Any Advice For Someone With A Strong Gag Reflex? I Want Them To Enjoy It But No One Enjoys Getting Their

original pic:

It's been seven months since she's stopped holding his hand all the time and started walking four little steps ahead. Simon grapples with his daughter's newfound independence.

She is his measure of time.

Simon makes sure to count every inch his daughter grows. How much bigger and looser it feels every time she holds his hand while they walk down the block to see what the new weekly special is at the ice cream parlor. His little bug’s favorite flavor changes every time they go – it was Lemonberry Crunch last week, now it’s一

“A scoop of the… Maple… Buttercream Delight.” 

“Two.” she corrects him, tugging on his hand. Her eyes sparkle at him, and a soft quiver hits her lips. She got that look from you. Simon doesn’t approve of it, not at all. It weakens him and makes it harder to deny you both anything, but he pushes through today with a pat on her beanie-covered head. He’s been meaning to buy her a new one after she pulled the pom-pom off.

“No, sweetheart. Jus’ one, yeah? Two’ll make your tummy upset.”

The sulking, woeful look shrouds her face in an instant. It’s fatal. Her little hand drops from his jacket to her side, and he’d buy out all the tubs of ice cream for her if he could. 

“Sorry, bug. Jus’ don’t want you gettin’ sick ‘cause o’ me anymore.” he apologizes, nodding and mouthing ‘one’ to the girl on the other side of the counter to confirm. She smiles and fills the stubby paper cup up with one scoop, and his daughter sighs and longingly looks up at it as they weigh it, tiny fingers twiddling at the edge of her puffer. 

“It’ll be three-oh-four, sir.”

He opens his wallet (the one his little girl made for him herself with zebra-print duct tape and neon-colored construction paper – incredible what kids can do) and pulls a tenner out. Before he can hand it to the young lady, his hand knocks on his thigh, smacking with urgency. 

“I wanna give it, Daddy!” she says, buoyant on the tips of her toes, hopping up and down.

“Y’do, do ya?” 

“Yes! Please!” She’s already being given the tenner, a wide smile on her face as she clumsily pushes the note into the woman’s hand. “Here y’go!”

He can’t help but chuckle a bit, thanking them before telling them to keep the change. Asks for a single pence back before they leave just because his little one’s been obsessed with collecting one from everywhere they go – she likes to tape them inside a notebook and label their source. Simon takes the ice cream and drops the coin into her waiting hands. She pockets it with a toothy grin, cheering and skipping over to their usual booth by the window.

It's been seven months since she's stopped holding his hand all the time and started walking four little steps ahead.

Simon grapples with his daughter's newfound independence.

It’s a funny thing to mull over in the middle of an ice cream shop, yet so easy to do when he watches her act so brazen with him, waving him over like he’s a servant who’s fallen behind. Not much of a difference anyway, is there?

They settle down in the chairs, and she digs into the creamy dessert. 

“Oh, this is excellent.” she sighs, nodding. He’s raised an ice cream critic. Terrible influence, he is. “Five hundred stars.”

A smile tugs on his lips again, and he folds a napkin to wipe off the ice cream she unintentionally smears on the corners of her lips, leaning over the table一

She stops him and grabs the napkin. Tiny hand with a determined grip. “I can do it, Daddy.”

The words dig at his heart. He almost frowns, but lets go of the napkin for her.

“Alright, bug.”

It gets harder every time, facing the inevitable interruption of a constant in his life. He loves to see it though. Loves to watch her grow into her own person. She picks out her own clothes一has been for a while now. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t dare to. He thinks the lion on her shirt pairs nicely with the blue camo pants anyway, topped off with the purple puffer she picked out last month, and yellow, squeaky rain boots. 

The rain is picking up, and he wonders if you’re still sleeping in. Should be, he hopes. You need the rest.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, love.” he hums.  

“Do you want some?” 

“No, sweetheart.” he chuckles. “M’alright, thank you.”

She eats until two more spoonfuls are left, not bothering to hide the unpleasant expression on her face from a full belly. Simon finishes it for her before they leave to walk it off, and again, she’s prancing ahead.

Her feet land her in every puddle she can find, her voice says a seraphic ‘hello’ to everything they pass (even the lonesome squirrel she spots at the park and the jogger with headphones in), and she’s dancing in the rain like a little drunken man with no worries or doubts in the world.

“C’mon, bug, up,” He lifts her up, sitting her on his forearm and pulling her hood over her head. “Gotta ge’ ‘ome before it starts stormin’.”

She lays her padded head on his shoulder, and he pats her back. She’s stopped gluing her hand to her father’s everyday, but she still burrows into his chest like a kitten. It’s the safest place she knows.

“Can we all huggle when we’re ‘ome, Daddy?” 

“Y’wan’ a huggle, love?”

“Yes, with Mum an’ Chunky. When it rains, it’s the… the best time for a huggle.” Chunky, her beloved toy gorilla. Simon recalls catching her bathing the poor thing in the soapy water-filled sink. It took him half a day to figure out how to properly dry the toy without permanently damaging his daughter’s cherished friend.

He presses a kiss on her dampened, plump cheek.

“‘Course, sweetheart. All four o’ us.”

Concept: John Price has a lovely little wife at home, that he shares with his boys when the going gets tough…

John Price x Simon Ghost Riley x Mrs Price (You)

Shameless smut. Threesome. Squirting. Bit of Price x Riley action. Little bit angsty (blame Simon)

Masterlist

Simon is a special case. You and John don’t acknowledge that, but it’s true all the same. It started when John asked one year if Simon could come for Christmas. You’d agreed, faintly irritated that your peaceful noel with your often absent husband was going to be interrupted.

Then the man had skulked into your bright, festive home, riddled with silent self loathing well concealed under a veneer of indifference, and you’d forgotten about being angry.

Simon adored your soft coddling, the endless rounds of tea you made him and the small tasks he carried out that made you beam up at his thawing onyx eyes. It didn’t take long for him to start trailing around the house after you while John read the paper, then to sit as close to you as possible during firelight warmed nights watching the old sitcom reruns they play over the Christmas period.

From what little John had told you, Simon had a rough upbringing. He’s important to John, as all his boys are. But with Simon there’s a layer of understanding between the two men that runs deep.

If anything happens to John abroad, it’s Simon that’s written into his will to stand beside you through the agony of it. Simon who has access to John’s offshore accounts so they can’t be traced back to you in the event it all goes south. In essence, Simon’s so thoroughly invested that at times he feels like he took the same vows to you John did, no wedding band upon his finger needed.

Simon was the first person you both let into your marital bed. More than that though he became a part of your marriage, the silent third in the relationship, never asking anything of either you or John, but gratefully included all the same. It’s not official, Simon visits sporadically like an alleycat with several homes that feed it.

But you enjoy the intimacy and so does John. It isn’t unusual for him to visit without your husband at his shoulder, and John is always quietly thrilled when he comes home to Simon’s boots neatly resting next to your smaller shoes on the rack. You invite him for Christmas every year, and Simon always comes home with John a few days beforehand to maximise the time you all have together.

No one else on base has a clue, and though Simon would never admit it, he loves you both entirely. His loyalty to John is unwavering, a steadfast commitment made years ago in the wreckage of his old life, the one that came before Ghost or skulls reeking of gunpowder.

The adoration of you came unexpectedly, from a place of intense jealousy that John had love in someone else and the home comforts he had always failed to find. At first Simon resented John’s insistence that he should meet you, stay in your shared house filled to the brim with simple domesticity.

But after that first taste, Simon knew he’d found a place for himself, lying between you both in the long hours of the night, his head on your chest and John’s broad hand at the nape of his neck.

Perhaps that’s why he takes it so very personally when he feels a spare part. A cuckoo finally recognised and flung from the nest. Jealousy has no place in this arrangement, Simon acknowledges that, though he still feels it regardless of whether he’s allowed to or not.

“Come on, out with it then.”

“What?”

“You’ve been in a foul mood lately. At least do me tha’ curtesy of tellin me why.”

“Not in a mood, dunno watcha mean.”

“Simon.” Price leans back in his creaking desk chair, arms resolutely folded and leaving no room for argument. “You knocked a blokes teeth out for lookin at ya the wrong way last week.”

“He fuckin had it comin.” Replies Simon darkly, scowling so his eyeblack creases around the bottomless darkness of his eyes. John raises a brow, cerulean gaze meeting a suddenly contrite mahogany one ringed by ash coloured lashes. “And I said I was sorry for tha’.”

“Know somethin’s wrong, even if you won’t spit it out.” John pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s getting a headache.

Simon scoffs, rocking back on his heels. There’s a pause where he seriously considers being honest with his Captain, but that entails emotional vulnerability which Simon abhors. It’s a stranger to him, something that doesn’t feel safe unless he’s at home with the people he cares about, balaclava off and softness allowed to seep into his chest.

“Can I go? Said I’d spar with Johnny before I finish up that paperwork.”

“By all means.” John gestures sweepingly to the door with unnecessary flamboyance, still looking searchingly at the man towering opposite him, the embodiment of death dressed from head to toe in black.

Before he can stop himself, Simon lets something slip that suddenly throws his viciously sharp mood into high relief.

“Tha’s if he’s not fuckin playin with that scrap of fabric your missus calls knickers again.”

It’s spoken under Simon’s breath, mulish and uncharacteristically bitter. While Simon is prone to fits of quiet displeasure, it’s rare for him to snap his maw at John, rare enough that the older man takes notice immediately.

“Green isn’t a good colour on you Simon. Stick to black.”

Simon slams the door a little harder than intended, dragging his heels while he curses internally. That was petty, he knows it was.

It isn’t like he minds Johnny having his way with you, hell, it isn’t like you belong to Simon either. But he can’t help the elements of possessiveness in his nature, they are inbuilt and unavoidable. You and John are his little family, the three of you coexisting in perfect harmony while Simon eats up anything you cook and nods off to sleep against John’s shoulder on the sofa.

Actually it’s anxiety that’s currently eating away at him, though Simon isn’t prepared to acknowledge it yet. Johnny is far more easy going, a sunnier personality, better company than Simon could ever be. The Scot is fun to talk to, Simon knows first hand how disarmingly enjoyable it is spending time with him.

People laugh easily with Johnny, whereas Simon carries a potent aura of sullenness, black orbs full of heavy energy and mistrust of most social interactions.

At it’s root Simon wonders whether you might prefer Johnny in your bed, or if Price might find it more uplifting to have him at his side when tackling DIY projects around the house and garden. Simon loves Johnny too, but also envies him slightly, bold and brave, a heart worn on his sleeve rather than one guarded close to his chest. Instead of talking about his fears, Simon hides in them.

Back in his office, John presses his mobile to his ear, waiting for the dial tone to connect him with your soft voice. It still gives him a surge of adrenaline when he hears you speak, the same as it did when you both met.

Giddy and grinning from ear to ear, John tells you a soft hullo down the phone every time he calls. It makes you laugh, a little routine built on a fundamental adoration and understanding of each other.

“Hiya darlin, you having a good day?”

The light of his life and Simon’s too by all accounts, John listens to you talk, any irritation at Simon’s temper tantrum soothed.

“Listen, Simon’s ‘avin a bit of a wobble, think we might need to give him some TLC this weekend love.”

“Have you upset him Jonathan? What have you done?!”

Your voice is teasing, with the barest edge of a telling off hidden in the crackle down the line. You know them both so well, one a husband in name and both a husbands in your mind. John is sure you’ll have a remedy for it, bash their heads together until your shared coupling is balanced again.

“It is my fault actually, sometimes I don’t appreciate Simon like I should. Don’t appreciate how sensitive he is underneath.” John sighs heavily. You read between the lines, sensing the issue at hand.

“You better both come home to me then.”

Simon deliberately works late that night, burning the midnight oil, eyes strained as he completes reams of tedious paperwork, dotting his signature out with the pen clutched tight in his fist. By the time he makes it back to your house, John’s car has a thin sheet of ice covering the windshield and only a few glowing lamps have been kept on in the sitting room.

It looks so warm and soft inside, amber coloured windows and a short stream of steam flowing out into the chill where the heating has been put on. Simon almost aches with it, until he remembers he’s supposed to be in a bad mood, giving himself a shake and mulishly slotting his key into the lock.

“Dinners in the microwave Si.” You call out as he steps over the threshold. No fanfare, no drama from his spat with John earlier. He slumps into the kitchen and starts heating the plate you set aside for him. He hears you enter behind him, two arms wrapping tight around his middle as you burrow into the back of his hoodie.

“Hi.” Voice muffled, you rub your face against the muscles woven beneath the fabric.

“Hi.” He replies wearily, covering your linked hands on his stomach with his big, calloused paws. “Where’s the Cap?”

“Out for a run, s’just you and me for a bit.”

Simon frowns, you tug off his balaclava ready for the washing machine tomorrow morning, smoothing his ruffled blonde strands and pressing a hand to his forehead.

He sighs, leaning into it, the warmth of your palm, the smell of a tea you’ve spent all day cooking up for him and John. Perceptive as ever you sit with him while he eats, letting him play with your fingers, then you make him a cuppa and a slice of cake for pudding.

The silence between you is golden, every now and then you rub his knuckles, smile in that mellow way that quietly reassures him.

“Will you be here on Sunday? I’m doing a roast.”

For a split second, Simon considers being bluntly honest, asking you to tell him if his company is truly wanted around the table, if the happy way you phrase that question comes from a place of love that mirrors how he feels. A lump rises and gets caught in his throat. Greedy, he’s always been the same. Resource guarding as a stray does over a full dinner bowl.

He swallows the emotion barely, it catches, chokes on the way down his throat.

“Sounds good.”

“It will be good!” You pet his head while the plates are cleared. If you notice the way his jaw is clenched, dark eyes burning over bright with something akin to devotion, you don’t mention it.

Full and placid, Simon rests with his head on your lap in front of the TV. You’re no fool, aware that Simon finds it impossible to be moody when he’s eaten a good meal and that your husband is always relaxed and mellow when he’s worked up a sweat pounding the roads around your house.

That’s why you all work so well together, you are the equilibrium keeping both stern personalities combined and harmonious.

Gently, you tug Simon into a sitting position, reclining and stretching your legs out so he can settle beside you. Chest to his back, the drone of some innocuous sitcom blurring in the atmosphere, he sinks into the embrace, lets you wrap around him. Warm and fuzzy, a hand sneaks underneath the hem of his T-shirt, fingers teasing the rough hair on his lower belly.

But he catches them before you can hook one beneath his waistband, holds them firm and links his digits against your own.

“What do you need Si?” You ask him quietly.

He doesn’t know how to say it, what to verbalise when the only thought in his mind revolves around vanquishing the turgid anxiety forming within his chest. Simon wants you to touch him like you cherish his very marrow, make believe he’s truly accepted in this space he occupies made originally for two but now squeezed for three.

“Dunno.” He grunts roughly, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth when your lips nuzzle into the soft skin of his neck.

The kisses you press beneath the cropped hair on his nape make him breathless. John’s shadow hangs heavily over the spectacle of you both spooning on the sofa, almost as if Simon needs the older man’s permission.

Instantly regret floods him for his earlier outburst. John’s been nothing but generous, welcomed Simon into his team and then his home, while the jaws he fed snapped ravenously for more.

John and you are the only people who have ever seen his soft underbelly, the sole humans he’s rolled submissively over for and offered that bitter, black heart to.

You hum in response to him, and he thinks there and then he might break with it. Your nose nuzzling his flesh softly while a few kisses linger there.

“I put clean sheets on the bed.”

A short pause follows that, he waits, listening intently.

“I’m gonna have a shower…then I want to cuddle up with you in them.”

Simon shifts a little.

“That okay?”

“Had a row with John today.” Simon speaks quietly, shame drenching each syllable. “Overstepped myself.”

He takes a short breath, the tension across the big shoulders you’re resting your chin on could be cut with a blunt knife.

“Don’t reckon he’ll be up for tha’ tonight.”

“If that’s what you think…why are you here?”

He has to consider that for a second. In truth he’s in your house because it feels like his too. The place Simon can be himself for brief periods until the longing for permanence becomes too much.

“Because…”

“Because it’s where you want to be, where you should be and you know that.” You finish the words for him, giving Simon an out from saying the things too difficult to give a voice to. “We want you here too.”

Sliding off the couch, you get to your feet.

“Come on.” One smaller hand beckons to him.

Hours later, he’s dozing. Your head curled within the crook of his arm when he hears John’s key turn in the latch. Simon listens intently, the sound of heavy, grumbling movements on the stairs, the bathroom door shutting with a snap.

After a few moments the shower starts running and it’s then he makes his decision. Placing you carefully on the pillow, fast asleep, Simon makes his way slowly to the source of rushing water, moving silently as a panther would through tall grasses.

He doesn’t knock, there’s no need to. Simon has no intention of ruining the moment with announcements. John’s broad back is to him, the steam curling over the sun damaged and freckled muscles lining it, his dark hair drenched in the moisture. His head turns very slightly, the only indication he knows someone is in there with him.

It takes Simon less than a heartbeat to shed his clothes, to climb in behind John. In the same way you did, he moulds himself to fit, forcing his big body close. His forehead rubs lightly against the beads of water caught on John’s flesh, backwards and forwards. Repetitive, self soothing.

“M’sorry.” He mumbles and John knows that doesn’t come lightly. “Was out of order weren’t I.”

John doesn’t immediately reply. Simon stands there, feeling more unwanted by the minute, wondering if he should disappear entirely from both of your lives. That would hurt, but he’s lived through worse. Hasn’t he?

Before the spiral completes itself, John has turned, grabbed him by the back of his neck and dragged his mouth forwards. The kiss that follows is layered with unspoken things, quiet and silent emotions only two men like Simon and John could understand.

The stubble of John’s beard scratches, firm hands cradling him in a way that leaves no room for doubt in his head. His tongue pushes, probes the line of Simon’s lips as a grunt leaves him at the response he receives.

“Listen to me.” Nose to nose they stand, azure pupils boring into the darkness fighting within Simon’s own eyes. “Ain’t nothin to apologise for. The missus likes the boys, but they ain’t the ones she wants to wake up with every mornin. You and I are.”

Simon chokes, held together purely by the force of that statement and John’s presence alone.

When they kiss again, it’s softer, far more content and comfortable. They linger there for awhile, surrounded by artificial rain, lost in it’s rhythmic pattern.

You wake groggy, the lights off, only the low blur of the alarm clock on the sideboard. Your sleep addled brain takes time to compute that you’re surrounded by two hulking forms. John lies on one side, Simon curled on the other.

Quietly you stroke the curve of John’s face, letting the pads of your digits brush against the strong jawline under his beard. He opens an eye, resting it lovingly on you. When you smile he does too.

Simon stirs, one of his hands looking for yours, but when he locates it you only get a brief squeeze, before it moves upwards to sneak beneath your pyjama top. His callouses catch on the budded skin of your nipple, while it rises to a peak at his touch.

The resolution soars and falls with each beat of your heart, a steady pulse that becomes clearer.

Slowly, you reach for John, moving his palm to twine against Simon’s on your breast. They both rest there, the three of you sighing in sync. Then John shares a look over your shoulder, one you can’t see returned. But you feel Simon move.

You’re rolled into him, face pressed against his chest and tugged to straddle his body, while John adjusts too. John runs one finger along the curve of your form spread over his lieutenant, it ignites, makes warmth spread from your crown down to your toes.

Simon moves your face to his, several long and slightly urgent kisses pressed against your lips. Then he makes a low sound in the back of his throat, hoarse and bitten off. The rustle of fabric behind you, but he won’t let you turn, grasping your chin harshly and nipping at your mouth when you try and move.

Without vision, your imagination starts to flourish, blooms fantasies that make your pussy clench. Fuelled entirely by desire, Simon refuses to allow you an inch of room, as John’s rough hands make short work of your panties, ripping them clean in two.

A small noise leaves your throat when the coarse hair of John’s beard brushes the soft skin of your thighs. Simon places one heavy palm against your lower back, forcing you to arch, putting you on display for your husband.

The air is cold, legs moved further apart so you’re entirely exposed.

“Fuckin gorgeous.”

That’s the only warning you get before John’s tongue lathes against the exposed seam of your cunt.

You jerk, twitching as Simon keeps you rooted in your position, John taking his time, painting gentle motions backwards and forwards. He catches your clit and you keen, try and wriggle to escape the intensity until Simon knots his fingers against your scalp.

The blunt head of John’s cock nudges at you, spreads the layer of arousal his roused alongside his spit until he’s soaked. Your teeth nip into the meat of Simon’s pec, his hand still caging you there, deliciously restrained.

The first thrust of John into you sends a simultaneous grunt from both men. You’re jolted harder into Simon, strands pulled taut and painful, his other fingers reaching between you both to tease the apex of your pussy until you hiss.

John holds your hips, surging inside your cunt red hot until the fierceness of taking him blends into a fever. There’s nowhere to run between them, John’s thick cock stretching you tight, Simon bullying your clit, not gifting you an inch of reprieve. Shuddering, you can feel the crest of a burning orgasm hovering.

Simon spits on his fingers, increasing the pace of his movements against your nerves until you shudder, whimpering with overstimulation that borders on intoxication because your brain might well melt out of your ears.

The pull on your hair sends the muscles of your neck recoiling, leaves your throat open for more kisses. Simon layers them there meanly, swipes his tongue along the column of your windpipe and leaves you gasping. Unable to utter a word, only breathy slugs of air are sucked inwards, the soft slick of flesh meeting flesh filling the room obscenely.

It hits, crashing over you until your toes curl, pussy filled to the brim and fluttering around John as it’s his turn to groan. Warmth flows over, his spend seeping out onto the covers.

There’s no time to collapse, even catch your breath. The small movement Simon allows is only used to angle your pelvis, seat himself inside your aching cunt to the hilt. The lubrication of John’s cum helps, Simon is bigger, almost as thick at his base.

For a moment, Simon’s fingers cup your cheek, caressing feather light in a way that hints at unrestrained adoration, pieces of hair tucked off your face. He’s so hard it’s almost impossible, you can feel him in your throat and you sob with it. Simon shushes you gently, John kissing the small of your back lightly as he moves around the bed.

Simon rocks up into you, trying to ease the pressure and you cling to him. John settles next to you, pulls you upwards so you’re tilted snuggly, drags your mouth to his. It helps, the safety of his body, emboldened you start to move.

Simon’s hands at your waist, John pressed close and grounding you. It’s right where you should be. Each gyration nudges your clit teasingly and Simon huffs at the sensation of you taking him deeper.

“M’close.” He murmurs. “Fuck! I’m so close!”

“Not until she cums.” Growls John and Simon nods urgently in response.

When you start to quiver, John takes you by the throat, adds just enough pressure to make you gulp, to remind you of his raw authority. It makes your head swim, eyes searching for his, because the sight of that grim determination in his face will make you burst over the banks of another climax.

Simon powers into you from below, his grip now harsh, struggling to keep himself from following. He’s rewarded when you cry out, a thin stream of arousal drenching his balls until his cock swells with need. Simon moans hoarsely, drags you to grind harder against him until you shake.

Finally, with a nod from John, Simon spills deep, tears beading at the corners of both onyx eyes with the pleasure of it. Combined they coddle you, Simon whispering moans and aching thoughts. John’s presence steadies you both, pieces you back together brick by brick.

The sight of your husband putting Simon on his knees, sinking inside him with relish while Si drags your cunt to his mouth by one ankle, isn’t one you’ll forget.

You add it to the catalog of cherished memories you’re keeping. The way Simon eats you out, tastes the remnants of himself and his Captain their with relish speaks of deep feeling. Even if he won’t vocalise that.

Simon keeps the panties you wore that night. But never lets Johnny catch a hint of them.

Kinktober Day 22

Moniker: Keegan Risk Level: Low. Keegan has never been detained and is visiting freely. Brief: Femdom, pegging Safeword: Refer to first brief.

Ghost and Keegan requested this for you. You’re in full control this time around - Price

“Do not let him top from the bottom” Farah ordered as she tightened the harness around your hips.

The bite of it combined with the weight of the cock fitted to it was making you feel a heady rush of something. Arrogance maybe, because you found you wanted to top. You felt like you could put Keegan right in his place with this on you.

“Don’t assume this” Ghost said, grabbing the cock and tugging which had your hips following, “will get him to play nice. You need to be mean with Keegan if you want to break him into a slut. It’s a fight with him, you ease up and you’ll be on your back.”

“Ridden hard and put away wet darlin’” Alex added with a chuckle.

Some of the arrogance faded away given it felt sort of silly to be getting a pep talk off of three people to fuck one right in the hallway outside of the play room. You felt your hands moving to cover the frankly too big cock jutting from your pelvis and dug your nails into your palms to stop them when Nova walked past and smirked. It was pretty big and it honestly seemed a bit misshapen, a weird bump on it.

Did they have to do this in the damn hallway? You’d went from feeling like some masculine God ready to rock the world of anyone with a willing hole to feeling like you were about to get eaten alive for trying assert any sort of dominance what so ever.

“He is only teasing habibi, you will do wonderfully” Farah said, noticing how your puffed out chest had collapsed inward with your confidence.

“Hey” Ghost said, his thumb and fingers gripping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. “You go in there all timid and don’t give him a fight and I’m going to come in and leather that cunt of yours with a paddle, you understand me princess?”

Somehow you suspected that Ghost would not make it an erotic experience. Weirdly it did give you a boost to hear him growl at you like that because you wondered if he had ever held Keegan down and had his way. Given how firm he was in his insistence you do the same you suspected yes. Was this something Keegan wanted or something he needed to keep him in line?

You were here to give them what they needed after all.

“I understand sir.”

You walked in and the door snicked closed behind you. It was all very sensual, low light and a plush bed covered in velvety red blankets.

“Aww you’ve lost me money kitten, I bet you’d puss out” Keegan said, your head whipping around to find him lounged in an armchair in the corner.

Jesus, he was dressed up for you and it wasn’t stopping him from reclining back, one leg thrown over the arm rest to fully display himself. You’d never seen a man in a corset, but he was bound tightly in a gorgeous scarlet one. It didn’t quite cover his pecs, his nipples peeking over the top. The one other thing he wore were pretty thigh high sheer stockings.

It was such a strange sensation it caused in you, your brain trying to use those little shortcuts about gender without your permission and misfiring. He wasn’t any less masculine and something about those things on him had your pussy wet and excited.

There was a matte black sort of puck between his legs… a plug. He was fucking plugged. How could anyone be tarted up, have a plug in their ass to prep them for getting railed and yet still look like the smuggest person on the planet?

You lifted your t-shirt to show the still red healing slashes on your ribs and raised an eyebrow. Puss out? Of fucking him? You’d taken a glorified fucking torture session and only stopped at getting permanently branded, you were hardly about to refuse pounding some bloody respect into him.

“Careful, you show off marks that I didn’t put there and I might get jealous” he said.

There was a genuine growl of jealousy underneath the words that was both surprising and delighting. It felt good to inspire that ugly feeling in someone. But it was also the threat of him taking control which bristled.

“On the bed Keegan. I’m not the one getting marked up today” you said, dropping your shirt to cover the marks again.

“What was it you said? Make me.”

This fucking asshole. Here you were nervous and unsure and all he could do was rile you up. You’d make him alright. You marched forward and hiked up your right foot to rest it firmly on his cock. His nostrils flared and his eyes widened in some sort of dark delight.

“I said on the fucking bed” you said, pressing your foot right into his balls for emphasis.

He sucked a breath through his teeth in pain but laughed.

“How do you want me kitten? On my back with my legs spread?”

You cocked your head at him.

“Hm. Feet on the floor, bent over the bed. It’d be a shame to not get a nice view of the lacing on that pretty corset.”

You removed your foot and stood tall as he got up. Oh you liked the way the corset kept his posture straight, how he had to float up out of the chair like some trained lady. You liked how there was the whisper of the silky material of the stockings rubbing against one another as he walked and his thick thighs rubbed. You liked when he bent over the bed and his cock jumped from the movement of the plug inside him, unable to keep up the same unbothered mask the rest of him could.

“Oh baby, you’re all wound up aren’t you?” you cooed, “who put that plug in hm? Did they tease you terribly?”

“Or maybe I put it there myself. Wanted to make sure you could even find the hole for your bit of plastic kitten, I know you’re not very practiced.”

You snorted a laugh and his eyes were full of mirth looking coyly over his shoulder at you stood behind him. It was sort of fun being on this end of things, having the end goal be that you’d dominate him rather than like before when he was spanking you. Then it was always an eventuality that you’d float off into submission. You were starting to fizz with excitement about what it would be like to be the one putting someone else there.

“Well then, better get a lot of practice in. I’m sure your ass can handle it baby” you teased, pressing that plug a little and delighting in how it made his body ripple with tension. “Bet you’ll be silky and tight on my cock.”

“Bet you’ll barely last” he snapped back.

Oh, is that how you sounded when you clearly wanted to goad someone into fucking you? It was so… cute. So evidently snark coming from neediness. Whoever had worked him over for you had done a very good job of having him on edge and desperate that it wasn’t going to be impossible to get him to break on your cock and beg.

“That would be your fault, how could anyone last when you look so gorgeous laced up and cock hungry.”

And he did look gorgeous. The lacing up his back with exquisite, someone had taken time to do this properly. You ran your fingers down the boning on the side, smiling when he wriggled his ass because you were sure he hadn’t realised he was doing it.

Outwith this play room where you knew so definitively that you were safe you’d have worried about doing this, worried that there were safely concerns about pounding into his stomach when he was corseted. But you knew you didn’t need to worry about it because even if it was only the two of you in this room, there were eyes watching and keeping you both safe.

He groaned low when you played with the plug, pumped it to it’s widest point and back in to his ass a few times before pulling it out and admiring the little flood of lube that came with it. His hole flexed, not quite closing.

You knew his prostate would be sensitive and you tried to remember how Farah had been with you when she had explored with her fingers to find where you were most responsive.

The plug was tossed on the bed next to his head and it landed with a muffled thump. No need to start with just one finger when he had been well stretched, two sank in with no resistance, only the silky heat of his walls sucking your digits.

“Fuck Keegan, so wet and needy.”

“Fuck kitten, so slow and scared” he snarked back.

“Don’t be such a brat” you said, lightly smacking his ass and feeling your cunt throb with the sharp sound of it. “I’ll give you hard and fast when I’m good and ready.”

“Fuck!”

Ah ha. Found it. You pressed your fingers hard into the flimsy barrier to his prostate and his legs shook. Now you knew why Farah had been so determined to know exactly what angle to use, because having his body react like that was heady.

“Shh there we go, good boy” you said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his back just above the corset.

The boning and lacing was keeping his spine straight, keeping him from arching the way you knew he wanted to. Part of you wondered how it must feel. Maybe you’d let him lace you up one day. If he was good of course.

“Come on! Just fuck me already” he barked, still not giving in but definitely nearing the edge.

Honestly you sort of knew he was helping you here. From immediately getting you riled up when you walked in to get you out of your head to giving you cues like this to subdue him, Keegan was guiding you beautifully on how to dominate him. You obviously wouldn’t ever acknowledge it out loud, but you appreciated it.

“Settle down baby, I want you to savour it. Want you to relax.”

You punctuated your statement with what you were hoping was a nice prostate massage. By the way he ground his head into the bed to hide his whining you thought you were probably doing a good job. He was so fucking messy inside, your fingers slick from the sheer amount of lube that had been trapped by the plug.

Or maybe a little sticky actually, maybe a little less like lube and more like something else.

“Did someone use you and leave you wanting baby?”

You were almost jealous which was odd, but when you thought about it the feeling was coming from this new persona, this dominant side of you. The heavy weight between your legs felt very real right now and your hind brain was furious that someone else would put their cock where yours belonged. You wanted to fuck him better, rail him until he was fucking moulded to your shape.

He stayed quiet, as if nervous. The power of that went straight to your dick. He was nervous to tell you anything that might displease you because he was giving in, submitting to you. The crack of your hand on his ass was harder this time.

“Asked you a question.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what Keegan?”

“Yes someone used me and left me wanting.”

You smacked him hard on the same spot, nearly losing your fucking mind at how your handprint was blooming red on his ass.

“Sir!”

“Was that so hard baby? God, I really have to teach you everything don’t I?”

“Sorry sir.”

You rubbed the mark lovingly as a reward for how sweet he went. Perfect. Nice and melted under your dominance. Nice and ready to take your fat cock so you could fuck that cum out of him, have it squelching out around you. You could take a guess at who exactly had tormented him, but you were happy to leave it a mystery. Maybe it was more than one person, maybe Keegan enjoyed a train. What a slut.

You fed him your fingers and he sucked the lube and cum off of them like he was starving for it. Slut.

“Let me in” you grunted, holding your cock and guiding it to his hole.

You laughed at him when he choked a little from the stretch. This wasn’t that nice beginner dick Farah had fed your pussy with, this was fucking big. When you pushed your way in there were two thoughts. One, you appreciated those with cocks more now because you could already tell this was going to be a workout. And two, the little bump deformity on the cock settled right against his prostate when you sank as deep as possible.

Jesus fucking Christ. This cock was designed exactly for him. You were literally perfect for him, filling him just right.

“You absolute whore baby, who did you beg to make this for you hm? Who did you get on your knees for to make it happen? Fuck look at you just swallowing it, holy shit” you hissed, really feeling the squeeze of his ass around that silicone as if it was your dick.

“Sir, please!” he finally begged, trying to push himself back even though you were already as deep as you could be.

You lost it and hammered into him. Your cunt throbbed in time with your thrusts and your hips fucking hurt with how aggressively you were fucking him, but my God the little submissive moans and whines could sustain you forever.

Logically you knew you couldn’t cum in his ass, but you were determined to fucking try. When you slipped out you just growled and grabbed you slippery cock to shove it right back in. It was such a compliment how he took it, such a kindness for him to let you dominate and take it so nicely. You had thought how well you were treated with the financial compensation and the aftercare was too much for what you were doing, but not anymore. You could see now that to submit to someone was such a fucking gift.

He came untouched, the abuse his prostate was taking having him spurt all over the bed. You kept fucking him through it, the poor corset getting smeared with his own cum as he was jostled back and forward. When his legs just collapsed you swore as you struggled to keep him up by his hips.

Your cock bounced out of his ass with a wet pop as you tried to take his weight so he went gently to his knees rather than crashing down onto them. You caught your breath once he was settled, his shoulders and head still on the bed and his legs splayed on the ground.

His ass was wrecked and it was gorgeous like that, all red and puffy and twitching while the remainder of the cum and lube dribbled out. And he was so vulnerable like this. Totally at your mercy as he panted and tried to calm down. It made you freeze just a little. You’d never done aftercare for someone else. You wanted to, but with him so debauched you were a little scared to fuck it up.

You didn’t want him to hear you say it and think he had done anything wrong so you gave the camera a look and the hand signal for red, hoping you were conveying that you didn’t want to leave but you did want help.

It was a little surprising that it was Soap who quietly opened the door and came in, but then he had handled aftercare with you so beautifully your first day with him and they wouldn't have sent him if he was in what you were going to politely call one of his moods. He helped you with Keegan, gave you whispered guidance. When Keegan was a little more together and you were feeding him in the bath he told you that the aftercare needed to go both ways, asked if looking after him was making you feel good as well.

Huh, you guess you hadn’t even thought about it, but it had. The act of unlacing that corset had calmed you down, got you out of the dominant headspace you had started to get lost in. It helped that getting him out of it and the stockings caused your pussy to practically purr.

Soap nuzzled you and started to strip you down, mumbling how you needed to be taken care of too. He gave you a lazy orgasm on his tongue and fingers right by Keegan’s bath and popped you in right next to him after. Well almost right after, Keegan definitely had to give him a long look.

Your heart flip flopped over it all. Just over a week to go.

Missionary with your fav military man, but his dog tags keep tapping you in the face, causing you to giggle. He scoffs and nips at you playfully before taking the chain in his teeth and thrusting even harder, fucking you up the bed in punishment

bro. bro you are romantisizing the secret history. bro you are enamored with the greek class just like richard. bro you are ignoring the bad things and creating aesthetics based on a book telling a murder of a young man. brother.

Anyone want some angst? Cause I found some random angst laying around. With the bonus of Martin and Gabe interacting for the first time.

It’s 7am when Gabriel gets the call. The one he’s spent the last ten years dreading, knowing full well that sooner or later it would inevitably come.

-

Gabriel walks through the halls of the large hospital in a daze. Trying his best to follow the directions given by the nurse down at the front desk.

He pauses outside of what is supposed to be Noah’s room, staring at the door. His hand shakes when it comes up to twist the handle.

The figure in the bed at the far end of the room wouldn’t be recognizable if not for the fact that Gabriel could pick Noah out of a crowd with his eyes closed.

His face is so swollen and bruised Gabriel doesn’t think he could open his eyes even if he’d been awake to try.

His lip is split in several places, blood hastily wiped away.

His knuckles must be busted too, if the bandages covering his hands are any indication.

Gabriel sinks down into one of the free chairs in the room. There are two beds in here, separated by a thin curtain. The other bed is empty. Maybe just because it happens to not be needed right now, or maybe intentionally left as such, considering Noah’s case is likely a police matter.

Just a few more hits short of being a murder case.

Gabriel reaches out and rests his hand on Noah’s chest. Feeling the slow and steady beat of his heart against his palm. Just to remind himself that Noah is still alive.

In the countless times he’s imagined getting that call in the past, he’s never once imagined Noah still breathing at the end of it. It just hadn’t seemed likely.

But he’s here. Lungs inflating in his chest, rising up to meet the gentle touch of Gabriel's hand.

Noah is going to survive this, just like he’s survived everything else he’s put himself through. There is no other option.

Gabriel just hopes he won’t be too changed for it.

Gabriel sits with him for a few hours. Just watching him rest. Hands never leaving him for long.

He thinks about the last time Noah was at the studio. How happy and carefree he’d seemed. Gabriel had known from the moment he’d turned up, exactly where he’d come from, could always tell when he’d been spending time with his cowboy.

Gabriel blinks. Martin.

Unlocking Noah’s phone is an easy matter. There are no secrets between them, not even pin codes. The phone is thankfully accounted for in the plastic bag holding Noah’s small collection of items.

Gabriel steps out into the hallway to make the call, he’s not sure why. It’s not like Noah is going to hear him. But he needs a moment to himself anyway. Needs to take a breath.

Finding the right name in the contact list isn’t an issue, there aren’t that many names in there, but actually hitting the call button is harder than Gabriel was expecting.

He rips the band-aid off and brings the phone up to his ear. Cracked screen rough against his cheek.

It rings for a long time, long enough to have him second guessing himself. He’s almost sure no one is going to pick up when finally the line connects.

“Noah?” It’s urgent. Scared. “Noah, where are you, what's wrong?”

Gabriel’s chest aches. He can hear himself in Martin’s voice. Knows that if Noah called him out of the blue like this he’s be saying exactly the same words. Knows that he too would be fearing the worst.

“Noah! Talk to me.”

Gabriel shakes himself. Shuts his eyes. “Martin Hart?”

“No.” Martin’s breath leaves him with the word. “No, no, no, no, please-”

“He’s alive.” Gabriel is quick to clarify. “He’s alive.”

He can practically feel the relief in the silence across the line. He opens his mouth to continue, but no words come out. Martin’s fear for Noah’s life has rocked him. To know that someone else cares as much about Noah as Gabriel does- it’s stunned him.

“But he’s hurt?” Martin asks, finally breaking the silence between them.

Gabriel nods before he realizes Martin’s can’t see him. “He’s-” He swallows. “He’s unconscious. Broken a few bones too. They don’t know how long he’ll be out for, or if he’ll be himself when he wakes up, or-” His voice cracks. He hadn’t realized he was crying, but his cheeks are suddenly wet. “Can you-” He’s not really sure what he’s asking for, just knows that this is too much, even for him.

“I’m on my way, Gabriel.” Martin says, he must have assumed who was calling, there aren’t that many people in Noah’s life, after all. “You keep him company, yeah? I’ll be there as soon as I can, just tell me where you are.”

Gabriel rattles off the address. It’s a six hour drive from wherever Martin is, apparently. The thought of sitting in that hospital room alone for six more hours is enough to have Gabriel feeling sick.

He listens to Martin move around on the other end of the line, likely getting some things together before he heads out. The sound is soothing, less lonely, but then Martin tells him he has to hang up, that he only owns a landline, and Gabriel swallows down his dread and lets him go.

A nurse stops by a few hours later to check Noah’s vitals and to make sure he’s comfortable.

Gabriel watches her work with a numb sort of detachment. She’s humming and chatting, seemingly to the both of them, about nothing in particular, and Gabriel doesn’t bother answering her. He just gives her a tight smile when she comes to give him a pat on the shoulder before she leaves.

He can’t help the way he keeps checking his watch. He’s subconsciously counting down the hours until Martin gets here. He feels childish. Like he’s a kid waiting for an adult to come help them through a situation they can’t handle on their own.

He doesn’t even know this guy. Yet he sort of does. Noah is always talking about him, about his farm and his animals and the way Martin cooks for him. Real, actual food when Noah rarely gets to have anything besides junk food.

He remembers how distrustful he’d been towards this Martin guy when Noah had first told him about him. He'd imagined some older creep, manipulative and taking advantage of a young man desperate for his own place in the world.

He’d expected Martin to try to pin Noah down. Or to use him and discard him when he got too much. Wouldn’t have been the first time. But it’s been four years now, since Noah first met him. And every time Noah finds his way back to Gabriel’s studio after having spent time with the guy. He’s happy. Happier than Gabriel ever gets to see him.

Gabriel can always tell when Noah is leaving him to go stay with Martin too, even if he doesn’t let on that that’s where he’s headed. There’s an excitement to him that is unmistakable. Like he can’t wait to let his bike eat up the miles between them.

Of course there are times when Noah comes to him in a bad mood. They have their fights, every now and then. Mostly it’s Noah’s fault, but even so, Gabriel always feels a twinge of anger directed at Martin too, even if it’s almost never warranted. He just can’t help it.

With almost an hour left on the clock, there’s a timid knock on the door.

Gabriel doesn’t bother calling out or standing to open it, and he doesn’t have to, because only seconds later a tall, weathered man steps into the room.

He looks so much like your stereotypical cowboy it almost makes Gabriel want to laugh.

He’s wearing a red plaid shirt with an old work jacket pulled over it. He’s clutching a brown hat to his chest, just as dusty with red dirt as his well worn jeans and boots.

He freezes in the door, eyes going wide at the sight of Noah on the bed. He looks like he’s been physically stuck by the image.

Gabriel wonders then, how often Noah comes to him with bruises on his face. If he reserves that privilege for Gabriel alone, or if it’s just as common of an occurrence for Martin as it is for him.

“Hey.” Gabriel says, his voice comes out hoarse, raspy with disuse.

Martin doesn’t startle exactly, but he snaps out of his shock enough to look over. He blinks. “You Gabriel?” His voice is deep. He almost sounds stern, except Gabriel can tell he isn’t trying to be.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “You speed all the way here or what?” He has to have been, to have gotten here this early.

Martin just shrugs. He slips out of his jacket and pulls up a chair, sitting next to Gabriel, facing the bed. He stares at Noah for a long time, silent.

“He woken up at all?”

Gabriel sighs. He reaches over and places his hand back on Noah’s bandaged one. “Not yet. They don’t know how long he’ll need. Something about the swelling on his brain going down first.”

Martin nods. “Do you know what happened?”

He knows Martin must have drawn the same conclusions as him. That he must have assumed Noah had a wreck until he saw his injuries. The way they don’t line up with those of an accident.

“Not really. I haven’t heard from him in weeks. Thought he was out your way.”

“He was. Left a few days ago, said he was heading this way but, you know-”

Gabriel does know. Noah has always been bad at keeping him in the loop. He knows he’s even worse about doing so for Martin. “Thank you for coming, by the way.”

Martin smiles at him, and for a second he understands why Noah was drawn to him in the first place. He has a warmth to him, a steadiness that is sorely lacking from Noah’s life. He feels like a rock, sitting beside Gabriel like this, even as he’s clearly going through a lot in his own head, he projects an outward calmness that does a lot to soothe Gabriel’s worries.

“Thank you for calling me. I’m grateful for you letting me know. God knows he’d never call me himself.”

Gabriel huffs. Doesn’t he know it.

“I figured he’d want you close, when he wakes up, even if he would never admit to wanting either of us here.”

The cowboy deflates. “I hope so. I hope I’m not overstepping, I never quite know where I stand in all this.”

Gabriel feels a stab of sadness for the man. He clearly cares so much about Noah, and true to form, Noah is making loving him as difficult a choice as possible.

“He would want you here. I know he would.” It doesn’t feel like enough, so he adds. “He never stops talking about you, you know.”

Martin looks over, eyebrows raised. “That true?”

Gabriel nods. “I think I could name every single one of your chickens by now.”

That makes Martin chuckle. Deep and hearty. “He loves those birds.”

“He sure does.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, just the beeping of the machines filling the room. It’s getting later in the day now. The little bit of sunlight hitting the far wall through the curtains is golden against the stark white of the walls.

Gabriel sighs. The sound drawing Martin’s attention. “I need to go see if I can track down his bike before it gets stolen, if it hasn’t been already.” He stands up, wishing he had thought to bring a jacket with him. “Call me if anything changes, yeah?”

He gives Martin the pin code to Noah’s phone and shows him how to find his name in the contact list. It’s obvious the guy has never held a smartphone before, but he figures it out quickly.

“Go.” He says, when Gabriel hesitates in the doorway. “That bike is his whole damn life.”

And isn’t that the truth.

Gabriel spends the next two hours scouring the streets of the downtown area for any sign of the bike.

He knows from the nurses where abouts Noah was found, but it was down a back-alley in an industrial area. Far from the usual kind of place Noah might haunt. And not an easy area to get a motorcycle into. He opts to rule out the more likely places first before trying his luck there.

He checks the streets around every single bar and pub and club he can find, peering into alleys and side streets with no luck.

Next he checks the local motel parking lots. No bike.

Every time he sees a parked motorcycle on the street his heart skips a beat. But it's never Noah's.

He’s about ready to give up and head back to the hospital when he decides to finally go look at the area Noah was found in. He just feels the need to see it for himself. Like maybe it will clear things up somehow. Give him some answers.

Finding the exact alleyway isn’t hard.

There’s police tape all around it. It’s a full on crime scene.

Gabriel doesn’t go beyond the tape. Scared to disturb anything that might be important to finding whoever did this to him. Even if he knows the investigation will inevitably end up closed before anything comes up. It’s not worth the resources. Not for some homeless biker with a track record of petty crime and picking fights.

Standing at the mouth of the alley, leaning over the tape, Gabriel looks down into the darkness between the old buildings.

He doesn’t even need to bring his phone’s flashlight up to see the pool of blood on the ground.

There’s a pallet by the wall that’s splintered, like something impacted it. Fell on it maybe, or was pushed. Between it and the pool of blood lays a rusty old steel pipe.

It paints a picture well enough.

Gabriel turns away before he makes himself sick. He knows he should head back to the hospital, but he can’t bring himself to go just yet. He feels like a failure, both for not having found the bike, but also for not doing more to prevent this from happening in the first place.

He should have been a better friend. Should have talked Noah out of this kind of lifestyle, kept him safe.

Not that it would have done anything except push Noah further away from him.

He walks down towards where he knows the river will be. The old docks are silent around him. The only sound the humming of the lights illuminating the area, and the occasional seagull looking for a place to hunker down for the night.

He’s getting dangerously cold. He’s been walking around for hours, having left his car back at the hospital so he could ride the bike back if he found it. Now it’s looking like he’ll be walking back too. He’s not dressed for this. He should go before-

He almost doesn’t see it.

He’s following the river back into town when he passes underneath a bridge. The rumble of traffic above him loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

It’s pure chance that he glances up and into the darkness underneath the cover of the overhanging structure.

It’s Tansy.

She’s tucked up against a massive support beam, half covered by Noah’s trusty old tent haphazardly pitched against her side on the asphalt.

Noah’s things are all there, by some miracle. His backpack is hidden inside the tent along with his helmet, and upon closer inspection, his saddle bags are untouched.

Gabriel shakes his head at Noah’s luck. It’s always a theme with him, luck. He seems to have endless amounts of it, always working in his favor. Even now, stuck in a hospital bed with injuries bordering on incompatible with life, yet he’s facing decent odds, if the doctors are to be believed.

Pure luck, they’d said, that he wasn’t worse off.

Gabriel swallows down the bile in his throat and starts taking the tent down to pack it away.

Noah’s keys feel good in his hand when he pulls them out of his pocket, and he feels a surge of pride and relief when he turns it in the ignition and kicks the bike to life.

Tansy starts up just as willingly as she always does.

Gabriel lets her idle while he puts Noah’s helmet on. It’s far too tight on him, and he can already tell he’s going to have a banging headache by the time he makes it back to the hospital.

“Did you find her?” Martin asks as soon as Gabriel comes through the door. He’s sitting in Gabriel’s chair now, pushed up close to Noah’s side.

Gabriel holds the helmet up in answer. “Pure luck. But I did, in the end.”

“Good. Here, I’ll-” He goes to stand up, but Gabriel stops him.

“Sit. It’s alright. I’ve been with him all day.” Martin looks unsure, but he nods and sits back down. The way he takes Noah’s injured hand in his own is so achingly tender Gabriel has to look away to keep himself from letting his already worn thin walls crumble.

He’s exhausted, emotionally and physically drained, but he can do this. He can hold it together for a while longer.

Rareship(?) I think Gaz x Graves would be interesting tbh

18+!

you love kissing kyle’s face all over, particularly special when he has you on his lap — just having came back from deployment — within the bathtub, the waves of the water slowly dancing around while you lazily ride his cock, hands cupping his face lovingly, watching the way his eyes flutter shut.

he’s so exhausted, it’s clear as day on his face — from the way his brows had that subtle furrow onto them to the way his arms were tightly wrapped around your waist, squeezing as if you’d disappear any second.

some of the foam from the soap was still present on his shoulders and your arms, your lips gently pressing against the beauty marks that adorned his face. it was like a worship of some sort, your lips soon reaching the faded cut on the side of his face. it had gotten old, though the slightly scarred skin was present. you decided to kiss it over and over, not wanting to let go until he’d get tired of you.

heck, you’d even kiss each and every freckle of his if it was possible in the moment. maybe some other day, when your attention would be compliant enough, you’d count all of his freckles and caress each of them, pour all your love onto them.

“you feel so good… don’t feel as if i deserve you.” his voice was weak, a rarity that only you had the privilege of hearing amongst the other three of his team that he was close to. you’d ask the details of the mission he had just came back from later, this was more important right now, getting him to relax.

“you do. you deserve everything.” your hips didn’t cease their movements, taking your time to ride his cock while it was nestled cozily within your warmth, your hands not letting go of his face, relishing in the way he groaned once your walls squeezed around him.

“do y’know how much i love you, dove?”

“how much?” you smiled at the way his eyes drifted down to your mouth as his face leaned closer, capturing your lips with his.

“more than anythin’ in this fuckin’ world.” his voice was muffled against your lips, hands slowly traveling down to grab your hips, cock gently thrusting up into you. the warm water provided comfort to both of you, a pleasant aroma roaming in the air. putting the scented candles beside the bathtub was definitely a good idea.

Some old poly 141 art. i dont think i like this one too much but still. Eepy boys that were trying to watch a movie.