Work Text:
“Sergeant Kaur, it’s Captain Price. We’re ten minutes out from where you are. If you’re quick, you can hop on a mission. Might make Lieutenant. If not, we’ll keep going. Your choice.”
The offer had sounded too good to be true. Iz hasn’t seen John Price in a good long while. But working with him is never boring, and she’s stationed out in Gibraltar, so he swings by with a kid who can’t even be 30 going by the name Gaz, and then he tells her they're off to Urzikstan to rescue a CIA operative from Al-Qatala. Iz doesn't turn it down, even though they already have plenty of snipers on the team and her Arabic is pretty shit.
Kate Laswell is hot in that late middle-aged woman way that she's pretty sure most of the lesbians she went to uni with would've killed to get laid by. She introduces herself with a handshake after killing a man with those bare hands, and on the way back to safety she says something about missiles and terrorists and that would've been nice to know before Iz accepted the gig, but it is what it is.
Everything is going well, honestly. They're flying to Mexico to spring some of Price's mates from this task force he cooked up, 141. Iz has never been to South America but it looks like fun, even and including the massive black site prison they storm to get a bunch of Los Vaqueros out of.
And it's all a nice little trip round the world until Price drops a rope and Simon fucking Riley comes up it a few seconds later.
For a moment it doesn't matter that they're taking fire and Iz might die, because she's in that alleyway by the Queen's Head in Harrow with him telling her to sober up the moment she stares into his eyes. The only thing that stops Iz from punching Simon Riley in his fucking balaclava is the fact that they’re standing exposed on the top of a wall and a rogue American PMC is heading their way with intent to kill.
Then the gunfire snaps her back and Iz shakes it off to provide cover for Los Vaqueros so that this round trip was worth it.
It's only when they're safe in the truck and speeding off to the next mission that she gives him another glance. Riley meets it for a second before looking away. MacTavish, who has the prettiest face and eyes she's ever seen, picks it up and leans towards her, mouth opening.
"Soap," Riley snarls.
"I was only going to ask the lass who the fuck she is," MacTavish mutters.
"Sergeant Izna Kaur," she tells him. "Price asked me to come by on his way through Gibraltar. Wasn't like I had much else to do."
"Oh aye, stationed out there, must've been boring," Soap drawls.
"Company's been worse." She glances over at Riley again, who fixes his eyes on a spot outside the window. "You lot look like you're having fun. This a normal day in the life of 141?"
"Pretty much," Soap agrees. "How'd you meet the L.T, then?"
For a moment, she and Riley lock eyes. He challenges her to tell the whole story. She challenges him to do the same. Neither of them say a word for a while.
"Served together," Iz finally responds. "Haven't seen the dickhead in about five years."
"Kaur," Price warns.
"Sorry sir." She looks back at Soap, but decides not to say anything else. He and Gaz exchange glances, and she can hear the questions firing in their heads. The connections being made. Iz ignores them both and settles her eyes on a space on the floor.
That shit-talking is probably what gets her relegated to the helo team on the next mission. Iz pulls her ghost balaclava down over her face- of course it’s a ghost balaclava- as they head out, trying not to lock eyes with Simon Riley’s bare face. She ends up crawling through dark tunnels with Price and Alejandro, staying quiet.
And at least whoever this new bloke Alejandro is, he doesn’t-
“Not a fan of our friend Ghost, eh new girl?” he comments.
-ask questions.
“Deep philosophical shit this early in the morning, mate?” she mutters.
“Haven’t known him long, but I know he’s prickly.” Alejandro chuckles something in Spanish that Iz doesn’t understand. “He screw you over or something?”
The juxtaposition of Ghost and screw makes Izna’s stomach drop out in weird, pleasant ways, mind conjuring up images of that big heavy body moving against hers as the balaclava is shoved up his face, mouth on her neck, images that have nothing to do with the current situation of liberating a special forces HQ from a rogue American PMC.
“Maybe when we’re not arse-deep in Shadows we can grab a beer and I’ll tell you the whole bloody story,” she mutters.
Vargas snorts.
It’s going really well until the helo gets shot down, and Iz finds herself in the wreckage with ringing ears and some bruises that won’t go away any time soon. Groaning, the sun in her eyes, she takes a moment to lie there and think about how weird the last two days have been.
At least, she does before Ghost pops up, barking out words of concern for the team. She drags herself to her feet before he can think of doing some dumb shit like come over and offer her his hand, still a bit shaky. Those eyes dart over to her anyway, and she glances off.
“All good, Kaur?” he asks, gruff and low.
I’m fucking pathetic, Iz thinks, clenching her jaw under the balaclava. “Yeah. Peachy.”
For a moment they lock eyes again, the middle of a fucking battlefield, of all places, and then Iz pulls herself together because she’s not 15 years old with a schoolgirl crush on Simon Riley, and there’s a lot going on around them and they can take care of this later when they aren’t about to die.
Iz has been on tours and she’s been in live fire, and it didn’t compare to the feeling of helplessness as she followed the rest of Gaz’ team through the building, waiting to hear that Soap succeeded. If this is what 141 is like, she might need a second to think about actually joining officially.
Not least because if she has to spend every single day around Simon Riley, one of them is going to die.
Still, with the terrorist threat ended and a bit of time to kill before either making her decision about joining or getting a flight back to Gibraltar, Iz can relax for a moment. In a bar in Chicago, of all places. She’s never been to America before, and it’s as big as she imagined it would be. The company of the others with their familiar accents feels comforting as she takes a sip of her drink. She doesn’t care that the lads are slamming back the harder stuff- including Laswell- because Iz has a nice cosmopolitan that she sips as she sits between Gaz and Soap.
“So.” Gaz broaches it first. “Captain didn’t say much about you. You gonna tell us? Or you gonna be like Ghost and make it like pulling teeth?”
Iz shoots him a crooked grin. “Sergeant Izna Kaur, Royal Gibraltar Regiment. Designated marksman. Been there a couple of years now, on and off.”
“And you know Ghost?” Soap cuts in.
“Same base for a bit.” She shrugs, sips her drink. “He’s fucking prickly.”
Price catches her eye, his moustache bristling like a fucking walrus. Iz doesn’t push it any further. Laswell is simply taking in the scene, CIA spy that she is. The aforementioned Ghost is staring down at his bourbon, still wearing his fucking balaclava.
“L.t’s not so bad,” Soap says. “He kept me all nice and calm with a bunch of jokes when I was alone, wounded and being hunted by Shadows back in Las Almas. Didn’t you, Ghost?”
“Keeping up morale's good for the mission, MacTavish,” Riley mutters.
“Gotta be more than that,” Gaz presses. “Come on. He steal your kills? Join in on a hazing?”
“Buy me another drink, Garrick,” Iz teases. “Maybe you’ll get it out of me when I’m drunk enough.”
“Sure. Gaz is grinning at her. “Need a harder one this time, Kaur?”
“Bit young for me, aren’t you, Gaz?” she points out. “I was in middle school by the time your mum pushed you out.”
Gaz holds up his hands. “Worth a shot, worth a shot. Not like anyone else on the team is really my type, you know?”
“Aww, Gaz,” Soap fakes a pout, “and here I thought we were getting on real well.”
"Yeah, well, beware of Riley," Iz snorts. "Pretty sure he's into men. At least, when I snogged him he just pushed me off and told me to sober up-"
Riley is already rounding the table and yanking her out from underneath it. Iz snaps at him, grabs at his hand, but he tosses her over his shoulder like a sack and hauls her out of the building to the sound of Price barking out Riley’s codename.
She slams her fists against his back. "Put me the fuck down, Riley," she snarls. "Or I'll shank you so deep I'll finally find the balls that shrivelled up and died inside you!"
"Ease off, Kaur," Riley snaps back, and then they're in an alleyway outside again in the evening air.
Iz shoves at him the moment he sets her down, like it's going to do anything to all 6'2 of him when her 5'2 arse wants to go in for a kick. Riley steps back, pinching the bridge of his nose, and he stays quiet for a second.
"Well?" Iz snarls. She hates the silence between them. "Got something good to say, Riley? My drink isn't finished."
"I'm not gay, Kaur," he tells her.
"Yeah, I knew that," she scoffs. "I just said it to rile you up."
The tips of his fingers are covered in grease paint when they come away from his face. "Why the fuck do you care if I want to shag men anyway?"
Her lip curls. "Care is a strong word, Ghost. I don't give a shit about you at all."
The balaclava gives away nothing. "You're pissed."
"I've had one drink," she protests.
"I didn't mean you're hammered, Kaur. You're pissed at me," he corrects. "Have been every time we spoke since, I dunno, 2017?"
"Oh, now he notices," she mocks.
"Because of the pub?" Riley asks. "Pretty sure it can't be anything else."
Iz feels tears try and well in her eyes and her stomach drops out. She's pathetic. She's a grown woman in her 30s and Simon Riley mentioning a pub makes her teary-eyed. "Think I've got every right to be pissed at you," she insists. "You could've just turned me down, you know. No need to be such a dickhead about it."
His mask moves, brows furrowing underneath the fabric. "What?"
She continues. "Could've said something else. Could've made it clearer that you just weren't attracted to me. I didn't need a rejection and then radio fucking silence. But sorry for kissing you without asking, I guess."
He's blinking. "You were drunk, Iz. Threw yourself at me."
"Yeah, just rub it the fuck in," she growls. "Did you have a good laugh about it afterward? Some dumb, hammered slut who wasn't even your type tried to shove her tongue down your throat? Bet that made for a good story."
There's a long silence. Riley finally meets her eyes and the look in them is like some weird revelation just occurred to him. "You were drunk, Iz. Too out of it to know a yes from a no."
She lets out a loud snort, crossing her arms over her chest. "Don't fucking worry, Riley. Your no was loud enough for us both."
"I told you to sober up," he reminds her.
"Yeah, and you know what, that probably was the nicest way to let a girl know she needs to stop trying to hump your thigh and go home," Iz agrees.
His throat bobs for a second. "Now that's a visual." His voice is low. Husky.
She swallows. "What am I out here for, Ghost? Thought you'd refresh my memory of what Harrow was like? Think I need to sober up again, eh?"
He's still staring at her. "Fuckin' hell, love."
Her hackles are up. "Don't you fucking call me that, you bastard. Don't act like this is funny to you."
"Promise you." He steps closer. "No jokes here. Mine are shit. Ask Johnny."
Iz finds herself backing up towards the wall behind her like it's an instinct, prey hunted by predator. "Then what?"
Riley shrugs his massive shoulders. "Realised something," he tells her. "Stupid fucking thing I should've realised a long time ago. Not good with the interpersonal shit. Sorry, love."
"Stop being a smug cunt about this and talk straight," Iz snaps at him even as he crowds her towards the alley wall.
Riley is staring at her with every step. "I told you to sober up," he says.
That makes her lip curl again. "Yeah, Riley, I remember that. Go home. Sober up. Leave you alone. I got the message."
"Wrong fucking message," he grunts, quiet footsteps corralling her until her back hits brick. "You and me both."
She frowns. "You told me to sober up. How is that the wrong message?"
Riley leans in towards her, and he's all big and thick and he smells delicious even as Iz tries not to think about that too much. "Cos I meant go home and sober up so next time I see you, you'll remember how I fuck you."
The world gives out underneath her, and it's only Riley's hands on her waist that keep her upright. "Oh," Izna Kaur whispers, her heart in her throat.
"But you went home, sobered up, next day you came in and looked at me like I'd shot a dog in front of you." Riley's eyes are fixed on hers. "Thought you'd suddenly realised who you tried to snog and had second thoughts."
“Oh,” she whispers again.
He’s got her pressed up against the wall still, and normally Iz doesn’t like feeling small, doesn’t like men making her feel small, but Simon Riley is allowed to make her feel like this now because fuck, she’s an idiot, how did she forget that he shoved his tongue down her throat for a couple of seconds before he told her to sober up. Iz thinks she must’ve forgotten it at the time because of her stinging pride, but nope, there it is in her memory, reciprocal snogging for a few moments as they back into the alleyway before she trips and he catches her mid-fall.
“Go home and sober up,” the memory of his voice says, and fuck, how did she forget the fucking charged growl in his voice?
Iz has fucking gaslit herself into thinking this was a rejection.
“I’m a fucking idiot,” she mutters into his chest. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Jesus, Riley. I really was out of it, wasn’t I?”
There’s a low chuckle above her. “Us both, Izzie.”
Mmm. That nickname always made her cheeks burn. Like she was a little schoolgirl again, except Simon Riley wasn’t her teacher even if he might punish her somehow. It makes Iz think about being bent over his knee-
“So,” her mouth is dry, “we’re both gits, Riley, but… what now?”
“Hmm.” His hands are still on her waist, burning at her beneath her kurta. “You really only had one drink, Izzie?”
Oh fuck. “Only one drink,” she whispers.
“Fuck.”
Riley’s hands are on the balaclava, pulling it up to his nose to expose a jaw thick with stubble and that pretty mouth of his that makes Iz’ stomach drop out. Then his mouth’s on hers, body crowding her back against the wall as she wraps her arms around his neck. Izzie’s skin lights up like a match when Riley’s hands find her waist again, pulling her kurta up so he can slide his fingers underneath it and touch her bare skin. It’s so good it almost hurts.
The sound of passing cars reminds her that they’re still outside in a dingy alleyway. “Simon,” she groans, her leg hitching up against the outside of his thigh. “Fuck, right now?”
“You want a princess-carry up to the hotel then, ma’am?” he asks, voice raspy.
“Piss off, Riley,” she snorts.
He takes that as a yes, hooking his arms up underneath her legs and lifting her up against his chest like she's weightless. If this was any other man, Iz would be snapping at him to put her down and trying to kick him in the face, but it isn't, it's Simon fucking Riley, and she's been thinking about this for longer than that night in Harrow. He carries her out of the alleyway and back into the bar.
Four pairs of eyes lock onto them as they enter, and Iz would normally want the ground to swallow her up. But not tonight. She just curls into Simon’s arms and waits for him to move.
"Don't wait up," Riley tells everyone, and with that he's bringing Iz over to the lift to let her hit the call until the doors slide open.
Soap hands Price some money.
There's no one else in the lift except them, and so Simon's hands are all over her as he puts her down. His mouth is on hers as he squeezes her arse in his grip. Iz moans low in her throat, which is currently dealing with Simon's tongue as well. One big palm runs up her ribs to cup just below her tits like it's waiting to go further. Iz would let him, but there's probably cameras. Instead she ruts against that massive fucking thigh and curls her fingers into his collar until they reach their floor and stumble out of the car.
She’s hauled into another princess carry, which interrupts the way she was humping his thigh, and a pathetic little whine comes out of her throat that makes him laugh so deep in his chest that she almost cums just from that.
“Bit dry in Gibraltar, Kaur?” he rumbles.
“Fuck off, Riley,” she groans, burying her face in his neck.
A moment later a door beeps, and he carries her into a dark bedroom that immediately illuminates. Iz looks up to survey it. It’s ok, it’ll do, she’s not planning on staying long or using much of the facilities other than the nice big bed. The door slams shut behind them, lock clicking, and then Simon’s tongue is down her throat again as his big hands move to her leggings and practically rip them off. Iz squeaks in protest, kicking off her boots so she can be undressed without destroying her wardrobe.
“My mum made this kurta, Riley,” she groans, “don’t you fucking ruin it.”
He’s got her knickers off in one short yank, probably so they can keep kissing, and now Iz has nothing on below the waist and Riley shoves a thigh between hers to let her have some friction even though it’s going to make a mess of his jeans. Iz grinds down on it and cries out into his mouth. Simon’s lips leave hers for a second. The kurta pulls her arms above her head as he tugs it off her, and then his mouth is on her neck, scruff abraiding her throat. Iz curls her fingers into his collar, rutting her hips against his thigh, teeth digging into her lip. There’s going to be dark bruises along her neck tomorrow and the rest of 141 isn’t going to need their imagination for what happened tonight, but the denim is dragging against her clit as her bra comes loose. Big, warm hands cup her tits, thumbs brushing her nipples into stiff peaks, and Iz hasn’t been this turned on in her life.
“Won’t need to call your mum for a new one,” he murmurs into her skin. His fingers pinch at her nipples. “Love one I could rip off you one day, though.”
Iz gasps out a laugh as heat coils deep in her belly. “I’ll- fffucck- find you- a shitty cheap knockoff online, shall I?”
“Think you can do the whole getup?” Ghost asks.
Iz wants to make a comment about the fucking symbolism of an Englishman ripping a sari off an Indian girl, but she’s pretty sure it has nothing to do with that and everything to do with the idea of tearing her clothes off, because that’s the kind of thing he’d enjoy with any girl.
“You’ll- owe me,” Iz bites out, on tiptoes against the door.
“141 pays pretty well,” he murmurs into her ear, voice gritty with desire.
He clenches his thigh, the muscle precise against where she needs it. Iz finds her hips frantically chasing the sensation as his teeth bite into her pulse, almost too hard, but it’s what she needs. Riley’s right, she’s been dry too long, and as her fingers fist into the collar of his jacket- which he’s still wearing, he’s still fully fucking dressed and she’s naked- to pull his head flush against her neck, she feels her orgasm start from where his thigh is grinding into her clit. It spreads, like the hot flash of a missile exploding on a target, like a nuke drop, and Iz comes all over his jeans with a shattered cry. He doesn’t even bother muffling her.
She’s still shaking against the door as his mouth leaves unrelenting bite marks in her throat, the stubble so rough it almost hurts. Iz doesn’t care. She wants the feeling, and when she finally turns her head to meet his lips with her own, her neck is wet from where his tongue has been lapping at the indents of his own teeth. Iz lets his collar go and listens to the rasp of the zip as she drags it down. The jacket falls to one side, and now it’s the zip on his hoodie, letting her hands skim across the white t-shirt that stretches across his generous frame underneath. Her teeth nip along his lower lip. Simon’s chest rumbles like far-off thunder, so she does it again, hands going to the button of his jeans so she can flick it open and reach for his fly.
Riley interrupts her hands so he can pick her up by her bare arse, pressing her crotch up against his own to carry her over to the bed. Iz drags him in for another kiss as her back hits the covers, the fabric cool enough to make her shiver. But he might take that as fear, so she grabs the hem of his t-shirt and yanks it up his back before he can think that. Simon pulls away for a second, hips still between her thighs as he pulls the shirt from the back of the neck the way all men do it and throws it to one side. Iz spreads her hands across his chest, fingertips tracing scar tissue, tattoo ink and thick body hair that leads down to the waistline of his jeans. Fuck.
“No wonder you hide this, Riley,” she chuckles, “you’d have tag chasers hunting you down every day.”
“Base bunnies are just perks of the job,” he tells her, kicking off his shoes.
Iz snorts. “Creep.”
She sits up to watch him get his jeans off, and that’s when she notices the mirror behind them, not quite full-length, but definitely enough that she can see both herself and the majority of Riley’s back as he gets undressed. She watches his arse come into view at the same time as his crotch. Her tongue sweeps out across her lips. He’s still got the balaclava on like she doesn’t already know what he looks like.
Iz briefly wonders how many women he’s fucked wearing it, and the thought roots itself in her mind. Later. “You shy, Riley?”
His hand comes up to the dark grey fabric and pulls off the last thing he’s wearing. His face is pink and his hair is ruffled underneath, but Iz doesn’t care, kneeling up so she can pull him down for another kiss. Dropping the balaclava, Simon’s hands grab at her waist, and before she knows it she’s back down on the bed with a special operative between her thighs.
With how wet she is, if he just grabbed her hips and went straight to fucking her, Iz wouldn’t mind at all, but after a few moments of heavy kissing, Simon’s mouth is on her neck, and then her nipple. Iz hasn’t got massive tits, but he doesn’t seem to care. The attention he pays to her nipples, one after the other, scruff rasping against her skin, flares that need to life between her thighs again like she hasn’t just cum from grinding on him. Iz arches her chest up into his mouth in a silent yes please that makes his other hand come up to play as his right works down between her legs. She’s soaking wet, and he slides one finger in with ease. The second isn’t quite so nice, but he does it slow, and Iz moans when he times it right to suck on her nipple whilst he lets her get used to it.
“Fuckin’ hell, Izzie.” Ghost’s voice is so low she can barely hear it, but the sound passes through her like a vibration as he thumbs her clit. “Not dry anymore, eh?”
“Oh fuck off,” she begins to say, and those two fingers crook up against a space that takes her voice away.
“Bit more like that, then,” he says, sounding way too smug.
“Y-you’re a dick, Simon Riley,” she pants, her eyes meeting his when he moves his head down to kiss her ribs. Her stomach muscles twitch in anticipation of what comes next when he licks under her navel. The sensation of her stomach dropping out completely comes when his lips press against the thick thatch of curls covering her mound.
He glances up at her, then at where his fingers are slowly beginning to fuck her, easing her open for him, and a crooked grin tugs at his face, as if to say “doesn’t seem to bother you.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes.
And then her hands fly up to curl into the thick mess of his hair as his mouth seals around her clit and sucks.
“Fuuuuuuuuck,” it escapes her in one long heavy breath, “Jesus, Riley!”
He’s not playing around, he’s not teasing at all; Iz feels his big hand cup her tit and roll her nipple between thumb and forefinger as his tongue sweeps back and forth over her clit, alternating between lapping and sucking at it. Shudders rock her body from head to toe. Her nails scratch into his scalp. Rumbles fill his chest at every bite of pain that she gives him, and the vibration hums into her clit.
“Si,” she gasps, “oh fuck yes, don’t you dare fucking stop!”
Those fingers speed up, hitting her sweet spot on every curl, and her legs crush around his head but he doesn’t stop for a second, just moves his hand to her unattended breast to give it some attention too until Iz shakes, her back arching off the bed. Sweat gathers on her skin, under her fingernails. There’s a pressure coiling in her gut again, bone-deep, and every rasp of stubble on her folds, every press of his fingers, the suction of his lips around her clit, makes it grow and grow.
She glances down as he looks up. There’s a moment where his lips part and he lets her watch the way his tongue rolls over her clit. It sends a jolt straight through her body and down to where his fingers are spreading her open. As he works a third in, Iz feels it just a little too much, but she’s not going to ask him to fucking stop.
She cums on his tongue with a sound that sure as fuck isn’t pretty feminine gasping. It’s a low, full-body groan that accompanies the way she shakes underneath him. Riley doesn’t care, he makes an appreciative grunt as he lets her ride it out on his fingers until she’s pushing at his head and gasping for him to stop.
Wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand isn’t enough to stop her from tasting herself when he kisses her. Iz feels his cock pressing into her, and she’s not going to be able to make any small dick jokes about Riley after this because she’s barely sure he’s going to fit inside her.
“Where’d you want it, Izzie?” he pants.
“Up my cunt, if you’re not going to kill me with it,” she tells him, hooking her thighs over his waist.
Ghost rolls his hips along hers, pulling back to let his cock rub along her clit. She twitches, full-body shuddering. She’s still so sensitive, and a rough chuckle buzzes against her lips before she feels him reach down and wrap his fingers around himself. On the next thrust of his hips, he fills her, bit by bit feeding himself into her so she can feel every thick inch of him on entry. Iz scrapes her nails down his back.
“Jesus Christ.” It comes out punched. “Fuck, Simon!”
He gives her a few shallow thrusts to get her used to him. “Jesus, Iz.” His forehead presses against hers. “How long’s it been…?”
“Couple of years,” she mumbles. “Since before Gibraltar.”
There’s a short pause. “Better not have been five.”
She snorts. “Don’t get an ego, Riley. I didn’t swear off sex just because you told me to go home one night in 2017.”
“Anybody good?” He gives her a slow, deep thrust.
Iz loses her words for a second. He rubs up against her sweet spot like he’s memorised where it was when his fingers found it. “D-decent,” she stammers out.
“And me?” His voice is low and smug.
She wants to slap him but she’s given another deep thrust. “You haven’t fucked me yet, Lieutenant. Maybe show me what you can do, sir, and I’ll give the verdict.”
Ghost has her legs up and open and he's fucking her like a machine almost before the words are even out of her mouth. Iz has just finished verdict and the loud slap of his hips against hers fills the room. It's a constant in-out blur of pleasure and it takes her by surprise because she should have expected this, yet she hasn't. He's so deep inside her it's on the edge of uncomfortable, using his cock to massage that sweet spot rather than really fuck her like he knows it'll make her cry out his name.
Which it does. Iz scrapes her nails down his shoulders, amazed at how much she enjoys the feeling of being pinned down underneath Simon Riley.
She usually doesn't. She likes taking her fucks for a ride, but here she is, tucking her heels in at his back as his tongue is in her mouth again and his nails dig into her thighs.
"Fuckin' hell, Izzie," his voice sounds even better when he's turned on, "you can be louder than that, love."
"Make me," she groans, tangling her fingers into his hair.
Ghost shoves her thigh back and gets in deep as he can, thumb finding her clit and rubbing until Izna is letting out more of those moans that don't sound at all pretty but really seem to get Simon going. At least if the hungry way she's being kissed is any indication anyway. Iz rocks her hips into his, listening to the noises their bodies are making as he fucks into her. Wet and dirty and hot.
Fuck, she thinks to herself. I better not be doing what I think I'm doing.
She's so deep in her own head that it takes her orgasm to bring her back to the present. It hits her like the shockwave of a grenade, squeezes her around Simon's cock with repeated clenches that make his chest rumble against hers, that far-off thunder again, right in her mouth, her ear.
“Pretty fucking voice you’ve got there, Izzie,” he groans, still thumbing her clit like she isn’t writhing underneath him.
It’s all a little bit too sensitive, but it feels so good with his dick in her that she doesn’t want it to stop. “Maybe you’ll h-hear it a bit more if you talk to me, Si,” she gasps.
His brow furrows. “Got a thing for how I sound, Iz?”
“Mmm.” She times it with a roll of her hips. “My turn on top.”
Riley’s got them both rolled over a moment later, still buried inside her, and Iz takes a second to drink in the sight of him underneath her before she braces her hands on his muscled chest, stroking her fingers through the hair. Then she’s riding him, proper shit she saw in some porn once, and his hands fly to her thighs to scrape along them because apparently the actress she’s emulating had the right idea.
“Jesus.” His eyes are fixed on her chest, tongue dragging across his lip. “You’re fucking wank fodder up there, Kaur.”
“Fucking flatterer,” she snorts, “really- really charming, Riley, you tell all the girls you want to jerk off to them?”
He’s still staring at her tits. “Only the girls I wanna fuck again.”
Ooh, that does something to her, stupid Iz. She can’t ignore it.
Both his hands find her tits again, cupping and playing and tugging until despite being on top, Iz finds herself completely following Riley’s lead. The slight pain of it keeps her head fuzzy even though she’s had three orgasms and it looks like he’s angling to give her a fourth before this is all done. Iz knows the second he stops just letting her fuck him because she feels him tense up before he’s thrusting up into her, tugging her down onto his cock.
She ends up splayed across his chest, her tits in his face. He gets his mouth around one as he pumps up into her, tonguing her nipple repeatedly. Iz groans, heat coiling in her core again.
“Think you’ll wear that dress for me again, Iz?” he grunts before moving his attention to her other breast, hands clamping down on her arse to pin her to him. It presses her clit against his pubic mound and oh god, her lashes flutter at the sudden jolt of ecstasy.
“Dress?” she pants.
“Red one,” lick, “from Harrow,” suck, “showed off your legs.”
Oh, the one she’d been wearing when he told her to sober up. “Yeah,” she thrusts one hand into his hair, her thighs tensing as she tries her best to rock back onto him. Riley’s not budging. She’s on top but he’s in charge. “It- oh fuckme- it’d- look good around- around your head, Riley!”
“Yeah it would.” One of the hands grabbing her bum slides across a cheek to touch just outside the ring of muscle between both cheeks. Simon carries on fucking her like he isn’t about to slide a finger in there. “Here too ok, love?”
His voice breaks across her like the far-off rumble of thunder and she’s rapidly nodding her head as that pressure coils tight. It’s almost too much. Simon shoves a finger into his mouth and wets it, and Iz cranes her neck back to watch it disappear behind her until it slowly works inside her arse and that’s what makes her cum again. The pressure of his cock on that sweet spot and the sudden sensation of having a finger pushing into her and the lap of his tongue on her nipple.
“F-fuck- Si-”
Her voice strangles on the words, it hits her so hard. She stops talking. The world goes quiet for a bit as breathing gets difficult. Then down the other side of her orgasm she lets out another one of those deep unfeminine groans and her thighs give out. Simon’s panting gets all rough and so do his thrusts. She knows what’s about to happen.
“Cum in me,” she gasps.
It’s his turn to let out a noise like a wounded animal as his cock twitches. Izna takes him to the root and shoves her mouth onto his just long enough to get him over the edge, and then she pulls back to savour both his expression and the sound of his voice. Every pulse of him inside her feels so good. She braces her hands on his chest, biceps pushing her tits up to give him a better view. Simon’s nails dig into her, his eyes hazy and unfocused for just a moment as the pleasure hits. His back arches.
Iz doesn’t pull him out of her even when he’s done, panting underneath her. She’s hot and sweaty and she knows he’s about to start dripping down his softening cock, but she kisses him again, dragging her fingertips along his jaw and neck. Riley keeps his finger up her arse but uses the other hand to tangle his fingers into her hair. Iz feels like she’s floating, satisfied and fixed of the stupid ache she’s been feeling whenever she sees him and his stupid balaclava. He makes a few more of those rumbles as they kiss slowly, tongue sweeping along her lips. It’s much more relaxed. There’s none of the frantic energy that was on them in the lift. Iz lies down on him, her kisses lazy.
“Well that was nice,” she murmurs.
“Just nice?” Riley asks. “Jesus, Kaur. You’re hard to please.”
“Can’t let you get an ego.” She stretches out, not wanting to roll off him. “I do that and you’ll never shut up.”
His hips rock against hers so that he’s grinding into her clit again. Iz groans.
“Hardly need to say it, do you, love?” he says.
She shoots him a half-hearted glare. “God, you’re fucking smug underneath that balaclava, Riley. Doesn’t suit you.”
“Shame.” He’s staring at the line of her cleavage where it disappears against his chest. “Guess you won’t see what it looks like in the mirror when I bend you over, then.”
Iz starts, blinking. The mirror. So he’d noticed it too. She thinks for a second about watching them fuck in their reflection and shivers. “That a threat, Riley?”
He rolls them over, pinning her down with his bulk. “You want threats, Izzie?”
“Gonna tell Price you’re being a dick to me,” she huffs. “He’ll kick you out of 141 and let me take your place.”
That gets Simon’s attention. Almost imperceptible, but his brow twitches. “That why the old man brought you along?”
Her head tilts. “Maybe. Maybe I won’t tell you unless you’re nice to me.”
Simon kisses her, rough and heavy. Iz melts into the covers beneath them. Shit fuck shit. That night in Harrow could’ve been a one and done, scratching an itch, but she’s been pining over Simon Riley and his rejection for too long and now it’s become something. And it looks like the feeling is mutual.
“You going to piss me off the whole time if you join?” he asks, low and gruff.
Iz shrugs. “Maybe. Why?”
“Think I might have something to say about that.” His eyes lock onto hers. “Sergeant Kaur.”
“Mmm, going to be Lieutenant after this,” she corrects.
“Still gonna let me be in charge when we aren’t different ranks?” he asks.
“For good behaviour, maybe,” she decides.
Simon’s kissing her again, and Iz kisses back, eyes fluttering shut as she cups his face. He isn’t hard yet, but that’s not what she’s after right now.
A heavy knocking at the door makes them both start. “Oi, Ghost,” Gaz calls, “you busy?”
“Piss off, Garrick,” Simon calls back.