#this has no plot

Teeth knock together, the taste of his tongue is heady on your lips, in your mouth, past your teeth, in your blood. Your hands grasp at the back of his head, nails digging into the fabric of his balaclava, and he growls into your mouth. 

This is such a bad idea, but neither of you care. Now that the line you’ve both been so carefully avoiding has been crossed, neither of you have any interest in going back. Desire, lust, and love blend together into a heady concoction that scrambles any of your rational thought, scrambled further by those rough, almost gritty breaths he gives every time he breaks away, only to rejoin your mouths in another devouring kiss.

He’s using the difference in your sizes to his advantage here, one large hand on the curve of your waist, iron firm, his opposite arm braced above your head. Ghost has never been a small man, and it’s as arousing as it is evident as you lose any remaining inhibitions you may have had in the taste of his mouth.

This has been a long time coming. Tension taught as a bowstring, brought from a rivalry turned friendship, one that the others loved to poke fun at, even as the flower bulbs of feelings took root, their vines coiling thick and thorny around your heart. Ensnared, entangled. Fuck. Soap and Gaz were going to have a field day, because from the way Simon’s mouth was moving against your own with an almost breathless need, nothing could prove them more right.

His knee slips between your thighs, and you gasp into his mouth at the friction. You feel his lips curl into a whisper of a smile as he flexes the muscle, making your hips jerk, hands scrambling for grip at the back of his neck. This is going somewhere very fast, but neither of you care to even attempt to slow it down, let alone stop it.

“Last chance,” he rasps, and the low sound of his voice makes aching heat gather between your thighs. 

“Huh?” You breathe, and the way he forces out a short laugh makes your head spin.

“Last chance to back out.”

You lift your head, eyes meeting his. Long lashes, the color of gold, frame his dark eyes, the coffee brown irises swallowed by the dark of his pupils. His mouth, kiss bruised, and his jaw, lightly dusted with stubble, are the only things visible, apart from those eyes, revealed by his carelessly rucked up mask. He looks as disheveled as you feel, and for some reason, that only makes it hotter.

“I’m not backing out,” you say, voice coming out much breathier than you thought it would, but you hardly have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about that.

That’s all it takes. All bets are off as he kisses you again, his tongue pushing past your lips as his hands find your ass, squeezing, before he’s boosting your legs up around his hips, long legs eating up the distance as he walks to his bed, away from the door you’d been crowded up against.

Your clothes don’t last long, your uniform top quickly removed, sports bra shoved above your tits as his mouth encloses a nipple, making you gasp, hands grasping at his shirt.

Then, without so much as a second thought, when the fabric falls and gets in the way of his mouth, he growls in annoyance and pulls off his mask. You’ve never seen his face without it, only Price has, you think, but apart from your captain, Ghost’s face has remained a mystery to the rest of the company. To you, that mystery isn’t so mysterious anymore.

“Your mask–” you gasp, unable to squirrel away your shock to process later, but he merely grunts in response.

“Forget it,” he says dismissively, “it was getting in the way.”

Your hands card through newly revealed honey blonde hair, still messy from being covered by the balaclava, his face still smudged with eye black as he gazes down at you with dark, hooded eyes. You take a brief moment to admire him, because aside from a scar at the corner of his mouth, his face is unblemished and handsome, a far cry from the horrible disfigurement Soap has previously joked that Simon must be hiding under the skull patterned fabric.

His mouth returns to your breast, unhindered by the fabric of the mask, and you can’t help the soft little keen that leaves you, both at the caress of his tongue and the feel of his stubble against your tender flesh. He mouths at your body, only separating to yank his shirt over his head, his hand covering your breast as he kisses you again.

Grasping hands find your hips, sliding down to your thighs, and you moan openly as he slots his hips between your parted legs, the hard ridge of his cock rubbing so perfectly against your clothed cunt. Your noise of pleasure matches his, and he repeats the action with a roll of his hips that has your eyes squeezing shut in bliss.

“Simon,” you whisper as he draws back from the kiss, though his mouth remains a whisper away, “Simon, please.”

“Fuck,” he curses, lust drunk, mouthing at your throat, “you’re gonna look so pretty on my cock.”

Those words alone make your insides twist into pleasant knots, and you squirm under him. His hand slides down your stomach, unfastening your pants and pushing them down your legs, your boots kicked off along with them. The compression shorts you wear under your pants come next, and you barely register that he’s clearly impatient to get you naked as he pulls your bra the rest of the way off.

He sits back on his knees above you, looming over you, looking down through pale lashes. The sight of him, hard muscle and heated gaze, it makes you ache. You sit up on your elbows to press kisses against his chest, his abs, making him tense and shudder, one of his hands lifting to cup the back of your head. Your tongue traces patterns against his pale flesh, and you can feel him through his slacks, hard against your stomach, twitching as your tongue swipes across one of his nipples.

That’s about all the control he’ll allow you, clearly, as he pushes you down, caging you in with his arms. His mouth is on your throat again, your collarbone, down your body, and you’re helpless as he makes a path towards where he wants to be. His hands find the underside of your thighs, pushing them apart to accommodate himself as he lays them over his shoulders. His eyes flick up to yours, and when you don’t protest or try to stop him (not that you wanted to), he keeps that eye contact as his tongue drags across your pussy.

His eyes flutter closed, brows pinching a little as he gives another pass of his tongue, blunt nails digging into the plush of your thighs as he groans. The vibrations of the noise make your hips jump, but he stills you with a tug as he wraps his arms around your hips and pulls you flush against his mouth.

Your head feels empty as he begins eating, the sounds his mouth is making utterly obscene, wet and messy but so fucking perfect that you can’t help but arch. Your ability to even so much as squirm is inhibited by his iron grip around your body, his fingers digging into your flesh to hold you where he wants you.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he breathes, and when his lips close around your clit, you cry out his name in an almost pathetic whine.

This is such a bad idea, but fuck if it doesn’t feel incredible. 

Your lieutenant is eating you out, and from the way he’s holding you there as his tongue plunges into you, making you quake against him, all you can do is lay there and take it. Price can’t know, but he isn’t stupid, and this is definitely not the last time you’ll be doing this.

“Simon,” you gasp, and he gives a harsh suck to your clit in response, making you choke on air.

One of his arms moves, releasing your leg, but he doesn’t waste any time in using that free hand to spread you open even further for him, palm against your tender inner thigh, then he’s pushing two fingers into you. Stars burst across your vision as he crooks them up, and fuck, your orgasm is coming way too fast. You sob with bliss, back lifting from the sheets as he works his fingers into you, hitting all the places that your own can’t reach, and you can barely make out the way he’s whispering hushed praise into your skin as he keeps working his tongue over your throbbing clit.

You can barely warn him as he all but pulls your orgasm out of you, the only sound you’re able to give him a strangled sob as your climax slams into you, making you buck and squirm against his mouth, vision hazy as he keeps going, working you through your climax without slowing down. 

You curse, babbling his name, and he groans as you pulse around his fingers, body arching and spasming. All you can say is that it’s too sensitive, and you’re halfway to another orgasm before he finally slows, pulling back with uneven breaths.

No time is wasted as he crawls up your body, mouth on yours, and the taste of yourself on his lips makes your head spin. You’re so achingly empty, and when you reach down to palm Simon through the pants he’s still wearing, the sound he makes is one you commit to memory.

“Fuck me,” you breathe against his mouth, “Simon, fuck me.”

He grasps one of your breasts, squeezing gently, and you squirm again.

“Gladly.”

He sits back, and you get to watch as he unfastens his pants, pushing them down just far enough to free his erection, and fuck, you understand why he’d been fingering you because there’s no way you’d be able to take that without any prep. He’s big, but that goes without saying. He’s thick. Your head is too scrambled to estimate just how big he is, but your head is spinning just thinking about the stretch.

He wraps his hand around himself, fisting his cock before he’s moving over you. He rubs the drooling tip against your cunt.

“Don’t have a condom,” he breathes, and you shake your head.

“I have the implant.”

That’s all he needs. He pushes fingers into you, stretching you with manual motions before he’s breathing out a warning.

“Tell me if it hurts. I know I’m…”

“Big?” You supply, and he breathes out what may be a laugh.

“I was going to say above average. We’ll go slow.”

Then, his hips rock forward, and you feel him start to enter you.

You grit your teeth. Even the tip is a stretch, and you feel the burn of it as he murmurs comforts, kissing your jaw, your throat. 

“Alright?”

You force yourself to nod, and he pushes in further.

Oh, the sound he makes. A low, debauched groan, drawn out between gritted teeth. It makes you whimper in response, and his teeth sink into your shoulder as his hips push forward again.

“Almost there,” he murmurs, “good girl, almost takin’ it all.”

You whimper, your legs lifting to wind around his hips, urging him forward, and you watch as his teeth grit, followed by a sharp jerk of his hips, burying himself the rest of the way inside of you.

He curses, and you feel him twitch inside of you, feel the flex of his hips, the tense of his muscles in the press of his body to yours. 

“Fuck,” he growls, “like a fuckin’ dream. Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

The rasp of his words against your ear makes you tremble. The way his accent has grown thicker is so needlessly sexy, the mancunian drawl you’ve only ever observed when he’s angry or tired showing itself in his strained voice.

He draws back, just a fraction of an inch, testing the waters, before he’s pushing back in, and the stretch of him is making your head spin. You claw at the sheets as he repeats the motion, again and again and again. He gradually picks up speed, finding a pace that has both of you gasping for air.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groans, “takin’ my cock so well.”

His hand flattens against the mattress above your head, supporting his weight as he works his hips against yours in firm, deep thrusts. His other hand grasps your hip, holding you in place for him.

“That’s it, take it,” he pants, voice rough with pleasure, and you can’t stop moaning, your body rolling and bucking under his.

He whispers praise against your throat as his hand goes from your hip to rub at your clit with his thumb, making you squeeze around him with a helpless whimper, something that makes him curse, hips thrusting forward more roughly. It’s so good, so fucking perfect, and if you’d known how good this would be, you’d have considered acting on bad ideas far earlier.

Your climax is approaching embarrassingly quickly, and you pull him down into a kiss, one he returns without hesitation. The pressure on your clit increases, making you squeeze around him harder.

“Fuck, I ain’t gonna last,” he rumbles, and you feel his pace pick up, the hand above your head curling into the sheets, and the way he’s groaning into your ear in blissed out ecstacy is what finally does it.

Your orgasm hits hard, and he slows, working you through it with deep, rolling thrusts of his hips. He’s delaying his own orgasm, you can tell from the way his jaw tenses, the way his muscles tighten. 

You whimper as he keeps pressing your clit, rubbing in firm circles under his thumb, and you can only whimper in overstimulation as he revels in the way it makes you squeeze around him.

“Like fuckin’ velvet,” he breathes, and then he’s moving again.

Your mouth falls open in bliss as he bottoms out inside you and grinds, and the fullness combined with the way the base of his dick is rubbing against your clit is almost too much for your already fried brain to handle. You can only lay there and take it as he hikes your legs up, over his hips, pinning you in place as he chases after his own orgasm.

You kiss him, and he groans, hand knotting in your hair. He thrusts hard, once, twice, and then he’s gone, groaning raggedly as he spills into you. His hips jerk as he rides out his climax, and you shudder against him, hands sliding from the back of his head to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

He goes slack, and you gather him into your arms, a gesture he doesn’t even hesitate to return. The room is quiet, save for uneven breaths as he holds you against him. Finally, he pulls back, pulling out of you, then he’s standing and disappearing into the small bathroom connected to the room. He returns with a warm washcloth, which he uses to wipe your inner thighs clean, and then he’s crawling into the bed beside you, gathering your body into his arms.

You never took him to be a cuddler, and you open your mouth to make a note of this, but the way he looks at you shuts you up.

“Sleep here or don’t,” he says, but from the way he’s holding you, you don’t think the latter is an option.

Few words are exchanged as you let him pull the blankets up, tucking you against him. There’s something so perfectly lovely about the feel of bare skin on skin, and you revel in it, heart heavy with adoration as you kiss his shoulder, and he rests his chin atop your head.

“Next time,” he says, and you hum in response, “you can be on top.”

It’s a bad idea. Such a bad idea. But when he kisses your forehead, so tender it makes your heartbeat flutter like butterfly wings, you really can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyes close.

“Okay,” you say, “next time.”

This isn't even-- it's not even a new development. Davey has been experimenting with makeup a lot recently, with the help of Sarah and Kath, and he's gotten really good at it. He even uses Jack as a model sometimes (and jack likes it more than he'd like to admit), so Jack knows Davey likes makeup. Jack knows that Davey is good at makeup, and of course he'd wear it for Halloween, and of course it would be a big deal since he never really celebrated Halloween as a child and this is his first ever actual costume party being thrown by their friends and he looks great and he's perfect and wonderful and Jack already knows he's going to be distracted all night.

"Wow," He says under his breath as Davey comes to a stop in front of him.

The two of them have been planning this costume for over a month, ever since Race announced that he and Albert were throwing a party at their place. It's going to be crowded to Hell and back, surely, but isn't that the fun of throwing a party in an apartment? Race's apartment is definitely better than the shoebox that Jack and Davey have moved into, that's for damn sure.

Jack looks his boyfriend over again, then grins as Davey says, "You look great, Jackie."

"Are you kidding? Look at you," Jack takes a step forward, running his arms down Davey's yellow rain jacket. "You look adorable. I love you so much."

They've gone for a Coraline and Wybie look for the party. That was the one costume they could agree on- Jack wanted to do something with Beetlejuice or American Horror Story, while Davey was rooting for Corpse Bride or The Addams Family, but then Davey suggested Coraline and, well, how could Jack say no?

And Davey went all out for it, too. The rain jacket, the boots, the red messenger bag- hell, he even dyed his hair dark blue to match the character. Not with fake hairspray or anything, but actual dye. It doesn't look too different from his natural color, but there's a blue tint to it when Davey steps into the right lighting, and Jack is in love with it. In addition to that, Davey also did some of the fake freckles on his cheeks, and his eyes are so impossibly blue while framed by the deep black eyeliner...

Jack doesn't know how he's going to make it through this, not with Davey looking absolutely perfect at his side.

Nonetheless, Davey rolls his eyes fondly at the attention. "You're such a sap," He says softly, and reaches out to run his hand through Jack’s curls. Jack had refrained from doing anything to his hair all month- cutting, dyeing, what have you- just so he could have a better Wybie costume. His curls aren't quite the same texture or anything, but Davey had assured him he looked fine with it. "I think we look cute."

"And I think we're gonna be the best-looking couple there," Jack grins, tilting his head. "Al and Race aren't gonna know what hit 'em."

"Mm, good. What are they going as?" Davey asks as he wrap his arms loosely around Jack, hanging onto his shoulders.

Jack grins. "Racer’s a 'corrupted sexy nun', according to the text he sent me last week, and I got a snapchat from Al earlier. He was wearing demon horns, so..."

"Oh, they're one of those couples," Davey laughs softly, looking into Jack’s eyes. "Should we have gone for something sexy?"

"You're always sexy."

Davey flushes pink and rolls his eyes. "We could've done a whole Bonnie and Clyde thing. I'd look even hotter with a gun and some blood splatter, don't you think?"

"We could've done a lot of things. I still think we'd make a cute Leslie and Ben," Jack raises a brow, grinning. "Maybe do a whole 'Legally Blonde' thing or somethin'."

Davey shakes his head, nose scrunching up as he grins. "I don't look good blonde."

"Who says you get to be the blonde?" Jack asks with a smirk. As Davey laughs and rests his head on Jack's shoulder, Jack wraps his arms around his waist and says, "I don't think Halloween is about lookin' good. Ya just gotta have fun with it."

"Right," Davey murmurs, "and that's why you went as a soccer player for three years in a row in high school."

Jack's eyes widen, and he gasps as he backs up. "I cannot believe Racer told you that! When did he tell you?"

Davey shrugs, and shoots Jack an innocent smile. "Bold of you to assume your mom didn't tell me. She showed me pictures, too. Real cute."

"That's even worse!"

Davey laughs loudly, high in his throat, as he turns away and grabs the last few items he needs from the kitchen table- his phone and his wallet, mainly so they can call an Uber after the party, knowing that everyone is probably getting wasted tonight.

And that's fine, because tonight is supposed to be fun. It's going to be fun.

Apart from the dinner and the simple silver bracelet Izzy had gotten you, nothing was different. Actually, you weren't really reminiscing about things like your first date either. You were just talking about whatever you wanted with some words of affection here and there, but it wasn't like you only did that on your anniversary. It was basically like any other day and you didn't need one day a year to show your love for each other.

Suddenly, Izzy got up from his chair and walked around the table. "Give me your hand," he said, holding his hand out for you.

You raised a brow but took it and let him help you up. He took a few steps back from the table and placed his free hand on your waist, pulling you closer to his body. "Dance with me," he whispered.

"Wouldn't that be better with music?" you asked, beginning to sway back and forth with him.

"You can always sing, darling," Izzy replied with a smirk.

"I thought you were the great musician," you tried to coax him into singing, playing with the collar of his shirt. It was no secret you loved listening to his voice and you took advantage of every opportunity to get him to sing for you.

Without opposition, he started softly humming the melody of your favorite song, resting his chin on the top of your head. You closed your eyes and smiled when he actually started singing. "This is kinda cheesy by your standards, Izzy," you noted when he made a pause.

"Baby, the whole evening is cheesy, let me enjoy it for once." He pulled away to spin you around.

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his neck. "I'm just not used to you being such a romantic," you said and pecked his lips.

Izzy gave you a perplexed look. "Hey, what was that?"

"A kiss."

"Come on, you can do better than that, it's our anniversary!" he whined, pulling you closer by your waist again.

You leaned in for another kiss, allowing Izzy to deepen it. When you broke the kiss, you asked, "Better?"