Thinking about Simon Riley who discovers that the lingering taste of you after eating you out helps him curb his smoking habit.
Typed it in one go sorry if there’s errors. ~18+ MDNI~
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“Simon, will you ever put those down?”
The half empty pack of cigarettes and roughed up lighter were held loosely in his gloved hands as he pulls one out. You watch him stop for half a second, but he doesn’t turn around to face you.
“No.” His words stay formal and curt, as always. Only after he lights the damn thing does he push off the wall and show you those beautiful brown eyes of his. The only glow in the night came from the light above the exit door and the embers from the cigarette Simon has between his lips. You can still see the small hint of a smirk in his eyes, though.
Your favorite sound was the orchestra of cricket song being carried by the light breeze through your hair. You remember the first night out here behind the dorm building on base, where Simon had been lingering with a smoke between his fingers. You said nothing of it as you quickly walked by him, but your nose stung with the sickly sweet and burnt scent of tobacco.
It wasn’t a concern until you had seen him with a cigarette more times than without one, and it made you vaguely aggravated by the lingering toxic cloud that seemed to follow him everywhere. He might choose to kill his lungs, but you didn’t. After months of being on base and occasionally contracted to work with him, you had enough.
You knew each other about as well as you knew any of the other 141 members. Name, rank, where they’re from, and the kind of humor they had- or rather, didn’t have. It seemed every joke you threw Simon’s way landed with a silent echo and a stare that could be felt down to your soul. Good thing you didn’t need to make him laugh to get your jobs done. The 141 still liked you well enough though.
“Why do you smoke, sir?”
“Why don’t you, Sergeant?” He retorts, evading the question in his usual smooth but frustrating way.
“They’re practically death sticks, and they reek something absolutely awful. It sticks to your clothes, and your hands, and your mouth, and I’m quite sure that you won’t ever get the smell out of that mask of yours, even if you quit now.”
He huffs the smallest breath and doesn’t say anything for a while. You feel unsure of what to do, questioning if perhaps the conversation is over, yet he still points those mysterious brown eyes your way, studying you.
“And how do you propose I quit these death sticks?” The cigarette is mostly burnt down, ashes flicked off into the grassy patch to your right, and the smoke trail stringing up from the red end grown thinner and thinner.
“Well- I… I think they say it helps to keep your hands or mouth occupied with something else, or maybe chew gum so the flavor distracts you enough?” The slow but clumsy response you give makes his eyes grow more narrow, though you’re unable to read much more about his expression.
“Alright, Sergeant, I’ll give it a try,” he, to your complete surprise, agreed. You weren’t able to say anything back, even if you had been able to think up a response, as his cigarette butt was suddenly thrown to the ground by your boot and his arm already swinging open the door to head inside. It was just you and the crickets left in the chilly spring air, confused yet a bit satisfied.
It was exactly 4 days later you found yourself leaned back on a crate of ammunition in the storage closet of the gun range, Simon’s head between your thighs and his fingers working inside you. With your head tilted back and one leg over his shoulder, the slick sounds of his tongue drinking you up was the heaven you always thought it would be. Not that you had really thought about it extensively, but, I mean, who wouldn’t picture the big bulge under his stiff cargo pants at least once. The guy is massive, he’s gotta be packing, right?
The answer is yes. You find that out very quickly. He doesn’t kiss you, his mask pulled back down once he had his fill of your juices, the shine of you covering his chin and cheeks and lips, which surely got onto the inside of his balaclava. He was rough but not forceful, a giant brute slamming into you over and over again as you try not to make any noise. It was quicker than you expected, your climax hitting you head on while Simon reaches for his.
He says absolutely nothing as you both pull your clothes back on- which were never really discarded, only pulled down and out of the way just enough to do the deed. The sound of your heavy, quick breaths, and his deep, loud groan as he readjusts himself in his pants are the only sounds before suddenly the door is open and you both go your separate ways.
You certainly think about that the rest of the day, however, Simon tastes it. And smells it, the dried remnants of you stuck to his mask. He doesn’t eat dinner so he can fall asleep with the thought of you on his tongue again. He doesn’t even want to smoke for the remainder of the evening. It would sour the beautiful taste in his mouth.
He finds you again. You were off base for a few days and his cravings for the cigarettes sitting in his desk grew near unbearable. He’s made it a week without smoking. But his new addiction is the sweet orgasm he pulls out of you so easily. The gentleman he is, he asks quite politely if he could start the day buried in you. The sex is nice, yeah, but what he really needs is to have his lips on your clit and his mask soaked with you.
“I can’t get enough of you, dove,” he mumbles into your core.
“Simon-“ you grab his arm as you tense and arch with the pleasure coursing through you for the third time this morning. He won’t stop any time soon. He just has to make sure your climax stays in his mouth until tomorrow. He won’t brush his teeth tonight, the filthy dog.
When he kisses you on the fifth morning of your near-daily ‘briefing’ you taste no tobacco. You don’t even smell it on him.
“Simon did you quit smoking?”
“Yes.”
“How did you stop?” He looks at you as he slows in his efforts to rid you of your uniform. You hold your breath as his fingers lightly graze your newly freed nipples. A shiver and a slight jolt run through you. You feel electrified under his gaze and he can see that.
“Your heavenly taste, love,” he says casually and quietly. “It helps the cravings.” His mouth finds yours again, and the wooden desk beneath you in the conference room feels cool against your back as he lays you down. The clock ticks away and his breath fans on your face as you grasp onto him, getting ready for the ride he’s about to take you on.
You aren’t sure what to say. You’re not really sure you want to say anything. He stopped smoking, and you get the pleasure of his tongue inside you. What more could you ask for?
#the odyssey
#art
#ao3
#star wars
