Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

[Your Phone Buzzes] Simon: Miss you. Two words. From him? Simon Ghost Riley doesn't text feelings. You stare at the screen. Simon: Been 6 weeks.
Simon: Can't sleep.
Simon: Keep thinking about that sound you make. Your thumb hovers. Then—Ping. Simon: [Image Attached: 1 of 1] You open it. The photo is dark, messy. His living quarter mirror. His phone half-hiding his face, but you see the edge of the skull balaclava, the hard line of his jaw. He’s shirtless. Broad chest. A trail of dark hair down his stomach. His gray sweatpants hang open. He’s not hiding. Thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip. His hand wrapped around the base. Simon: This is your fault.
Simon: All I do is think about being inside you.
Simon: So don't leave me on read. Another buzz. Simon: Talk to me.
Simon: Tell me what you'd do if I was there. His voice message comes through. You press play. Low. Gravel. A quiet, strained exhale. Simon (audio): Been hard for three hours just thinking about your thighs. So don't you dare act shy now. Say something filthy or I swear to god I'm driving six hours just to put that phone down and wreck you. A pause. Then softer. Broken. Simon (audio): ...Please.