It's The Quiet Ones... (Jack Mitchell x Reader - Call of Duty)

ii.

I don't know what I did. I don't know what's going on. All I know is that it's almost 1 AM and I wanna sleep.

Anyways, enjoy the Mitchell smut y'all.

* * * 

You were prepared for the onslaught as soon as you opened the door and, true to your predictions, that was exactly what happened.

His arms wrapped around your waist, possessively, and pulled you flush against him as his mouth devoured yours without mercy. He didn't give you a chance to part from him, a chance to escape, as you were backed against the wall, and his hands slid under the fabric your tank top— stroking the skin of your stomach and breasts.

Almost as if on instinct, you cupped his cheeks covered in a faint growth of stubble and then held onto his neck to bring him impossibly closer. Reciprocating the kiss with desperate desire, you sought his warm tongue and he conceded— a playful growl reverberating in his throat when your fingers tangled in his mane of dark hair and pulled.

Your encounters were always like this, intense, unexpected. He'd come to you without words and clothes would be gone, hot and damp skins brushing against one another in the darkness of your room. This was no exception and, as soon as he began to remove your undershirt, you knew that you wouldn't be getting much sleep.

Not that you minded, at any rate. It'd been a long time since you had a moment to enjoy a nightly escapade, that neither you nor him were letting this opportunity pass. Who knew when you'd have a chance to be with him again. Now that the KVA had moved into Detroit, things had gotten a little more hectic than usual and— with over two million of people to care for— ATLAS was on constant vigilance.

But tonight wasn't about them. It was about you and him, concealed in shadows, as you gave in to each other's desires and left the rest of the world outside.

His long fingers curled on the hem of your top, and he broke the kiss long enough to get rid of the cumbersome garment— leaving you only in a pair of tight denim shorts. The cool air of the bedroom had you shivering a little, and you snuggled closer to his broad chest in an attempt to find some much needed warmth.

"Are you cold, babe?" he mumbled huskily, stroking your forearms with feather-like touches. In response, your body quivered and though you knew all too well that coldness wasn't the only culprit of your reaction, you didn't want to admit it. Not yet.

Before you could even reply, one of his legs pushed between yours— making you gasp at the unexpected stimulation. The tightness of your shorts had the seams of your crotch rubbing right against your already swollen clit, and your underwear was quickly becoming drenched.

What a little shit he was.

You just nodded, grabbing a fistful of his gray shirt whilst trying to hold back an undignified moan. Trapped between his body and the wall, any movement— from you or him— only caused you to rub against his leg and you had no way to escape.

Not that you were in a hurry to do it, of course.

"Now we can't have that, can we?"

With a gentle push to your chin, he made you raise your gaze and peppered kisses all over your face. His hands traced a path from the curves of your waist to your heaving chest, thumbs circling around the shape of your erect nipples and gently pinching at them. The contrast between flesh and synthetic material wasn't only pleasantly familiar but arousing as well, and you were glad that he was more at ease with you when it came to his prosthetic arm.

Placing your hands on top of his, you urged him to keep touching you and he happily obliged, but you started to feel a little neglected on the kissing department. Trying to reach for his lips didn't yield any favorable results since you were short for him. It was even more frustrating when he pulled away to chuckle at your frustrated groan.