Chapter Text
Tonight was the Special Forces Military Ball. It was a once-a-year event that everyone on the task force looked forward to as an opportunity to unwind from work. A night of speeches, dancing, and drinking was highly awaited.
You were in a hotel room, finishing applying your makeup in the small bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. The lighting was horrendous, but you persevered. You gently brush on the last touches of your eyeshadow, blinking a few times at your reflection in the mirror. You tilt your face side to side, inspecting every inch of your makeup before pulling back, smiling contentedly at your work. It’s been a while since you last wore this much makeup. A quick sigh escapes your lips as you turn out of the bathroom and into the main room.
A long, black dress lays across the hotel bed. The dress swishes gently across the floor as you pick it up from the bed and hold it up in front of you in front of the floor length mirror. The sweetheart neckline swoops gracefully, the thick straps of the dress covered adorned with small silver gems. The skirt of the dress hugs all of your curves in the right places, accentuating your features.
You start to slip on the dress, pulling it up and around your body, then pulling the sleeves over to rest on your shoulders. Reaching around your back, your hands come up as you fumble around with the zipper, only pulling it up an inch before it stops.
You try pulling it as hard as you can to no avail. Messing with the zipper a few more times does absolutely nothing, the continuous motion of pulling it up and down useless in aiding you. The zipper rests, stuck, on your lower back.
“Fuck” you groan, annoyed with the stubborn zipper.
You angle your back towards the mirror and stare at it, mostly bare, with a frown. Someone was going to have to help you with this.
Everyone, with the exception of one person, was busy preparing for the event as you racked your brain about who you could call.
Simon “Ghost” Riley.
The big guy.
You grab your phone and scroll through your contacts before your finger lands on his name. You hesitate for a moment, almost already regretting this. Next thing you know, you bring the phone up to your ear, biting your lip as it rings. The phone rings once, twice, then you hear the line pick up.
“Hello?” the low timbre of his voice echoes from the phone.
You inhale dramatically, and turn to look at yourself in the mirror.
“Hi,” you sigh.
The silence from the other end is overbearing. You grimace a little.
You speak quickly, “So uh, I need some help.” You hold your breath as you wait for a response, any response from him.
You hear some shuffling around, and a small cough. You roll your eyes once more.
“Please,” you strain.
He hesitates for a moment. “What’s wrong?”
“This is awkward, but uh, the zipper on my dress is stuck, and you’re the only person I could think of to call and I totally get it if you can’t help me–”
“Which room is yours?” he cuts you off briskly. The shuffling in the background abruptly stopped.
Your mouth opens and closes for a moment, shaking your head as you try to answer.
“Oh, yeah, it’s room 456, fourth floor…” you trail off.
He hangs up without a word. You bring the phone away from your ear slowly and stare at yourself in the mirror once more.
He really is a man of few words.
You pace the room a few times, waiting for him when a single, brief knock raps your door. You stop in your tracks and turn to the door, then run to the mirror to make sure you look presentable enough. You look through the peekhole just to make its Ghost before you pull open the door swiftly.
You’re met with his chest in your face, and you drag your eyes upward to his face. His covered face. In that skull mask he always wears. He’s wearing a black tuxedo along with a crooked black tie.
“Hi” he says simply, raking his eyes down your form.
You immediately grab his bicep and pull him into the room and shut the door behind you, pressing your exposed back to the door. He chuckles quietly at you, raising his eyebrows in amusement under his mask.
“Thank you so much for coming” you breathe out, wringing your hands together.
He just stares at you for a moment longer, taking in your appearance unabashedly. He shoves his hands in his pocket and clears his throat.
“Wow. You look amazing” he whistles.
Your cheeks heat up, your mouth slightly agape as the air leaves your lungs.
“Thank you.”
Your dress swishes around your feet as you push yourself off the door, brushing past him. “I could say the same for you.”
Turning around, you brush a piece of stray hair behind your ear, taking a deep breath. He takes a few heavy steps towards you, his silence overbearing.
“If you could zip me up, that would be great” you smile gently at him, biting your bottom lip awkwardly. You turn around, your exposed back facing Ghost, and you pull your hair over your shoulder. His breath wavers, eyes roaming the expanse of your back, then finally coming to rest on the small of your back.
He slowly comes up behind you, hands stretched out in front of him, wordless. He grasps your hip firmly, holding you in place as his other hand brushes up against your lower back. You shiver under his touch, body still, unmoving. He was so close. So close. His free hand closes around the zipper, hesitant to free it.
“Ghost–”
“It’s Simon. Simon, when we’re not on job,” he corrects. You stand up straight.
“Simon. Are you going to zip me up?”
He grunts quietly, then pulls at the zipper once, twice, before it's finally freed. You can feel heat radiating from his fingers as he pulls the zipper up agonizingly slow. As he pulls it up your back, his fingers brush against your skin, the small touches making your knees weak. Your cheeks feel hot from his languid movements. You let go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding when he zipped it up to the top.
The trance you were in abruptly stops as you hear the small click of the zipper hitting the top. You swiftly turn around, the skirt of your dress bustling around as you take a step back, his hand falling from your hip.
“Well, thank you Gh- Simon” you say, pushing your hair back to its original place. You rock back on your heels as you inspect his covered face.
His eyes look blown wide, his hands now pulling at the bottom of his tux jacket.
“‘s not a problem” he murmurs, eyes still not looking away from you. His hands wander up to his loosened tie, fidgeting with it.
You notice his tie isn’t properly tied, and you take a few steps close to him, your eyes staring straight at his chest.
“Let me help you with that” you point to his tie. You take his hands in yours and gently pull them to his sides. His hands dwarf your own, and you drop them. His breath hitches.
You wrestle with the tie, your hands brushing up against his chest and collarbone as you twist it into perfection. You keep your eyes trained on the tie, biting your lip as you concentrate. Simon’s eyes remain locked on you, following your every movement.
The silence permeates the air, save for the rustling of fabric against fabric.
You finish tying the knot, and pull it up tight to rest against the base of his throat. He stretches his neck upwards as your hands come to fasten the tie in place. You smooth your hands on the edge of his jacket, straightening out any remaining wrinkles. Your head tilts upwards, smiling softly at him.
“There” you sigh contentedly, patting his cheek gently before pulling away.
Before you could fully remove yourself, his hand snakes down to your waist, pulling you up against his body. A small squeak slips out of you as his hands rigidly hold your waist.
“Simon–”
“Stop talking.”
Before you could even process his movements, he yanks his mask over his nose. Your breath catches in your lungs as your eyes trail the features of his lower face. His breath is hot on your face as he leans down, closer and closer.
“Can I kiss you?” he murmurs, eyelashes fluttering as he stares at your lips, noses bumping into each other. He’s only an inch or two away from your face, and you can see every lineament of his skin, his cheekbones, the tip of his pointed nose, his lips. He smells like sandalwood and vetiver, the scent peppery and strong.
You nod your head fervently, heart racing in your chest.
“Please.”
That’s all he had to hear you say.
Simon leans in, closing the minuscule gap between you two. He leans down to press a firm kiss on your lips, inhaling sharply at the contact, eliciting a soft sound from you. Your hands wrap around his neck, tugging him down to your height as his hands roam up and down your back. Simon draws your body against his, pulling you flush against him. He begins to nip your bottom lip, tongue swiping over your lip as if to ask permission. You let him take charge, his hand gliding up your body, your breath growing ragged.
He bites your lip, slowly pulling away as he breaks contact. You gulp in the cool air of the room, studying his face as he slowly pulls his mask down in place. Your ears are red, face flushed.
“You’re beautiful,” his voice comes out hoarse as he takes your hand in his. He rubs his thumb in circles around your palm, outlining your face.
“Thank you” you whisper, taking his hand into your own.
You gingerly pull him out of your room, and don’t let go of his hand for the rest of the night.