Ghost Shorts | Fem!Reader

YOU'RE HIS STRESS RELIEF

Don't make a sound.

Price knocked three times. He wouldn't enter without being given the go. Usually he was within moments of making his presence known, but tonight, no. Muffled shouts of "two seconds", then Simon opened the door.

Two seconds indeed, he stood before his Captain, shirtless, his hair a mess, his black shadow smudged over his face. His posture exuded impatience, an arm round the back of it, ready to close it the second the conversation was over. Running a hand through his hair, sighing, avoiding eye contact. Antsy, as always after a failed mission.

"Lieutenant."

"Captain."

"You haven't seen her have you?"

There was a single beat for a pause. Her. He meant you.

"No, I think the op... it was stressful for everyone."

The op, wasn't what Simon or any of the team would call a win. No one was injured, but it was all too close for comfort. After the debrief everyone had scattered, all looking for their own personal solace, their own stress relief. Simon shifted on his feet, tapping his toe a couple times, wringing his neck with his free hand.

Don't make a sound.

That's what he'd said to you moments before he clasped his hand over your mouth and pushed your head flat against the back of his door.

"I think maybe—"

You stuck you tongue out, brushing it slowly up his palm. His sentence faltered, his fingers gripping tighter into your face.

"She went for a run. Endorphins and all that."

Endorphins. It was the exact chemical within him that had his heart racing. How was he even hiding this? He tucked his growing erection into his other hand as it reached into his pocket. There wasn't much room for secrets in this uniform. Your half naked body hidden in the darkness, breasts spilling out from your bra, the only piece of your own clothing you still had on. Remnants of his black shading smeared between your thighs from where you had held his face only moments ago. A little secret just hidden by the hem of his shirt. A little secret hidden by only a single door. It filled you with the twisted nervousness.

"And how about you?" Price asked.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, his hand slipping from your mouth down to your neck. The door shifted, he expertly covered it up with more conversation. "I'm good."

"You did your best. Not every mission goes our way, Simon."

You let your own hand travel down too, fingers finding themselves on your clit, wrist holding up his shirt, pressing it into your abdomen whilst you began to circle yourself. There was something about almost getting caught, wearing his clothes, your captains voice speaking. It would annoy Simon, that you were using the confrontation to get yourself off. There was something about his superior being on the other side of flimsy wood whilst your superior, the man Price entrusted with the team, had his hand round your flesh. Every digit pressing in until you were sure they would leave bruises swirled in perfect copies of his prints on your skin.

His personal barracks bunny. You were his to do with as he pleased, and he did. There was no need to even ask anymore, he'd simply squeezed your waist on his way past you from the debrief. And you'd followed suit. This was his chosen stress relief, burying himself deep inside your sweet cunt. Have you revelling in the marvels that his tongue could do to do whilst you lay pathetic and breathless on his bed. Melting beneath him as you rode his face, another orgasm taking over the motions of your body, seeping out from you to stain his sheets. He could feel your breaths getting heavier, faster, his hand crawled back up to your mouth, smothering your whimpers.