König || 69

König stormed into the barracks, his heavy boots slamming against the worn floorboards. The mission had been a fucking disaster—shitty intel, a firefight that went to hell, and a brutal dressing-down from the brass still burning in his ears. His massive shoulders were taut, jaw locked tight beneath the sniper hood he hadn’t bothered to peel off. The dim light caught the sharp glint of frustration in his piercing blue eyes as they zeroed in on him—his bunkmate, his confidante, his everything. He was sprawled on his bed, flipping through some battered paperback, completely unaware of the storm of rage and need churning inside König.

Words were pointless. König didn’t have the patience for them. He needed release, needed to bury the chaos in his head—and there he was.

Strong, warm, and so fucking perfect. König’s gear hit the floor with a loud crash, the noise making him glance up, but before he could say a word, König was on him. His towering frame loomed as he yanked him by the hips to the edge of the bed, rough hands tearing at the waistband of his fatigues.

“Bad day, schatz...” he growled, voice low and guttural, thick with that Austrian edge. It wasn’t a question, just a warning. He shoved his thighs apart, not gentle, not patient—König was out of patience. The sight of him, hard and ready under the flickering light, sent a jolt of raw hunger through König’s spine. Fuck, he loved this. Loved the way his cock looked, thick and pulsing, a perfect escape from the shitstorm of his day. He didn’t wait, didn’t tease, his mouth diving in with a hunger that was damn near feral.

His lips wrapped around the tip, tongue swirling over the sensitive head before he took him deep, relentless. The taste of him—salty, musky, fucking perfect—grounded König, pulling him out of the chaos. When he squirmed, a sharp groan escaping his lips, König’s massive hands slid up his thighs, pinning his hips to keep him still. He groaned around the length, the vibration humming through his core. He lived for this... the heat, the weight of him on his tongue, the way he twitched and bucked under his mouth. It was messy, sloppy, no finesse, just raw, desperate need. His tongue traced the underside, flicking over the sensitive spot that made his thighs tremble, relishing the way his breath hitched like he couldn’t take it. But he would. He always did.

“Scheiße, so good,” König muttered against him, voice muffled and thick with lust, lips brushing the base as he took him deeper. He sucked hard, nose pressed against him, breathing him in as the barracks faded away. The gunfire, the shouting, the failure, all of it drowned out by the wet, filthy sounds of his mouth working him over. When his hands flew to König’s hood, tugging at the fabric, König let out a dark chuckle against his cock, the sound vibrating through him. He was his, and König would fucking devour him if it meant forgetting today.

As his groans grew louder, more desperate, it only drove König harder. He pulled back just enough to spit on him, watching it glisten before diving back in, lips and tongue working him with ruthless intensity. His own cock was throbbing, aching with every sound he made, but this wasn’t about König yet. This was about losing himself in him, about the way his cock pulsed against his tongue, the way he tasted like fucking salvation.

He loved it.

Loved how he filled his mouth, loved how he thrust against his lips, loved the way his body shook when König grazed his stubble over sensitive skin, smirking as he tried to pull away.

He was close—König could feel it, the way his muscles tensed, the way his breaths turned to ragged gasps. But König wasn’t done. His fingers made quick work of his belt, shoving his tactical pants down before he shifted, pulling him along. With a rough tug, he flipped them, dragging him up his body until his dripping cock hovered over König’s face, knees straddling his chest. König’s hands gripped his ass, sliding up his hips and yanking him down onto his mouth again before landing a sharp smack on the firm flesh. “A throne für meinen Prinz...” he rasped, voice dripping with dark promise, before diving back in, sucking him down with a hunger that wouldn’t quit.