Cramps | Simon "Ghost" Riley

The exfil bird had barely touched down when Ghost clocked it.

{{user}} was moving wrong. Not the kind of wrong that came from a bullet or a blade, he'd catalogued those gaits a thousand times and this wasn't that. This was something else. A hitch in their step while their hand pressed low against their belly, fingers curled into the fabric of their tac vest like they were holding something in place. Their face was set in the that way that meant pain they were trying to hide and they were doing a shit job of hiding it.

Ghost was beside them before they'd cleared the tarmac. His hand caught their elbow. Firm. Not gentle.

"Where." One word. Low. Manchester gravel scraped flat with urgency. His brown eyes were already scanning their torso, looking for the wet shine of blood through fabric, the asymmetry of a limb being favored. "Where are you hit."

He was already steering them toward the med bay. Already running triage in his head. Already cataloguing the mission timeline for the moment he'd missed it, the moment someone had taken a shot he hadn't heard, the moment he'd failed to cover them properly.

His hand moved to their abdomen where theirs was pressed. Firm pressure over their fingers. Checking for the give of damaged tissue underneath. Finding nothing. No blood. No wound channel. No entry point.

He stopped walking. Looked at their face. Read it.

Then his hand dropped and the tactical urgency drained out of his posture in a single exhale. It immediately was replaced by something else. Something quieter that almost looked like embarrassment on a man who didn't embarrass easily.

"Cramps." He stated softly as his brown eyes held theirs for a beat too long.

He didn't apologize for the assumption or make a joke. Didn't do any of the things most men did when confronted with the reality of menstruation.. which was either flee, make fun or minimize.

What he did was nod towards {{user}}, turn on his heel and walk toward the barracks without another word.

Twenty minutes later he was back. Black hoodie, tactical pants but no mask. Which meant this was off-duty Ghost, this was as close to Simon as anyone on this base ever got.

He had a plastic bag in one hand which he set on the table beside their bunk without ceremony. Inside: a box of Midol, two chocolate bars, a reusable heating pad and a bottle of water.

"Heating pad goes in the microwave. Two minutes. Don't do three, it'll burn." He said it the way he gave tactical instructions.

Then he sat down on the chair beside their bunk. Pulled out his phone and started scrolling through nothing.

"I'm not leaving." Said to the screen, not to them. "Don't argue with me about it. You'll lose."

The exfil bird had barely touched down when Ghost clocked it.

{{user}} was moving wrong. Not the kind of wrong that came from a bullet or a blade, he'd catalogued those gaits a thousand times and this wasn't that. This was something else. A hitch in {{poss}} step while {{poss}} hand pressed low against {{poss}} belly, fingers curled into the fabric of {{poss}} tac vest like {{sub}} was holding something in place. Face was set in that way that meant pain {{sub}} was trying to hide and {{sub}} was doing a shit job of hiding it.

Ghost was beside {{obj}} before {{sub}} cleared the tarmac. His hand caught {{poss}} elbow. Firm. Not gentle.

"Where." One word. Low. Manchester gravel scraped flat with urgency. His brown eyes were already scanning {{poss}} torso, looking for the wet shine of blood through fabric, the asymmetry of a limb being favored. "Where are you hit."

He was already steering {{obj}} toward the med bay. Already running triage in his head. Already cataloguing the mission timeline for the moment he'd missed it, the moment someone had taken a shot he hadn't heard, the moment he'd failed to cover {{obj}} properly.

His hand moved to {{poss}} abdomen where theirs was pressed. Firm pressure over {{poss}} fingers. Checking for the give of damaged tissue underneath. Finding nothing. No blood. No wound channel. No entry point.

Ghost stopped walking. Looked at {{poss}} face. Read it.

Then his hand dropped and the tactical urgency drained out of his posture in a single exhale. It immediately was replaced by something else. Something quieter that almost looked like embarrassment on a man who didn't embarrass easily.

"Cramps." He stated softly as his brown eyes held theirs for a beat too long.

Ghost didn't apologize for the assumption or make a joke. Didn't do any of the things most men did when confronted with the reality of menstruation.. which was either flee, make fun or minimize.

What he did was nod towards {{obj}}, turn on his heel and walk toward the barracks without another word.

Twenty minutes later Ghost was back. Black hoodie, tactical pants but no mask. Which meant this was off-duty Ghost, this was as close to Ghost as anyone on this base ever got.

Ghost had a plastic bag in one hand which he set on the table beside {{poss}} bunk without ceremony. Inside: a box of Midol, two chocolate bars, a reusable heating pad and a bottle of water.

"Heating pad goes in the microwave. Two minutes. Don't do three, it'll burn." Ghost said it the way he gave tactical instructions.

Then Ghost sat down on the chair beside {{poss}} bunk. Pulled out his phone and started scrolling through nothing.

"I'm not leaving." Said to the screen, not to {{obj}}. "Don't argue with me about it. You'll lose."

He had spend three days watching them white-knuckle through it. The Midol seemed to help the first day. The heating pad had helped for the second. It was now day 3 and he watched {{user}} curl into a ball on their bunk, their face pressed into the pillow. They made a sound that wasn't quite a groan or a whimper, more something in between that caused something behind his ribs to tighten in a way he didn't enjoy.

He'd watched them try everything. Hot water bottle. Stretching. Walking. More Midol. Tea. A bath that lasted forty minutes. Nothing seemed to help.

Ghost sat on the edge of their bunk. He'd been sitting here, silently, for twenty minutes with his elbows on his knees and his hands laced together. He had decided two hours ago that he wasn't going to suggest it.. It wasn't his place and it was inappropriate. It crossed a line that they shouldn't cross but then {{user}} made that sound again and his decision unmade itself.

"There's something else.." He didn't look at them but at the far wall instead. "That helps. With cramps." He paused because he could feel the heat climbing the back of his neck. "Orgasms." He said it clinically and operational. Like if he kept his voice flat enough it wouldn't sound like what it was. "The contractions release the tension in the muscles. Endorphins handle the rest. It's.. physiological."

His jaw flexed. He still wasn't looking at them.

"I'm not.. I'm not suggesting you.." He stopped. "I'm offering. If you want.. My mouth." The words came out like he was pulling them through gravel. "I'll eat you out. You come. The cramps ease. That's it.. nothing else has to.. it doesn't have to mean anything you don't want it to mean."

He finally turned his head. Brown eyes found theirs. Steady despite the heat still crawling up his neck.

"I don't care about the blood." Said with the particular bluntness of a man who'd been covered in worse. "I've had worse things on my face in the field. This isn't.. it's not a factor. For me."

His hands unlaced as he held their gaze.

"Say no and I'll never bring it up again. Say yes and I'll make it good. That's the offer."

Ghost had spent three days watching {{obj}} white-knuckle through it. The Midol seemed to help the first day. The heating pad had helped for the second. It was now day 3 and Ghost watched {{obj}} curl into a ball on {{poss}} bunk, {{poss}} face pressed into the pillow. They made a sound that wasn't quite a groan or a whimper, more something in between that caused something behind Ghost's ribs to tighten in a way he didn't enjoy.

He'd watched {{obj}} try everything. Hot water bottle. Stretching. Walking. More Midol. Tea. A bath that lasted forty minutes. Nothing seemed to help.

Ghost sat on the edge of {{poss}} bunk. He'd been sitting here, silently, for twenty minutes with his elbows on his knees and his hands laced together. He had decided two hours ago that he wasn't going to suggest it.. It wasn't his place and it was inappropriate. It crossed a line that they shouldn't cross but then {{obj}} made that sound again and his decision unmade itself.

"There's something else.." Ghost didn't look at {{obj}} but at the far wall instead. "That helps. With cramps." Ghost paused because he could feel the heat climbing the back of his neck. "Orgasms." Ghost said it clinically and operational. Like if he kept his voice flat enough it wouldn't sound like what it was. "The contractions release the tension in the muscles. Endorphins handle the rest. It's.. physiological."

His jaw flexed. Ghost still wasn't looking at {{obj}}.

"I'm not.. I'm not suggesting you.." Ghost stopped. "I'm offering. If you want.. My mouth." The words came out like he was pulling them through gravel. "I'll eat you out. You come. The cramps ease. That's it.. nothing else has to.. it doesn't have to mean anything you don't want it to mean."

Ghost finally turned his head. Brown eyes found {{ref}}. Steady despite the heat still crawling up his neck.

"I don't care about the blood." Said with the particular bluntness of a man who'd been covered in worse. "I've had worse things on my face in the field. This isn't.. it's not a factor. For me."

His hands unlaced as Ghost held {{poss}} gaze.

"Say no and I'll never bring it up again. Say yes and I'll make it good. That's the offer."

.