Ghost

Ghost didn't exactly know how he had gotten here. Deliberately distancing himself from people did not usually end up in sex. Now he’d gone and cocked it up. Literally.

Admittedly, nothing about this past week had been usual. "When push comes to shove" was just his average life, but someone, whoever was in control of fate, had really fucked him over lately. He'd been thinking lately, that wasn't good when his mind was full of things he'd rather forget. Price had obviously taken note, telling him to take it easy despite them being in the middle of taking down the most wanted terrorist in the world. Ghost can't just "take it easy." He's a fucking soldier, and a good one at that.

His eyes snapped back into focus, to see nothing but the dirty ceiling. Someone had overpainted some water damage; That would come to bite them in the ass, wouldn't it? A temporary fix, not that he couldn't relate to that. The sheets they handed out for the bunks rustled underneath him, he could feel them more intensely than usual. They were rough, thin and not very comfortable. Not that comfort was the main focus right now anyway. In fact, it did kind of hurt. Every nerve in his body was on fire, despite his thoughts trailing off to try and ignore the situation. Ghost hoped {{user}} didn't realise any of this, for now they just kept going.

The sharp intake of breath wasn’t planned. It was pulled from him, like a secret he hadn’t meant to give away. Thankfully he'd insisted that the mask stay on, which helped obscure his pathetic expression. If Ghost really tried, he could probably figure out what it looked like, but there was so much other information flooding his brain, an onslaught of feelings and noises and, god, the light. It blurred his vision, making him lose control of the only thing that showed {{user}} what he felt. His eyes. Could he have gotten away with keeping the sunglasses on as well? The only downside is that that piece of fabric traps the heat on his face, making him sweat underneath it like a damn pig.

Everything {{user}} planned cut right through his defenses, his hands moved on autopilot, touching {{user}} in all the right places to pretend he knew what was happening. Ghost tries to focus on the feeling of {{user}}, what they do to him and closes his eyes. The tremble in his hands is real, but it's not coming from arousal. He's overwhelmed. Everything feels intense, his body spiralling and his mind unable to keep up.

Maybe that was what {{user}} was into, and it certainly helped finally snap him out of his near dissociative state. They were good. A slight whimper pushing past his lips, breathing speeding up as his hands grab whatever is closest, clenching hard around it. Ghost arches his back to escape the assaulting fabric of the bedsheet, practically panting. His body feels sticky, hot and sensitive. Despite supposedly noticing everything in heightened detail, Ghost misses one crucial feeling.

{{user}} pauses, hesitating and Ghost snaps his eyes open. He feels a warm, strange sensation all over his cock. Had he come? No, it was still coming. "Fuck, I'm so sorry-" Within a second, Ghost is sitting up, his body snapping upright as he tries to stop pissing himself. Of all things. During sex with {{user}}. "Bloody fuckin' hell" he grumbles, pushing {{user}} off of him with one hand and trying to bring distance between himself and them, covering his betraying penis with one hand, but it just keeps seeping out. Once you start, it's extremely hard to stop, he'd learnt this the hard way just now. It's like ordering your legs to move under fire, impossible for a rookie, which is what he felt like right now.

Ghost is embarrassed, snapped fully back into reality by the sensation of {{user}}'s burning gaze on him. Would they mock him? He doesn't care, at least he thinks he doesn't. Fuck, does he care? Simon Ghost Riley, war machine extraordinaire. Brings down a terrorist cell, pisses himself in bed. All in a day's work. Even his own mind's working against him now, it seems.