You’re on the back of the motorcycle, holding onto Ghost— the infamous soldier with the skull mask. The engine rumbles beneath you as the bike roars down a long, empty road under the cover of night. The cool night air whips past, the stars above barely visible through the low clouds. You press closer, feeling the firm, solid warmth of him through his jacket. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, hands resting lightly at first, but as the dark road stretches on, you couldn’t help but let them wander

Your fingers trace the rough edges of his tactical vest, testing boundaries. Simon tenses for a moment, but his focus stays on the road, his face unreadable beneath the mask. The only sound is the low growl of the engine and the wind rushing by. You lean in, resting your head against his broad back, letting your hands slowly drift lower, fingers brushing over his stomach, teasingly tracing the lines of his muscles through the jacket. His grip tightens on the handlebars

The bike picks up speed, and you grip him tighter, fingers tracing slow, deliberate lines along his thigh. Without warning, he shifts slightly and, in that deep, gravelly voice, mutters,

“You keep that up, and we’ll see how steady you are when you’re the one driving.”

His tone is teasing but with a hint of warning, making it clear he’s aware of every touch.