Gloss and Salt | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

8

Keep your friends close, but your old colleagues far away. Especially when Ghost is watching you like a hawk.

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"You're all fucking wrong, chickens are evil, and it would probably only take like a hundred to kill an elephant. They're related to dinosaurs. Dinosaurs, Soap!"

Soap shakes his head at her with a hearty laugh. The alcohol is starting to loosen all of their tongues, Ghost almost chimed into their admittedly dumb conversation a few times. A few more glasses and he actually might. The bar is the same one they went to before shipping off to Venezuela, just outside of Camp Lejeune. The cacophony of voices are shifting into the background with each sip of Bourbon going down Ghost's throat. Too many bodies are in his vicinity even while he's sitting at the short side of the bar, tucked almost into the corner of the room, his acute awareness of everything around him tends to rub his nerves raw. It's not the others that wanted a last hoorah before they separate again that managed to get him out here. He would've been fine having a couple glasses by himself in his room. But she'd agreed and looked at him expectantly before he could tell her to come with him and lay in his lap while he had his Bourbon. Her glowing eyes had done him in once again.

The shine of hers is blinding by now. His eyes latch onto every movement. He's memorized the way her fingers curl around her glass everytime she takes a sip. The single dimple on her left cheek that appears when she smiles. Good thing Soap is keeping her entertained with his stupid questions. Her tipsy laugh sounds heavier, richer and rougher than the usual light soprano. Ever since they've crossed the last boundary, Ghost just can't seem to get his fill. Sneaks every touch he can without giving too much away, stays close enough to always have her scent drift around him. Instead of something filthy, the soft curve of her chest now conjures images of Ghost laying his head down on it half the time, just listening to the soft thrum of her heart while her hands card through his hair.

It scares the absolute shit out of him.

The warmth. The longing. The weakness. Everything he had banished from himself long ago. It feels incorrect. Everytime the intense feeling fades when he looks away from her, the nauseating sting of wrong wrenches itself into his gut and stays there until his eyes find her again. He had felt it at the back of his head for some time now. It scratches at the inside of his skull, letting him know that Ghost can't just shut out everything that he wants at the drop of a hat.

She laughs again. Light, airy, soft. Her eyes find him over the rim of her glass from where she's sitting around the corner of the bar counter. The world balances out. The scratching stops, turns into a warm thrum when the corner of her mouth lifts.

None of his old arguments for pushing people away seem to pull through when it comes to her. He can't come up with a logical explanation to stay away from her. It was all so much easier when he just wanted to fuck her. Depravity and sick desire is what he knows, old friends that have been on the ride long enough with him. It still rears its head at every available opportunity, more so even after he had her stuffed full with his cock. The taste he's had won't be enough for him, not by a long shot, probably not ever. There's so much to do, so many ways to use her, explore her. Ghost just has a hard time fathoming how all these other feelings even still have the ability to linger within him, much less fill the cracks in his broken vessel.

"Alright, I'll let you think about that one Johnny, I'm going to the bathroom." she says before emptying her glass.

She slips off the barstool in a fluid manner, maybe she's not as tipsy as Ghost thinks. She disappears behind a corner when Price nudges his arm.

"You think the lass will disappear again?" he asks in a low voice.

Soap and Gaz are busy with whatever absurd thing Johnny's come up with now.