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Once again, Ghost was at your door.
He had been here almost a dozen times over the last week, patrolling through the hallway when he was supposed to be asleep as though it would get rid of the nightmares that plagued him every single night, ones where he found you face down, lying in a puddle of blood, a new character in an old classic. The walks had become somewhat of a routine; he would pace down the hallway to make sure it was free of intruders, right up to your door, where he would check it to make sure it was still firmly locked, and then stare at the slightly peeling paint on your front door, praying that you were still soundly asleep. 'Obsessive' was what his therapist had told him, alongside his usual judgement of 'paranoid', and Ghost knew that he had to stop, but he just couldn't seem to help himself. He had put you in danger, so he had to protect you, a fairly simple equation, one which he honoured every day by walking you to and from the bus stop, and now with these little nighttime checkups. It was as close as he allowed himself to get since that one night in the lift. He knew that you wanted to be more intimate; he knew you wanted to be with him almost as much as he wanted to be with you, but he was still too broken to be touched, and he couldn't let you see how fucked up he truly was, not until he'd been fixed.
Much like Ghost, you had been awakened from sound sleep by a troubling nightmare, your heart pounding loudly in the silence of your room. The room lightened slightly as your eyes adjusted, revealing no demons skulking about in your room, but your anxiety was still thumping loudly in your chest, urging you to drag yourself out of bed and make sure your door was still securely locked, turning on various lamps as you made your way through the house, filling it with dim light. You didn't dare to look at the time blinking out from the microwave clock, knowing that it was far past midnight, heading straight to the door to double-check the flimsy latch. For a brief second, your heart skipped a beat; there was someone outside your door; you could see their dark shape through the peephole. It was only when you peered through that you recognised the man at your door. Ghost. You chanced a look at the clock now, the neon numbers reading out '02:30'. There was no good reason for him to be outside your door so early, but he was a reassuring sight after an unpleasant dream, the very presence of him comforting, so you opened up the door to greet him, hoping that inviting him in would deter any lingering demons in your home. "Ghost. Would you like to come in?"
The last thing Ghost expected was the door swinging open in front of him, his entire body alerting for danger, yet it was only you standing in the doorway, his body awakening in an entirely different manner. You had clearly just gotten out of bed; your hair was still rumpled, and to his delight and despair, you were dressed for bed, wearing the tiniest pair of shorts he'd ever seen, and a skimpy vest, revealing practically every inch of beautifully bare skin. Already, he could feel himself hardening at the very sight of you, dreaming about the day he could carry you straight into bed and tear those clothes off you, but instead, he had merely waited for you to invite him in, fully aware that he had been caught skulking outside your front door in the middle of the night. He had expected fear or at least suspicion; after all, you were still practically strangers, and everyone in the entire building knew how dangerous Ghost could be. What he hadn't expected was for you to invite him in. Your trust in him was touchingly implicit; he knew he was a terrifying soldier, yet you had never looked at him in fear; in fact, you had sought him out for safety, for once allowing him to be a protector rather than a mere weapon, and that was a connection he was not willing to lose.
Almost a hundred different visions were flying through your head as you led Ghost through your small flat, through the kitchen and into the living room, delectably dirty visions of Ghost taking you up against the wall, on your sofa, on your bed, practically anywhere humanly possible, but you knew he would never push anything, constantly keeping a gentlemanly distance between you. Instead, you merely looked up at him politely, "Would you like a cup of tea?" You could see the utter exhaustion in his eyes, even through the black paint that surrounded them and the way his body sunk into the sofa, as though he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a month. "Please." You were glad you'd worn your shortest pyjama shorts as you turned away from him, knowing how perfectly they'd cling to the curve of your ass as you walked into the kitchen to make his drink. Seducing a man was easy enough, and you knew that Ghost wanted you, but convincing him to actually act on those feelings was harder than you'd thought it'd be. Most military men were dogs, barking and yowling if you did as much as exist near them, and you doubt they'd need more than a suggestion to drag you into the bedroom, but Ghost seemed to have problems, problems that went deeper than could be fixed with a few kind words and a night in bed.
It wasn't for lack of trying; ever since that night in the lift where he had given you almost everything you wanted, you'd done all manner of things to try and get his attention. You were sure your friends thought you'd taken up a night job as a camgirl given all the outfits you'd started wearing out, slinky dresses and tiny skirts, and you'd earned the stares of almost every soldier around you, yet never the one you truly wanted. Somewhere underneath that mask, there was a conversation you weren't involved in, but you didn't need to be to know that Ghost had decided to seal himself off once again, resigning himself to only ever be your bodyguard. It frustrated you to no end to know that the decision had been made without even a shred of input from you; it was obvious he wanted you from the way that he only ever looked above your collarbone, as though everything below would tempt him to sin, saint that he was, showing you that you couldn't lure him with your body, yet with him being the pillar of silence that he was, there was no other avenue open to you. Or at least, there hadn't been. His coming to your door had been an exciting new avenue, and you weren't about to miss this opportunity to sneak through those almost impenetrable defences and show him that he could open up to you.
Once again, Ghost was in trouble. He knew that he should have walked away from you in the corridor; you were always beautifully unquestioning, never once asking why he had decided to become your unofficial guard; you wouldn't have put up a fuss if he stalked off without another word, but he hadn't. No, instead, he had condemned himself again by getting closer still to you, Icarus once again, wax wings already dripping. He would only stay for one cuppa; that was what he quickly decided, one cup of tea, and then he would return home and never darken your doorstep again. He knew the thought was a lie even as it came up; he had already dug in too deep protecting you, and the more time he spent with you, the deeper he dug, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. It was humiliating; he was a lethally trained soldier, and he had almost complete mastery over his body, but some woman had become his undoing, worming under his skin and preventing him from using any sort of common sense. What was it about you? You seemed normal enough, yet there was something about you that he couldn't seem to give up, something that kept him enchanted, even if he knew it would only end up hurting him in the end.
When you walked back into the living room, holding one cup in each hand, Ghost was watching you intently, but you didn't ask about whatever question was clearly unspoken on his lips, sinking down into the sofa beside him and handing over his cup. "I assumed no sugar?" Ghost nodded, reaching out to take the cup, his fingers brushing over yours as he took it, quickly pulling away from your touch. You looked at him curiously, wondering how exactly how to delicately approach the situation before deciding that being blunt was probably the best way to go. "So, why were you outside my door?" You could see his brows slightly pull together, but he answered your question without a grand pause, "I was checking up on you." It was impossible not to be curious about that, and you looked at him questioningly. "How long have you been checking on me?" "Six months." "Ever since I'd moved in, then?" "More or less." There wasn't the hint of a lie in his words, his eyes curious, as though he was anxious to see how you'd respond to his confession. Six months. You'd moved in six long months ago, and you'd noticed Ghost a couple weeks in and had begun following him two weeks afterwards, unaware that he had apparently been looking out for you the entire time. You weren't entirely sure how you felt about it; you suspected the normal response would be horror, yet you felt touched, charmed that he had been looking out for you after all this time, if not a little stupid, that you had never noticed.
It was obvious that Ghost was waiting for your response; his eyes were flicking over your face, searching it for emotion. You took a long sip of your tea, using it to give yourself a few precious seconds to compose your response, "Would you ever have said anything if I didn't approach you?" "Unlikely." "Why not?" This was perhaps the most conversation you'd ever made with the man, but there was something about the early hour of the morning that made confessions easier, the promise that what was revealed in the night would be hidden away with the darkness when the sun rose. "To keep you safe." You couldn't help but frown at his words, tilting your head a little to the side as you considered the man before you, "Is being around you unsafe?" "Apparently." "How so?" "People die." "Soldiers?" "Civilians." That was enough to give you pause; you'd taken it as an unhappy given that a soldier had seen other soldiers die, that unfortunately came with the territory, but you had considered yourself safe, being far away from all that. "Civilians on this side of the world?" "In this country." That had shaken you a little; you'd heard awful stories of what could happen to civilians unfortunate enough to be caught between opposing military forces, yet you had considered yourself safe here, far away from what the news told you were war-torn countries. Yet again, you took a break to sip at your almost burning hot tea, using it as an excuse to digest what you'd been told.
"Can you keep me safe?" That was the most pressing question on your mind; you had no desire to be dragged anything above your pay grade, no matter how attractive the danger. "I will keep you safe." There was no questioning the forceful tone in his voice, and it was hard to imagine anyone in the world getting past the giant man currently sitting in front of you, a beast of a soldier, with the kind of self-assuredness that only came with knowing that you were stronger, smarter, and deadlier than any threat that could possibly come your way. "Do you still trust me?" You hadn't expected the question from Ghost, or the slightly pained look in his eyes, as though he was already prepared for you to send him packing. He was terrifying and undoubtedly had done some dark things in his past to cause every other soldier to be that afraid of him; you had even heard some of those rumours, yet something inside you seemed to have latched on to him, telling you that he was your safety net, catching you no matter what dangers you may face. "I trust you."
If it had been any other man, you might have kissed him at that moment, bridging the anxiety of being so exposed, but you knew that, though he certainly seemed to have enjoyed touching you, he didn't seem to feel the same way about being touched himself, and you weren't about to take off his mask. Instead, you settled for a conservative touch of his forearm, gently squeezing with your fingers. As expected, his muscles were tense underneath your fingertips, yet when you went to move your hand away, he caught it in his own, holding it in place. "I can't-" Ghost began, but he paused, as though speaking his truth physically pained him, "It's not easy for me." You chewed on your lip, quickly discovering that whatever damage lay deep within Ghost was not the sort to be fixed with a midnight confession and a warm soul to talk to. "We don't have to." Ghost's eyes seemed to flash, his voice so taut you were surprised it didn't break, "I want to."
At any moment, Ghost had expected you to flee. At the mention of his following you for almost six months, he had expected your eyes to go wide and for you to become fearful; in fact, that was almost what he had been hoping for, even if he knew it would have hurt. Yet, you hadn't. He had pushed further, then, revealing more than he had ever expected to, testing you with the truth, wanting you to know exactly what you were getting into. That was when he had truly been afraid, telling you what danger you were in, and that was when he had to know whether you would stay, whether you could truly deal with the amount of baggage someone like him came with. It was almost as though he was searching for a reason to get rid of you, so he could face a small hurt now rather than a heartbreak later on, but you had taken everything in stride. Knowing almost nothing about him, you had given him your complete trust, and with that, you had doomed him entirely. There was no getting out of this now.
Ghost's hand was still keeping yours in place, his tea almost entirely forgotten on the coffee table where you had left it, his focus completely on you. You looked down at your hand on him, knowing that you were never going to be content with only ever getting to touch his arm, yet never wanting to push him past what he was comfortable with. You considered the problem before you carefully, and then the idea popped into your head. "Have you heard of red light, green light?" Ghost frowned at you a little, confused by the strange turn the conversation had taken, "The children's game?" You nodded, setting your tea down next to his as you began to explain, "We could use that. I move my hand on you, and you say red, if you want me to stop. Green is go, obviously." Ghost looked at you for a long while, considering your proposition carefully, but eventually, he sat back more comfortably on the sofa, lifting his hand off of yours and setting it down on the armrest, freeing your fingers. "Green."
Touching him was the only thing that had been on your mind every time you were alone with him, yet only now had you been given permission to roam the body before you, anticipation tingling in your stomach as you slowly began to move your fingers, your eyes flicking between Ghost's, and your fingers. As you began to move your hand up his forearm, he remained silent, watching you as you ran your fingers over his bicep. It was more than a little self-indulgent for you; you could finally feel exactly how large the muscles were underneath the thick fabric of his jacket and imagine just how easily he would find it to pick you up and toss you around. You didn't verbalise these feelings, of course, storing them safely away with all the other lustful thoughts toward him as you began to crest his shoulder. As your fingers followed his collarbone and neared the opening of his jacket, the muscles underneath your hand tensed. "Red." You dragged your hand back harshly, returning to the safe territory on his shoulder, looking at him anxiously. Ghost watched you for a second before he relaxed once more, shifting on the sofa, "Green." You tried again, trying to go over the top of his shoulder toward his neck, but Ghost reached up to snatch your curious fingers away from him, his voice little more than a growl, "Mask. Is. Red." You nodded emphatically, "I wasn't- we can stop for tonight."
Ghost made your decision for you, taking your hand and placing it in the centre of his chest, pressing down until your fingers were splayed out over his heart, allowing you to feel the steady thudding underneath. "Green." You glanced at him nervously, but he removed his hand from yours, placing it back on the armrest, his other hand still resting on his thigh. "Green." You didn't need to be told twice, and you immediately headed away from his neck, down over his torso. That soon presented you with another conundrum, your fingers now brushing over his stomach, slowly creeping further down towards his crotch, already seeing the slight bulge there, the anticipation building within you once again, wondering exactly how far you were allowed to go as you glanced back at his face. Thankfully, Ghost took the hint and shifted his arm off his thigh, resting it at his side, and you took the opportunity given, moving your hand across to his hip and then down onto his thigh. You left your hand there for a moment, watching your fingers trail back and forth over his thigh, still quietly in shock that you were allowed to touch him so intimately, glancing back up at his face.
Under the black paint surrounding his eyes, you could see his eyebrow raise just a touch, as though questioning your intentions. You knew that his mask was firmly off limits, that much had been clear, but he hadn't said anything about anywhere else. Swallowing your nerves, you began to move your fingers toward the inside of his thigh, heading at a glacial pace towards the bulge in his trousers, glancing up at his face every other second, yet he remained silent. You saw the sharp breath he sucked in when the very tips of your fingers brushed against the base of the bulge, his thigh tensing underneath your forearm, but his lips remained sealed, even as his eyes darkened. You allowed your fingers to move further up, under the hem of his jumper, tracing the trail of his zipper, brushing over the hardness underneath until you reached the button of his trousers. You knew what you wanted now, what you wanted to do to him, but you forced yourself to go slowly, making it that much more intimate as you began to unbutton his trousers.
Ghost must have known what you were doing, yet he remained silent as you tugged the zipper down, his eyes never moving from your face. Even as your fingers tugged questioningly at the t-shirt tucked into his trousers, he was quiet, so you prompted. "Ghost?" His voice was breathy, as though he was putting every inch of self-control in keeping it steady, "Green." It was clear that he was just as desperate for your touch as you were for his, even if he struggled with allowing it. You decided you'd just go with it for as long as he allowed you to; if there was anyone who deserved pleasure, it was him; who knew how long it had been since he had allowed someone to get this close to him. With the t-shirt out of the way, you could feel the bare skin of his stomach underneath your fingertips and the hair that trailed up from underneath his boxers, luring your hand further down. Already, his tip was poking out of the waistband, the slight wetness touching against your prying fingers, desperate for the release only you could give him in this moment, and you pushed your fingers further downwards. You quickly understood part of his self-assuredness; the dick in your hand might have been one of the biggest you'd ever touched, the thickness almost as impressive as the length, continuing on further than you'd expected. As you wrapped your fingers around his shaft, your thighs already clenching at the idea of one day having it inside you, Ghost let out a long-held breath, his fingers digging into the fabric of the sofa, his eyes shutting for a brief moment, savouring the sensation.
When his eyes opened again, he reached out toward you, his hands slipping underneath your outstretched arm to grab your waist, lifting you from the sofa as though your weight was entirely inconsequential to him. He moved carefully, allowing you to keep your hand wrapped around him, your other hand reaching out to balance on his bicep as he deposited you on his knees, forcing you to straddle them. He spread his knees slightly, forcing you to open your legs more, holding your waist to keep you steady. Then, one of his hands shifted away, trailing down the front of your shorts to the crotch, deftly tugging the material away so he could slip his fingers underneath, his dick twitching in your hand when he found that you wore nothing underneath your shorts, his fingers touching against bare skin. Though his fingers were mere millimetres away from where you wanted him, he remained still, as still as your hand was on him. You found that you had entirely forgotten to breathe, letting out a shaky breath as you adjusted to this new position, finding Ghost's eyes were still laser-focused on yours, his pupils large and dark.
You waited for him to move his fingers, to start pleasuring you as he had once done in the lift, yet he did nothing, only watched you. It was only when you returned your attention to his dick, slowly stroking it with your hand, that he returned the gesture, his thumb pushing underneath the fabric of your shorts to find your clit, gently rubbing against it in a small circle. Your hand stilled, distracted by the pleasure, and his hand did as well, quickly clueing you into the new game he was playing. You gave him another experimental stroke to confirm, and he rewarded you with another small circle. In that moment, you could have taken him to bed, but you knew you would have to move in small steps, so you began to stroke him more fervently, finding it hard to focus on him as he pleasured you.
If he had thought to bring protection, not that he had ever planned for this, but if he had, he might have found himself inside you right now, savouring that tightness he had only experienced on his fingers, but Ghost liked this. For a second, he had thought you were like every other curious annoyance, desperate to see what was under his mask, but he had misjudged you. He had misjudged everything. Your hand felt fucking perfect on his body, and it took almost every ounce of self-control he had not to immediately shove it down his boxers, not wanting to push you anywhere you didn't want to go, but then you had found your own way there, beautifully dirty girl that you were. He was tempted to allow you to get him off like that, using the memory of you moaning on his fingers and the sight of you beside him to find release, yet he quickly decided that he could easily have the real thing right in front of him. This time, he would be able to watch you, to see the perfect faces you would make getting off on his fingers, to watch your body writhe at his touch in the light, dim as it was.
The game was simple enough; the more you touched Ghost, the more he touched you, yet it was deceptively easy. The faster your hand moved, pumping up and down his cock, the faster his thumb moved in circles around your clit, the pleasure distracting. When you looked at Ghost, you could have sworn there was a smile underneath that mask, his eyes alight with fire as you touched each other. His hand was moving again, his other fingers shifting underneath the tight material of your shorts, his forefinger touching against your entrance. You didn't dare to still your hand despite your excitement, instead bringing your other hand away from where you were balancing on his arm, putting your faith in the hand Ghost was using to keep you upright, allowing you to wrap both hands around his dick. He rewarded you once again, sliding one thick finger inside you, thrusting it inside you at the same tempo you were stroking him. You refused to allow yourself to focus on your own pleasure, yet Ghost seemed to take that as a challenge, sliding a second finger inside you, allowing you to slowly stretch around them before he picked up the tempo to the pace you set.
It was practically torture to keep yourself pleasuring him; you could tell from that look in his eyes that he was trying to distract you from the task at hand, but you forced yourself to focus on him, even as the pleasure started to build up in your core. Ghost had remained mostly quiet, even as you had begun to whimper on his fingers, yet as you stroked him faster yet, he let out the lowest of moans, a grumble in his chest as he thrust up into your hands. You refused to focus on yourself, forcing your pleasure down as Ghost began to fuck more aggressively into your waiting hands, but he had added a third finger to the two already inside you, and your resolve was beginning to waver, your hands' tempo beginning to break. Ghost's other hand squeezed your waist, his voice tight and breathless as he spoke, yet still retaining a distinct teasing edge, "Come on, sweetheart, don't give up." It was spite that kept you going then, a stubbornness to admit that this was a game you were going to lose as he pushed down harder on your clit, your tight resolve splintering, no longer entirely sure whose pleasure you were begging for, "Ghost, please." His hips and fingers thrust at the same tempo, bringing you closer to the edge, as he corrected you, "Simon."
That held off your pleasure for a second longer, and you looked up at him, your eyes pleading, too far gone to realise another barrier had fallen, "Simon, Simon please." He groaned in pleasure at his name on your lips, and you desperately pumped his cock in your hands, barely able to keep going, yet still, he encouraged you, his voice little more than a purr, "I'm close, sweetheart, don't stop." That was the encouragement you needed, and you put every drop of energy into pleasuring him until his hand tightened on your hip and your name hissed out of his lips like a curse, the great soldier falling apart in your hands as you fell apart in his, your body clenching and shuddering around him as he finished in your hands, pumping out great ropes of come that landed on your thighs, warm and sticky on your bare skin. Your release came not a second later, and you finally allowed yourself to focus on the pleasure radiating out, riding his fingers as the bliss hit you in waves. Simon shifted his hand from your waist, wrapping his arm around it and pulling you against him, allowing you to fall against his chest as you finished, your head dropping against his shoulder. The final waves were leaving you now, but you made no move to pull away from him; he was Simon now, Simon who had finally let you touch him, let you get close to him, and you weren't about to relinquish that closeness any time soon. Simon gently tugged his fingers out of you, yet instead of putting space between you as he had last time, he wrapped his other arm around your shoulders and pulled you in tighter, finally allowing himself to give into that baser instinct of yearning to be touched, letting you completely sink into his chest. Ghost might have been beyond redemption, that much he knew, but that human part of him, dead and buried for so long, finally resurrected; Simon deserved this.