave a cock inside you even more, increasing the aching that’s running through your entire body.

Oh, please, come on—

Two gentle knocks sound against the door. You freeze again, mouth open as your fingers stay buried inside you.

A throat clears on the other side, and then Hopper speaks, voice slightly muffled.

“Hey, uh... I’m sorry for snappin’, and for my shitty attitude, I... I know I haven’t been the best to be around lately...”

His words just become sounds as a kind of white-noise, ringing starts in your head.

Oh, no, no, no... No...

Your cunt is throbbing. You can’t help but think about him murmuring those apologies in your ear as his cock thrusts slow and deep inside you, as he tells you he’ll make it all up to you, everything, that you feel so good around his cock and he wants to make you feel so good all the time...

As your hand drops and you straighten, you don’t think you have absolute control of your body anymore. 

And you don’t fucking care.

Unlocking and yanking the door open, you instantly meet Hopper’s gaze, watching him blink as he abruptly silences whatever he was saying.

“Woah, you okay?”

How is he so normal? Yes, he’s sweating, profusely, but that’s it, seemingly. What a sight you must look in comparison. You watch his gaze travel down you, settling on your jeans and panties that are around your knees. His eyes dart back up to yours, and you watch his slick throat bob as he swallows hard.

“What the hell you doin’.”

You can hear your own breathing, ragged, short. Staring at him, you don’t know if it’s sweat or tears running down your cheeks.

“Hop’, I need you to touch me.”

It’s as if you’ve just asked him to detonate a bomb. His eyes widening, his mouth moves but nothing comes out for quite a few moments.

“I... Hey, now, hang on—”

“Please.” At any other time you might have been embarrassed for sounding so tragically desperate. “I tried, I tried to touch myself and it didn’t work, I’m aching so bad, please—”

“Sweetheart—”

That nearly has your knees weakening, a faint sound emitting from the back of your throat. He swallows again at hearing it and runs a hand down his mouth, shaking his head.

“I mean—”

“Fuck, Hop’, please. Don’t you feel it, too? I feel like, my, my, my whole body is just in pain, it fucking hurts, Hop’.”

You don’t know whether he feels it, too, or he’s just pitying you, because confliction is rife across his face.

And then he takes a step back, and he might as well have punched you in the stomach with the gasped breath that releases from you.

No, no, no, no...

“Hop’...”

He takes another step back, unable to stop his gaze from flicking down to where your hands are pushing your jeans and panties down and off, your shoes with them, kicking them aside. Then, he looks away, so sharply and suddenly, his fingers flexing by his sides.

“I can’t.”

“Why.”

You can’t think of any reason that would be damn good enough right now.

Hopper can’t look at you as he shakes his head again. “It’s not right, you don’t want this, it’s just the flower—”

“I want this, I want you, Hop’, I need you...” You’ve stepped towards him, your hands on his chest, sliding over his damp shirt, fisting it in your hands. “... I need you inside me...”

His jaw is so tight, his whole body is, you can feel his muscles underneath your hands, and his breathing is harsher. He raises a hand, which you don’t notice is shaking until he places it on one of your forearms. You wait for him to try and pull it away, but he just grips it lightly.

“You... You don’t want me really, this, this isn’t right—”

“I do, I do...” Your chin lifts and your lips brush against his jaw, and you swear you hear him groan quietly. You cling onto it, even if it isn’t real, and the words tumble out of you. “... I’ve thought about you before, inside me, making me cum, I’ve fucked myself imagining it was you before, so many times, please, Hop’, I’m begging you...”

He must have groaned because now his head is tilted against yours, lips against your cheekbone. His thumb is brushing against your inner wrist, too, so lightly. You press against him... and feel it.

His cock straining against his jeans.

Maybe it’s not just you, then. The arm he isn’t gripping moves, your hand dropping to settle on his thigh, your fingers caressing.

“Please, Hop’...” you whisper.

You know he groans this time, his lips so close to your ear. You know he’s seconds from crumbling, too, his hips angling towards your hand, his hand sliding from your wrist to your bicep, head turning closer towards yours, lips inches away—

Then, he freezes, a breath hissing out through his teeth.

He doesn’t move away but, staring at him, you can see the confliction return and even some anger that washes over his features.

“Hop’—”

“This isn’t the way I wanted it to be.”

You pause, lips parted so your harsh breaths can escape audibly. He hadn’t wanted to say that. He’d hissed the words out, eyes unable to meet yours, in fact he’s now closed them; regret swirling inside him.

But you can only think about one thing right now. 

You’re shaking with relief and anticipation. “... You’ve thought about me, too, then.”

A statement, not a question.

His eyes open, finding yours. “Yeah.”

You relish every word you say. “Then fuck me like you’ve wanted to.”

Any last restraint he has crumbles.

And he must have be in just as much pain as you because it happens in mere seconds.

Hopper’s hand grips the back of your head, holding you close and tight against him as his lips crash against yours. A combination of a sob and a moan emits from the back of your throat as you grip at his shirt, desire burning through your veins. His other arm wraps around your lower back and part of your brain is grateful for his strong grip because then he’s suddenly turning you and walking you back towards the closest bed.

The backs of your legs knock against it and you fall back on the soft covers, and it’s like he didn’t let you go at all as he’s already on top of you, one arm by the side of your head, the hand of the other resting on your torso, fingers splayed. One leg is between yours to hold himself up and your brain is working so fast, trying to find any way to soothe what your body is crying out for, that it takes you a moment to initiate its plan. Shifting down, your back arching with the movement, you start to rock your bare cunt against his thigh. The moaned cry you release is swallowed by his mouth, but he gives a groan in return.

“Fuck...” he hisses, feeling how wet you are as you’ve already soaking through his jeans.

The material is rough but that just makes it more heavenly against your swollen, aching clit and folds. Gripping his biceps, your lips tear from his as you tip your head back with a loud moan, eyes closed tightly. It’s not enough but it still feels so fucking good.

It takes you a few moments to realise he’s pushed your shirt and bra up, and his lips instantly descend upon your hard nipples, kissing, licking, sucking, pulling with his teeth slightly.

Tears are sliding down your cheeks in relief and a smile is pulling at your lips because—

“Yes...” you gasp, fingers curling tightly into his hair, tugging at his scalp.

His hips jerk as you do, and his grunts tell you just how much he likes it. So you do it again, and again, and again... and realise he’s grinding his hips against your thigh, just like you’re doing to him.

“Fu-uck...” he growls against your chest, his mouth moving in a deliciously sloppy way up your skin to your neck.

You whine as he kisses you there, your head tipping back, teeth sinking into your lower lip.

It’s so, so fucking good... but it’s still not enough.

“Hop’, need more...”

“Shh, don’t worry, baby, I know...”

How can he string words together? You had just about managed to breathe yours out.

What delicious words they were, though.

You must have done something in response to them, bucked your hips a certain way or made a sound, you don’t quite know because your mind is starting to feel like liquid, because he’s suddenly smiling now.

A lazy, smug smile that makes you clench.

Gazing down at you, his hands splay across your waist, and he presses his thigh a little harder against your cunt, which has your back arching.

“You like when I call you baby, huh? When I talk to you?”

“Yeah…” is all you can so eloquently answer with.

“That’s good to know.”

How is he capable of this much talking? Does the pollen enhance sexual characteristics that are already there?

Whatever it does, you can’t think on it much further because the hand on your waist is now travelling down your stomach, and you’re about to complain at his thigh suddenly disappearing when they’re now replaced by his long fingers sliding over your cunt.

“Oh, fuck…” you gasp as he groans, your eyes falling shut.

“Jesus, baby, you’re so fuckin’ wet, you’re fuckin’ dripping…”

You don’t even bother trying to respond. Gripping at his shoulders, all you can do is moan as three of his fingers drag up and down your folds. When they move over your clit, you don’t know whether it’s a sob or a moan that falls from your open mouth. Either way, pure pleasure courses through you. Maybe at any other point you would have cum right there and then from how intense it is, but you need something inside you. Whatever is happening, that’s all you know.

“God, Hop’, please…”

“I know, baby…”

And as he says the words, he pushes two of his fingers inside you.

“Yes…” you cry, your hips pushing down so they slide all the way inside you, but if you’d been coherent enough to you would have bet he would have done so anyway.

“Jesus…” he hisses, tone strained, and he instantly starts to slip them in and out of you, sinking them in as far as he can each time. “… You’re so fuckin’ wet…”

He groans again when you clench down on his fingers, and it seems to break whatever kind of resolve he was still holding onto, however the hell he was holding on to it.

A pitiful whine of protest escapes you when his fingers pull out, and he just nods swiftly, strands of hair falling over his forehead as he rises up onto his knees.

“I know, sweetheart, I know, just let me… Fuck…”

Lifting your head, you watch him shift backwards until his boots can touch down on the ground, but it’s only a moment before he’s kneeling on the floor and then his hands are wrapping around your thighs, widening them, and then he’s lowering his head and then… and then…

Your mouth drops open wider as your hands dart to his hair, plunging in once again as his tongue licks a long, wide path up your folds.

“Just needed to fuckin’ taste you…” he mumbles against you, the vibration of his voice making you mewl.

If his hands weren’t keeping your thighs apart you would have wrapped them around his head. All you can do, though, is rock your hips and grind against his tongue. He growls with pleasure, and just as you inhale a breath to beg for more, he pushes three fingers inside of you.

Three.

Three of his thick, long fingers slide inside you with no resistance or pain at all, and you throw your head back with a loud cry as you clench around them.

“Fu-uck...” he groans, curling them a little, stroking inside you. “... Look how fuckin’ easy that was, huh... How fuckin’ easy are you gonna take my cock, baby? Huh? Is it gonna slide right in? Fill you all up on the first stroke?”

Again, at any other time, you would have cum right there and then, but... somehow it’s just not enough.

Gritting your teeth, because while it’s not enough, the pleasure is still so fucking good, you release a sound between a sob and a moan.

“Hop’... Fucking need more...”

“You want my cock in you, sweetheart, huh?”

“Please.”

He groans again, and then you hear it.

He’s stroking his cock in swift, firm movements, and you want to be doing that, you want to be touching him, tasting him, pleasuring him, and—

“Want you to cum on my tongue, wanna fuckin’ taste you,” he mumbles against your pussy, lapping at you again, and you have to take in a few ragged breaths before you can speak.

“... Can’t... Not enough... Need your cock...”

“Christ...” He exhales a breath that closely resembles another growl. “... Do you know what hearin’ those words does to me, huh? Oh, you’re gonna cum on my cock, baby, but I’ve fuckin’ dreamed about you cumming in my mouth so you know what you’re gonna do?” He lifts his head, and you open your half-lidded eyes to look at him. “... You’re gonna cum on my tongue.”

And lowering his head again, he sucks hard at your aching clit.

And maybe it is just enough, because your back is arching and you’re pulling at his hair and he’s having to tighten his grip on your thigh and tears of relief or maybe it’s beads of sweat are sliding down your cheeks because yes, yes, yes...

You don’t realise you’re chanting the word as your climax builds, and when it rolls through you, a blissful serenity follows it...

That lasts all of a few seconds before you’re squirming again, the throbbing in your core somehow sharper, more desperate.

Hopper, however, is sucking and licking at you still, lapping up your release as he moans, an arm moving to settle over your lower stomach. Opening your eyes, you gaze down at him and see his hand working over his cock still and you want to move and touch him but his arm is keeping you down and his tongue is continuing to move so deliciously against your cunt.

And then he’s releasing short, sharp groans, and his hips are jerking and his hand is starting to slow, and then he cums, and you can only watch as it trickles down his fingers.

No, no, no, you want to feel him cum, you want it inside you—

He lifts his head, licking his lips, and the hunger still burning in his eyes steals your breath away.

He rises, and you can only watch with ragged breaths as he kicks his boots away and pushes his trousers and boxers off. His dick is still hard, pressed flat against his stomach, tip red and weeping.

“You want my cock? You want my fuckin’ cock inside you...?” he’s murmuring, and your eyes dart up to meet his as you release a breath.

“God, fuck, yes, Hop’...”

“C’mere...” He’s suddenly on top of you, then, cupping the top of your head with his large hand as he props himself up on his elbow. It eases some more of the pain a little, having him crowd you, feeling his skin on yours, but you both know exactly what you need.

His eyes are boring down into yours, and your nails are digging into shoulders, and then, finally, you feel the tip of his cock against your cunt.

“Mhm, yeah, fuck, inside me...” you’re breathing, pleading, half out of your mind with need as you nod.

And then, without any more teasing or talking, his thick cock slides all the way inside you.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you cry out and your back arches. Pure pleasure and relief and bliss overwhelms you, and you haven’t even cum on him yet. In fact, he can’t move yet because you’re clenched so tightly around him, your slick walls gripping at him like your cunt doesn’t want him to ever leave.

His breaths are short, sharp, strained, and his hand has moved to rest under your head, a gesture that, at any other time, you would have recognised as tender.

“Oh, fuck, baby... Fuck... Feel every inch of my dick... You feel it, huh?”

Words aren’t possible anymore, so you can only nod, eyes still shut tight, and your breaths fall away into moans as he kisses at your neck, all of them sloppy, uncoordinated, needy, and you suddenly realise he’s murmuring to you.

“... Wanna fuckin’ move, wanna make you feel so fuckin’ good, wanna cum in your wet cunt and feel you cum on me, want you screamin’ my fuckin’ name...”

As if his words were the key, you unclench around him with a whine of desire, and, with a hiss, he instantly draws his hips back and then snaps them forward, sinking fully into you once again.

Fucking lighting zips through your body, you’ve never felt anything like it.

He must feel it, too, because he doesn’t stop for one moment, drawing all the way back and thrusting right back into you to the hilt, each time harder than the last and, distantly, you can hear the headboard smacking against the wall.

“... Good girl... Good fuckin’ girl...” he’s growling through gritted teeth, and you realise you are because you’re doing exactly as he wanted.

You’re shouting his name amongst your moans.

And not even just ‘Hop’ or ‘Hopper’; ‘Jim’ is falling from your lips, and each time he hears it his hips snap forward just that little bit harder.

“Yeah, baby, good fuckin’ girl... Good girl... Fuckin’ Christ... Can you hear how fuckin’ wet you are? Listen to how fuckin’ good you take my cock, baby... Take it... Fuck, take it...”

Nevermind listening, it’s how he feels inside you that’s making sparks skitter across your skin. He fills and stretches you perfectly, dragging and sliding against your sensitive walls deliciously each time. You’re not going to last much longer, the last coherent part of your mind knows, and it nearly makes you sob with both relief and dread.

You never want this fucking feeling to end, it’s all so good, so fucking good but you know it’s just going to feel even better when you cum, when you feel him cum.

Managing to open your eyes, you find his gaze still on you, flicking from your parted lips to your chest.

“... Cum...” you whisper, voice hoarse, and you have to swallow before you try again. “... Cum inside me, please... Want to feel you cum... Fill me with your cum...”

“Yeah?” His jaw is tight, eyes boring into your own again. “... Wanna feel my fuckin’ cum fillin’ you up, baby, huh? Want my fuckin’ cum leaking out of you?”

“Yes”, you chant over and over and over breathlessly, gaze fixed on his, unable to look away because his hips are stuttering in their rhythm, just slightly, but enough that you know.

He’s close.

“Cum, cum for me...” you start to plead now, “... Wanna feel you cum, cum inside me, Jim, please... I need it...”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ need it, baby?” he grunts, voice low, gravelling.

“Yeah, give it to me, please...”

“Take it, fuckin’ take it, take my cum...” He groans sharply then, mouth dropping open. “... Fuck...” His hand darts out from under your head and grips at the bedcovers, and with a few more thrusts, he then buries deep inside you and cums with a shout, eyes shut tight.

And euphoria spreads through you.

You feel his cum spill inside you, and the pleasure that courses through you from the sensation sends you spiralling into your own release. Gripping at his arms, nails digging in probably to the point of pain, you throw your head back and cry out.

It’s unlike any bliss you’ve ever felt before.

For a few moments you may even black out as it rolls through you in wave upon wave upon wave.

Hopper feels closer, as well, as if he’s collapsed slightly but just about managed to hold himself up in time. His lips are against your jaw, and you can feel his panted breaths, his lightly trembling frame.

Oh, you’re trembling, too, can hear it in your own breaths.

At least you can try and calm your heart rate, now, because it must be over, it has to be. It’s been done now, it’s...

It’s...

It’s...

It’s still there. That strange energy, whatever the hell it is. It’s not as intense now, but it’s there. Enough so that you lick your lips and gaze up at him, finger tips gliding down his arms.

“Hop’... I can still feel it.”

It’s a few moments before his eyes open, and when his gaze meets yours, and you realise he’s still hard inside you, you know before he speaks what he’s going to say.

“... Me, too.”

Neither of you speak, or move, just gaze at each other. Enough sense has returned that you take these few moments to breathe, but not enough that when those moments do start to stretch on... you just can’t help yourself.

Teeth sinking into your lower lip, you start to slowly roll your hips.

His eyes fall shut with a guttural groan, and your involuntary mewl answers him.

When his eyes then snap open, you also can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth.

“You not satisfied yet?” he murmurs, voice dangerously low, and you shake your head as your tongue glides across your lips.

“Fuck me again, Jim.”

His thumb and forefinger are suddenly gripping your chin, and his lips hover over yours as he exhales a breath.

“It not enough that my cum is fillin’ you up? You need some fuckin’ more?”

“Yeah...” you breathe, trying to lift your chin higher so you can kiss him, but he holds firm.

“You want me to fuck you again, sweetheart?”

“Please, Jim...”

His lips brush against yours, and it’s the lightest of touches, but it’s enough to have you moaning as you rock your hips again.

“Please...”

“Well, seein’ as you’ve been a good fuckin’ girl...”

Pulling back, he rises up onto his knees, and pulls out of you. You mewl softly at feeling empty now, but you’re instantly distracted by his hands gripping your thighs, keeping them parted wide, and the fact his eyes are fixed on your cunt.

“Fuck... Your pussy looks so pretty with my cum spilling out of it...”

Fucking hell.

“Hop’, please, fuck me, I need you again, I need your cock—”

“I know, baby, I know.” Your words have his gaze tearing away and returning to your own, and he releases your thighs with a groan. “Turn over. On your stomach.”

You don’t need telling twice.

Except you have your own demand.

“Take your shirt off, I want to feel all of you.”

When his fingers fly to the buttons of it and start undoing them, then you roll over onto your front, resting your cheek against the covers.

You hear him toss it aside, and then his fingers are sliding down your back, over your ass and to your cunt. His fingertips caress your pussy lips lightly, gliding up and down, and your eyes fall shut at the gentle waves of pleasure that pulse through you. He’s toying with your mixed cum, gently pushing it back inside you and spreading it along your cunt.

“Jesus Christ...” he breathes, half in awe, half aroused.

Any other time you would have left him indulge himself for as long as he wanted, but the desperate need inside you is growing once more.

“Jim... Fuck me...”

You’ve only just finished pleading him, when his cock sinks inside you, this time in a slow, long thrust.

As your mouth drops open in a high moan, your fingers gripping onto the covers, he releases a long groan, eyes fixed on his dick disappearing inside you.

“Fuck, look at that...” His hands grip your ass, spreading you open wider. “... Take me so fuckin’ good... So fuckin’ good...”

Your eyes nearly roll back when you close them, as he starts to repeatedly give you slow, long thrusts, watching his own cock spread your soaked lips apart. You’re nearly delirious with pleasure, cunt pulsing around him, and when you feel him move, you can’t even open your eyes.

He settles over you, holding himself up on his forearm while his other hand slides under your neck and grips it gently, making you lift your head, tipping it back a little.

And now his lips are right against your ear.

“Fucking perfection... Like you were fuckin’ made for my cock, huh, sweetheart?”

You can only moan in reply as his thrusts speed up a little.

The position you’re now in somehow makes it feel more delicious than before, like his cock is somehow filling you even more. You now focus on the lewd sounds caused by how wet your pussy is, too, and it’s so lewd, so filthy and hot that it’s making your stomach clench.

You must clench around him again, too, because he inhales a ragged breath before speaking.

“You gonna cum for me again?”

“Yeah...” you breathe, mind starting to turn blank.

“Gonna cum on my hard cock? Soak it and the fuckin’ bed?”

“Please...”

It feels more intense this time, the mounting pleasure, and your fingers twist into the bed covers as you try and ground yourself. He’s murmuring into your ear still, hand on your throat still gentle.

“... what a good fuckin’ girl you are, taking my cock so good, gonna take my cum again, huh? How many times can I cum in this pretty little pussy, how many times can I fill you up until you’re satisfied, huh...”

It’s all too much, too good...

Your orgasm crashes over you.

Your brow dipping, your mouth dropping open, a scream is pulled from your throat, and the world goes dark.

—

Your eyes snap open.

Oh, fuck.

There’s a slight pounding in your head, the beginnings of a headache most likely from dehydration.

Annoying.

When did I last have a drink, though? Or eat? Must’ve been...

Oh.

It all comes flooding back to you.

That... That actually happened?

Releasing a soft groan, you lift a heavy hand to try and rub at your forehead—

Another hand catches it, and the space beside you dips slightly.

“Hey, hey, woah, you okay?”

Your gaze darts to the source, and you find Hopper sat there, concern etched across his features. You don’t have time to think about it or answer, though, as he swiftly releases your hand and a glass of water suddenly appears before you.

“Here, drink this.”

Sitting up a little, you drink deeply, your throat dry, raw, actually, and the entire contents is nearly gone when you finally lower it, gasping a breath in.

He takes the glass from you, placing it on the bedside table, and as you lick your lips and adjust against the pillows, he watches you, fingers rubbing against his mouth.

Clearing his throat after a few moments, he ask quietly, “You okay?”

Is it too soon to tell him that was probably the best fuck of your life?

Raising your eyebrows, a light smile pulls at your lips. “Yeah. A little sore, but...” Your smile fades as he looks down at his hands, his jaw moving. “... Oh, Hop’, I didn’t—”

He can’t look at you, his head shaking. “I am so... I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Hey, no, don’t be.” Leaning forward, you place your hand on his arm, hating that he stiffens. “We couldn’t control ourselves—”

“I could’ve, I could’ve held out longer, I could’ve locked myself in that fucking bathroom, I just...” He looks fucking devastated.

Shifting closer, you wrap your other hand around his arm, tightening your grip. “You shouldn’t be sorry. I mean it. I...” Well, it’s now or fucking never, and all things considered... “... I wanted it, Hop’. Even without that aphrodisiac thing. I wanted you. I have for a long time.”

Your face is burning and your heart is pounding but relief settles on your shoulders the moment you finish speaking.

His head turns towards you now, gaze darting to meet yours, searching it. “You... You’re not lyin’ to me?”

Your lips lifting again, you shake your head before murmuring, “No.”

Hopper exhales a breath, his hand setting over both of yours. “I’ve... Fuck, I’ve wanted you, too. Just... I imagined it going a little differently.”

You give a soft laugh as delight overwhelms you, and his thumb brushes against your skin. “Yeah, we really skipped the first date, didn’t we.”

“In the traditional sense.” He smiles as you laugh again, but it’s gone just as soon as it arrived. “... You sure you’re okay?”

You don’t care how foolish you look, with your tender smile, gaze openly filled with affection. Probably because his gaze is exactly the same.

“I am. Really. It’s a good sore.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your teeth graze over your lower lip. “I wouldn’t mind getting used to it.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’d hoped you’d say that...”

Cupping your cheek, he closes the gap between you and kisses you tenderly, the pad of his thumb brushing against your skin gently. It’s sweet, gentler than you had ever imagined him to be.

It’s perfect.

When his lips leave yours but he remains close, you smile again. “I guess we can give Murray a thorough review, then.”

He growls quietly as he brushes his nose against yours. “Don’t talk about that man right now...”

As he moves closer, laying you back on the bed, your arms slide around his neck and your smile widens.

“Yes, Chief.”

—

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Striding across the warehouse floor, passing SUVS, sealed tight crates and people standing or sitting around, all sorts of weaponry strapped to their bodies, you ignore some of the eyes that follow you.

If some of them are doubting, your presence confirms it’s true. 

Reaching one of the many steel staircases, you walk up, the picture of ease and control. Inside, though, your heart is pounding and your mind is racing.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

At the top, you round the railing and shove a door open. Two men raise their heads, both sitting on chairs, using a small crate as a table to play a card game on, and the one to your left nods down the long corridor.

“Down there, last room.”

“Thanks.”

Heading down, you press your lips together, the strip lights above you blinking and flickering irritatingly. And, even more irritatingly, your heart’s still pounding.

Get your shit together, get your fucking game face on, and don’t hesitate.

Reaching the metal door, you straighten your back and knock twice on it.

“Come on in!” a voice calls, the Brooklyn accent muffled through the door.

Gripping the handle, you fix an easy, warm smile on your lips, push the door open, and step into the room.

And you fight hard to keep the smile there as your gaze lands on Ghost, in only his jacket, trousers and boots.

The masks are still on. 

Okay. All right.

And then his eyes lock with yours.

Finding quiet, controlled rage there, you swiftly drop your gaze to his arms, which are tied behind his back, to the metal chair, and then down to his ankles, finding the same. Both wrists and ankles are tied by zip-ties, and you’d laugh at the absurdity of that if you were anywhere else.

If you were with anyone else.

“Ah, Stray, sweetheart.”

Your gaze lifts to the voice, and your smile widens.

“Well, hello there.”

Angelo Vitale returns your smile, white teeth almost glowing in the dim room as he lifts his hands, the gold ring on his little finger glinting.

“There she is.”

Raising your eyebrows, your eyes flick to Ghost before back to him. “I didn’t believe it when I read your message, but here we are.”

“Your pretty eyes don’t lie, sweetheart.” 

“They certainly don’t.” Folding your arms, you keep looking at him as he now looks away to Ghost, grinning like he’s won the fucking lottery.

Which he has.

You don’t know how he’s fucking done it, but he has.

I suppose that’s what money can do for you.

Your gaze travels over his yellow silk shirt, pressed trousers, shining shoes.

It can get you a team of well-paid mercs.

Standing before Ghost, you try not to cringe as Angelo slaps his hand against the hard mask a couple of times.

“Caught ourselves the biggest fish in the lake, didn’t we? Your intel on the base was right.”

Ghost’s dark eyes snap to yours, and it’s with practised, painful ease that you can appear nonchalant.

“I wouldn’t have told you if it wasn’t, sir.”

You see the faintest movement of his jaw beneath the material mask.

Looking away, tilting your head, you smile at Angelo.

“Shall I get to it, then?”

“Y’know what…” Angelo inhales a breath, hands on his hips as he looks Ghost over. “... Think I wanna watch this one. See what you can do to make the legendary Ghost spill his guts.”

Ghost turns his head, tearing his gaze from yours, and looks up at him.

“Like to watch, do you?”

Angelo grins, placing his hands on his knees as he bends down, looking him in the eye. “Oh, yeah. I like to see what she uses, it’s like art.” He tilts his head, softening his voice as he exhales a breath. “Think I also wanna see what it is about her that keeps you comin’ back for more.” He lowers his voice a little more, turning his head to look at you. “It’s that sweet pussy, isn’t it? Can bring the greatest of killers to their knees.”

Ghost is looking at you, too, eyes hard, and you manage to stop your jaw from clenching. 

Angelo turns his head back to him, nose almost brushing against the mask as he murmurs, “If you’re a good boy, you might even get to feel it later.”

Simon’s arms flex as his fingers tighten into fists behind his back, but he can’t stop looking at your fucking face.

Your fucking nonchalant face.

Angelo straightens suddenly, claps a hand down onto his shoulder. “What a nice treat that’d be, huh, big guy?”

Ghost finally tears his gaze away, looking up at him.

He wants to ram his knife into the man’s fucking throat, spill his blood all over that silk shirt.

He will, one day.

He’ll make you watch. Maybe then you won’t be so fucking nonchalant.

He knew you were a piece of work, but not to this extent. Telling this fucker about the base? He didn’t even know how the boys were, who was still alive. Vitale’s men had arrived swiftly, with barely any warning, and they were fucking good.

Now here he was, in this fucking shit show, with him, and you.

He looks over at you again, watches the mouth he’d so adored open, but knocking on the door halts you.

“Enter,” Vitale calls, hands sliding into his pockets as he steps away, and the door opens, a merc appearing in the doorway.

“War Lord, sir, there’s something you’ll want to see.”

“Ah, damn, all right, one sec.”

Ghost frowns as he looks over to Vitale. “‘War Lord?’ Thought you were War Dog.”

Vitale smiles down at him. “Not anymore.”

“You’ve rebranded then, like a fucking delivery service?”

Fucking hell, Simon.

Your fingers dig into your arm as Angelo laughs, smiling widely. The sound’s false to your ears, and your eyes don’t leave him as he moves closer to Ghost, shaking his head.

“You’re one fucking funny guy, huh?”

Before Ghost can respond, Angelo’s fist suddenly darts out, colliding with his jaw. Ghost’s head turns with the action, a small grunt sounding from him, and you will him to keep his fucking mouth shut.

But, of course, he doesn’t.

“Can only do that ‘cause I’m tied down, can’t you, mate.”

Angelo hisses out a breath as he punches him again. Then again, then again. In the same place, over and over.

And you just stand there, mind racing again as you grit your teeth.

But there’s nothing you can do. Not if you really want to keep him safe.

Finally, Angelo steps back, panting, strands of his dark, usually perfectly slicked back hair falling over his forehead, and he inhales a long breath, massaging his knuckles.

“Not laughing now, are you, buddy,” he smiles.

Then, licking his lips, he turns, heading towards the door.

Keep your mouth shut, please keep your mouth shut, please─

Ghost clears his throat. “Yeah, best to stop before you get your lovely little shirt all stained.”

Angelo spins, fist raising, and you swiftly step in front of him, smiling softly.

“Sir,” you murmur, hands stroking his biceps gently. “Leave some for me, yeah? He’s not worth it. Not worth you.”

Angelo, lips pressed together, nostrils flaring, stares at Ghost for a few moments longer before his gaze drifts to you, and your stomach roils slightly from how it softens.

“You’re right, sweetheart.” Lowering his fist, he cups your cheek. “Get what you can out of him. Make me proud.”

Dropping his hand, with one last look at Ghost, he then turns and strides out of the room, the merc shutting the door behind him. Having turned to watch him go, you move towards the door, locking it.

And you gaze at the door for a moment.

And then you turn, looking at Ghost.

He’s looking at you, blood slowly seeping through the cloth of the soft mask.

Still.

Silent.

The corners of your mouth lift into a gentle smile.

“So… The easy way or the hard way?”

“You told him about base?”

His voice is tight. He’s really fucking pissed, and, of course, you don’t blame him.

You shrug a shoulder as nonchalantly as you can, because you got here after them; before you could sweep the room for bugs or cameras.

“Should be more careful about where you leave your maps.”

A lie. He’s not careless, and Ghost’s eyes narrow because he fucking knows it, too.

You’d used other means, but neither the man in here or out there can know that.

“I don’t fuck─”

Inhaling a breath, you move closer with a faux-pout. “I’m a little insulted you don’t respect my skills and talents, Simon.” You stop by the table that’s shoved against the wall next to the door, tilting your head as you smile. “Well, I know you like some of them.”

Oh, he’s really fucking pissed.

“Why’re you still fuckin’ with that little fucker?”

“Jealous?” You laugh softly, chest twisting. “Tell me where the cache is. Before this gets messy.”

“I’m not telling you a fuckin’ thing.” 

The way he’s looking at you, like you’re nothing more than scum… Well, you know you deserve it.

So you might as well go with it.

“All right. All right,” you murmur softly as you approach, and you lower to your knees before him, hands resting on his knees. And you caress them in small, gentle circles. “We can do this the easy way.”

His eyes haven’t left you, and you see the small movement of his throat as he swallows slightly. “Do you like doin’ this, hm? Whoring yourself out for him?”

Your hands stop. After a moment, a slow smile lifts your lips.

Then, you’re suddenly on your feet, no, you’re straddling him, sitting down heavily on his thighs. He couldn’t stop the grunt that escaped him as you had, his lips pressing together as you sigh and drape your arms around his neck.

“There’s that jealousy again, Ghost,” you tut softly, practically purring. “I just hate it…” 

Your hips are moving slightly, and he clears his throat quietly as you grind against his cock. Your hand is cradling the back of his head, too, fingers gently stroking. Sighing again, you lean your head against his, lips close to his ear. It’s with a soft, breathy voice that you next speak.

“... You know… I could be all yours…”

He just can’t help his eyes from falling shut, your hips continuing to grind.

“… I could leave him… work with you, only you… serve you…”

His eyes open and he pulls his head back, arching it away. “Stop it.”

Drawing your own head back, you smile at him. “What’s wrong, Simon, darling? You don’t like the thought of me serving you? Only on my knees for you? Your cock being the only one I suck, the only one I cum on─”

You break off with a sharp inhale as he bucks his thighs suddenly, forcing you to grip his shoulders.

“Stop. It.” he gravels, and you exhale a laugh.

“Why? Getting you all excited? Can’t you control yourself?” Your hands glide down his shoulders to his chest, moving to the zip of his jacket. “Why don’t I help you with th─”

His thighs buck again, making you grip on, and he hisses, “Get your fucking hands off me.”

Tilting your head, you press your lips together, exhaling a breath through your nose.

“You know I could remove your mask right now, don’t you? I’m surprised they haven’t already, but, then again, Angelo loves mystery, suspense. But I could take it off now, bare your face to me, to him, to the world. But I’m not doing that, am I, Ghost. So give me something.”

He looks at you, brow furrowing a fraction.

“Why haven’t you? Why haven’t you ever?”

You smile. “Tell me something.”

“You tell me.”

You gaze at him.

He doesn’t say a word.

After a few moments, you exhale a laugh. “As much as I love playing this game with you, if you don’t tell me something, anything, then he’s going to come in here, and he’s not as charming as I am.”

“Send him in, think I’d rather him than you.”

“Big words from a big man.” You’re smiling, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Trust me, you don’t. Tell me.”

He realises then, suddenly, stupidly.

You’re scared of Vitale. Not just for yourself.

For him.

Pressing his lips together, he holds your gaze and murmurs, “If you get these ties off, I can get us out.”

You frown lightly, briefly, then your features shift into practised seduction, your head tipping back a little as you laugh.

“Oh, lovely. And where would we go, Ghost, hm? The Bahamas? No, I bet you’d love somewhere like Skeggy─”

“I mean it. You know we could both do it, together─”

“Stop it.”

The hissed words had left you so quickly, so quietly. Your lips barely move as you continue, “You can’t win this one, Simon. Don’t make me have to watch.”

He opens his mouth, when, suddenly, you’re off him. Sighing loudly, in one swift movement, you unbuckle your vest and drop it onto the table. Removing a phone from your belt, you blow out a loud breath as you tap away on it for a couple of moments, then you toss it onto the vest. Turning to him, you place your hands on your hips.

“Come on, then, the 141, what’s the 411 on that?”

“What─”

“What are you all up to at the moment?”

“You know I’m─”

“Why are you here?” Your eyes have narrowed suddenly, and you fold your arms as you step closer. “They’re just zip-ties, Simon, you could break them in your sleep. Is this all a ploy?”

“Stray─”

You sigh heavily and raise your eyebrows. “I can see you’re going to be stubborn. Though, having you all tied up here, all for me…” A slow smile lifts your lips. “... It really would be a waste.”

You step forward again, nearly infront of him, and he tips his head back, gazing up at you, and he hates─

There’s two hard knocks on the door.

“Stray,” a voice calls.

Vitale.

He snorts as your arms drop. “Go on, run to your master.”

Smiling, you turn your back to him, heading towards the door. “Enjoy the view.”

Unlocking the door, you open it and step out without another look at him. Moving into the corridor after closing the door, your smile lingers as you look at Vitale, his hands on his hips.

And he’s pissed.

Before you can speak, he does, eyebrows raised.

“What’s takin’ so fuckin’ long?”

“This is Ghost, sir. It’s not going to be like with others.”

“Oh, so you’re not the fucking best at what you do, then? You’ve lied to me, countless times? Why the fuck do I keep you around then?”

Whatever it was the merc had to show him, it’s rattled him, and you can’t have his mood escalating.

Not with Simon here.

Softening your voice, you step closer to him. “Sir, I only meant that it will take a little longer. It will happen, I will find out for you.”

He shrugs briefly, staring at you. “How long we talkin’, then? Couple minutes, hours? Days?”

“No, not days─”

“How long, then?”

“Within the hour.”

He sighs heavily. “You have half an hour. Fuckin’ do something.”

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

Pressing his lips together, he then tuts as he drops his hands. “Hey, hey, come here…” When you step closer, he cups your face, tone softer when he continues. “You are the best at what you do, all right. I didn’t mean to be a dick.”

You smile softly. “I know, sir.”

“Hm.” His gaze drifts over your face, thumbs moving slightly against your cheekbones. “You gonna come to my room tonight?”

You shift your smile to a gentle, kind smirk. “Sir, you know I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

He sighs heavily again, blowing out the breath as his thumbs continue brushing against your skin. “I know. I know that. You only fuck for business. Maybe I’ll put a job out on myself one day, then I’ll get what I want.”

You manage a laugh, an easy smile. “Maybe you should, sir.”

“Hm.” He’s smiling, too. Then his brow dips a little, the smile lingering. “You don’t enjoy fucking him, do you?”

You’re quick, making your eyebrows rise. “Of course not. That’s just business. Certainly not pleasure.”

“Uh-huh…” His thumbs are still stroking your cheeks. “… and in all the times you’ve fucked him…” One hand moves, cupping the back of your head. “… you’ve not been able to give me a single piece…” The long fingers of his other hand have slipped down to your neck, where they squeeze. “… of useful information.”

You hold your ground, exhaling a strained breath.

“Sir…” you rasp. “… I gave you… the base location…”

“Oh, yeah. That was good.”

He holds you for a few moments longer, staring at you, then, he releases you, hands dropping to his sides.

You inhale quick breaths as quietly as you can, licking your lips, and he smiles widely.

“Let’s get somethin’ even better this time, huh. ‘cause you know what I’ll fuckin’ do to you if you don’t, all right.”

You nod, smiling lightly. “Of course, sir.”

“Don’t disappoint me. 30 minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

He waves a hand at you, his other pulling his phone out of his pocket as he turns away, heading down the corridor.

“Go on, go, be brilliant.”

Watching his retreating back, you then turn to the door, your smile falling the moment you do, and you swallow hard.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Think.

Opening the door, you step back into the room and close it behind you, locking it. Ghost’s eyes flick to you, his head lifting.

“You done sucking him off? That didn’t take long.”

You shove away the all too fucking familiar pang in your chest, the ache, the anger… No… You keep the anger.

“Yeah, actually, he likes to be edged all day. Then I let him fuck me at the end of it.”

He just grunts, disgust faintly in his gaze, and you just fucking…

Striding across the room, you sit down heavily in his lap again, straddling him, and drape your arms around his neck once more.

He’s pulled his head back a little, frowning. “Fuck off─”

“Where were we?”

Angling your head, you press a firm kiss to his lips through the material mask. You taste blood.

He grunts, trying to pull his head back further, and then you pull back, gazing at him.

“You’re fuckin’ mental, do you─”

You shove off his hard mask, gripping it in your hand.

It’s minute, but you feel him stiffen under you.

There’s a pang again. The one you hate the most.

Sadness.

Gazing at him, after a few moments you lean over a little, placing the mask on the table, and then you turn back to him. He’s silent now, watching you, stone-still.

Lifting your hands, you keep your eyes on his as you gently and slowly fold up the material mask until his mouth is exposed. There’s bruises already forming along his jaw. His split lips are parted a little, and you can feel the small, shallow breaths he’s taking. Almost like he’s holding them.

You lower your hands.

He doesn’t speak.

Neither do you.

Then, reaching forward, you kiss him gently.

Then again, then again, then again, capturing his lips in soft, short kisses.

Your eyes have closed so you can’t see if his have, and your hands settle on his shoulders, and you almost don’t want to look, anyway, don’t want to know. You just kiss him over and over and over─

He pulls his head back, practically recoiling.

“What’re you fuckin’ playin’ at?”

Opening your eyes, you gaze at him, hate the confusion and disgust you find again.

“We never do this, do we,” you murmur softly. “Just kiss. I think I’d like to, while I have you here.”

He stares at you. Then his brow furrows.

“Did he teach you this technique?”

Now you stare at him. And then you smile.

“Do you want me to show you what he’s taught me?” Suddenly you grip the back of his neck and lean closer, murmuring into his ear, “Do you want me to show you the filthy things I do for him? What I say? How I moan for him?”

He’s pulling against the ties, and it gives you a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Maybe this is your new technique.

Using his imagination.

Licking your lips, you continue softly, “I wait for him, naked, my legs spread. Pussy dripping. I ache for his touch, his mouth, his tongue. He buys me lingerie. Delicate little things that he likes to rip off my body. And then I let him use me however he likes, and I love it.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, trying to put some distance between you both, but he can’t.

You angle your head even further towards him, lips caressing the shell of his ear. “Oh, do you not like hearing about this? Thinking about it? Picture it, Ghost, me spread on his bed, his cock inside me, me moaning his name─”

He bucks his thighs once more, forcing your head back so you have to look at him. Fire burns in his eyes, unfiltered, uncaring.

“Thanks for reminding me that you’re nothin’ but a whore. You fuckin’ deserve each other.”

You stare at him. 

Your heart shatters.

Sadness slips from your bones… and it roils, contorts, burns itself into cold fury.

You lean closer. 

“I think we do, Simon. Because I can touch his face. I caress it when he’s done fucking me, when his cum is leaking out of me I kiss every inch of it and I love him─”

It happens so quickly.

He grunts harshly as the cable ties securing his wrists snap and suddenly you’re off of his lap with a gasp, the ones securing his ankles also snapping, and then he’s surging forward and you’re surging backwards, almost stumbling over your feet until your back hits against the cold tiled wall, forcing another sharp gasp from you, and you’re trapped between it and him.

And he towers over you, staring down at you, chest nearly heaving as much as your own, and you hadn’t caught your expression in time.

Eyes wide, lips parted.

Startled.

Frightened.

You’d gone too far, and you know it.

Whatever happens next, you deserve it.

He’s still just staring at you, and you don’t dare look away from his gaze.

Waiting.

And then, finally, he speaks, voice so, so quiet.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Swallowing, you inhale a slightly shaking breath.

“Simon, I─”

Gunshots break out in the distance, echoing.

Both your heads snap to the door. 

Gunfire. Fighting. This you can handle.

It’s enough for you to pull yourself together.

Just about.

Looking at him, you inhale a quietly trembling breath. “Aren’t you a lucky boy.”

And then you’re darting past him, shoulder knocking into his arm, striding for the door, grabbing your vest and phone on the way.

And he lets you leave.

Your heart pounds as you unlock the door, yank it open and step out. The lights are flickering even more, parts of the corridor in darkness, but you stride down it without another thought, swiftly pulling your vest on and securing it.

Keep going, get out.

Think later.

Feel later.

You stride past doors and the place the mercs had been, cards scattered across the crate, the chairs on the floor. You can hear the gunfire coming from below, from the warehouse floor, but you carry on, shoving your phone back onto your belt.

Vitale will already be gone, his bodyguards, the nastiest of the fuckers here, will have got him out. They never come for you.

Turning a corner, you think of the nearest and quickest roads, which safehouse will be best, or wheth─

You sense him a second too late.

A hard body rams into you, shoving you back, a forearm against your throat pinning you against the wall.

“Where is he, Stray?” Soap hisses.

You sigh, lifting your chin to try and take in a full breath.

“Is that your gun or are you just happy to see me, gorgeous?”

He snorts, pressing his gun harder into your stomach. “Don’t flatter yourself. Where is he?”

“Room down at the end.”

“In one piece?”

You flash a smile. “If you’re quick.”

Pressing his lips together, he then releases you, stepping back.

“Funny.” His jaw moves as you rub at your neck. “Suppose I should be cordial and thank ye for the coordinates, saved us a lot of time.”

You drop your hand, inclining your head. “You’re welcome.”

“He’ll be fuckin’ thrilled ye─”

“Don’t tell him.” You’d snapped the order, eyes darting to lock with his.

He lifts both hands in a gesture of surrender, eyebrows high. “All right, all right. Jesus. Something wrong with ye. Both of ye.”

“Thanks, you’ve saved me a lifetime of therapy.”

Suddenly, a door slams open around the corner from the way you’d come, gunfire spilling into it.

You look at him, and he steps aside, jerking his head to the way he’d come. “Go.”

You treat him to a small, genuine smile.

“Thanks.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Suppose we’ll be seein’ ye again soon.”

“If you’re lucky.”

Striding past him, you break out into a jog, hearing him do the same as he heads towards the fighting.

Shoving a door open, you move down some backstairs as you press your lips together, pangs thudding through your ribcage.

Yeah, if you were lucky, and I wasn’t so fucking stupid, you’d never see me again.

─

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Masterlist

More like back-alley, actually.

A short queue of masked people are waiting to be let through a rusting metal door, a big bloke with shades on even though it’s fucking night taking their names and checking them by speaking into a walkie.

“I think he’s more of a leather man.”

“Shut up, Soap.”

“Look at that handsome fucker there, arse out an’ all. There’s your look.”

“Can we keep the channels quiet, for fucks sake, there might─”

Ghost breaks off as a figure enters the field of his scope, striding down the alley, heels echoing.

He knows those heels.

And he’s never lucky enough for things to just be fucking coincidences.

“Ghost? What’s goin’ on?”

He exhales a long, exasperated breath as he follows the figure, thin-strapped black dress with thigh-high split touching the ground, the square, low cut neckline pushing the figure’s tits in and up tantalisingly, the silky black, wavy wig reaching down to the waist.

The mask that’s resting on top of it is the final giveaway.

Why can’t it just be a fucking coincidence.

“Ghost?” Gaz prompts.

“There's been a complication,” Ghost grits out.

The complication in question strides past the queue, and smiles at the bouncer who smiles and nods familiarly.

And when the door is opened for you, you look up, find him up on the roof, smile, and pull the half-skull mask down over your face.

And then you pass through the door.

“Fuck,” Ghost hisses, lifting his head and swiftly getting to his feet.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Keep your eyes and ears out, boys. I’m goin’ in.”

─

Deep purple and blue lights flash quickly, and music blares. He can barely fucking see or hear. But thankfully he’s fitting right in, every single person here masked up and in either some kind of uniform, fancy suit or dress, or barely anything. Anyone and everyone is welcome here, as long as your name’s on the list.

His certainly hadn’t been, but they’d scoped out a back entrance earlier in the day, through the cellar, and he’d only had to evade a couple of bar staff before he’d found his way here.

‘Here’ is Club 31 High, as exclusive as they got, and probably fucking gorgeous to other people. Marble columns and floors, plush red seats and curtains, chandeliers, it seems more suited to opera and orchestras than the sultry, Deep House music that’s thumping throughout the chambers. People grind and rock against each other, off their faces on drugs or alcohol. He has to move around the edge of the rooms, passing people kissing, sucking cocks, fingering, and fully fucking in the darker corners.

Anything goes here, as long as your name’s on the list.

He scans each briefly illuminated face, trying to find yours, or, really, the mask you seem to think would be so fucking funny to wear. Some people grab at him along the way, trying to pull him onto the dance floors, or rub against him, caressing him. He passes by swiftly, trying to get through quickly without drawing too much attention. He’s spotted some bouncers here and there, and there’s got to be cameras everywhere, though how they can pick anything up is a wonder.

Gritting his teeth, he heads into another chamber, this one bigger, the ceiling higher. It’s even louder and darker in here, and, moving down the steps into it, he wishes he’d brought his fucking headset. It wouldn’t look so fucking weird to wear it here.

He scans the crowd, but it’s nearly fucking impossible, people are dancing too much and the lights are flashing too much and─

A hand slides across his lower back, around his side, and someone stands in front of him, both hands resting on his vest. He’s about to step away, disappear into the crowd, when his eyes lock with yours.

“Hello, Simon,” you say with a smile, though he lip-reads it rather than hears it.

How can anyone fucking hear in here.

As if hearing his thoughts, you slide your hands up, wrapping your arms around his neck, and only have to rise up a little higher due to the heels to rest your lips against his ear.

Even then he can only just hear you.

“I knew I'd get you out dancing one day.”

“The fuck are you doing here?” he shouts into your ear.

“Having a girl’s night. And we were told strictly no boyfriends, so shoo.”

Stepping back, you release him, smile lingering, and turn, melting into the crowd.

“Fuck sake…” he hisses, following after you swiftly.

People move out of the way, too far gone to be annoyed at being shoved. His eyes are fixed on the back of your head, and then, when you stop suddenly, he nearly collides with you as you turn to him. Raising your hands and arms above your head, you sway your hips, and he rolls his jaw.

“Let’s fucking go,” he shouts, knowing you can lip-read, too, though no one would have a hard time understanding him.

Your blood-red smile widens.

Turning around, he thinks you’re about to set off again when you actually take a step back.

And then you lean back against him, settle your hands on the back of his neck, and grind your ass back against his cock.

Raising his eyes to the pitch-black ceiling, he pushes out a harsh breath.

For fuck’s sake.

You don’t stop, rolling your hips, arching your back, able to find the beat of the noise and make it seem like music to him.

His fingers flex at his sides.

No, no, no.

Shoving you away, gritting his teeth, he watches as you turn to him, lips lifted in a wide smile.

A game, always a fucking game.

He can see you’re about to move again, disappear and have him searching like a fucking dog, and he won’t have that.

His hand darting out, he grips your upper arm and moves first instead, pulling you through the crowd. You don’t hit at him and if you’re shouting, he can’t hear it. Though you’re just as likely to not want to make a scene as him.

At the edge of the room, he spots someone heading out of a door into this room and heads to it, pulling you through it into a small, circular chamber. A marble table is at the centre, with dozens of white roses in a large vase resting on top of it, and as the door swings shut behind you, it does a fantastic job of muffling a large portion of the music. Not enough, though, and it’s still too public here. He pulls you towards another door, marvelling at how you still haven’t said a word, and pushes it open. There’s a long corridor, doors on the left, a mirror that stretches all the way down on it on the right. How anyone could see themselves in it is a mystery, though, as the lights are so dimmed you could barely see your own face.

Pushing the first door open, using the handle, he finds it’s a bathroom, a small, really fucking fancy one.

Perfect, but not this one. He pulls you down the corridor, right to the end, and you still don’t say a word, heels echoing.

Those fucking heels.

Reaching the final door, he pushes it open, finds it empty, and then pushes you in, releasing your arm. He steps through after, locking the door behind himself. It muffles all sound of the outside, he thinks most likely by design, these bathrooms not just for pissing and shitting, but fucking too.

And what a bathroom to fuck in. The toilet is to his left, the grandest he’s ever seen, made from the same marble as the floor and walls, a thick red rug is in the centre of the room, in front along the far wall is a plush red loveseat, and to his right, a marble counter stretches across the short wall along with a mirror, with a sink cut into it and what must be designer products in the corner. The light’s not as dim as it was out in the corridor, but it’s still low.

What he wouldn’t give for some clear fucking strip lighting.

His attention returning to you, he watches you, your hands behind your back, that fucking smile still in place.

Hang on, hands behind your back…

“Come here. Hands where I can see them.” He moves forward, and you raise your hands, empty, as you lift your chin and inhale a breath.

He thinks he might see your lips part before he bends down, but that’s probably just from taking the breath.

He can’t help his gaze from briefly dropping to your heels. Yeah, they’re the ones.

Leather, platform, thick straps, heavy gold buckles at the ankles.

He remembers the cold feel of them against his shoulders. 

Shoving the memory away, he starts to roughly pat and feel at your legs, searching for weapons.

He hears you exhale a laugh, widening your legs obediently when he taps a hand from one to the other. “Oh, Simon, they take weapons at the door, they’re in the lovely cloakroom.”

“All of them?” His hand moves up the thigh where there isn’t the split, and he pauses when he feels steel against his gloves. Lifting his head, he arches an eyebrow at you, watches your smile widen, and then slides his fingers under the holster and pulls sharply, ripping the knife from your thigh. He tosses it behind him, making a mental note of where he thinks it lands. Moving his hands to the other thigh, then out onto the silk material of the dress, he slides his hands up your hips, over your stomach, around your back, and then to your waist.

It’s now your turn to arch an eyebrow as his hands near your chest, swiping between and under your tits.

“Do you really think I could conceal anything else in this?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you. Turn around.”

He makes you before you can, gripping your shoulder and spinning you to face the mirror. The sudden action makes you have to press your hands down onto the counter to steady yourself. Your lips twitch as he slides his hands up your hips and across your back. It’s cut low, though, to the middle of your shoulder blades, so it doesn’t take him long.

A hand moves up your bare skin, up the back of your neck, under the hair, feeling along the scalp of the wig.

You hum gently, closing your eyes as your lips twitch again, and his hand quickly leaves.

It goes instead to your mask, which he slides off, and inspects the inside.

“Really fucking funny, wearing this.”

You meet his gaze in the mirror. “Admit it, it turns you on.”

His lips press together, and he tosses the mask onto the counter. “What’re you doin’ here.”

“Well, I was very much enjoying myself, and then you just grabbed me like a brute and pulled me in her─”

“Stray.”

“Simon.”

You tilt your head, a smile lifting your lips as you gaze at him in the reflection.

He, though, is stone-still.

“It’s not fuckin’ funny anymore, Stray.”

Your eyebrows raise and your lips part in faux-surprise. “Oh, is this about what happened at the warehouse with Angelo?”

He hates the way you say the name, nearly purring it.

“You nearly had me and the boys killed.”

“But none of you did die, did you─”

“I said nearly.” The bark of his voice has you silencing yourself. 

For a very brief moment.

“So, what, I’ve betrayed you, have I, Simon?” You snort. “That’s your own fault.”

He still hasn’t moved.

“Did you think I was going to hurt you. When we were there.”

Silence.

You’re looking at him in the reflection, mouth in a thin line, and he’s looking at you.

You don’t speak.

His mask and the dim lighting hides the flexing in his jaw.

“Do you think I’m gunna hurt you now?”

He needs to know.

He hopes you don’t fucking realise how much.

Silence stretches on again.

He doesn’t ask again, but you know he won’t move until you do.

You keep looking at him a little longer, though.

You did hurt me. You broke my heart. You betrayed me. And you don’t even know it.

Lifting your chin a little, you give him a light smile. “No. I wouldn’t let you.”

He exhales a breath, something easing in his chest but not enough. “Is that right. You know, you’ve put me in a fucking position here─”

“No, Simon, it’s you who’s put me in a position.”

Your far-too-pleased with yourself smile returns as you press your ass back against him.

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t move. “I’ll finish. You’ve put me in a fucking position where I could, no, should, walk out of here, let you go, let this all be done. Or…” Suddenly, he grips your hip, hard enough that you hiss in a breath. “... I could repay you for what you did at the warehouse.”

You panic for a moment that Soap told him, but, no, the fury in his eyes tells you otherwise.

You know what a grateful Simon looks like.

“Repay me? You’ve just been moaning about how awful it was.”

“Well… You were working so hard to make it up to me, weren’t you.”

“‘Make it up to you’─”

“Grinding on my cock like that. You were practically begging for forgiveness.”

You laugh, your head tipping back slightly.

“Oh, you’re so─”

His hand suddenly darts up, gripping your jaw under your chin, tipping your head back further as he simultaneously takes a step forward, pressing you against the counter.

“No, you don’t get to fucking talk unless I tell you to,” he murmurs against your temple.

If you obey now, right now, then he knows you’re in; in once more in this twisted fucking game he should end but he just fucking can’t.

He watches you in the mirror.

Your eyes slide down to meet his.

And you don’t say a word.

He exhales a breath, dropping his chin a little so his lips are closer to your ear. “I’m gunna ruin you for him. It’ll be my cum leaking out of you, running down your sweet legs as you trot on back to him in those fucking heels.”

Fucking hell.

Your stomach twists deliciously as you gaze at him.

And you risk it. 

“Is that a promise?”

You can’t see him smile as he allows this one insolence. 

“It’s a given, love.”

Raising his other hand, he pulls the material mask over his mouth and then bites at your jaw and kisses down your neck.

You gasp and moan almost with relief as the hand then slides across your stomach until his forearm is against you, and he pulls you back further against him, closing the little space there is.

His vest causes you to have to arch your back though, your ass once more firmly against his cock, and he’s not going to fucking complain.

“Look in the mirror, look at yourself,” he murmurs, your eyes having fallen shut, and he bites at your jaw again as they snap open. “You’re going to watch all of this, and you’re gunna fuckin’ think about it while his cock’s inside you. You’ll be thinking of me and only me when you cum.”

Your breathing has sharpened, but there’s a burning in your eyes, some kind of anger there.

There’s probably a defensive quip for Vitale on your tongue, but you’re still behaving.

“Look at you, bein’ a good girl for me,” he murmurs, and your lips part on a sharp exhale.

He loves when you behave, almost as much as when you don’t.

His hand rises, and he tugs the neckline of the dress down, exposing your tits and making them lift higher. He rolls your nipples between his fingers, and he chuckles lowly as your knees buckle momentarily, a moan escaping you.

“Does he do this for you? He doesn’t strike me as a giver.” He moves his hand from your tits to your mouth, resting two gloved fingers against your lips. “Suck.”

You do, instantly, swirling your tongue as you find his eyes in the mirror.

“Yeah, good girl.” He indulges for a few moments longer, his cock twitching in anticipation and memory, and then he swiftly pulls his fingers away. Moving them back down to your nipples, he circles them with your saliva.

Your back arches as much as it can as you sigh out moans, remembering to keep your eyes open.

He mouths at your cheekbone, not giving you an inch of room. “How does that feel? Speak.”

“Good, so fucking good,” you breathe, trying to rock your hips back against him.

Ghost hums his approval lowly, breathing in the scent of your skin, a hint of fragrance there from whatever you’d put on it. 

“I want you dripping,” he murmurs, twisting, pinching and pulling your nipples, going from one to the other. “I want you aching for my cock until you think you’ve gone mad. I want you begging for me.”

He can feel your pulse through his hand spread across your throat and neck, his fingers gripping at your jaw still. 

It’s faster.

“Good, isn’t it, love. You dripping yet? Is your cunt soaked?”

Your body is on fire, his fingers so fucking good but it’s not enough.

Managing to turn your head closer to him the smallest amount, you try to find his lips, murmuring, nearly pleading, “Mmh, take your gloves off.”

He angles his head away. “They’re stayin on. And did I say you could talk?”

Suddenly his hand leaves your tits and grips the skirt of your dress, tugging it up over your ass roughly. You try not to appear too pleased as he chuckles.

“No knickers? You were wantin’ this, weren’t you? Wantin’ me?”

He brings a hand down on one of your ass cheeks, swiftly and sharply, tearing a soft cry from you.

“Speak.”

You exhale a laugh, unable to help yourself. “Your ego is almost as big as your─”

The grip on your throat tightens a little, for a moment.

“No smart words from you today, just the truth.”

The truth. How frightening.

Still, though, you smile.

“But that was the truth. And your cock is big.”

His lips are against your ear once more, voice low, demanding. “So tell me, then. You came here wanting it, didn’t you?”

You expect him to perhaps spank you again, play with your nipples maybe or caress your skin. But he gives you nothing. It’s maddening.

Licking your velvet-red lips, you exhale a long breath. “... Yes.”

You feel him smile.

“Good girl.”

He plunges two gloved fingers into your pussy.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out, hands pressing against the counter.

He nips at your earlobe. “I’ll allow that, only because you sound so fucking sweet.”

His fingers move instantly, fucking you slow and deep.

And he barely takes a breath before speaking again.

“How many fingers does he need to stretch you properly? Dainty little things, weren’t they. Does he have to work hard, poor fucker.”

And, yes, the anger’s there again, burning in your eyes, and your teeth are biting into your lower lip.

It’s satisfying to him, as fucking twisted as it is, that you so clearly want to snap and yell at him, but you won’t. For him. Because he said you can’t.

It makes his cock so fucking hard.

He wants to see just how good you’ll be, how much you’ll obey him.

What will be your breaking point.

“Does he cum first, or does he make you first? Countless times, like I can, like I do. Does he know what you sound like when you’re desperate, out of your mind, overstimulated but fucking begging for more?”

He slips a third finger in, still moving them tantalisingly slowly but deeply as moans fall from your lips.

Yet despite giving them to him freely, anger is still clearly blazing in your half-lidded eyes. 

And he can’t get enough.

“Do you moan and grip at him, beg him, hang on to him. Do you look up at him with those pretty fuckin’ eyes, beggin’ with them when your head’s too fuckin’ empty to form words? Do you─”

He catches himself.

Your words from the warehouse have been circling round and round in his mind since you spoke them.

And I love him─

Had that been it. Were you going to say that you love him fucking you.

Or that you love him. End of. Full stop.

He’d never know, and he hadn’t wanted to know.

He still doesn’t want to know.

Exhaling a harsh breath, he slips a fourth finger in.

Every breath you exhale is now a moan, one hand gripping at his forearm, and your other suddenly moves back, cupping the back of his head, your fingers pressing in.

He can feel your walls clenching around him, fluttering, and he groans against your ear.

“You gunna cum already? You been that desperate for me?”

He listens to you moan and mewl for a few moments longer, fingers flexing against your throat, before he orders, “Speak.”

Your legs are nearly trembling. “Yes.”

“Beg me. Ask me to cum.”

“Please, Simon, please can I cum, please, I need to, please─”

“Mmh, not yet. Hold it.”

You make a strained sound, eyes closing tight, and he fucking loves that you’re obeying.

But he doesn’t want to reward you. Not yet.

Lips against your ear once more, he watches you in the mirror. “Did he fuck you later, after we left, after we burned that place to the fucking ground. Did you ride him, did you tell him sweet little things to soothe his fuckin’ ego. Did you hold him─”

“Simon─”

“Did I say you could speak.”

There’s no anger in your eyes now, just… 

Why would you be sad. He doesn’t fucking understand it.

Are you that attached to the fucker?

Whatever reason for it… he fucking hates seeing it.

Softening his grip on your jaw a little, he turns his head slightly, lips pressing against your cheek.

“How does this feel? Does your clit need some attention, is it aching for me? Speak.”

“Yes,” you breathe again, knees bending slightly for a moment as you try to rock your hips.

His hand finally releases your jaw and lowers, and he walks you back half a step to give himself the room to slip his hand down your stomach to the slit of your dress, yanking it up so his fingers can find your clit.

You gasp sharply as he strokes at it, your body jerking slightly as you hang on the precipice of your orgasm.

He watches you in the mirror, your eyes closed, mouth open, chest heaving.

And still you don’t allow yourself to cum.

Opening your eyes, though, you beg him with them.

Fuck…

He presses an almost kiss to your cheek. “Cum for me, love. Go on.”

You cry out as you grip at his head, your back arching, and you cum instantly. Your pussy squeezes at his fingers, gripping them tight, and he grunts against your skin, pressing another nearly-there kiss to it.

“That’s it, good girl, cum all over my glove, give me it all.”

Your body jerks as you moan, and when it finally goes slack, your head leaning back against him, he smiles.

“That was a big one, wasn’t it. You’ve been fuckin’ desperate for that.”

You just try and catch your breath, your fingertips softening on the back of his head. He pushes your head to the side with his own, then drops his lips to your neck. 

“Speak,” he grunts as he bites your shoulder.

You inhale a shuddering breath, swallowing. “… Yes…”

“Good girl.” Pulling his fingers out of you, biting you again when you moan as they leave you, he groans lowly as he wipes his fingers on the ass cheek he’d slapped. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

You hum somewhat weakly in reply.

Not weak enough, though.

You gasp sharply and your hips buck as he starts to stroke your clit again. Your eyes snapping open, you lock your gaze with his.

“You’re gunna cum again for me,” he murmurs against your skin.

Still sensitive, your hips buck again, but he’s stroking so lightly, so gently, though that’s almost making it even better. His other hand slides over your stomach, his forearm holding you against him again, your hips now only able to jerk a little.

The blissful pleasure of your orgasm has only faded slightly, so with each stroke he gives, it rises a little higher… but… and you fucking curse yourself… it’s not enough.

And he knows it.

“Need somethin’ inside you, don’t you,” he says against your ear, still holding your gaze.

You nod, your breathing long, deep and shaking as you try to regulate it.

He exhales a breath. “Not yet. And this time, you’re not gunna take your eyes off yourself.”

Fucking hell…

Dropping your hand from his head, you flatten both palms against the counter and shift your gaze to your own, and he chuckles quietly.

“Good girl.”

His fingers quicken.

Your teeth grit as you try to stifle a sharp gasp.

“No, no, don’t be doing that…” He’s looking at you in the reflection still, head leaning against yours. “… You’re gunna look at yourself and you’re gunna be loud.”

The way he caresses, circles and strokes your clit, the leather of his glove slick against it…

You’re leaning your head into his, hips bucking, and you give in, mewling loud enough to fill the space because you don’t care, it just feels so good.

He’s biting at your shoulder and neck again, too, almost with a sense of frenzy.

And then he starts talking again.

“What does he say when I mark you like this? Do you hide it from him? Do you avoid him?”

Muscles in your jaw jump and flex as you grit your teeth tightly

His eyes flick up to you. “Speak.”

“Yes,” you grit out.

“And what does he say?”

You stare at yourself, eyelids fluttering a little as pleasure sparks through you.

“Speak.”

Your jaw is clenched tight, teeth pushing into each other.

Suddenly, you turn your head closer to his.

“Kiss me.”

“No,” is the instant answer.

He’s punishing you, and you know it. 

It could be worse.

He could have left.

So why hasn’t he.

Why is he here, fucking you.

If you betrayed him, if he hates you that much, why is he here.

Why is he asking these questions.

Why does he care.

Does he care.

You’ll probably never know.

The anger that had been bubbling inside you, simmering in some kind of control, now explodes as you gaze at him.

How could he care.

Your elbow drives into his lower stomach, just under his vest, and then you slam your head back, the back of your head colliding with his nose and jaw.

“Fuck─ What the fuck─” he starts hissing, releasing you automatically.

Spinning, you shove him backwards.

“What─”

You shove him again, silent.

His brow is furrowed, eyes slightly wider. “Love, are you oka─”

You shove him again.

He falls back onto the loveseat with a grunt, and you straddle him instantly, gathering the silky material of the dress around your hips. His eyes narrow slightly in realisation then, his hands going to your thighs, gripping them.

“This what you want, huh─”

“Shut up,” you snap, releasing the skirt of the dress and tugging his belt open. “I don’t want to hear from you anymore.”

His mouth still exposed, you can now see the self-satisfied smirk he gives you. “You want my cock inside you instead, yeah.”

“Shut up.” You pull open the button of his trousers.

“You that desperate for me?”

“Shut up.” You yank the zip down.

“Do you cling at him like this─”

Your hand flies up, gripping his jaw. 

Leaning closer, you hiss, “Shut the fuck up.”

His smirk is now gone, and an anger that nearly matches yours smoulders in his dark eyes.

And then he knocks your arm away, so you punch his shoulder, then grab at his throat, your other hand going for his trousers. He shoves your hand away from his throat so you use both hands to pull his cock out as he fists at your dress, lifting it higher to expose your pussy.

From this angle, he can see it glistening now, wet, open and ready for him.

“Christ…” he hisses through gritted teeth, watching you position his aching, flushed pink tip against your hole.

Watches you sink down on him, his cock disappearing inside you.

He makes a strained sound in the back of his throat, balling your dress up in his gloved fists.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, Simon,” you breathe, hands now firmly gripping his shoulders.

Fixing your gaze on his eyes, before he can answer you start to move your hips, and you don’t want to be slow, you don’t want to tease, you don’t want to give him any gentle satisfaction at all right now, so you set a hard, firm pace, riding him aggressively.

“I bet your cock was hard the moment you saw me, and the way you came running after me… Who’s the desperate one?” 

His eyes flick up, locking with yours, and your entire body is taut, waiting for him to switch this once more, while also feeling pleasure burst and spark through you.

“I told him about your base and here you still are, fucking me, wanting me wet for you, marking me… like you don’t even care… and what if one of your boys had died─”

Snarling, he shoves your hands off his shoulders, grips them at the wrists and holds them at your sides.

“You’d better watch your mouth.”

You laugh, and you don’t know where it comes from. “Oh, have I hurt your feelings? I didn’t know you had any.”

He’s silent, the only sound his short, harsh breaths as you ride him.

You don’t look away. “Take the mask off.”

“No.”

“Take it off.”

“No─”

“Let me see you.”

He falls silent.

When he moves, it’s swift.

A hand darts up and grips the long hair of the wig, and he yanks, pulling your head back.

You cry out as your back arches, small, delicious bursts of pain sparking along your scalp where the wig is secured.

His other hand runs firmly down between your tits, to your stomach, to your hip, gripping it. It’s possessive, how he does it, and it pisses you off. Knocking his arm away so he releases the hair, you grip his shoulders again, nails digging in, and you lean forward until your forehead nearly presses against his mask, and you wrap your arms tightly around his neck, locking you in that position.

He pushes against your hip, trying to put some distance between you but you won’t let him.

“Look at me,” you hiss, and he does, stilling as your eyes lock on to each others.

And, somehow, neither of you speak.

You just look at each other.

His gaze is hard, jaw tight, and you just ride him as you grip at him. Ride and squeeze your walls around him until…

His lips part on an exhale, no, not an exhale… a moan.

Ghost moans.

The corners of your mouth lift into a breathless smile as you squeeze him again, desire surging through you.

He grits his teeth at the sight of your smile, low grunts coming from the back of his throat, hands now tight on your hips, and you feel something feral snarling and snapping its jaws inside you.

“Come on, come on, come on, come on…” you hear yourself murmuring, squeezing your slick walls around him every time your hips rise.

His mouth is open, fast, quiet breaths escaping him, and you want to kiss him, you want to bite at his lips, you want to have him kiss you fiercely and deeply in the way that shows you he cares, even if it’s just now, even if it’s just for a little while.

Your mouth hovering over his, you don’t, though.

Because he doesn’t kiss you.

Makes no move to.

Gasping as a wave of pleasure suddenly rolls through you, you realise one of his hands has moved, his gloved fingers now somewhat clumsily stroking at your clit.

There’s almost a sweetness to it; that he’s still wanting to give you pleasure, make you feel good despite both your previous words, despite the slight curling of your lip and his hardened eyes.

You hate him.

He probably hates you.

“Cum, cum for me…” you suddenly realise he’s groaning, fingers of his other hand gripping at your thigh, almost desperately.

Gritting your teeth, your nails bite into his shoulders.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate him, you hate him…

“Cum for me,” you hiss, the pace of your hips starting to stutter slightly as your orgasm nears, dangerously close.

He’s staring up at you, unable to stop small moans and grunts from falling from his open mouth.

“Love─”

“Cum in me,” you command, and he inhales a sharp breath, hand darting from your clit to your hip, gripping tight, and then his hips jerk as he cums.

His eyes squeeze shut as he exhales a deep, shuddering breath, and your own fall shut as you moan, feeling his cum deep inside you, and the thought of it, the feel of it, the knowledge that, yes, it will leak out of you exactly as he intended, has you cumming, too.

Your head falls forward, leaning against his, and you hear his short, sharp breaths as you mewl, his hand sliding from your hip to your lower back, fisting your dress there.

Your hips slow to a stop as he breathes hard against your shoulder, and you try to soften yours, your arms staying around him.

The only sound that now fills the room is his breathing, and you just listen to it. Just feel him against you, inside you.

His hand flattens against your back.

His fingertips press in a little.

Gentle.

You pull back, press your hands against his chest and push yourself off of him.

His cock slips out of you unceremoniously, and he grunts as it does, but you’ve already turned away, adjusting your dress and flattening it.

You hear the metal of his belt clanking together as he tucks his cock away, before he zips his trousers up then secures the belt.

Pulling the top of the dress up over your tits, adjusting them, you then smoothe the dress down. Running your hands down the wig, you run your tongue along your lips, feeling the lipstick having collected in some areas. Smoothing and spreading it out with your finger tips, you’re aware of how silent he is behind you.

You hate him.

“This was the last time,” you hear yourself say.

“Sure it was.” 

Why is he still entertaining this, entertaining us.

You’re about to ask that exact question, snap, shout, scream it, when he speaks suddenly.

“You’re scared of Vitale, aren’t you.”

You still, hands paused in needlessly adjusting your dress again, eyes flicking up. Turning to him, you’re expressionless.

“What?”

He’s still sat down, hands resting on his thighs, mask back in place, eyes on you. “I saw it. At the warehouse. Why does he scare you.”

A corner of your mouth lifts a fraction. “Nothing scares me, Simon.”

“I did.”

You pause before you can catch yourself, so you make your mouth lift a little higher. “You didn’t. You startled me, there’s a difference.”

His eyes haven’t left you. “I know what I saw. On all accounts.”

Exhaling a breath, you push your hair over your shoulder. “Think what you like.” Turning away, you head towards the door.

“Stray.” 

His tone has you halting, but you keep your back to him, staring at the door. 

You hear him stand, take a few steps towards you.

“I know you were scared of me. I know that. What I don’t know…” You remain silent. “... What I don’t know is if you were scared for me.”

Silence.

He can’t believe he’s fucking said it.

Not even a proper question, just words, but words that have been rolling round and round in his mind incessantly.

He gazes at your back, that tautness in your shoulders, your waist moving as you breathe, your head slightly tilted down.

Then, you half turn to him… and there’s nothing on your features.

“Why would I be. I’m nothing but a whore, remember.”

A coldness spreads through his chest as he watches you go, his own, fucking regrettable words, in your voice, echoing in his mind.

─

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Masterlist

He softens his steps as he approaches the front door, pulling the key out a pocket on his trousers. Nothing on the seal suggests interference, and there's no sign of tampering on the lock so, really fucking ready to put his head down, he unlocks it, opens it, steps a boot inside─

And pauses.

Music.

There’s fucking music.

Coming from down the hall, in the kitchen.

It couldn't be one of the others, this is one of his safes.

Fuck.

It's the last thing he fucking wants or needs, whatever this is.

Silently, he steps fully through the door, closing it behind himself. Unholstering his largest knife and a handgun, he squares his shoulders and moves down the hall. Entering the kitchen, his eyes dart about the small space. There’s the battered radio, his radio, sat on the centre of the circular table, soft jazz music playing from it. It’s so old the sound is slightly distorted, the instruments crackling.

There’s pots in the sink, too.

What the fuck…

Someone's made themselves a nice fucking meal.

And the shower's running too.

Lifting his eyes to the door ahead, his jaw moves as he stills.

A distraction or someone's actually having a fucking shower in his safe house?

Adjusting his grip on his weapons, he nears the door─ 

The water stops.

There's the distinct, faint squeaking of the taps as they're tightened shut, and then the sound of the curtain being pushed aside.

He decides to wait instead of barrelling in, not knowing what he could be facing.

Could be a civilian squatting.

Could be a fucking psychopath.

Steeling himself either way, next comes the sound of the door unlocking, then the handle's being pushed down and it's opened and─

You stand there.

Paused in the doorway, unsurprised.

In a robe. A fucking plush white, looks like it came from a spa, too fucking big for you, robe. Of course it's not fucking his, which means you actually brought it here yourself. He'd've laughed if he wasn't so pissed off.

And then you smile.

Fucking psychopath it is, then.

“Hello, Simon.”

“Stray.”

Of course it fuckin’ is.

Short for Stray Cat, you’ve been so named through the channels, and never supplied any other, because you belong to no unit, are loyal to no one, instead aligning with the highest bidder.

Should be because you just fucking turn up when you like and use other people's shit.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

You shrug. “I was in the area. You can put those down.”

He's not sure he can yet, but he does. Holstering both weapons, he remains where he is, watching you move into the kitchen, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water like you fucking own the place.

“Cup of tea?”

“Nah.” His eyes don’t leave you.

You, on the other hand, have your back to him. “Sure? I found some bags of Earl Grey─”

“I'm sure. Why are you here.”

Flicking the tap off, you shut the lid of the kettle and settle it back on it’s holder. “I needed a shower.” You glance at him, lips twitching. “And I like the head on that one.”

He grunts. “How'd you get in.”

“Reveal my secrets?” You flick the kettle on and turn to him, folding your arms as you lean back against the counter. “You know better than that, Simon.”

He presses his lips together, an action you can't see but can practically sense at this point. Your lips twitching again, you tilt your head.

“You're looking well.”

He doesn't answer.

“Tough job wasn't it?”

His eyes narrow a fraction. “What do you know?”

You tut lowly as the bubbling of the heating water grows louder. “I asked first.”

“Actually, I asked first, and I'll ask again: What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

The kettle reaches its boiling crescendo and flicks off, and you smile as you turn to it.

“Sure you don't want Earl Grey? There's no milk and even you surely can't stomach milkless Builder’s.”

“I don't want one,” he grunts as you set two mugs down.

You glance at him over your shoulder, the robe sliding off it a little as you drop a bag into each mug. “I'm not going to poison you, Simon, not intimate enough for me.”

He opens his mouth to snap a retort, when his gaze catches the drop of water that slides down your neck. His teeth grit momentarily as he follows it, watching it disappear under your robe, most likely about to slide down to─

His brow twitches into a frown as he sees it.

“What's that?”

Placing the kettle down after pouring water in each mug, raising your eyebrows, you look over your shoulder again, then tilt your head down to where his gaze is.

“Oh, nothing.” You grip the robe, pulling it back up. “Don't suppose you have any lemons hidden away?”

His eyes are on the back of your head, and you feel it. 

“That's new.”

“And?” Scooping the bags out of the boiling water with two fingers, you half turn, tossing them into the sink.

And you've forgotten how quick he can be.

Before you can turn back, he's closer, grabbing your extended arm at the bicep with a gloved hand.

“Ghost─”

His other hand yanks the robe off your shoulder again, lower this time, giving him a full view of the fresh, jagged, angry scar that stretches the length of your shoulder blade.

He exhales a harsh breath through his nose, mouth in a thin line.

“What─”

“Get off.”

He lets you shove him away, the hand that had pulling the robe up once more. He watches you as you adjust the cord at your waist, tightening it. All humour has vanished from you now as you tear your gaze from his, turning back to the mugs.

You’re pissed off now and he doesn’t even want to start fucking analysing why.

Silence descends as you shove the mug you’d prepared for him along the counter, water sloshing over the sides, and lift your own to your lips, taking a small sip from it.

He releases a long breath, hands settling on his belt.

“Was it from one of his jobs.”

“I'm fine, Simon,” you mutter, taking another sip.

“Why have you come running to me, then.”

You scoff, setting the mug down and turning suddenly to him, an incredulous smile on your lips.

“You think that's what this is?”

His head tilts minutely. “I know it is.”

You laugh, folding your arms as you lean back against the counter again. “You're so cute. I was just in the neighbourhood.”

“You're never ‘just in the neighbourhood’, Stray.”

“‘cause you're the authority on me, are you?”

“I know what can make you cum, that tells me everything I need to know.”

You stare at him. Then, you snort, a wide smile spreading across your lips as you reach for your mug.

“Very cute, Simon.”

He watches your lips settle over the rim of the mug, watches your throat move as you swallow. 

Well, seeing as he won’t get the sleep he wants…

“You know…” Exhaling a breath, he pulls his headset off and sets it down on the circular table. “... You’re still a fucking shit liar.”

“I’m not, I do think you’re cute.”

You’re smiling again, pleased with your funny little quip, you’re always pleased with them, and it doesn’t falter as he moves closer.

“Well, now I know that is the truth…” It does falter slightly as he takes the mug from your hands, places it on the counter behind you, where his hand then rests, arm nearly brushing against yours. Tilting his head down to look at you, you have to tip yours back. “... That’s why you’re here, isn’t it. He can make you dance to his tune, but he can't give you what you need. What you crave.”

Your smile has eased, but he sees the darkening in your eyes. “Your presumptuousness is grating.”

“Leave then.”

You don’t move. Predictably.

Your arms are by your sides, and he’s already noted the quickening of your breath, your chest rising and falling a little faster. And your smile’s gone.

He shifts his weight to one foot, leaning more on the hand behind you, leaning closer.

“Go on,” he murmurs. “Play your little game, mouse. We both know how it's going to end. Or I could just…”

You inhale sharply as suddenly his other hand is at your inner thigh, making your hands flatten against the counter door behind you. 

Movement around his eyes suggests he’s smiling.

Fuck, you hate being too easy.

Gritting your teeth, you lift your chin a little more, silent.

He releases a sound, almost a chuckle. His gloved fingers glide against your sensitive skin, tracing up and down, and you hate that he can probably see how tight your jaw is.

“Tell me you want it,” he murmurs.

You lick your lips. “No.”

“No?”

His fingers inch higher, so close to your aching pussy.

Your lips part. “No…” You lift a hand to his face. Then, you grip the material of his cloth mask.

Instinctively, his hand darts up from your thigh, gripping your wrist tightly.

You still, gazing at him. After a moment, you lick your lips again. 

“Just want your mouth, Ghost. Please,” you murmur.

He stares at you.

Then, his grip loosens.

“Did you just fuckin’ say ‘please’?”

“Shut up.”

Pushing his hard mask up and off, and the material one up off his mouth, you then claim his lips. He groans against your mouth as he hears his mask clatter to the floor, your arms wrapping around his neck. Sliding his arms around your waist, he tugs you against him, making your lips part with a gasp.

“Always so fucking needy, aren’t you,” he rumbles as you bite at his lower lip.

“Funny, I thought that was your hard cock I can feel…” you breathe, trailing off with another gasp and a smile as he tightens his grip on you.

“Shut up.”

He kisses you fiercely, so hard it’s almost bruising.

You love it.

Rising up on your toes, you press as hard against him as you can, and he holds you there, but it’s not enough.

“… stupid, fucking vest…” you hiss as you draw back suddenly, and then your hands are fumbling with the fastenings. He just watches you, hands gripping at your waist.

“Thought you liked feeling it against your tits.”

“Not today.”

Shoving it off of him, it joining his mask on the floor, you return to your position, and… yes… it will do.

He’s never gotten entirely naked with you, and it drives you insane sometimes, but you don’t dare to push, lest he make you stop completely, so you don’t try today, just let him take the lead.

And he does.

He captures your lips in one, long, firm kiss that nearly steals all the breath from your lungs before he’s kissing down your chin, jaw and neck, making your head tip back.

Well, kissing is generous, it’s more like he’s biting and sucking.

Trapped between him and the counter, all you can do is arch against him as he mouths at your skin, your eyes closed, mouth open, harsh breaths escaping you.

“Beg for me,” he mumbles against your skin.

“No…” you breathe, and his hand is suddenly between you, pulling at the robe cord.

Parting it, his gloved hand glides from your stomach, up over your tits and down to your hip

“Beg.”

“No…” Even you would admit how breathy and pathetic the single word sounded.

He bites down where your neck meets your shoulder, making you cry out softly, and then his fingers are tugging at your hard nipple.

“Beg for me, then I’ll give you what you want,” he murmurs into your ear.

All you do is moan, gripping at his biceps.

“Mmh… I…”

“Beg, love, then I’ll play with your needy, puffy little cunt.”

Turning your head closer to his, you bite hard at his jaw, your saliva slicking the skin and stubble there as you moan, and he knows he nearly has you.

“You want that, don’t you, love… Want my fingers stroking your aching little clit… My cock stretching your hole open…”

You would be embarrassed at the moan you release but you don’t care.

“Simon…” you breathe, and he presses an almost soft, open-mouthed kiss to a bite-mark that’s forming, and you crumble. “… Please, I want that, I want you, please─”

Snarling, he grips your waist and spins you, walking you backwards swiftly and shoving you against the table. Gasping as your hip bumps against a chair, you gaze up at him with half-lidded eyes as he shoves you up, making you sit on the table. Falling back onto your forearms, you send the radio and his headset clattering to the floor.

One of them sounds like it breaks, probably the radio from how the music suddenly cuts off; you don’t care.

“You’re gunna fuckin’ pay for those,” he rumbles as he unbuckles his belt, eyes fixed on yours.

“How would you like me to do that?” your murmur, corners of your mouth lifting as you rub your ankles against his hips.

“You know.” Pushing your legs further apart, he stands between them. “You want my fingers first, want to be stretched open for my cock?”

Licking your lips, your chest rises and falls swiftly as you look at him. “Yes.”

“Want the gloves on or off?”

“Off. Want to feel you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Removing his right glove, he settles his left hand on your hip, before he runs the other straight down your inner thigh, to your pussy, where he slides his forefinger right into your slick hole.

You cry out as your back arches, eyes falling shut.

“Yeah… That’s good, isn’t it…” he murmurs as he starts to fuck you with it “… Tell me that’s good, kitten.”

Lying back, your head nearly hanging off the table, you don’t want to give into him fully too quickly, so you just moan. And he allows it, for now.

“So fuckin’ wet already… Were you drippin’ from the moment you fuckin’ saw me… I bet you were, weren’t you, you needy little slut… Bet you could take another finger already…”

He eases a second, long finger in so easily, and you fist the robe that’s spilled around you. 

“Oh, God…”

“Not quite, love.”

When his thumb moves from your hip and starts to slowly circle your clit, you’d happily call him so.

You rock your hips into his hand as you moan, almost mewling like your namesake.

“That’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers…”

Gazing up at him, you could cum just from the sight. His eyes flick from your own to your cunt, his shoulders loose, relaxed, and, looking at his chest, you can see his breathing has picked up. You love what you can do to him… but you know you can do more.

Locking your ankles at his lower back, you drop your knees down to the side, giving him better access, and a better look, at your soaking cunt.

“Why don’t you get on your knees, Simon…” you purr. “... Why don’t you taste how wet you’re making me…”

He grunts, though it almost sounds like a groan.

“Now that’s really cute…” Suddenly, his hands are off of you, and before you can whine at the loss, he takes the fronts of the robe in both hands and pulls you up and forward until you’re on your feet, held between him and the table. “... You think you can give the orders here, love? Don’t fuckin’ think so.”

Then, he releases you, and takes a step back. 

“On your knees.”

Lips parted, your body thrumming with pure fucking lust and adrenaline, you smile.

And then you sink to your knees.

“Good girl,” he gravels as he unbuttons and unzips his trousers.

“Fuck you, Simon,” you murmur, your smile lingering and your thighs squeezing together as you tip your head back and open your mouth.

Creases appear around his eyes again; he’s smiling, too.

Pulling his cock out, his groans in the back of his throat as he strokes it a few times with his ungloved hand before he places his heavy tip on your outstretched tongue.

“You know what to do.”

His hand falls away as, instantly, yours takes its place, and you start to stroke, squeezing lightly, as your mouth closes around his cock and you suck hard.

“Oh, fuck…” he hisses, fingers flexing at his sides as his hips buck.

You let his cock sink in deeper from the action, and then you take him all, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

You’re used to it. Or, rather, used to him.

“Christ…” he grits out, a hand flying up to grip your shoulder.

He never touches your head when you suck his cock, unless you ask.

You draw your head back, and then take him all in again, then again, then again, until, looking up, you see his eyes have closed. As if sensing you looking at him, his eyes snap open, and he tightens his grip on you.

“Yeah, you look at me with those big fuckin’ eyes while you suck me off… I’m gunna empty that pretty fuckin’ head of yours until all you’re thinkin’ about is my cock.”

Drawing your head back, you use your tongue to push thick globs of saliva out of your mouth and down his cock before smiling. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Shut up. Put your mouth to better use.”

Exhaling a laugh, you then take him all the way in again, keeping your eyes fixed on his. He grunts and watches you, drawing in sharp breaths. You fucking love sucking his cock, feeling the ridges and veins with your tongue; it’s thick to the point where your jaw will have a delicious ache tomorrow if you carry on for too long, and, well… On your knees, sucking the cock of the feared Ghost and having him grip at you for it? 

That’s pretty fucking intoxicating.

When you have him all in once more, nose brushing against his trousers, you then still, holding all of him in your mouth and throat.

“Yeah, get it all wet for your cunt…” he breathes, voice tight as his eyes flutter, trying to keep them open.

You nearly have him. He’s so very close to the edge.

And you want to push him right over it.

Pulling your lips back, squeezing them around him, until you reach his tip, you suck hard at it, swirling your tongue as your hand strokes up and down his thick shaft swiftly. He gives a strained gasp, quickly gritting his teeth as he hisses out breaths, and you moan against him.

“Cum in my mouth…” you murmur, gazing up at him. “... Cum down my throat…”

You suck at his tip again, swirling and swirling your tongue and─

He steps back, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet, unceremonious ‘pop’.

“What─”

He’s gripping the front of your robe again, hauling you up, and shoves you against the table once more.

“What did I say…” he half-pants, gripping the backs of your thighs and making you sit up on the table. “... about givin’ fuckin’ orders.”

Your heart pounds with excitement and a smile pulls at your lips as he shoves the two chairs either side of you away, sending them toppling to the floor.

“I can’t remember…” you breathe as he stands between your open legs, his wet, heavy cock pushing against your stomach. “... All I can think about is how much I want your cock inside me, Simon…”

He makes a sound akin to a growl, and then his gloved hand is between your breasts, pushing you down. Lying back on the table, you place your heels on the edge of it as he grips his cock, other hand gripping your knee.

“Say it again.”

“Want your cock in me…” you mewl, rolling your hips as you run your hands from your stomach up to your breasts, tugging at your nipples and drawing a soft moan from yourself. “... Want you deep inside me, want to cum on your cock…”

He’s staring at you, your eyes, your fingers, your tits. He’s at the edge of his control… but he’s also a bastard.

“Magic word.”

You exhale a short breath through your nose, rolling your nipples between your fingers. And then you lift a leg, settling your ankle on his shoulder.

“Come on, Simon…”

His hand slides from your knee, up your shin to your ankle, cupping it, and he turns his head to it.

And then he presses a soft kiss to the skin there, keeping his eyes on yours.

Oh, fuck you.

Inhaling a ragged breath, the word sounds like it’s almost punched out of you.

“Please.”

He smiles.

“Good girl.”

You’re moaning before you even feel his tip. When he sinks into you, your eyes fall shut and your head tips back… and it’s bliss.

“Fu-uck…” you breathe out, and you feel his grip tighten on your ankle.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

The groans he releases, so fucking low, so carnal, has you instantly starting to rock your hips, feeling his thick length slid so easily in and out of you, stretching you. Hissing out a breath, he suddenly grips your other leg and lifts it onto his shoulder, taking over and thrusting into you, already setting a hard and fast pace.

The table creaks beneath you with each snap of his hips, but you can barely hear it, all that’s left of your mind focusing on the pleasure that’s pulsing through you.

“How does that fuckin’ feel…” he grunts, hands locked on your shins.

You gasp out moans as you hold his gaze. “... So fucking good, you feel so… so fucking good…”

Shoving your legs off his shoulders, he leans down, settling his arms over your head, mouth hovering over yours.

“Again.”

“So good, so fucking good, so fucking good, fuck, Simon…”

You try to kiss him, lifting your chin an inch, but he moves his head away, instead ducking it to your neck and fixing his lips there.

And then you hear him take a long, deep inhale.

“Fuckin’ Christ…” he breathes.

He thought he’d smelt it earlier.

You smell of the basic, shitty, own-brand soap he keeps here, and it’s driving him fucking wild.

You smell of him.

He thinks of you gliding the bar around your body, soaping your tits up…

“Fuck…” he groans against your skin, spreading fast, sloppy kisses there, sinking his teeth in.

He chuckles darkly when you cry out, your slick walls clenching around his cock.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that, don’t you… Like when I mark up your pretty fuckin’ neck?”

He bites down again, revelling in how you instantly clench again, hard, a ragged moan torn from you. Pressing his lips to your ear, he rumbles, “I’ll be on you for days.”

Fucking hell…

Your hands gripping at his jacket, fisting and tugging, you cling to him as he bites and bites and bites, always covering each one straight after with a lick or a sloppy kiss. And he just keeps fucking you hard through it.

When he suddenly pulls back, you actually whine, hands falling from him.

It takes you a moment to realise what he’s saying.

“... Look at me… Look at me…”

Your eyes snap open, and he fucking loves the almost blankness he sees there, how cock-drunk you are.

Yeah, only he can do this for you. Only him.

“Come here…” He slides an arm under you and pulls you up so you’re sat on the table, his cock continuing to spear into you. The angle allows him to plunge deeper and your eyes almost roll back as they close.

“Nah, keep those pretty eyes open, and stay up, look at me as I fuck you open…”

Pulling his belt out of the loops with a snap, without breaking rhythm he wraps both ends around his hands, and then wraps the shortened length around the back of your neck, keeping you up.

Keeping you looking at him.

“This is why you’re here, isn’t it…” he murmurs, nearly panting. “... To be fucked and spread open by my thick cock, to cum on it over and over and over again…”

You’re gasping in your breaths, hands now gripping his forearms, nails digging in, his words probably circling round and round your empty mind.

“… Say it, love… Admit it…”

Your mouth is open, hurried little breaths and moans all that leaves it. “... I…”

“Go on… Say it… It’s why you’re here, isn’t it… Say it.”

“Y… Yes…” you gasp.

“Good girl.”

You clench hard around him.

He growls. “Yeah, that’s it… Squeeze my cock like a good fuckin’ girl…”

You clench again, releasing a ragged moan.

“You need to cum, don’t you, you need to cum on my fuckin’ cock.”

You can’t take your eyes off his. “Ye-es.”

“Beg me for it.”

You’re talking before he’s even finished, words breathless and moaned.

“Please, please, let me cum, wanna cum on your cock, please let me, please…”

He chuckles, the sound catching in his throat with a groan. “You think you fuckin’ deserve it, huh… Think you can break in here and ruin the quiet fuckin’ night I wanted…”

You don’t know how, but you smile, and manage, “Don’t tell me… you don’t prefer this…”

“Well, now I’ll never know.”

Using the belt, he yanks you closer and claims your lips in a fierce, bruising kiss. You give back as good as you can, but you soon falter as an orgasm starts to build and twist in your lower stomach, making your muscles clench.

And he can feel it.

“Go on,” he mumbles against your lips. “Cum for me, rub your little clit and cum on my cock, let me fuckin’ feel you, squeeze me, make me cum…”

The moment he had said it, your hand had flown between you, fumbling, finding your clit and rubbing swiftly as well as you could. You cry out as the pleasure rises and rises, hurtling closer, your hips bucking. 

He tears his lips from yours, pressing his cheek against the side of your head, murmuring into your ear, “Cum for me, fuckin’ do it, cum now, cum on my thick cock, let me feel you, love.”

Your orgasm erupts through you.

Body jerking, you release a strangled scream as you cum, nails digging through his jacket nearly to his skin. He fucks you through it, grunting nearly incoherently in your ear now as your pussy squeezes him so fucking deliciously.

“... Yeah… Good fuckin’ girl… Fuckin’... Good… Tight pussy… Squeeze me… Take it… Take it… Take my fuckin’ cum… Yeah… Yeah… Oh, fuck…”

He thrusts hard and deep once, twice more, and then he cums inside you with a guttural roar, his grip tightening on the belt. Weakened, blissful moans fall from your lips as you feel him fill you, your back arching.

So fucking good, every single fucking time.

When he stills, his hands fall down to the table, taking the belt with them.

Swallowing hard, in turn your forehead drops down onto his chest, and you close your eyes, just focusing on trying to slow your breathing.

Your hand has softened on his arm, your other gently against his thigh.

His chin rests atop your head.

Neither of you speak, for how long you don’t know, and you almost hope neither of you ever do.

Suddenly, enough to startle you a little, his head lifts.

“Suppose you won’t be polite and fuck off now.”

You exhale a laugh, rolling your shoulders as you lift your head, arching an eyebrow. You find his cloth mask is back in place.

“No, I was here first.”

He just grunts out a sound that might be a chuckle as he pulls out of you, making you inhale sharply. Pulling the robe up over your shoulders as he steps back, you slide off the table with a small groan, rolling your shoulders again. His gaze drops down to your thighs, lingers, then meets yours again, and you give him a slow smile.

“Is that my cum leakin’ out of you.”

“Yes it is, Simon.”

You note the way his shoulders drop as his back straightens. 

And he jerks his head towards the bedroom door.

“Get in there. I’m gunna shower off.”

You give him a faux-pout, your brow dipping as renewed lust surges through you. “You don’t want company?”

You know he doesn’t.

He’ll give you everything but his face. And you give him everything but your heart.

He closes the distance between you, lowering his head to you. “You just get on that bed and keep those legs spread for me.”

A corner of your mouth rises higher than the other as you gaze at him. “Don’t tell me what to do, Simon.”

Letting the robe slip from your body to the floor, you turn from him and step over a fallen chair and the radio, moving into the bedroom.

Watching you go, his jaw moves as he releases a long, slow breath.

Fuckin’ hell…

─

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Masterlist

The security scanners are hidden by garlands of the finest and freshest flowers, cut and arranged that morning, though weapons are handed over before guests pass through.

Gianni rolls his eyes good-naturedly before lifting his suit jacket, revealing he has nothing on him before raising his eyebrows as he looks at you. Or, more specifically, at the silk gown you wear, the material gathered at one side of your waist and falling down to graze the floor.

“You manage to hide the bazooka in there, amore mio?”

You laugh, pulling an equally good-natured face. “Not this time, darling.”

The security guards laugh, too, as they allow you through, your arm looping through Gianni’s. You smile warmly as he nods and smiles at those you pass, murmuring their names into your ear, sometimes just to remind you. He leads you straight to a drinks table rather than over to talk to anyone, though, and you leave your warmest smile for him as he passes you a glass of champagne.

“Amore mio,” he murmurs as he clinks his glass against yours. “To us.”

Your smile widens, affection pure and bare in your gaze, and you place a hand on the back of his neck, your fingers gently caressing.

“To us.”

As his arm settles around your waist, you lean your head against his shoulder, both of you gazing at the other guests. You’re in the main, grand foyer where you’d all been told tonight's celebrations would begin, and heavily-vetted servers wander through the crowd, offering canapes and drinks. The marble floor has been polished to perfection, the garlands continue throughout the space, lights hidden amongst them twinkling, and people laugh and embrace each other.

You raise your glass and smile at those who meet your gaze, until it finally comes to Francesco Vitale, who’s laughing with his brother and wife, telling a story that they all seem to know very well but love regardless.

His wife notices the pair of you and beams, waving enthusiastically. You laugh softly as Gianni smiles, and Francesco lifts his hands as he grins, beckoning you both over.

“Here we go…” Gianni murmurs, his hand sliding into yours as you start to head over.

You’re just smiling, beaming.

His family adores you.

They’re delighted you’re here, clearly, delighted they can bring you into the fold.

Not fully yet, of course, but enough. No business is to be spoken of tonight unless behind closed doors, but they’re all here. Every single member.

Your smile lingers as your gaze drifts across the room.

Every single one.

—

Guards cover the expansive garden, patrolling, only some stood by the walls of the manor, some sat by the pool, having a sneaky game of cards. Every now and then he hears a radio when a guard draws closer, but they never come close enough.

Standing hidden in the treeline, Ghost watches them, watches the bright lights that illuminate the building, the routes of entry they show.

He hears someone approach from behind, but doesn’t move, eyes flicking from balcony to balcony.

Soap clears his throat quietly, clasping his hands together as he stands beside him. “I know why you don’t want me in there, but can ye at least reconsider takin’ someone?”

“No. It needs to be just one of us. Just me.”

He doesn’t look at Soap, but hears him clear his throat again.

“Right. Cameras have been intercepted. They won’t see ye comin’.”

“Cheers.” Looking to Soap, he raises his eyebrows. “If this goes tits up, don’t bother with a funeral.”

Soap snorts. “Ye think they’d bother givin’ any of us one?”

“They told me they would me. I’m special.”

Soap’s chuckle follows quietly after him as he moves down the grass, keeping low and out of the lights. He has to time it right, has to reach the section of wall he’s chosen just as the guard to the right turns…

When the man does, he breaks into a sprint. Using a window sill as leverage, he vaults up and grips onto the bottom of a railing before hauling himself up onto it. Crouching, he peers through the glass door into a dark room. Finding it empty, he waits until the guards playing the game below laugh and cheer, and then uses his gloved fist to smash the glass—

It doesn’t break.

What the fuck.

Shaking his hand out, he presses his lips together.

Fucking hell.

Looking at the keyhole, he sighs quietly.

The old fucking fashioned way, then.

Using a knife, it doesn’t take him long to unlock it, and he pushes the door open, glancing about the room again before he steps through. Closing it behind himself, he straightens, keeping his eyes on the room.

It’s a library of some kind, armchairs here and there, a huge fuck-off fire place, though he doubts much reading gets done here.

Heading to the door, he listens, then opens it. The hallway is empty, clear. He can faintly hear the party coming from the floor below, voices and music muffled. He waits a beat, then—

He frowns as he notices a trail of clear liquid that runs down the corridor, covering the wooden floor.

What the fuck… Has someone pissed here?

It doesn’t smell like it, it smells… clinical.

Maybe a cleaner had been careless.

Pushing it aside for now, he listens, hears no one approach, and then he moves, swift and quiet down the hallway, avoiding the liquid.

The first guard he comes across he kills swiftly. The second spots him a split second before he attacks, but he goes down easily. The third goes like the first. The fourth and fifth put up a good fight together, but the music from the party below drowns them out, and they were too proud and arrogant to reach for their radios.

Moving down a dark landing, he pauses by a door, sounds coming from it, but swiftly realises it’s just two people having sex. Maybe three.

He’s about to move forward when he hears voices coming up a side stairwell.

Dropping back, he crouches by the railing at the corner, hidden, eyes fixed on the stairs.

A small group emerges, men talking quietly together, smiling, and he notes Francesco amongst them.

Not who he’s here for. Not today.

He stares at him, though, stares at the smiling fucker and all his mates.

His smile is reminiscent of Angelo’s; easy, arrogant, cuntish.

Watching them enter a room, he waits until the door is closed before he turns his radio on, murmurs the location of the room into it, and then switches it off.

And he continues on.

Heading down the back stairs to the ground floor, he steps off the last step and he’s about to head round closer to the party to find a place to hide and observe, when he notices a slight bulging in the curtain at the window in front of him.

… Right…

Moving closer, he reaches out and swiftly tugs it aside… and exhales a breath.

A guard sits on the floor, blood dripping from his throat, dead.

Fuck…

Pressing his lips together, he looks left down the hallway then right, and sees a door just slightly ajar, at the very end.

He sees something else, too; another fine layer of clear liquid leading from the guard’s body to that door.

Dropping the curtain and adjusting it to cover the body, he then moves down towards the door, one hand hovering near his gun, just in case.

Leaning back against the wall beside it, he nudges the door open a little more, revealing a stone stairwell that leads down into darkness.

… Right.

Taking a last look down the hallway, he then heads through the door, pulling it quietly shut behind him, and moves down the stairs.

He goes slowly, knowing any little sound will echo here, though he can’t hear a thing from below just yet. Maybe he’s just wasting his fucking time, maybe a server or guest had left it open by accident and—

A muffled crash echoes up the stairs.

He pauses, eyes on the darkness.

Nothing.

He starts moving again, only pausing for a moment when another crash comes, a little louder. And then he sees it; a small, flickering light.

It grows larger as the crashing sounds grow louder, until, finally, he reaches the bottom step.

Entering the cellar, barrels line either side of the walkway before him, and right at the end of it, a warm light glows from behind a door left ajar.

The crashing sound comes from within. No, more like smashing.

Glass breaking.

It’s slow, nearly rhythmic.

Smash. Beat. Smash. Beat. Smash. Beat.

Placing his hand on his gun, he approaches the door.

Moving to one side of it, the side that’s ajar, he leans back against the wall, and tries to peer in. A figure moves within, sometimes blocking the light that shines into his eyes. Blinking against it, he tries to focus on the person, but the light is too bright, and the door isn’t open enough.

Pressing his lips together, he removes the gun from its holster and, with his other hand, carefully and quietly tugs the door open a little more—

He stills.

Your back is to him.

His chest tightens.

Your hand reaches out every other moment, taking bottles of wine, whiskey and vodka from the rows and rows of shelves.

And you drop them onto the floor.

Moving to another row, rounding a wooden table, your heels crunch the shards to finer pieces, and his gaze drops to them.

He knows those heels.

Hello, old friends.

Eyes trailing up from them, up your long, silk, green dress, up your back to your head, he quietly holsters his gun.

You inhale a breath as you glance over the label of a bottle before dropping it, feeling the red liquid bathe your feet as it smashes beside them.

What next…

“Well, that’s a waste.”

You spin, glass crunching beneath you.

Ghost stands in the doorway, filling it, his head bowing slightly so he can fit.

Of course.

You’re unsurprised, but still feel irritation prickling at you.

“I promise they won’t be.”

Turning back to the shelf, you pull out another bottle and drop it.

As it smashes, he takes a step forward, and pulls the door shut behind him. As you withdraw a bottle, he pulls the bolt across it, locking it.

You pause, head turning, eyes darting to him.

He lifts his hands in a small gesture of peace before folding his arms. “I did that so we won’t have any surprises, not to trap you in here with me.”

“Right.” You drop the bottle, pull out another. “Why are you here, Ghost.”

“I think you can guess.”

You drop it. You pull out another.

“I want to hear you say it.”

You hear him exhale a quiet breath. “I’m here to bring you in.”

“Right.” You look over at him. “Plenty of opportunities to have done that before now.”

“Two birds, one stone kind of night. We’re gathering evidence of Francesco’s and the family’s dealings, too.”

“Right. Busy night.”

You drop another bottle.

His eyes haven’t moved from you. “What are you doing?”

You inspect the next shelf for bottles at the back, removing a vintage whisky. “I’m going to burn this place and everyone in it to the ground.”

He exhales another breath. “I can’t let you do that.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

You drop the bottle.

“Stray, I…” He presses his lips together, but anger doesn’t lace his tone as he says, “Can you look at me, please?”

You don’t, half-reading a label for the alcohol percentage with your back to him.

And he looks at you, the curves of your shoulders, neck and arms. He thinks about how he feels in that room, looking at you, having you close again, finally.

Being with you.

Licking your lips, you drop the bottle by your side, tilting your head back to look at a shelf above. The bleach you’d been able to find in one of the bathrooms had sufficed for the upper levels, but it felt fitting to use Francesco's lovingly curated cellar to start the blaze. Only the very old and high percentage stuff, though, the random cheap shit could be left alone.

You just about manage to ignore Ghost’s eyes on you. He’ll either do his best to take you in, and you can hate him all over again and rage and scream, or he’ll try and talk you down.

You don’t fancy his chances with either. And there’s nothing else he can d—

“Stray, I’m sorry.”

You still. 

The words had been quiet.

Staring at the shelf, your jaw moves slightly.

“It’s no use trying to stall me, Ghost.”

You hear him shift, release a breath that sounds both weary and resigned. “I’m not… I’m not trying to fucking stall you, Stray, I mean it. I’m sorry.”

Your tongue runs along your teeth. “For what?”

You wait for the silence, for the sigh, for the empty words, for th—

“For betraying you. For not… trusting you.” He shifts a little, clears his throat. “I should’ve, I fucked it, I know I did. I knew it then and I’m sorry I didn’t say it. I need you to know, though, that I didn’t mean it. What I sent to Vitale. I didn’t mean I was done with you or that… I didn’t mean to imply you meant nothing. To me. Well, I did, but to him, not to you, you weren’t meant to see those. I wanted to make the cunt angry, and Soap was supposed to be there, I promise you he was, but…” He clears his throat again. “That doesn’t matter ‘cause I should’ve told you. You put your trust in us, in me, and I… I let you down.”

Let you down.

It was such simple phrasing.

But the simplicity of it… the normality of it… Your vision is starting to blur slightly as tears come suddenly.

And he continues.

“I didn’t want to do that, Stray. I…” You hear him shift again. “Since then I can’t stop thinking about how you were lookin’ at me. About how you must’ve felt. You should’ve torn me apart. I wouldn’t’ve blamed you.”

You’re silent, gaze fixed on the shelf.

And he continues.

“This… thing we have, had, you and I… I’m not good at it. I don’t think I’m made for it. But with you… When I was with you… When we had our times together… It felt… good.” He clears his throat once more. “Feels shit that we don’t have it anymore. And I know that’s ‘cause of me. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for causing you to have to go back to him. I’m sorry he hurt you… and that it was because of me.”

You’re silent.

And he continues.

“I hate that he was the better option than me. But…” You hear him release a breath, and his tone, already quiet, already sincere, softens. “... What did he have on you, love?”

Love. 

You hate the way it so easily rolls off his tongue, how it travels across the space between you, licks up your spine and makes your chest ache.

Licking your lips, you inhale a breath and turn to him, managing to keep your breathing steady.

“Take your mask off.”

He’s now silent, looking at you.

And it stretches on.

You give a slight nod, a small, humourless, resigned smile on your lips.

Turning away from him, you look at the bottles before you but you’re not really seeing, because you know you’re never going to see him again and the acceptance of that makes yo—

A gloved hand grips your bicep and turns you, shoving you back against the shelf.

Inhaling a sharp breath, you stare up at him. “What the fuck are you—”

“Don’t move,” he commands, the hand moving to your shoulder, keeping you in place.

You shove his arm away, trying to straighten to your full height. “Get off me—”

“Stay still.” His knee presses between your legs, thigh against your stomach, keeping you in place.

“Get off—”

He covers your eyes with one gloved hand, plunging the world into darkness, and you hear something clatter to the ground and then he’s gripping your hand and lifting it and he presses it—

He presses it against his cheek.

His bare cheek.

You still, breaths coming out a little harsher.

It’s the only sound that fills the stone room.

After a few moments, your fingers flex a little and he releases your hand.

And you keep it there.

When he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move, you slowly draw your hand back until it’s just your fingertips against his skin.

He doesn’t move.

You glide them slowly up to his cheekbone, then drift them along it.

You reach his nose.

Your fingertips travel over it, up the bridge.

It’s strong, a little longer than you thought.

You glide them up, to his forehead.

You keep waiting to feel a mask but… nothing.

Just his bare skin.

Drifting your fingertips across his forehead, you trail them down his temple—

You feel hair.

You pause.

Then, you move your fingers closer to his hair.

He doesn’t move.

You move again… and your fingers sink into his hair.

It’s a little longer, and much softer, than you had imagined.

You can’t help yourself; you slide your hand through his hair and find that it ends at the nape of his neck. 

You don’t realise that the corners of your mouth lift a little.

Your fingers glide around the side of his neck, your hand coming up to cup his face, and your other lifts, too, cupping his other cheek.

The masks are off.

You can feel his face.

All of it.

And you can feel slight rises and dips here and there, scars, many of them.

And you can feel his stubble, too.

All of it.

All of him.

One of your hands moves, your fingers wanting to stroke over his cheek again, and you caress them down to his lips, over them—

You feel it.

His breath, shaking.

Carefully lowering your hand, you place it on his vest, and feel it rising and falling a little faster.

Your lips part.

He’s… You don’t know.

Frightened? You can never imagine him that way.

Apprehensive? Not that either.

But… maybe this is it.

Your other hand, still on his cheek, moves a fraction, your thumb gently brushing back and forth over his skin.

You don’t want him feeling that way.

When you don’t move again, you hear him swallow lightly.

“This…” His voice is quiet, rougher. “... This is all I can give you… for now…” He swallows again. “… I’m sorry it can’t be more. And I’m sorry, for all of it. Sorry that this is a shit apology, too.”

For now.

Inhaling a quiet breath, you lick your lips.

“Say it again.”

There’s a small pause, and you wish you could see him.

“… What?”

“Say sorry.”

There’s a smaller pause, and you feel him inhale a deeper breath.

“I’m sorry.”

“Again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Again.”

“I’m sorry, Stray.”

Your hand moves from his cheek to the back of his neck, and your fingers curl a little into the ends of his hair.

And you pull.

He allows you to, lowering his head to yours.

“Again.”

“I’m sorr—”

You steal the last syllable from him by capturing his lips in yours, and the kiss is firm, deep. Your hand lifts from his vest, settles on his cheek, and you still can’t believe you’re touching him.

Splaying your fingers, your thumb brushes over his cheekbone once more, and as you do, he releases a breath through his nose, and then you feel his other hand on your waist. You brush your thumb again, stroking gently, and his hand slides further, moving to your lower back. When your fingers slip into his hair, curling in, he pulls you against him, a low sound coming from the back of his throat.

“... I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” he mumbles against your lips as you press against him, trapped between him and the shelves, and a small, soft moan escapes you as his tongue strokes against yours.

With the heels giving you a few more inches of height, you can easily wrap your arms around his neck, and you keep your hand in his hair, fingers tangling in tighter, and he groans.

His breathing has quickened, too, though so has yours.

“Can you keep your eyes closed? Please?” he suddenly mumbles against your lips.

There’s something quietly desperate in the way he says it, and you nod, breaking your lips from his.

He doesn’t move, though, and you can just hear your breathing as you feel his face close to yours.

And then he lifts his hand away from your eyes.

Swallowing involuntarily, you exhale a breath.

You could open them. Really fuck him over right now. See his face, use it to trade, to barter, to blackmail. Betray him like he betrayed you.

You keep your eyes closed.

There’s another moment in which you don’t hear him seemingly doing anything, and then you hear him move, and realise after a beat that he’s on his knees.

His hands are on your dress, you can feel the skirt of it moving about your legs, but before you can release another breath, you hear a ripping sound. Followed by a very long ripping sound.

“Are you ruining my dress, Lieutenant?”

“I am.”

You can’t stop your lips from twitching as the ripping sound comes again.

“I really like this dress, you fucker.”

“I’ll buy you a new one. A better one.”

You hear him move, then he seemingly pauses.

“What is it?”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t move.

It startles you slightly when you finally feel his fingers, now bare, drift over your thigh. Or, rather, the bullet-hole scar you know is there. He traces around it gently, so gently.

“I wanted to kill him after that.” His voice is quiet. “My own teammate.”

You don’t answer, just focus on his fingers stroking over it.

His bare fingers.

When he rises after a few moments, you lick your lips and lift your head, trying to imagine how close his lips are.

But it’s his fingers at your shoulder you feel next, and they pull the thin strap of the dress off your shoulder, fingertips trailing down your bicep to the scar there.

“I couldn’t look at him for days without thinking of murderin’ him.”

It sounds like a pained confession.

You like to think it’s the first time he’s said it out loud, that you have that privilege.

He lowers his head, and kisses it.

You can’t help the slightly ragged inhale you take, and then his head lifts, lips millimetres from your jaw.

“That’s what you do to me,” he murmurs. “That’s what I’d do for you. I’d fuckin’ kill for you, Stray. I should’ve killed Vitale, I’m sorry I didn’t.”

You angle your head a fraction closer to him.

“I’m glad it was me.”

You feel the breath he exhales, the fingers on one hand touching against your hip.

“It shouldn’t’ve had to be.”

Before you can respond, his head and hands are suddenly gone, he’s pulled back, and then you feel something silky cover your eyes, and it’s swiftly tightened and knotted at the back of your head.

He’s used the strip he’d ripped from your dress to blindfold you.

“Very creative,” you murmur, a corner of your mouth lifting.

“I’m very intelligent.” His hands now cup your face, and you have to try with everything in you not to lean your head into one of his palms, because your lips twitch again, ruefully.

“Not about everything.”

He exhales a small breath. “Nah, not about everything.”

Silence falls as you press your lips together a little, try to quell the desire and need and want that is burning inside you because the still logical and hurt part of you is demanding you to not crumble, to not give in to him, to hate him, to hurt him—

He kisses you, softly, tenderly, and it takes you by surprise.

It’s so… nice. It’s nice to be kissed this way, sweetly, intensely, nothing else to it except just wanting to.

It’s nice to have it done by him.

But… Fuck… But the last time this happened…

“What is it?” he murmurs as you break the kiss, your chin tilting down a touch.

“You… Last time…”

He gives you a moment before he quietly prompts you.

“What?”

Inhaling a breath, you lick your lips. “You kissed me like that last time.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Like you care. Why can’t you just say it. “... Gently.”

“Oh. Right.” There’s a pause, and his hands fall from you. “... I didn’t realise I… You didn’t like it?”

Your bitter-sweet smile returns, your voice quiet. “I liked it very much.”

Your own, pained confession.

Swallowing lightly, you have to add, “... It was what came after.”

Releasing a breath, he shifts slightly. “That night…” His voice is quieter, lips still close to yours. “... I meant everythin’ I said and did, except the messages to Vitale. And I didn’t mean for him to take you. For you to go to him, I mean. I’m sorry.”

You’ve met a lot of expert liars in your life. You’re one of them. It’s why you’re so good at what you do. It’s what you’ve been hired for. You know when someone’s lying; you can feel it, sense it. Even if it’s just the slightest, smallest thing, a little alarm will ring in your mind.

Your mind is quiet.

“I know.”

“You do?”

There’s the quiet desperation again.

“Yeah.” Pressing your lips together a little, you have to force yourself to say it. “... I just don’t know if I can… if I can trust you, again. Because I did trust you, Ghost. With my life. And… all of me.”

You wish you could see him.

“I know. Believe me, I fucking know.” He shifts again, and you think you might, briefly, feel his hand by your waist, but then it’s gone. “... Do you… Could you give me the chance to earn it back?”

Silence.

You’ve thought about it over the last year. Of killing him. Of forgiving him. Of thinking and doing nothing at all. Each time had been a different answer, a different resolution. But that had all been before.

Before you’d seen him again.

Before he’d come to warn you about Francesco.

Before he’d offered to help.

Before he’d taken his masks off.

Before he’d kissed you like that.

You know what kind of man he is. His flaws, the limits of his emotional capability.

How things have changed.

That’s what had first drawn you to him. A quick, satisfying fuck with nothing else attached, that led nowhere. 

How things have changed.

If he didn’t care, if this all meant nothing, then why do all of this?

You want to ask that very question… but there’s still something in you that just…

“If you do something for me.”

You hear the small breath he releases, clouded with relief, and he asks instantly, “What can I do?”

Lifting your chin, you wet your lips. “Help me burn it all.”

You expect the pause, but not how short it is.

“Is that what you want? Is that what it’ll take?”

“It’ll take more, Ghost,” you murmur, knowing, and hoping that he knows it, too, that it’ll take a whole lot more. “But it’ll be a start.”

“Then I’ll do it, love.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly before you swiftly catch your features, holding them expressionless. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He’d murmured the affirmation, and before you can speak again, he surprises you by pressing a small kiss to your lips. Then another, then another.

You’re returning them before you realise it, a faint smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

“You going to defy orders for me, Lieutenant?” you murmur, your hands lifting and resting on his vest.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he rumbles, and you now allow your eyebrows to rise, his lips brushing against yours.

“I need you to tell me about every time, in explicit detail.”

“Later.”

You very much like the sound of that.

Later.

Still, you can’t let it be that easy.

“That’s very presumptuous, Lieutenant,” you murmur, a light warning in your tone.

“Wishful thinkin’,” he murmurs in reply, and his hand cups your cheek, and… you indulge.

You lean your head ever so slightly into it.

It also serves as a reminder that you can touch his face. Raising your hands, you cup his cheeks, fingers splaying a little. Then, moving one hand to the back of his neck, you lift your chin and press a kiss to his cheek. It’s lingering, soft.

When you end it, you pause because you just… You just want to be in that moment for a second longer.

And he doesn’t move either.

But, no, then he is, his head tilting, and his lips brush against yours.

He’s changed.

Something about him’s changed.

Why else would he be here? Why else would he be this… undemanding? The Ghost you’d first met would have you halfway to a base right now.

The Ghost you’d first met would have done a lot of things differently.

That’s why the betrayal had hurt you so much. Because it felt like the man you’d first met.

And you’d thought he’d changed.

Because of you.

For you.

And he… he has.

That’s why this is so terrifying, yes, you’ll admit you are just that; terrified. Because you don’t know, if you truly and fully forgive him, what territory that leads you into. Uncharted waters. Something new.

Something lasting.

Something that’s not really… allowed, in your world.

And you never thought it would be possible, not in your profession, not with all that you’ve seen, experienced. But if tonight goes as you plan, as you hope, then maybe…

Parting your lips, you kiss him.

He returns it instantly, moving as slowly as you do.

It’s strange, kissing him and not feeling the roughened material of his mask on your skin. Just his skin.

His bare skin.

A small sound comes from the back of your throat, and his hands are suddenly on your waist, sliding around to your back and holding you against him. 

And your arms, of their own accord, go around his neck as you press into him.

And he doesn’t push for more.

You’re just kissing.

…

Oh, fucking fuck it all, maybe you can let it be that easy.

You’ve hated yourself for it, but you’ve missed him. You’ve dreamed about him, imagined him, fucking pined for him.

It’s fucked up and fucking unexplainable, but you need him.

“What you doin’?” he rumbles as your hands go to the fastenings of his vest, fumbling a little as you try to find them.

“Take this off,” you breathe.

He does as he’s told, helping you and dropping it to the floor. Next you find the zipper of his jacket, yank it down, and go straight for his belt, unclasping it once you feel it. One of his hands grips the edge of the shelf beside your head as his other settles on your hip, gathering the material of your dress, fisting it.

“You want me here? Right now?” he gravels, and you can just imagine his eyebrow arching, that smug fucking smile on his lips.

“Yes. Is that a problem?” 

“Thought you had business to attend to.”

“I’ll allow them a few more minutes to live.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck and you pull him closer and kiss him, deeply, intently.

“You can be fuckin’ terrifyin’,” he mumbles against your mouth, and you smile.

“Don’t you forget it.”

Opening your mouth, your tongue strokes at his, and you moan as he gathers the skirt of your dress higher and higher until his fingers can stroke against your thigh.

“Touch me, please,” you murmur, and he groans quietly.

“Where? You said only a few minutes.”

You nip at his lower lip. “Are you doubting your capabilities?”

“Nah, I just like to take my time with you. Wanted you begging for my cock.”

“If you ask nicely, I might.”

A corner of his mouth lifts higher than the other. “Oh, that’s how it’s gunna be, is it?”

“Yeah, so be a good boy, and ask nicely.”

“All right.”

Before you can nip at him again, he moves his head to the side, lips drifting over your ear as he starts to murmur, “Will you beg for my cock, love? Will you beg for me to fuck you open? Fuck you nice and deep? So slow you can feel every inch of me stretching you?”

You moan as he starts to kiss at your neck, your hands gripping at his biceps.

“Will you do that for me, love? Hm? Will you drip down my cock and squeeze me until I cum? Will you?”

You’re gasping quietly, breaths ragged.

“You didn’t… say please…”

You feel him smile.

Oh, fuck…

His lips are at your ear once more, and he murmurs deliciously low, “Please, love. Please beg for my cock.”

Oh, fucking hell…

Inhaling a jagged breath, your nails bite into his shoulders. “I need it, please.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, please.”

“Mmh, let’s see, shall we… You wet enough for me yet…?” His hand slides across your thigh, heading towards your—

“No knickers? You really are about savin’ time.”

You release a short, breathy laugh that swiftly morphs into a gasp when his hand slides down your pussy lips, palm rubbing over your clit.

Your knees nearly buckle as he chuckles lowly.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

When three of his fingers push into you, your head drops back against the shelf as you release a loud moan.

“Fuckin’ Christ, can you take me already, yeah?”

You’re nodding before he’s finished, wetting your lips as you breathe faster.

“Yes, please, just give me your cock, I need it.”

“I know, love, I know… Here…” He grips your thigh and lifts it, hooking your leg over his hip as he widens his stance. Then, you hear the zipper of his trousers coming down, the rustling of material, and then the grunt he gives as he pulls his cock out.

You imagine he strokes it a few times, considering the groans that follow, and then, fuck, you feel the tip against your pussy.

He glides it up and down through your lips, wetting it with your slick, and you inhale a breath of surprise when you feel his forehead touch against yours.

“You ready?” he murmurs, and you nod a little.

“Yes. Please.”

Slowly, he pushes his cock inside you. 

Gripping at his shoulders, you cry out softly, your mouth open, and your forehead remains against his.

“Fuckin’... Christ…” he grunts, a hand back on your hip, holding you against the shelves as he slides further and further inside you.

When he’s finally all the way in, you release a breath, feeling him do the same, mouth so close to yours.

Fuck, you’d missed feeling him. Missed the way he stretches you so perfectly. So fucking perfectly.

You can’t help yourself, you start to rock your hips instantly, a soft, almost whimper coming from the back of your throat.

“Oh, fuck… Yeah?” he breathes, and you nod, you can only nod, mind blanking momentarily at the feel of him dragging in and out of you.

“All right, love, hold on.”

Your arms wrap around his neck as he moves one hand to the back of your head, his forearm against your back, making sure you won’t hit your head against the shelf as he then starts to increase his thrusts, harder and faster.

“Oh, fu-uck…” you gasp, pleasure pulsing through you with each thrust.

He’s grunting, teeth nearly gritted by the sounds of it. “... Christ… You’re so fuckin’... Take me so fuckin’ well… So wet and tight…”

A breathless smile pulls at your lips. “Hearing you say sorry… had me fucking dripping.”

He chuckles roughly. “I’ll be sayin’ it a lot fuckin’ more, then.”

“Good… ‘cause you’re always fucking up.”

“And you’re always right, aren’t you.”

“Yes.”

He groans, fingers tightening on your hip. “Guess we know where we stand, then.”

Do we?

You’re about to ask him so; with his cock dragging in and out of you, spreading you open, your arms tight around his neck, alcohol covering the floor with a matchbox in sight and rooms of ruthless murderers above, you’re about to ask him what the fuck you two are.

But he kisses you before you can, hard and deep.

You moan against his lips, feeling his nose against your cheek and you just still can’t believe you can feel all of him.

Him having done that… it must mean… it has to…

“... Simon…”

He almost doesn’t register it, thinks he’s imagined it, your little fucking delicious moan sounding like his name.

But then you gasp it again, he having thrusted harder without realising, and yes, it’s real.

He’s Simon again. Not just Ghost, not cunt, not fucker.

Simon.

And you’d moaned it like a question.

“Yes, love?”

It takes you a moment, a litany of moans falling from your lips as he hits a sweet spot on his next thrust.

“... You said… I don’t mean… nothing to you…”

He has to quickly quell the slight panic that sparks within him, looking at the silk strip, where your eyes are. “Yeah?”

“What… do you feel for me, then?”

He stares at you, panic rising again as his brow dips even though you can’t see it. “...You know… You know, don’t you…?”

There’s the slightest shaking of your head

Fucking hell…

Right here, with you squeezing around his cock and moaning his name and a fucking crime syndicate not too far away?

“Simon?” you prompt, in a fucking little breathy way that has his cock aching.

“For fuck’s sake, I care about you, you silly cunt,” he gravels.

He’d thought ever saying the words out loud would be with resignation, with a sense of signing a death warrant on someone’s name. But the way you smile, the way your slick pussy grips at him… He wishes he could see your eyes…

He’d promised it a year before to himself, but now he does again.

No one’s going to fucking hurt you ever again.

“You do?”

“You heard me, woman.”

“Say it again.”

He sighs. “Fucking he—”

He breaks off with a groan that comes deep from his throat because your hand has gripped his hair and pulled.

“You cheeky cunt,” he mutters, head tilted back, his cock twitching with pure lust.

“Say it,” you half-hiss, and “I care about you,” he hisses back.

You shove his head closer to yours and your lips crash against his. It’s a hard, sloppy kiss, and his hand tightens on the back of your head, keeping you close.

“I care about you, too, fucker,” you mumble, and he groans again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Fucking hell.

The tightness that had taken hold of his chest releases, and something that feels, despite everything, like peace drifts through him.

He fucks you harder, deeper, but when you break the kiss with a sharp gasp, he doesn’t release you, keeping you close still.

“Yeah?” He mutters again, lips nearly brushing against yours, voice strained as he looks at you, as he tries to hold off, keep his orgasm at bay just a little bit longer. “You gettin’ close, love?”

“Yeah…” you breathe out shortly, gripping at him tightly.

“Get yourself there, love, rub your clit while I fuck you.”

Your hand drops instantly, finding your clit and fuck, he loves watching you, loves seeing the pleasure on your face, the way your brow goes between dipping and rising, how your perfect mouth stays open.

“You gunna cum on my cock, darlin’?”

The moan you release should be embarrassing, but he’s never called you that before.

You could get used to it.

“Mmh, fuck… Yeah…”

“Let me feel you cum, darlin’, been waitin’ so fuckin’ long to feel it again, been thinkin’ about you every fuckin’ day, remind me of how fuckin’ good you feel, come on, love…”

You’re moaning, gripping at him desperately, nails digging in deep.

And he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“Cum for me, come on, cum for me… Cum on my cock like a good girl…”

Tipping your head back into his hand, you cry out as you cum, and his lips are on your neck, kissing, sucking, licking and biting, and it sends you spiralling higher in your orgasm, your bones nearly turning to liquid.

And he doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it, grunting against your skin as your slick walls squeeze and flutter around him.

It just keeps the pleasure going, and your hips buck as your hand flies up to grip at his hair.

“Fuck, fu-uck, Simon… I…”

“I know, I know…” he hums against your ear. “... Feels too good, doesn’t it, feels too much… Just a bit longer, I’m nearly there… Good girl… Fuck… Yeah, squeeze me… Yeah, yeah…” 

His thrusts become harsher, quicker, and his head rests against yours so you can hear every short, grunted breath he gives. When he inhales a sharp one, you sink your teeth into your lower lip, pull his hair, tighten your pussy around him… and he cums with a long, loud groan.

You mewl almost pathetically as you feel his cum inside you, feel his cock twitching.

Fucking hell, which you’re definitely going to, you’d missed this.

Missed him.

A few more, deep groans fall from his lips, and then you’re both still, just your breathing filling the room.

Slowly, your grip softens on his hair, and you only slightly register that you’re stroking it gently.

It’s a few more moments before you feel him lift his head, but he doesn’t move any further.

When he releases a breath closer to a sigh, you raise your eyebrows a little.

“What is it?”

“You… You look beautiful.”

That takes you by surprise, your brows lifting higher.

He’s never said that before.

Your lips twitch a little as you try to stop a smile. “Thanks.” Wetting your lips in another valiant effort to hide a smile, you clear your throat. “Can I—”

He kisses you. It’s firm, but undemanding. 

When it breaks, you take in a soft breath, and try again, lifting a hand and pointing at the slip of silk around your eyes. “Can I take this off?”

“Not yet.” 

He’d said it quickly, and you feel him stiffen slightly before he straightens, and your hand darts to his arm, gripping it.

“Wait. Can I feel your face again?”

He’s still.

Then he lowers his head, and takes one of your hands, guiding it up.

The moment your fingertips touch his skin, they move. You glide them over his cheeks, feeling his stubble and scars, down his nose, over his lips.

You don’t know when you started to smile, but it widens a little more.

“You feel handsome.”

You think you feel him smile.

“I am.”

Exhaling a laugh, you then inhale a sharp breath as he pulls out of you.

Gently lowering your leg from his hip, he then steps back and you hear him tucking his cock away and sorting his trousers. Then he moves somewhere else, and you stay where you are, trying to imagine what he’s doing.

When he steps towards you, you lift your chin a little, and then his hands are at the back of your head, untying the knot. As the silk slips from your face, you keep your eyes closed.

He releases a breath through his nose. 

“You can open your eyes, love.”

Doing so, you blink a few times, adjusting to the light.

And then your eyes find his.

There’s lines around them; he’s smiling.

The corners of your mouth lift, and you arch an eyebrow.

“You’ve fucked my mascara up, haven’t you.”

“Not for the first time.”

Lifting a hand, the other pushing the strip into his trouser pocket, he swipes his thumb under one of your eyes, then the other, wiping the mascara and flecks of eyeshadow that have smudged from the silk strip.

When he drops his hand, you wet your lips and tilt your head.

“How do I look?”

“All right.” He lifts the strap of your dress back up over your shoulder as your lips twitch.

“Good.”

When his hand drops, you look at each other.

Fuck, you want him all over again. But not now, not yet.

Later.

“So…” The word prompts him into action, and you watch him zip up his jacket and then pick his vest up, fastening it back onto his chest. “… Shall we burn this place to the ground, Simon?”

Lifting his eyes to you, you see the lines again. “Absolutely.” Moving to the door, he unlocks it and holds it open for you. “After you, love.”

A smile on your lips, you grab a matchbox and a set of keys he hadn’t noticed from the shelf, and head towards the door, passing through.

And then, you swiftly pause and grip his chin and jaw.

He hisses out an almost incredulous breath as you raise your eyebrows.

“If you betray me tonight, or again, I’ll cut your dick off.”

He just looks at you. “Good thing I’m not plannin’ on doin’ that, isnt’ it.”

“It is.” Releasing him, you rise up a little higher in your heels and press a kiss to the cheek of his hard mask. “Let’s go.”

Shaking his head as he follows you up the stairs, he keeps his voice low.

“So what’s the plan, then, boss?”

“Lock all the doors except the front one for me.” Half turning as you ascend, you hand him the keys. “Take out any guards you can but be discreet. This won’t work if there’s panic and they scatter.”

He slips the keys into his pocket. “Any kids here?”

You snort. “What do you think I am, a monster? No. Adults only party.”

“Copy that. What are you gunna do?”

You smile. “Start the fire, darling.” Reaching the outer door, you push it open a little, check the hallway is clear, and then hold it open for him, smile widening. “So you’d better be quick.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Moving through the door, he then turns to you. “Where will I meet you?”

“The foyer. They’ll all have moved into the ballroom. Lock that one last, it’s connected to the foyer.”

“All right.” You’re just about to turn away when he adds, “One more thing…”

“What?”

You arch an eyebrow as he leans closer, his voice low.

“Is my cum dripping down your thighs?”

The sinful smile that lifts your lips has his cock nearly hardening again.

“What do you think?”

He grunts, eyes flicking down to your legs, then back up to yours.

Your smile widens.

“Off you go.”

Shoving his chest, you then turn from him, moving down the stairs. He watches you, releasing a long breath.

Then, before he can stop himself:

“Stray?”

You pause on a step, turning to him.

His jaw moves a little.

“Be careful.”

It’s now your turn for your eyes to flick over him.

Then, you smile.

“You, too.”

—

He moves quickly, as instructed. Handily, the keys are all labelled, thank fuck. Taking out any guards he comes across and locking doors, he skirts around the vast puddles of clear liquid that coat the floors of some of the corridors.

The ground floor is a little trickier, people having snuck off for conversations, or to have a quick fuck. Luckily, though, they all value their privacy, so the doors are already shut. He just has to lock them quietly.

Piece of cake.

Glancing at his watch as he locks the second to last door, he presses his lips together.

He was supposed to check in five minutes ago. Johnny’ll know something’s up. Hopefully he puts a little faith in him, though. Gives him more time.

More time to think about how to fucking explain this.

Heading down the backstairs, he then halts swiftly.

Fire burns at the bottom of it, climbing up the walls and thick curtains of the window.

Fuck, you did work quickly.

Turning, he takes two steps at a time, heading for the hallway he’d come down. Striding down, he opts for the main stairs, why the fuck not.

Jogging down them, he glances at the front door as loud music drifts through from the ballroom.

Two security scanners with flowers draped over them are by the front door, which is closed, and two guards stand by it. They talk together, and as he nears the middle of the stairs, one of them looks up.

Hello, mate.

Withdrawing two knives, he hurls them at them, watching them sink into the men’s chests before he picks up the pace, not wanting anyone in the ballroom to catch a glimpse of him. 

As the two men choke on the blood filling their lungs, he pulls the knives out, then sinks them into their necks, the choking abruptly cutting off. Wiping the blood on his sleeve, he then holsters them and, one at a time, grabs the men by the legs and drags them off to the side.

Piling them in the corner, he then strides to the ballroom doors.

Pressing his back against the wall, he peers in.

Three guards stand on the other side, facing the party, fucking idiots, and what a fucking party it is.

People are dancing, there’s lights and flowers everywhere, there’s laughter, and the band sound fucking top notch.

He’s about to feel sorry for the players when he realises they’re made up of members of the family.

Ah, well.

His hand darting out, he grabs one handle, yanks the door closer, then the other and does the same, and when they’re near he grips both and pulls the doors closed. The music is now muffled, and he can hear the guards talking to each other, asking what the fuck happened, and his hand darts into his pocket for the keys. Finding the right one, he swiftly locks the doors just as the guards try to turn the handles.

Well, he can’t promise it won’t cause a panic, but it’s been done.

Pocketing the keys once more, he turns and strides for the front door, ignoring the banging on the ones behind him.

Removing his gun, he opens one of the doors and peers out, finding the driveway empty, quiet.

He closes it a little, leaving it ajar, and checks his watch.

Any minute now, you’ll be here.

Lowering his hand, his lip curls slightly as he starts to smell burning.

Not even just that, he can hear it, too.

There’s screaming coming from somewhere, maybe the ballroom.

He glances at the landing above, then the stairs, then checks his watch again.

Where the fuck are you.

Something is twisting in his chest, rising.

Unease.

Seconds tick by.

A minute.

Minute and a half.

His teeth gritting, his head suddenly whips to the side as he hears a commotion, something crashing to the ground.

Somewhere, either a ceiling or a wall has caved in.

Fuck, where the fuck are you.

His chest twists again.

You wouldn’t. 

You wouldn’t just—

You wouldn’t leave.

You can’t have.

You can’t—

There’s the muffled, distant squeal of tyres on tarmac and the roar of an engine from outside. His head whipping to the open door, a half-second later he then lunges for it, gripping the handle and pulling it wider.

Stepping out, he strides across the stone and down the steps to the red carpet, just as a car roars out of the underground garage and shoots across the gravel, the tyres spinning.

No.

No, you can’t—

A burst of gunfire erupts from his right and on instinct he ducks, and then his head snaps up to see—

You.

You’re striding out of the tunnel leading to the garage, rifle raised, and you’re aiming at the car. As you fire again, he looks to the car, watches it swerve, and then the back tyres burst. It swerves again, crashing into one of the huge bronze bowls, and the engine immediately erupts into flames.

Fucking hell.

Pressing his lips together, he looks to you, watches you lower the rifle and stride towards the car.

You look fucking… Well, he has to focus on his anger to stop his cock from rising.

He strides towards you, swiftly catches up and falls into step with you.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he grunts, and you glance at him.

“Calm down, I was getting the servers out. And someone caught on. Well, someones’.”

As you nod in the direction of the car, he looks to it again, and sees three people emerging from it, two men and a woman. The woman’s sobbing, clutching her fur coat to her as she tries to run across the gravel.

Exhaling a breath, you raise the rifle again and fire at her.

She goes down with a cry instantly.

Mariana Vitale. Weapons dealer.

One of the men yells out, raising a handgun and firing at you.

Simon grips your arm, pulls you out of the way of the bullet with a grunt, and you stumble slightly in your heels.

He holds you upright, and you look up at him, smiling.

“Thank you, darling.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He releases you, and you raise the rifle as the man yells again.

You shoot him, and he slumps against one of the car doors before collapsing to the ground.

Roberto Morelli. Money launderer and diamond mine owner.

You and Ghost continue to walk towards the burning car, hearing the manor burn behind you, part of the roof collapsing.

There’s one person left.

Nearing the car, Ghost hangs back a little, adjusts his grip on his gun.

And then there he is.

Gianni rises from the other side of the car, hands raised, eyes wide.

They dart between you both, and he steps out from behind the car, hands shaking.

“Amore mio? What is this? Wh… Why are you with him?”

Raising the rifle, you shoot him in the head.

He collapses to the ground, arms and legs splayed out.

Gianni Vitale. Human trafficker.

Blowing out a long breath, you gaze at his body as you shoulder the rifle, straightening your back.

Ghost keeps his gun to hand, looks to the long driveway, the trees, just in case anyone is out there.

When you turn to manor, he does the same, glancing at you then at the—

His gaze darts back to you as you reach into the bodice of the dress and remove a small remote.

His mouth opens to ask what the fuck you’re doing, when you press the button, and part of the manor explodes.

The ballroom.

Squinting slightly against the light of the blaze, he raises an arm over you in case any debris should fall.

You’re far away enough, though, and it falls short, pieces of wall, ceiling, furniture, and yeah, probably people, falling to the ground a good several feet away.

Lowering his arm, he just watches it with you.

And neither of you speak.

The roof starts to cave in all over, the flames reaching up to the sky, angry and swift. Smoke billows out, and walls collapse, and he finally holsters his gun, folding his arms across his chest.

When he suddenly hears a sniff, he looks over at you.

Your jaw is set, and a few tears slide down your cheeks, but you’re smiling.

He gazes at you, and after a few moments, he looks to the manor again.

He hopes you have your peace now.

Whatever comes next, he hopes you—

“I was part of a unit once.” 

He doesn’t know what startles him more. The fact you spoke, or what you said.

He looks at you, still.

Wiping at a cheek, you then fold your arms, still gazing at the collapsing building.

“For years. A group for hire. Shadow operatives. Didn’t belong to anyone. Didn’t even know much about each other, but we were a good team, the eight of us. We were on a job one day, like any other, but it all went south.” You sniff. “Went to absolute shit, actually. Angelo was the job, and one by one his mercs picked us off. I was bleeding out, I’d taken a bullet here.”

You point to your side before tucking your arm back against your chest. He knows which scar you mean.

“They didn’t finish me off, though. They took me in, patched me up, brought me back to life. It wasn’t until I was stable that I found out I was the only one left. They’d killed the others.” You wet your lips. “When they took me to Angelo, he told me of how his people had kept me alive, by his grace. How he hadn’t had to do that. How lucky I was. He said I owed him.” You snort humourlessly, as if he was right before you again. “I said I owe you fuck all, if my team are dead then kill me. He smiled. Fucking awful smile. And then he said if I didn’t serve him when he called then he’d kill their families. I didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, whose families, I said.” You stop for the smallest of beats. “And then he showed me pictures of them all. These people that I had no idea existed. Friends, family, children that looked so much like their parents—” Your voice catches slightly, and you swallow before continuing. “... If I told anyone, if I refused at any point, then he’d kill them. I knew he meant it, but…” You swallow again. “... When I said no to killing you…” Your voice catches again. “… When I went back to him he told me what he’d had done. Three families killed. He told me how it had happened. How it hadn’t been quick. How that was all my fault.” Tears are dripping down your cheeks and you inhale a shuddering breath. “I hated myself. Still do.” Sniffing, your tone hardens. “But it was his fault. And I knew I had to kill him.” Wiping at your cheeks, you sniff again. “When I killed him, I knew his people would think it was you, your unit. I knew his people left over, whoever would take charge next, wouldn’t care about the families, but I made sure they were safe, warned. But I just couldn’t live…” Shaking your head, you wet your lips. “... Knowing those people were out there, doing the shit they were doing. When I recovered, I came up with this. Tracked down Gianni, gained his trust. Bided my time. And…” You release a shaking breath. “... Now, it’s over. It’s finally over.”

Simon hasn’t looked away from you for one moment.

Something burns in his chest, hotter and more furious than the fire ahead of him.

And it burns for you.

But he can’t say it, doesn’t know when or even if he’ll ever be able to.

If he’s capable.

Maybe.

Maybe one day.

Silently, he pulls the silk strip out of his pocket and holds it out to you.

Looking down at it, you smile, exhaling a small laugh through your nose.

“Thanks.”

Accepting it, you wipe at your cheeks and eyes, blowing out another breath.

Gripping the neck of his vest, he finally pulls his gaze from you, looking back towards the manor.

“What happens now?”

Sniffing, you fold your arms again. “All the family are in there. If there’s anyone left anywhere else, they won’t mean shit. Won’t do shit.”

“What if they broke the windows, got out?”

You raise your eyebrows, a smile lifting your lips. “The great thing about the rich is that they’re arrogant. Shatterproof glass on all the windows.”

“Ah.” 

That explained the fucking balcony, then.

He’s silent.

You are, too.

It nearly startles him when you tilt your head back and release a loud sigh.

“Fuck, I feel like I should light a cigarette.”

“Can kill you, that, smoking.”

He glances at you, catching your trying-to-be-unamused look.

And then he chuckles quietly as you laugh, watching you look back towards the blaze.

Yeah, maybe one day he’ll be able to say it properly.

“Oh, are they your boys?”

Lifting his head, he looks to the treelines beyond the manor, finds the figures darting out, nearing the building.

Shit.

“Yeah. Stayed out past my curfew.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

He shrugs. “Nah, don’t be. They’ll be pissed but…” He looks at you, shrugging again. “This is a good outcome. We can figure out the rest.”

“Good.” Smiling, you gaze at him.

Fuck, he wants to kiss you, wants to feel your body against his, wants to tell you that he lo— cares about you, again.

He’s just starting to lower his arms, is about to close the distance between you, when you turn.

And you fucking start walking away.

Staring at you, he raises his eyebrows. “Where the fuck are you goin’?”

You release a long, contented sigh. “To a nice hotel. I’m fucking exhausted.”

Fucking hell.

“Right.”

Turning to him, you walk backwards, smile wide. “What about you, what’s your plan for the evening?”

“I’ve got a fucking psychotic woman to catch.”

“Ah.” Your smile widens into a beam. “Best of luck. I hear she’s in the market for a new job, you know.”

His head tilts as something dangerously like hope sparks in his chest. “Same industry?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Stick with what you know, y’know.”

You can’t see his smile as he folds his arms. “I’ll ask around.”

“Thanks.”

Your smile softens as you look at him, and he doesn’t think he imagines that your gait slows a little.

And then you’re turning away, and striding down the driveway.

“See you around, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he calls after you.

Watching you go, he shakes his head as you lift a hand and wave it, not looking back.

Fucking Christ… You’re in it now, son.

Finally making himself turn away, he starts walking towards the ruined building, lifting his hand and turning his radio on. Voices burst out of it, shouting orders to each other, and he sighs.

Suppose once I explain it all, they’ll want to offer her a position again.

Wonder if I’ll have to declare this relationship to HR.

… She’s gunna love that joke.

─

A/N: You! Reading this! Yes, you! Thank you so much for making it this far, I appreciate it so much. To those who left comments, thank you from the bottom of my heart, you kept me going and kept this fun for me.

I hope you all enjoyed this story, and this pairing, and I hope you have a lovely week!

─

Reblogs and comments make my day in a way I can’t describe.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or removed in my future works! (Note: I'll only tag if age is in your bio) Sorry if the tag doesn't work!

Masterlist

The other two pull you to a stop, and one holds you firm and still as the other takes a set of handcuffs from his belt. Securing one around your wrist, he lifts your arms high, pulls the handcuffs over a low-hanging pipe, and secures the other loop around your wrist, securing you to it. You’re nearly on your tiptoes, arm and back muscles already aching, now straining. But you just look at them, features stoney.

One of them turns instantly and heads out the door, the other pulls on your arms, checking the cuffs are secure. Your teeth grit as they bite into your wrists, and your shoulders shout in protest. He then steps back, looks at you, turns and heads out. The soldier you recognise, propping the door open by leaning against it, arms folded, nods at him as he passes.

Then, he looks at you.

His smirk returns.

“Good to see you again, Stray.”

You don’t answer, and he chuckles.

“Yeah, you won’t be quiet for long.”

Pushing off the door, he shuts it, and you hear him lock it, the sound echoing through the small room.

You stare at it.

You can hear a drop of water somewhere, rhythmic.

You don’t know how much time passes, don’t bother to count.

Then, you hear a voice echoing down the corridor outside. You recognise it.

You shift slightly, the cuffs scraping against the pipe.

Your fingers flex.

“... fuckin’ stand straight,” Soap commands. “This isn’t your fucking area, pal, anything to do with Vitale we get notified, all right, and we handle it. No, you’re gonna fuckin’ sit down and let him through before I put a fuckin’ bullet in your head…”

His voice is drowned out by the scraping of the metal of the door as it opens. You catch a small glimpse of him, bollocking the soldier you’d recognised who is now sat, back ramrod straight, before he’s blocked by the figure who steps through the door.

Ghost enters, ducking slightly, and straightens, his eyes on you. The door is shut behind him by someone, muffling Soap’s voice again.

You block it out.

Silence fills the room. 

Ghost looks at you, takes in your red, shimmering evening dress, the gold jewellery adorning your ears, neck, wrists and fingers.

The smoke and dried blood on your nose and cheeks.

He moves closer, taking measured, but not slow, steps.

Neither of you speak.

When he’s a small step away, he pauses, and then reaches up. Gripping one of your forearms, he opens the opposite cuff, releasing your wrist.

You move swiftly, your fist driving towards his jaw—

He catches it in his hand.

You look at each other.

You’re not as strong as him, but you’re still pushing against his hand, your arm almost shaking.

He forces your hand down, quickly grabs your wrist, and keeps your arm by your side. He pulls your other arm down, keeps it there, too. Your chest is millimetres from his, and you don’t move, don’t take your gaze from his for one moment.

He moves you backwards, forcing you back, and makes you sit down in a chair. Leaning over you, keeping his head, nose and jaw away from your forehead, knowing you well enough, he threads the open cuff through a metal rod on the back of the chair, and attaches it back to your wrist, securing you in place.

Then he steps back.

He watches you inhale long, deep breaths, your chest rising and falling. Your gaze is hard, and you still haven’t taken your eyes from him.

He looks to the table beside you, the bowl of water there, the square of cloth, the scissors, scalpels, tweezers.

Moving towards it, he takes the cloth and soaks it in the cold water.

He moves back towards you, places a hand on the back of the chair, leans down a little, and starts wiping some of the smoke from your face, wiping at the dried blood under your nose.

Your lip twitches, like it wants to curl.

A sound comes from the back of your throat… then you spit at his face.

He pauses as a glob of saliva lands on his mask.

Straightening after a moment, he uses the back of his hand to wipe the spit away, and then tosses the cloth onto the table. Exhaling a breath, he steps back and folds his arms.

“Where’s Vitale, Stray.”

You look at him.

He nods at you. “Did they just hit you, there?”

You look at him.

“Nowhere else?”

You’re silent.

“What did Vitale do to you?”

You’re silent.

“Did he touch you—”

“Why? Want to know if he got his sloppy seconds?”

And there it is; air seems to come back into the room when your voice fills it.

“Stray, you were the only thing that could draw him out—”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You were recovering—”

“Bullshit.” The single word slices across the room like a whip. “Answer the question.”

He looks at you. “I didn’t know if you’d agree.”

“Bullshit.” Your lip curls. “Say it.”

He exhales a breath. “I couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t tell him.”

Silence.

It fills every corner of the room, and you don’t look away from him for one moment. Challenge him not to. He doesn’t, and you see nothing in his eyes.

After a few moments, you nod, tongue running along your teeth.

“Right. Because I was so clearly loyal to him after he beat me, and had me beat, and I told Soap everything.”

“You went back to him.”

“After.” Your voice has risen, tone stronger. “After you offered me up and there was no way out.”

“There was, we would’ve protected you—”

“For how long? He’s fucking relentless. And why. Why keep wasting time and resources on me when I’ve nearly had you all killed?” The words had kept coming, burning questions that had been festering in your mind demanding to come forth now.

They’re met with his silence now, though.

Then he exhales a breath. “Where is Vitale now?”

You exhale a harsh breath. “I don’t know. I’m not privy to that information anymore.”

Ghost’s eyes flick over you, briefly. “What did he do to you.”

You shrug, shoulders lingering high for a moment before they drop. “Same as before. For longer. Minus a broken bone, though. He wanted me back out there the next day.”

Nothing passes behind his eyes, not even a flicker, but they look over you again, like he’s trying to see if there’s still evidence of the punishment.

“Doing what?”

You look at him.

He exhales another breath, exasperation tingeing this one. “What does he have on you that you do this for him?

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’d like it to be.”

“Take the mask off.”

Silence.

You shrug again. “There you go.”

He drops his arms. “We can stop him, Stray, if you help us.”

Eyes narrowing, your jaw tightens. “I did help you. I told you everything I knew and you fucked it. You all fucked it by letting him slip through your fingers. Again. By fucking me. In more ways than one.”

He’s silent, though you see a slight movement of his jaw under his mask. You don’t fill the silence, letting it stretch on and on and on.

Then, he folds his arms again.

“Soap was meant to meet you in the clearing. He got into some trouble, Vitale brought more men than we expected, and he got caught up. That wasn’t how that was meant to go.”

Your teeth had gritted as he’d continued, and a small, humourless smile pulls at your lips. “Bullshit.”

Ghost shifts slightly, exasperation starting to come through again. “He showed me the CCTV. What Vitale did to you, or the start of it—”

“And still you thought your plan was best—”

“He also told me you sent him the coordinates for the warehouse, too—”

“I won’t be making that mistake again.”

Your snapped words hang in the silence between you.

After a few moments, his hands go to the top of his vest, gripping it. “Where is he, Stray. We’ve only got so much command here, and that’s gunna run out if we don’t get anything.”

You’re silent.

His gaze is harder. “What were you doing in the casino?”

You shrug. “Just having a drink.”

“Dressed like that?”

“A girl can’t look nice?”

“I know it’s not your style.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I do.”

“You don’t.” 

Your hiss, verging on a snarl, silences him.

Then, you laugh, it sounding too loud in the small space, and he blinks.

“You know what’s fucking funny?”

“What?”

You’re smiling, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “You haven’t once said sorry. And I keep fucking expecting you to. I don’t know who’s more fucked up, me or you.”

He looks at you.

There’s some movement in his jaw again.

When he speaks, his voice is lower.

“Where is he, Stray?”

“I don’t. Know. Ghost.” Your smile has gone. “You robbed me of that privilege.”

He’s looking at you, gaze no longer hard, and you tip your head back as you blow out a loud breath, looking up at the ceiling.

Shaking your head slightly, you lick your lips, dragging your teeth over your lower one, and then tip your head down, looking at him.

“You know, he offered me the job again.”

His lips press together. “To kill me?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I took it.”

You’re fast. As you rise out of the chair, the cuffs clattering to the floor, your hands now free, you lunge at him. Grabbing the handgun from the holster at his side as he blinks, you raise it. He lurches back a few steps, reaching for his other—

You pull the trigger.

The bullet whizzes through the short space between you, and sinks into his vest. It absorbs it, but he takes the impact; he makes a strange, pained sound, something between a cry and a wheeze as the breath in his body is forced out of him and pain spreads across his entire chest.

And he falls backwards.

Hitting the ground, he makes another sound, and it hurts to do that, hurts to breathe.

Staring up at the ceiling, he wheezes, unable to move.

He thinks his ribs might be broken, some of them have to be.

His eyes dart to you suddenly as you move closer, and you sink to your knees beside him, lips pressed together. Staring down at him, you clasp your hands together, the gun still in one. He’s staring at you, and he tries to move his hand to his gun but his arms are shaking too much and it hurts to do fucking anything.

“Lieutenant, sir?” the man you recognised calls from the other side of the door, voice muffled. “Everything all right?”

He tries to call back to him. All he can release is a strained, quiet sound.

You tilt your head, grazing your teeth over your lower lip.

And you press the barrel into the forehead of his mask.

You look at him and he stares at you.

You lean closer.

“If I ever see you again, I will kill you.”

Moving the gun, you grip the bottom of the material and hard masks and pull them off as you stand. Looking at the door, you move towards it, holding the masks in your hand.

“Stray…” His voice comes out rasped, pained, and you grip the handle and push the door open. 

The soldier is on his feet, and his brow dips as his gaze tracks over you. “What the fuck—”

Ah, now you remember him.

Lecherous cunt.

You raise the gun and squeeze the trigger. He collides with the wall when the bullet cuts through his shoulder.

Groaning, features twisted, he tries to reach for his radio, and you reach down, yanking it off his vest and tossing it away and then grabbing his gun.

“Fucking… bitch…” He hisses, and you tilt your head.

“That bullet was a warning. The next one won’t be.”

Turning, you move down the corridor.

You walk quickly, knowing the second gunshot will have drawn attention. Ignoring the sparks of pain from the small cuts and bruises on your feet, you take the route that they’d brought you through, having memorised it. Voices come from down other corridors, the faint sounds of radios crackling to life until it’s more frequent and—

“Hey, stop!”

You break into a run, and you dart around a corner as a bullet flies over your head. 

Door, door, door, which door…

You shove the one you’d noted open, and immediately move down the stairs. The stairwell is quiet for exactly 30 seconds before the door you came through is shoved open and you hear boots following after you. You don’t know how many soldiers there are, but some start firing down at you, bullets ricocheting off the walls and steps. You don’t start firing up at them with your guns until you reach the bottom, and you hear them shout to each other, pausing, slowing. Using their hesitation, you open the only door and dart through. 

The corridors are quiet on this floor, for now. You’d gathered from the glimpses you’d gotten as they’d dragged you out of the van that this building is a warehouse of some kind, and there are some windows into the rooms you pass, some filled with boxes piled high, others with tables shoved into the corners.

Turning a corner, you hear the door you’d come through open but nobody passes through for perhaps 10 seconds or so, and you know with their grouping and planning, you’re running out of time.

You try a door; it’s locked.

You try another; the same.

Fuck.

You can hear them getting closer, nearing the corner, their radios talking but quietly.

You try another door.

Locked.

Fuck.

Pressing your lips together, there’s one left, and you turn your back to it, moving backwards and raising the guns, pointing them at the end of the corridor. Your fingers rest over the triggers, waiting for whoever the bravest of them will be. A shadow falls across the floor, growing as whoever it is nears the corner.

Your back touches against the door, and you slowly lower one arm, moving your hand to the handle.

The shadow grows.

Your hand moves.

Your finger readies to squeeze the trigger.

The shadow grow—

It pauses.

Chatter sounds from a radio, echoing down the corridor but you can’t make out the words.

Seconds tick by.

You use it; gripping the handle, you pull the door open a little, and take a step forward and to the side so you can start edging through it.

You pause, though, as the shadow starts to retreat.

… Right…

Eyes narrowing slightly, you listen as the radios grow quieter and quieter, and then a door closes.

Waiting a few moments, you then glance through the door, berating yourself for not having done so earlier. It leads to a garage, the strip lights on, and all you see are vehicles, three rows of Jeeps and vans.

Exhaling a breath, you look once more down the corridor before slipping through the door. Closing it behind you, you start moving instantly, striding towards the middle row. You don’t stay still, moving between the vehicles, trying each handle as you go.

All locked.

Fuckers.

Still, you keep trying, heading towards the back.

None of them open.

Cunts.

Fuck it.

Looking up, you see a door by the last row, and stride towards it. The van had felt like it had gone over gravel, after dirt, you had to be near woodland, then, especially knowing these guys and how much they liked their priv—

“Where you goin’, darlin’?”

You spin, raising the guns, and Soap raises his hands.

“Woah, hey. Don’t be a cunt. Put ‘em down.”

You don’t move, eyes fixed on him.

He raises his eyebrows. “Really fucking clever all this, eh. Drawing us out. Drawing him out. Really fucking clever.”

A corner of your mouth lifts a little. “I thought so.”

He presses his lips together. “Is he alive?”

You shrug a shoulder. “Maybe.”

His jaw moves as his fingers flex slightly. “You…”

You raise your eyebrows now, tilting your head. “Go on. Insult the woman with the guns.”

He stays silent.

You let it linger for a few moments before you move backwards slowly.

It only takes you two steps before he suddenly grabs his gun and raises it, making you pause.

His gaze is hard. You smile.

“Sure you want to waste time here with me? He could be bleeding out. He could be seconds from death.”

Rage smoulders in his eyes, the first time you’ve ever seen it from him. You nearly hold your breath as you stare at him, almost challenging him. Almost daring him.

Then, he lowers his gun and swiftly turns on his heel without another word, striding away.

Exhaling a breath, you seize the opportunity. Turning, you head for the door, just as swift.

Yanking the door open, you head out into the night.

—

Matteo releases a low whistle at the sight of you, smiling widely. “What Party City store did you raid?”

You flash him a humourless smile. “Very funny. Is he in?”

“Of course. Been waitin’ for ya.”

Lowering an arm from where they’ve been folded across his chest, his smile lingers as he knocks twice on the door next to him.

You look at each other as you wait.

“Come in,” the voice within calls.

You step forward as Matteo opens the door for you, moving into the office. The light from the corridor illuminates a straight path before you, but when he closes the door, it plunges the room into near darkness, the only light on the dim lamp on the desk.

Standing a few steps from it, you wait, watching him, listening to his pen scratch across a contract, signing in.

When he’s done, he places the pen down, lifts his head and sits back.

“There’s my girl.”

Angelo beckons you closer, and you move, standing before his desk.

He clasps his hands together over his stomach.

“Is it done?”

You exhale a breath. “Yes.”

Lifting your hand, you drop Ghost’s hard mask onto the desk.

Dropping his gaze to it, he leans closer and traces his fingers over the grooves of it. Then, he smiles. Looking up at you, he beckons you again.

“Come here.”

Silently, you move around the desk and stand before him, and he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs over your knuckles. Then, he stands and cups your face, exhaling a long breath.

You hold his gaze.

A light smile is on his lips.

“Y’know, if you’re lying to me, I’ll twist your fuckin’ head off with my bare hands.”

“I know,” you murmur.

“And I’ll kill them.”

“I know.”

His smile widens a little. “Yeah, you do, don’t you.”

Leaning forward, he kisses your forehead, lips lingering there, and you stare at his chest, managing to keep your breathing steady.

When he releases you, you swallow, and watch him as he sits down, reaching for his pen.

“Go on, get outta here. Matteo will tell you what’s next.”

You lick your dry lips. “Thank you, sir.”

Looking up at you, he smiles softly. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

You move when he looks away, heading around the desk and towards the door. Your heart pounds in your chest and you try to stop the waves of nausea that roll through your stomach.

You’re running out of time.

─

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