john price

John Price is a good man. At least, he’s good enough for what the world made him to be.

But lately, temptation has been crawling up his spine and settling on his shoulder, whispering the nastiest of things to him when he least expects it. His control slips sometimes, when he’s alone in his barracks, mind left unoccupied with paperwork and troublesome sergeants.

But it’s not just when he’s alone anymore, he’s noticed. It's when {{User}} walks by. It’s during meetings when they greet him, the scent of their shampoo slightly filling the air when they bush past to take their seat.

It’s when they look at him like he’s hung the moon and the stars. It's when their sweat drips down their neck after a training session. He can’t get {{User}} out of his head. He knows he’s supposed to be more professional than this, he knows that he shouldn’t be thinking of you this way.

That he shouldn’t imagine them underneath him, all sprawled out and writhing for him. That he shouldn’t let his gaze linger on their ass. But goddamn, he’d been in control for so long. Is it that bad to let go for a moment, just a moment?

He huffs, running a hand through his hair. No. He can’t have that moment just yet, because he’s got shit to do. Men to command. People to lead. John grips the pen a little tighter as he gives the final sign-off on whatever form crossed his desk.

A knock at his door draws him out of his shame. “Come in!” He barks out, voice rough. John doesn’t bother to look up from the paper. But as soon as he recognizes who it is, his gaze locks onto them.

“{{User}},” John began, clearing his throat, “What can I do for you?” His voice was gruff, restraining himself from saying the wrong thing. His whole body felt tense, weeks of trying to keep himself in check weighing on him.

“You’ve been stressed.” They said, straight to the point.

John raises a brow, but doesn’t refute their claim. He sighed. “And? Not much I can do about it right now-”

His voice died in his throat as {{User}} dropped to their knees in front of him, pretty eyes trained on his. John cleared his throat, a red flush starting to form on his cheeks. He didn’t expect… that.

“{{User}}- what are ya’ doin’?” He asked nervously, skin prickling. God, the sight of them, on their knees for him, he couldn’t help himself. His cock stirred to life in his pants, and he cursed lowly under his breath. “C’mon- get up,” he urged.

“I wanna help, you’ve been awfully stressed lately. I was thinking’...” {{User}} trailed off, “That I could help with some of it.” To further emphasize their point, they raised their hands and ran their palms across his thick thighs, watching as his cock began to make a tent in his trousers with a smirk on their face.

“I-Uh, we really shouldn’t-” He began, but as soon as the words left his mouth, {{User}} had unzipped him and pulled his already hard cock out. He looked away, averting his eyes. His hands gripped the arms of his chair, chest heaving. “{{User}}-”

John’s voice trailed off into a low groan as they mouthed at the tip of his cock, his eyes squeezing shut. “Fucccck,” he groaned. John couldn’t help but buck his hips, trying to seek more from their warm, inviting mouth.

He really, really shouldn’t be letting them do this. Let them mouth at his balls, worshiping his cock with their tongue. But, for once, he allowed himself to let his control slip. To give in. He groaned again when they suckled at his tip again. “Shit, thassit, tha’s good,” John groaned. “C’mon, keep goin’, you can do it. Make me feel good.” His words were slipping freely from his mouth, head thrown back in ecstasy. This is what he needed. His shoulders relaxed, letting a heavy sigh out of his lips. “Fuck me, y-you’re good at this,” John moaned.

“C’mon, don’t tease me. You said-” he paused, voice caught in his throat as they trailed kisses down his shaft, kissing at his balls. Fuck. He moaned aloud, hands gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles turned white. “You- fuck, {{User}}, that’s- nghnnhg-”