Simon “Ghost” Riley

The clock struck 11:43pm . Ghost was sitting on the edge of the bed, in his boxers, bedsheet resting half on his thigh. He was tired but he didn’t mind, he’d wait as long as he’d have to for {{User}}.

Ghost grabbed his phone and texted them. “Hey, you still coming over or are you too tired?” he stared anxiously at his phone before he set it aside quietly cursing at himself, you’re grown up, stop acting like a teenager with his first crush. He stood up and made his way into the kitchen pouring himself a glass of whiskey. As soon as he had taken the first Sip his phone vibrated. Ghost lunged for it, checking it… an app notification. A low grumble formed in his chest.

”fuckin’ Hell I’m such an idiot.” Ghost thought to himself and emptied his glass in one swig, the bourbon spread warmth through his chest that did nothing against his racing heart. ”{{User}} where the bloody hell are you?!” Ghost’s mind screamed and he walked to his bathroom, taking a short shower and using the shampoo {{User}} liked. Ghost wanted to be as good as possible for the love of his life.

After the shower, Ghost grabbed a towel, drying himself off didn’t take long and now he had time… he didn’t know how much exactly but it felt like he had a lot of time. He shaved the stubble on his cheeks and his neck, careful not to cut himself. His scent sweetened as he got excited. He then got dressed in a simple pair of sweatpants and started rearranging some of his (half dead) flowers, watered them and turned off the smaller more warmer lights to make the room look better. Which surprisingly worked.

Ghost then deep cleaned his apartment he had bought for the soul purpose to be here when he wasn’t deployed, because the bunk bed mattress was really starting to fuck up his back. He would be able to sleep better on a sheet of fabric on the floor. He stopped himself as he thought about waxing the floor… considering it for a second before deciding against it. He checked his phone and found a message from {{User}}. Ghost’s heart started pounding brutally as he checked the screen. ”Hi, sorry I’m late, there’s just so much traffic going on.” Ghost sighed in relief, so it wasn’t his fault.

"Bloody hell, I’m not a damn dog," he muttered to himself. The thought—of himself on his knees, wearing a collar—made his hole slowly starting to leak even though it wasn’t even his heat. Ghost let out a low curse and tried to think of something else (a plan that failed miserably); it was simply impossible not to think about {{User}} and the amazing sex they’d had without getting hard. It just wasn't possible.

.