If there was one thing you never went without, it was Simon’s dog tags. You kept them on you at all times—at the store, under your hoodie; over your dress, even if they don’t technically go together; dangling between your breasts, or wrapped in your hands as you sleep naked.
It hadn’t gone unnoticed by you, that Simon appeared to be physically affected by your wearing them. You liked to watch his eyes dip low, then flick back up to yours, watch his head tip when he heard them jingle, watch him clench his hand to keep from reaching out and touching them. Whenever you’d walk around nude, wearing only his tags, you grin to yourself whenever you saw the bulge in his pants, or under the sheets, even if you’d just gone a round.
It’s also not uncommon for him to come back from a mission insanely keyed up by adrenaline. Before you, he said he’d go lift weights after every mission, no matter what time it was, just to get his body to calm down. After you, though, he came home ready to go.
Just like tonight, in the shower, with your head thrown back just out of the stream of water, your cries carrying over the glass with the steam. Simon’s positioned himself between your legs, face buried in your pussy while his tongue laps at your clit. The only thing holding you up is his face, and the hands half on your thighs, half cupping your ass, spreading you apart for him.
You can’t help the way your hips grind against his mouth, riding his face, hands balled tightly in his hair. You’re balancing between the tip toes of each foot, glancing down to meet his honey-warm eyes.
“Simon, please,” You breathe, thighs shaking uncontrollably, “you’ve gotten me to come twice now.”
He hums, and you yelp at the feel of it against your clit, “You can give me more than that, love.”
Your back arches at the sound of his voice, making his dog tags clink together between your breasts. His eyes lock onto them, and you can see them darken as his tongue slows to a heavy, unrelenting circle over your already swollen clit. You whimper, pulling his hair tighter, as he reaches up to roughly fondle your tit, making the tags jingle even more.
“Mm, fuck.” He says low, voice hoarse, “My name looks good between your tits.”
Arousal hits you again, your thighs clenching, “Simon—” You gasp, eyes squeezed shut.
“Sounds good when you’re practically coming on it, too.” He drags his tongue again, the hand not rolling a nipple between its fingers dipping one into your dripping hole.
“Oh my god, Si.” Your hips grind hard against his face, “Gonna come again.”
“Ah, ah.” He tuts, pulling out his finger and ducking out from between your legs, “Thought you didn’t want to come again.”
“Simon!” You groan, watching him rise to his feet with a smirk, wiping his face on the back of his hand, “I was right there.”
He crowds you up against the wall, “Come on, dove, what kind of man do you take me for?”
Before you can even think to respond, he’s kneeing your thighs apart, leaning back and down to level his cock at your pussy. His fingers twist his tags around themselves with one hand, pulling you forward while the other helps stuff himself up into your hole.
You gasp as he slides in deep, clinging to his shoulders as his thrusts go rough right off the bat. Almost immediately, you’re coming on his cock, crying up to the ceiling as he fucks you through it. His eyes watch every face you make, every look he’s able to draw out of you with his cock. He tells you how pretty you look for him, whimpering for his cock, how lovely your tits are, bouncing while he takes you.
Sex with Simon is always intense like this after missions, but it’s not always this way. Sometimes it’s incredibly intimate, overwhelming in an emotional way. When he’d fuck you nice and slow, the head of his cock catching on that one spot inside you that drove you nearly mad when he found it.
His lips crush to yours, snapping you out of your little reverie. He groans into your mouth, teeth biting gently at your lips as he thrusts you into the wall. When he pulls away, he keeps hold of your gaze, lips quirking as your feet slip against his ass, your legs trying to keep their grip around his waist.
“Open up.” He says, and you let your jaw fall open as he commands. He stuffs his tags into your mouth, closing it for you, not hard but not gently, and holding it closed with his hand.
He groans when you don’t protest, his cock throbbing as it drags inside you, stretching you open and filling you until your mind was numb to anything but him.
“Taste good?” He asks, knowing damn well they didn’t.
You nod anyway, tears springing to your eyes because the man was hitting you just right, and he knew it if the sudden slow roll of his hips had anything to say about it. You moan against his hand, staring into his fuzzy eyes as he rests his mouth against the back of his hand.
“Drives me fucking crazy, you wearing those.” He breathes, voice strained, quivering the way it does when he’s close, “Every fucking day.”
You moan softly, pussy clenching around his girth.
“But I fucking love it.” He all but growls it, and then slams into you, pounding up into your pussy for a few more harsh thrusts until he stills, panting and grunting into the crook of your neck. You can feel the pulse of his cock as he comes inside you, twitching and jerking with every moan.
Later, when he’s cleaned you up and made sure you’re properly taken care of, you’re held in his arms while his thumbs run over the tags.
“Does it annoy you that I wear them so often?” You ask, tipping your head back to look up at his wide eyes, “I can stop if you want.”
“Now what would go and make you think I wouldn’t want you to wear ‘em?” He kisses the top of your head, “Thought me coming at the sight of you with them on was enough.”
“Just making sure.” You smile at him when he pulls back.
So, you greet him at the door when he comes back from his next mission, wearing his dog tags and only his dog tags.
He doesn’t even get his vest off.
✨⋆｡°✩₊💜₊✩°｡⋆💀⋆｡°✩₊💜₊✩°｡⋆✨
