Closer

                                    

                                          
Writers Note: This Chapter is a BIG BOY, but things are heating up... there is a lot of story to get through. For those of you that don't know Ghost's backstory please go look up his comics since I'll be using that as reference. Enjoy Simon Riley.
TW: emetophobia (not described), blood kink
Simon entered the shared dorm room he had with Soap. Johnny was already washed and in some more comfortable clothes when he arrived, "good work today, LT."
"Yeah, you too, Johnny," Ghost said back, lifting his vest over his head and pulling on the strap of his thigh holster. "You get Hassan out?"
"Yeah, dropped him off at an abandoned gas station in the city," he said.
"Good," there was an awkward silence as Ghost finished disarming and entered the bathroom, stripping away his sweat-soaked uniform. He pulled his mask away from his head, looking at the mirror, "Hello again," he said to Simon.
He didn't wait for the shower to get warm, he wanted to get away from the image that chased him from the other side of his reflection. The cool water was relaxing against his hot skin, almost purifying. He reveled in the feeling of his body aches being doused by the power of the water, letting it wash away the grime and filth that littered the curves and hills of his back muscles. Pooling in the markings of his scars. Thankful that the showers here offered him privacy. Only he and Soap were using this shower.
He scrubbed away at his chest that was sticky with sweat and blood, the hairs holding onto the moisture of the day's fight. His hand trailed lower to his abdominals, flicking to the hair below his belly button. He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the way Jamie had looked at him with that burning stare. The blood covering her body when she had rounded the corner of the compound for exfil, it had been covering her face, red droplets dripping from her hair. He remembered when fucking Rudy had given her a rag to wash it off, he did not dare protest as it cleaned her face. But he would have loved for her to keep the blood there, let it dry and become a part of her. He had tracked the movement of the pink water droplets as they made their way down her neck, drawing a path of cleanliness behind them. He had never wanted a sip of water so badly in his life.
Her neck was like cocaine to him, remembering how those fingers had drawn themselves across her jugular, he had not been able to keep his eyes off them. He had zeroed in on the pulsing of her heart in her artery, wondering what that blood looked like beneath that porcelain skin. He breathed in deeply, the steam of the heating shower causing a familiar burn in his lungs.
His hand searched ever lower, stretching his fingers over the base of his cock, he was harder than he could have imagined. "Fuck..." he whispered, looking down at the length of himself. Palming the sensitive head, his hips almost collapsed against the back wall, his head falling backwards against the tile of the shower. The images of his mind went into slow motion remembering the movements of Jamie's body throughout the day. He had watched her thighs move subtly up the stairs of the house Hassan had fled, the way she had pulled her perfect fingers through her hair when she was stressed, the way her hands clasped the handle of a gun. Handling his manhood slowly, he allowed the images to blur through his mind.
Then the images hung steadily on her crunched face in his hand, his other hand silently slipping itself into her back pocket when he gave her the CAC card back. He had made sure not to let his fingers linger on the clothed flesh of her ass, not wanting her to catch on to his enjoyment of having her pressed against the car beneath him. Shoving his knee between her thighs had been an unplanned move, but it was a natural reaction to hearing his name dripping from her lips like honey. Even when she was angry at him, the sound of those two syllables were enough to implode any rational thought within his brain.