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eksvaized · 4 months

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Part One [ Previous 〡 Next ]

“Stop. Moving.” Ghost commanded, his voice low, gruff, and demanding. Each syllable dripped with an authority that was hard to ignore.

“But I can’t get comfortable,” you protested, your voice softer, almost meek in comparison. You shifted again, trying to find a suitable position in his lap.

“I don’t care. Just stop,” Ghost continued, his voice maintaining that low, stern tone that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. His warm breath brushed against your sensitive skin, sending a cascade of shivers tumbling down your spine each time he exhaled. Despite his simple orders, you couldn’t stop sliding down his legs. Your dress kept creeping up your thighs, revealing the delicate flesh beneath with each involuntary move.

If you’d been facing Ghost, you’d have glimpsed the shadows of desire darkening his gaze, a silent thunderstorm brewing as his eyes traced the contours of your legs. You would have caught him in a stolen moment, picturing what it would be like to bury his face in between your thighs, to taste you, to feel you writhing beneath him. His fingers twitched, longing to touch you, to feel your skin beneath his. He wished he could make you squirm and hear your moans—he wished he could tease and torment you the way you teased him.

However, the only problem was that you were not doing it intentionally. At least, that’s what he assumed. After all, you were his friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yet, you were his guilty pleasure, a forbidden fruit he couldn’t taste. You were the last thought that crossed his mind before he surrendered to sleep and the first one that greeted him when he woke up. Of course, he would never admit these feelings aloud, as if their utterance would shatter the fragile facade he had constructed. And he would certainly never confess any of this to you. Chasing girls and being in a relationship were not his top priorities; he had other more important things to focus on. He didn’t want to be tied down by commitments. But it didn’t stop him from fantasising about what it would be like to have you for just one night. To see you with your hands bound above your head, laying in his bed, begging him to touch you.

After all, he was only a man. A man with primal desires and urges that demanded to be satisfied. But he was also your lieutenant, your superior. Plus, there was the fact that you were significantly younger than him. So, despite the magnetic pull that you unknowingly exerted, an unseen force that drew him towards you like a moth to a flame, he had made a solemn vow to himself. He would never lose control, he would never give in...

As the vehicle jolted around another sharp turn, a grunt of dissatisfaction escaped your lips. This was the umpteenth time you had to readjust your position: an inconvenience you honestly could do without. Especially since you were growing increasingly aware of the prickling tension. Carefully, you hoisted yourself up, tugging your dress back down, which had rebelliously hitched up, revealing more than intended.

Ghost, on the other hand, was locked in a silent battle of his own. His eyes clenched shut like a fortress under siege. He took in a deep, measured breath as if diving into an ocean of calm, striving to divert his attention from the growing heat in his body. The dangerously close proximity to you was playing a tantalizing game with his self-control.

“Stop moving, Y/N,” Ghost found himself repeating the same phrase he had been uttering for the past quarter of an hour. He had initially attempted to keep his hands to himself, but your constant movement and readjustments made that task increasingly difficult. Now, you could feel his palms subtly creeping up your sides until they found a resting spot at your waist. His fingers dug into your flesh, providing a sense of stability amid the chaotic drive.

“I can’t. I keep slipping,” you sighed in response, the frustration apparent in your tone. His hands, however, remained steadfast on your waist, anchoring you in his lap.

The day had started off on a rather laid back note. With a day free from duty, your team had decided to make the most of it by heading out for some drinks. It was a welcome change, a chance to let loose before the seriousness of the next mission took over. The journey to the pub was divided between two cars. Soap and Gaz were entrusted to stay sober and ensure everyone made it back safely. But Gaz had broken that promise, leaving everyone to squeeze into one car on the way back to the base.

The lack of sufficient seating meant that you, being the smallest (though you vehemently argued that it was unjust criteria), ended up in Ghost’s lap. You hadn’t anticipated it to be a significant issue. But with his continuous complaints ringing in your ear, you couldn’t help but wish you had opted to walk back instead.

As the drive wore on, Ghost’s fingers, like a sculptor’s chisel on marble, etched deeper into your waist, creating a discomfort that was becoming difficult to ignore. To ease it, you placed your hands on his wrists and attempted to gently tug at them, hoping to soften his grip. Despite your attempts, though, he resisted, maintaining his firm hold on you.

With little option left, you slumped back, surrendering to the pull of gravity. Your body to nestled comfortably into Ghost’s chest. Your head rested on his broad shoulders, providing a sense of comfort as the vehicle continued to traverse the gravel roads. Approximately fifteen minutes remained before you would reach the base.

Ghost, seemingly perplexed by your actions, turned to face you. “What are you doing?” He asked, his voice echoing through the confined space. In response, you tilted your head slightly as well, allowing your eyes to meet his. However, your gaze soon drifted downwards, towards his mask, as you found yourself unable to maintain the eye contact.

“Getting comfortable,” you replied, your voice just a whisper. The tendrils of fatigue began to curl around you. Your eyelids fluttered closed, each blink growing heavier and heavier.

The car fell silent.

As you sat there, embraced by Ghost’s arms, you could feel his breath on your neck. The steady, rhythmic rise, and fall of his chest acted as a soothing lullaby, luring you towards the edge of sleep. You knew you should have fought to stay awake, but his body radiated warmth, providing a stark contrast to the exhaustion that had washed over you from the evening’s festivities of dancing and drinking. Before you knew it, you had drifted off, your nose nuzzled into the crook of Ghost’s neck.

Caught up in his own thoughts, he didn’t immediately realise that you had succumbed to sleep. It wasn’t until the car came to a gentle halt that he felt something moist against the side of his mask. You had drooled all over him. A groan of disbelief rumbled in his chest as he shook his head in disbelief.

“Y/N... Y/N.. wake up.” His voice was quiet, a softness that was uncharacteristic of him. He contemplated grabbing your shoulders and shaking you awake, but decided against it, knowing that you were not one to take kindly to abrupt awakenings. Instead, he allowed you to continue sleeping for a bit longer, listening as you muttered incoherently to yourself, your eyes tightly shut.

Emerging from the clutches of sleep was like wading through a sea of molasses, slow and laborious. But eventually, both of you managed to exit the car. By this time, the rest of the team had already scattered, leaving just the two of you.

You rubbed your face, coaxing the tiredness out of your muscles like wringing out a wet cloth, and yawned. Your weary eyes swept over the barren expanse of the parking lot.

“You drooled on me,” Ghost said, his gaze steady on you. Caught off guard, you raised your brows but chose to remain silent in a futile attempt to maintain your cool demeanor. However, your face betrayed you as it started to radiate heat and your cheeks blossomed with a rosy blush, turning a bright shade of pink. This unexpected display of embarrassment stood in stark contrast to your usual composed self.

In the midst of the awkward silence, Ghost reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. With a swift motion, he lifted his balaclava, unveiling his lips, which soon held the cigarette with an ease born of habit. Despite being a non-smoker, you found yourself captivated by the sight of him lighting up his cigarette and drawing a deep inhale. Something about it sparked a desire within you, a curiosity you hadn’t felt before.

Feeling audacious, you stepped forward and asked, “Can I have one?” Your head tilted to the side. A hint of anticipation twinkled in your eyes. Ghost, however, shook his head in denial, causing a childish pout to adorn your face.

“You can’t. You don’t smoke.” Ghost’s words were matter-of-fact. A dash of amusement was evident in his tone. You responded with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, scoffing at his statement that merely reiterated the obvious.

You took a single, decisive step closer to him, deliberately narrowing the gap that had been lingering between you two. A flutter of hesitation clouded your actions for a moment, but the alluring, intoxicating scent of smoke wafting in the air coaxed you into action. You reached out, your fingers outstretched to snatch the still-burning cigarette from his grasp after he exhaled a stream of smoke into the night air. Ghost, for his part, didn’t utter a word. He simply stood there, his gaze on you. You mimicked his earlier actions, took a few measured drags from the cigarette before placing it back between his lips, all the while not moving an inch away and keeping your eyes fixed on him.

Ghost’s eyebrows arched in surprise, an obvious attempt to hide the smile that was slowly beginning to creep onto his face. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in a casual, almost dismissive manner. “First, you blatantly ignore me when I tell you to stop moving. Then you have the audacity to fall asleep and drool on me. And now, you dare to steal my cigarette,” he stated, the tone of his voice teetering between amusement and disbelief.

You shrugged, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards in a subtle hint of a sly smile. “Don’t act like you mind.”

And the truth was, he didn’t mind. In fact, he loved it, the way a parched wanderer would love a drop of water in the desert. Your unapologetic authenticity intrigued him. It challenged him, made him question the vows he had made to himself daily. Perhaps you were worth the risk, a gamble he was willing to play, a game he was willing to lose.

Buried deep within him, like a secret locked away in a forgotten chest, he knew without a shred of doubt that if you ever decided to see more than just a friend in him, he would have willingly surrendered to you. But now, despite the longing that gnawed at him, like a wolf tearing at its prey, he held back, resolved to protect you from himself, not daring to taint your innocence with his touch.

Ohhh... If only he had known that you harbored the same feelings deep within your heart - that you yearned for his touch, his eyes on you, that his presence was an unyielding constant in your thoughts, driving you to the brink of insanity - perhaps the night would have unfolded differently.

But neither of you had the courage to confess. Neither of you took that daunting first step, instead choosing to pretend that you were indifferent - each of you acting as if you desired nothing more in life than to remain friends... Friends that flirted, stole sneaky looks, and couldn’t get each other out of their minds.

Nothing more, nothing less. Just friends, like two stars in the night sky, forever close yet galaxies apart.

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eksvaized · 4 months

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Part Two [ Previous 〡 Next ]

Ever since the day you stole a cigarette from Ghost, you’ve unwittingly picked up a bad habit. The notion of smoking had never been appealing to you before. Still, there was something about the atmosphere of that one particular night that seemed to have permanently etched itself into your memory…

The morning after your outing with the team, you ran into Ghost again. He was casually propped against the hard surface of the gym wall, his robust form still radiating warmth from the exertion of his recently finished workout. A lit cigarette hung nonchalantly from his smirking lips, the tendrils of smoke gracefully dancing around his face. When he teasingly asked if you wanted one, you found yourself unable to decline.

Part of you was curious - you wanted to give it another try, to see if perhaps, now that you were sober, you might find a different kind of enjoyment in smoking. But the larger part of you, the one you were trying not to acknowledge, found itself mesmerized by Ghost. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. He was clad in a tight shirt that accentuated his chiseled physique and left very little to the imagination. Any excuse to linger in his presence, even if only for a few fleeting moments, was one you were willing to take. Regardless of the fact that your conversation amounted to no more than a handful of words exchanged between puffs of smoke.

Ghost, for his part, seemed to savour these quiet interludes as well. He was the one who kept offering the cigarettes, after all. In an inexplicably compelling way, he seemed to relish the idea that you were permitting him to lead you astray, to corrupt you in some small way—your innocence was being chipped away with each puff.

Often he made a show of it, too, holding onto the cigarette a little too tightly, forcing you to grasp his wrist in order to pry it from his fingers. His attention would then shift to your lips, watching as they closed around the small, white cylinder. His imagination would run wild, conjuring up images of how you might look on your knees, those soft, plump lips of yours wrapped around him, his fingers tangled in your hair. He would observe you inhaling. His gaze never wavering, never making any attempt to disguise his interest as his eyes would trail down to your chest, watching as it rose and fell rhythmically with each exhalation.

Captivated by the labyrinth of his own thoughts and entranced in his own fantasies, it took him a long time to see that you were utterly perplexed and inexperienced in the art of smoking.

“Are you even inhaling the smoke? ‘Cos from where I am, I’m pretty sure you’re just holding it in your mouth,” Ghost said, arching his brows up.

Your cheeks flushed a rosy hue, the cigarette still delicately positioned between your fingers. The two of you found yourselves comfortably seated on the stone-cold steps, at a distance from the bustle of others. He shifted closer to you, his hand reaching out and extricating the burning cigarette from your grasp.

“Hey, it’s still my turn,” you protested lightly, playfully bumping him with your shoulder.

“If you want to smoke, at least let me show you the proper way to do it,” Ghost replied, rolling his eyes. His index fingers hooked under your chin, and he titled your head, making you look at him. Then he placed the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply, holding the smoke within the confines of his lungs for a moment before turning his head to the side and exhaling.

He passed the cigarette back to you, but didn’t scoot back. You tried to replicate his actions, only to be met with a harsh cough and a burning sensation in your lungs, as if you’d swallowed a piece of hot coal. After calming yourself, you attempted it once more, managing slightly better, but the cough surfaced again, forcing you to slump down and instinctively grab Ghost’s thigh.

His gaze darted to his leg and then to your hand, observing your fingers as they clung onto his thigh, holding onto the fabric of his pants. A fleeting desire, swift and sharp as a shooting star, pierced through him, urging him to guide your hand just a tad higher. However, before his thoughts could spiral any further, the sound of your voice brought him back from the precipice of his fantasies.

“Okay, fine. You were right. I wasn’t inhaling it into my lungs,” you admitted, a hint of defeat in your tone.

Upon realizing where your hand had instinctively landed, you moved it away. You made a conscious effort not to look down at it as you slowly retracted your palm back to your lap, trying to feign nonchalance, as if your fingers hadn’t been digging into his flesh just moments ago.

“Seems I’ve been casting my cigarettes into the wind for nearly a week,” he teased. “If you wanted to hang out with me, you could have just told me so instead of wasting my smokes.” His tone was playful, yet it held an undercurrent of curiosity.

Suddenly, your conversation halted, as if the universe itself held its breath. An ocean of silence drowned both of you, and your eyes locked onto each other. You blinked. The intensity of his gaze was like the sun, forcing you to look away. Your attention was drawn to his lips. You had grown so accustomed to seeing him masked that every time he unveiled even a small portion of his face; you found yourself unable to look away.

With a heart pounding like a drummer's rhythm, you could hear the rush of blood in your ears as you realized you wanted to kiss him.

Reluctantly, you lifted your gaze, as if breaking the surface of a deep, tranquil pond. Your eyes met Ghost’s penetrating stare, his eyes as unfathomable and enticing as a midnight abyss. You found yourself drawn into their depths, searching for something within them - a subtle signal, perhaps - that what you were experiencing wasn’t merely a one-sided infatuation. That he, too, wanted to taste your lips as much as you wished to devour his.

The tension between you was escalating rapidly, like a flame licking the edge of a dry parchment. The silence that hung in the air was turning unbearable, yet neither of you dared to break it. Ghost, in his characteristic obstinacy, chose to overlook the way your eyes lingered on him. He stubbornly dismissed the evident signs of your affection, letting the silent showdown between you two stretch on for an uncomfortably long duration, much like an unending, eerie echo in a hollow cavern.

Summoning all your courage, you took a deep breath. If Ghost wasn’t going to seize the opportunity and make the first move, then you resolved to take the initiative. As you started leaning in, carefully and slowly, wanting to savour this electrifying moment for as long as possible in case he decided to push you away, an all too familiar voice echoed in the vicinity. Ghost immediately recoiled, his gaze darting around as he tried to locate the source of the interruption.

Soap.

It was almost impossible not to feel a surge of irritation. Soap, as endearing as he generally was, had unknowingly sabotaged your first, and quite possibly the only, opportunity to kiss Ghost. A moment that could have been the catalyst to finally surrender to the emotions you both had been concealing.

Instantly, your mind began to spiral into overthinking.

What if this moment was the only window of opportunity that would ever present itself?

The thought was tormenting, and it echoed in your head, amplifying your anxiety. It grew, like a shadow stretching with the setting sun, into a formidable specter that haunted your sleep that night. And the bitter irony was that despite the emotional turmoil, the status quo remained. You and Ghost were still in that frustratingly ambiguous territory of being... nothing more, nothing less. Just friends.

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