John Price

The sound of typing filled the silence in the room. The base is asleep, only a few people still milling about the building, ocasional footsteps pass the locked door before fading down the hall.

It's late, the sun had gone down nearly two hours ago, the room was lit only by the orange glow of the lamp sitting on the corner of the desk and the dimmed screen of his laptop. Price's eyes are locked onto the screen, his attention fully on the reports he needed to get done before allowing himself to rest for the night.

In his lap, a familiar weight shifts, the warmth of {{User}}'s back pressing against his chest a reminder that he isn't alone. They've been sitting quietly, watching him work for the past three hours without complaining. They started to grow a bit restless about an hour ago, however. Price could feel it in the way their shifting grew more frequent, attempting to find a more comfortable positioning without getting off of him.

Finding a comfortable positioning will be difficult by now with the pressure he knows they're feeling taught in their bladder.

They managed to drink the entire pitcher of water he brought in earlier, taking every refilled glass he pressed into their hand without wasting a single drop. He paced them, he didn't want his fun to be over too soon by drinking more water than their body can process at once, and it's paid off.

He's gotten to watch them squirm for the past hour, doing their best to hold still even while the need to pee grew stronger and stronger.

At this point, they're probably about to burst.

Yet they're still here, still sitting in his lap like a good soldier.

They can leave whenever they want. He made that clear the first time they agreed to do this. If it's too much, if they grow too uncomfortable, they're allowed to walk away. He doesn't take pleasure from their displeasure, if they're not comfortable, it's not fulfilling. When they choose to stay, choose to let him push them to the edge...that's when its enjoyable.

They shift again, and Price finally looks away from his screen to take them in.

Their face is beginning to flush, eyes locked onto his screen like focusing on the words he types out will distract them from the fullness of their bladder. His eyes trail down, the corner of his eyes crinkling in amusement at the way they press their thighs together.

"Alright?" He murmurs, voice low, a check in he knows the answer to.

He moves his hand away from his keyboard, placing it over their stomach instead. He doesn't press down, not yet, just lightly rests it there so he can feel the way their belly bulges out ever so slightly. Even the lightest touch has them squirming, though.

"Doing so good, love, holding it all in for me." His fingers press in, applying the barest bit of pressure just so he can hear them whine. The sound that escapes them is music to his ears. A desperate little noise, barely audible, but he catches it. He always catches it.

His thumb traces a slow circle against the slight swell of their lower belly, feeling the tautness beneath his palm. They're so full. It must ache by now, that heavy pressure sitting low and demanding attention. Yet they haven't moved to get up. Haven't asked for permission to leave.

Good soldier indeed.

"You can go if you need to," he says, the offer genuine even as his hand stays exactly where it is. His fingers press a fraction harder, testing. "Bathroom's right down the hall. Just say the word."

He knows they won't. Not yet. Not when they know how much he wants this, how much he wants to feel them finally let go in his lap. They'll hold it until they physically can't anymore, stubborn and determined to please him even when their body is screaming for relief.

He loves that about them.

His other hand abandons the keyboard entirely, wrapping around their waist to keep them settled against him. He can feel the minute tremors running through their thighs, the way their breathing has gone shallow and careful. Any sudden movement could be their undoing.

Price leans in, his beard brushing against the shell of their ear as he speaks low and warm.

"But you're not going to, are you? You're going to sit right here and hold it like I asked." His hand presses down with more intent now, palm flattening against their stomach. "Because you're mine, and you'll take what I give you."

He holds the pressure, watching the side of their face for their reaction.

The hum of the base waking up was accompanied by the clicking of keys from Price's keyboard. The clock hung by the door to his office, closed and locked, reads 0800. It's been three hours since the captain woke up and headed to his office to get started on the reports he'd set aside last night, some of them were due by the afternoon, urgent ones that needed his attention.

He'd gone straight to his office because of that, didn't stop to grab a coffee or breakfast, just got dressed and got to work.

It was around seven that {{User}} had popped their head into his office, still waking up, a coffee and a biscuit in their hand because they knew he hadn't grabbed anything himself. They always know when he skips breakfast. He'd taken both items gratefully, barely looking away from his screen.

They had taken it upon themself to lock the door before slipping under his desk, murmuring something about 'stress releif' but he wasn't sure if it was for him or themself. He let them settle on their knees between his legs, let them take his cock out and wrap their lips around the girth of it. They settled after that, didn't move, just rested it in their mouth and leaned their head against his leg.

He went back to work, letting them warm him as he focused on his screen and sipped the coffee. The biscuit sat untouched for the most part.

The hour passed by slowly, until something stole his attention away.

He could feel the soft breaths brushing against his thigh, the occasional swallow being the only thing telling him that {{User}} hasn't fallen asleep with his cock in their mouth.

It was a familiar sensation, one he's grown used to ignoring anytime {{User}} does this. It's not what drew his attention from his work, instead, further up he can feel a dull pressure in his stomach that grows more urgent each time he shifts. Between waking up and immedietly coming here and the coffee, it's completely slipped his mind to go to the bathroom.

His eyes move downwards, taking in {{User}}'s closed eyes and blissful expression. He can't get up now, not without interrupting them or his workflow.

Price shifts in his seat, trying to relieve some of the pressure without jostling {{User}} too much. It doesn't help. If anything, it just reminds him of how full his bladder is, how the coffee he'd been sipping on has gone straight through him.

He takes another sip. Bad idea.

His hand drifts down, fingers brushing through {{User}}'s hair. He should pull them off, excuse himself to the bathroom, come back and finish this later. That's the practical thing to do.

But he doesn't want to move. Doesn't want to break this little bubble of quiet they've got going.

Price exhales slowly, tapping his fingers against the armrest. The pressure builds. He glances at the clock. 0812. Twelve minutes since he noticed and it's already getting uncomfortable.

"Sweetheart," he says, voice low and rough. His thumb strokes along their temple. "Need to ask you somethin'." He lets the words hang there, giving them time to surface from wherever they've gone in their head. "I've got a bit of a problem," he admits, shifting again. "Didn't take a piss before I sat down. That coffee's gone right through me."

He cups the side of their face, thumb brushing their cheek.

"Now, I can get up. Leave you here while I go handle it." His voice drops, softer. "Or you can be good and let me stay right here. Let me use that pretty mouth for somethin' else."

His thumb traces along their lower lip, stretched around his cock.

"What's it gonna be?"

.