I Feel It In My Bones (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Déjà Vu: Part Three

His breath caressed your lips, the scent warm and filled with earthy tobacco. Your lips brushed against his, yours like velvet, his rough and chapped.

You weren't entirely sure who broke that final distance - all you knew was that the space between you vanished, and your lips met his.

It started off soft at first, delicate, tentative, testing the waters. Simon's lips were warm against yours, the touch tender, caring. As though he was waiting for you to pull back away, expecting you to release your hold on him and announce your regret.

You only pulled him in closer.

A sense of urgency took over as the taste of his salty lips and cigarettes flooded your senses. Your hand moved from his cheek to the back of his neck, seeking an anchor as reality slipped further and further away. Finally, Simon's hesitation dissipated, and his control snapped in a single, heated breath. The kiss transformed into a fusion of passion and shared desperation, fuelled by the weight of the day's events, your shared pain, and the longing you had been grappling with for too long.

His hand tightened in your hair, fingers intertwining with loose strands, pulling you closer in a silent demand. His tongue ran across your bottom lip, seeking permission, his teeth nipping at the soft flesh. You parted your lips with an audible moan, pushing yourself even closer to him, your softer chest pressing against his. Simon's warm tongue explored the contours of your mouth, and your heart was racing so hard you could almost feel it against your ribs, the adrenaline from the day mingling with the intoxication of him. The rough texture of his calloused hand moved from your hair to the small of your back, drawing you impossibly closer. The warmth of his touch seeped through your skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

You needed more.

You pushed yourself from your position resting on your elbow, shifting upwards so that you were sitting, one hand sinking into the rubber mat below to support your weight, the other one behind Simon's neck. He shifted backwards in response, his lips never leaving yours, so that he was kneeling between your legs. As you sucked on his lower lip, he wrapped his other hand around your upper arm to grasp you tighter, his large hand curving over the muscle of your bicep.

And he stilled.

Sensing the change you pulled away, resting your forehead against his, quiet pants falling from your mouth as you regained your breath. Simon removed his hand from you arm, and you felt his brow furrow beneath yours. 'Darlin',' his voice was rough.

'Simon,' you breathed.

'You're bleeding,' he rumbled.

Your eyes shot open, his revelation cut through the haze of the moment. You blinked, disoriented for a brief second, until the aching pain in your arm snapped you back to reality. You looked at those lidded brown eyes, and then down to where he was holding his hand out, only to see a deep red stain coating his palm.

Ah.

You had forgotten about your broken stitches.

'Fuck,' you hissed. You detached yourself from him, pulling down your top at the neckline in order to have a closer look at your bicep. While the wound wasn't deep, the skin around it was heavily bruised, and the re-opened skin was irritated. It must have started bleeding again during your sparring session.

Simon's fingers were surprisingly gentle as he reached out and examined the wound, his touch sending a mix of pain and warmth through your body. His voice was a low rumble. 'Have you ever received stitches and not pulled them out?'

You glanced up at him to see that he was smiling, a lopsided curve that sent your heart fluttering all over again. His fingers traced the edges of the torn stitches, a subtle reassurance in his touch. You couldn't help but mirror his smile. 'I've managed to keep them in once or twice,' you said. 'Guess today wasn't one of those days.'