ᯓ★ Summary: Ben’s fresh out of Russia and you’re the first woman he gets his hands on. (The Boys s3ep6).
ᯓ★ Characters: SoldierBoy!Reader, F!Reader
ᯓ★ Warnings/Tags: Soldier Boy x F!Reader, Soldier Boy POV, no use of y/n, slight description of reader’s body, smut with a little plot, barely even cnc, implied age gap, angst, some dirty talk, pnv sex, use of alcohol and drugs
ᯓ★ Author’s Note: first posted smut (critique gently lol), eat up freaks, muah. More otw! Let me know what you think, requests are open. Love you lots like polka dots!
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Ben wasn't exactly thrilled to be teamed up with the overconfident Aussie prick and his puny sidekick. While he was fairly certain he could've done damn fine on his own, he couldn't lie and say the idea of letting someone else do all the work was enticing. Tracking down his team, so all he had to do was turn 'em inside fucking out? Easy-peasy.
He repeatedly ignored the fact he felt like an old junkyard dog on a leash. Indebted to a man he didn't know the first thing about. The thought made him livid. His father's voice criticized him in the back of his head. He'd have to clench his fists and talk himself down from the edge of killing them both. Just to be relinquished from the feeling of being somebody else's bitch. The haunting paranoia that he'd be sold out. Again.
The motel wasn't attractive, seemed to be barely standing. Polar opposite of the luxuries Ben was spoiled with all his life. The wealthy upbringing despite the detrimental damage from his father. Soldier Boy lavished himself in riches and fame and women. Since Russia, the simple act of being conscious and not tortured, was luxury enough. Opening his mouth and saying whatever the fuck he wanted to was a luxury. One he'd shed a single tear over in Russia; right after being forced to drink sulfuric acid because of his mouth.
He couldn't think about it. Though the memories still pounded around in his skull. Hovering like bile, heavy like the endless rounds from the assault rifles, in the back of his throat. He'd fought back a few times, but it didn't take that first decade for him to relearn that. Nothing made him angrier than knowing he was tortured for forty years, except the fact he took it. Every time he'd stayed silent, or still, he had complied like a scared little shit. Not once had he managed to get anywhere close to escape.
Before he could drift further in the storm of his mind, the car stopped. When he blinked and focused his eyes, Butcher was already climbing out of the car. Wordlessly leading the way to the safe-house. Where him and his team apparently put the plan together to steal the "weapon" from Russia; inadvertently freeing Ben, who followed Butcher without a word as well.
The door opened and Butcher had started speaking. Hughie stood as the pair arrived, said something that distantly registered as a queasy, but polite, greeting. Ben didn't hear them though. Barely saw them in his field of vision.
As soon as his eyes rose from the dingy carpet of the motel, they immediately landed on you. Maybe a coincidence, or where you were sitting, or that sweet perfume Ben could smell from the door and practically taste on his tongue. He turned it over in his mouth, that wasn't perfume. That was musk. It didn't have the chemical after-taste he was too familiar with. Intoxicating and sweet like rum soaked honeysuckle.
You looked up from a little glowing box he didn't recognize, probably wondering why he'd just stood there and ignored both men. He lingered in the open door of the motel room. Your eyes met his and he had to force himself not to snatch you up from that ratty couch. Too pretty to be here, much less sitting on that piece of shit. The places he would've taken a woman with a face like yours in his day...man.
Ben took a slow, stiffly measured, step inside. Snatching the paper bag of food and substances from Butcher's hand. Plopping down at the small wooden table and tearing into it. Look away yummy lady, he thought, for the way he was about to make an ass of himself. He didn't look up once as he scarfed down the burger and fries, chased it with bourbon and line after line of his beloved bennies. Listening to Butcher and Hughie explain their next plan without commentary.
Until the burger was gone. He'd blown through an entire bottle of benzo's, downed half his bourbon, and finally looked up from his hands on the table. Meeting your eyes again. Internally amused to see you only a little bewildered at his tolerance, but he didn't smile. His face didn't even twitch. Normally he would've made some smug remark followed by an invitation into his pants.
He couldn't register the words of the other men once again. His focus honed in on you and you only. You weren't the first woman he'd seen since Russia, no he'd seen plenty. You were the first one to sit across a small room from him. A room small enough that the delicious, musky scent of yours showed him no mercy. The beat of your heart in his eardrums no longer background noise, but more of a rhythm.
He broke eye contact first.
They swept over the line of your jaw. Down your throat and slid over that peek of collar-bone. He imagined what that vulnerable bone would feel like under his mouth, licked his teeth behind his lips. Those piercing green eyes traveled further. Over the supple curve of your breasts straining against your shirt. His hands pulsed with the urge to set them free from their confinement. To knead and rub and squeeze.
Your posture was relaxed, leaned back against the couch like this was just another day for you. Any other time Ben absolutely would've been offended. He was surprised to find himself drawn to you instead. What had you seen more reaction-worthy than him? His eyes magnetized to your thighs. Feeling his pulse jump in his throat as he envisioned the delicate skin against his cheekbones. How they'd feel under his hands when he pushed them apart to fuck you. Ben wondered if they'd twitch at a kiss, or a bite.
By the time he met your eyes again, he knew that look, and damn did it piss him off a little. Not that he'd even tried to be subtle, but he at least wanted the privacy to fantasize. You'd seen every dirty thought in his head. His eyes practically undressed you on that couch. He could hear the extra beat of your heart. That jump that wasn't quite excitement but recognition.
It quickly became painfully aware to Ben how fucking long it had been since he felt the touch of a woman. Since he'd had one beneath him, almost entirely covered by the sheer expanse of his upper body. Soft hands, soft lips, soft skin. Remembering that softness made him feel how starved of it he was. Practically feeling that first slide into a hot, soaked pussy, because she'd wanted him that bad. The sounds and tremors and how fucking beautiful it was to watch them cum. He'd done that. He'd made them feel that good.
He could make you feel that good—better.
He hadn't realized Hughie and Butcher even left until you snapped your pretty little fingers in front of his face. When had you moved?
"Hello? Are you...even conscious?" You asked carefully, because he obviously wasn't overdosed, just deep in his mind.
You were right there. Standing next to where he sat, slightly relaxed, as if he couldn't kill you quicker than your next breath. Close enough his next inhale swamped him in your scent, a tease. His nostrils flared again and your face twitched as he looked up at you. You'd thought you'd offended him.
He stood from his chair, slowly, careful to push it back and not startle you. Your neck craned as he seemed to just keep going up. His hands twitched as he stood at his full height, at least a foot taller than you. His blood burned hot with desire almost immediately. His cock jumped against his boxers.
"What's your name, doll?" He managed, his voice hoarse from holding back what he really wanted to say. Your voice didn't shake when you answered, he hummed in response. Pretty, 'course a pretty girl's got a pretty name.
"Ben," He muttered roughly in return, "or Benjamin," he didn't want you calling him Soldier Boy. No ma'am, you call him by his damn name. He nearly groaned when it was repeated back to him with a shy smile. Fucking dazzling.
He wanted to lean closer. Get you excited before finally kissing you. Tease you, work you up until you squirmed against him in need. Make you gasp and beg and maybe even cry. He knew it in his fucking bones you'd look gorgeous while you cried in wanton. He wanted to build it. Make you want him until you felt like you couldn't breathe without his touch.
But he couldn't. He didn't have the restraint. Ben lacked every ounce of self-control it took to play with you the way he wanted, and he wanted, so badly. Quicker than he could stop himself, he grabbed you.
One large hand wrapped around the back of your neck and pushed your mouth to his. He met you halfway and his lips crashed onto yours. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel it.
Ben moaned like a bitch when you kissed back. He shoved his tongue past your lips and licked at your mouth desperately. Then his hand tightened on the back of your neck again, pulling you away from his mouth.
He didn't let you go far though. You could still feel his breath fan your wet and swollen lips. You could smell the traces of bourbon that dribbled into his beard. The heat of his body that had everything to do with what was done to him in Russia. His heavy hand at the back of your neck gripping like he needed you. His other hand hovered in the air behind you. Waiting.
"Say no now," He nearly growled, "'cause I ain't no monster doll," he rumbled, followed by a hardly controlled nip to your bottom lip. As if he was disagreeing with that statement himself.
"-but I won't be able to stop once I start."
His chest heaved where it nearly pressed against yours. Ben could see the decision behind your eyes before you even said it, cutting you off with a kiss and another shameful moan he'd absolutely deny later.
He didn't know what to do first. He wanted to pick you up, press you against his dick. He wanted to rip off your clothes and leave evidence of his mouth all over your soft skin. He wanted to push you down to your knees and fuck that pretty face. He wanted to press you against the wall until all you felt, all you knew in that moment, was him.
He didn't move until he felt your hands tangle in his hair. Your body pressed against his because you wanted it there and he took too long. Ben wouldn't make that mistake twice.
The arm hovering behind you moved, quickly. It flew around your hips and locked you completely flush to his front. His tongue swirled with yours while he kissed you. He could feel the soft curves of your body press against his beneath the clothes. Too many fucking clothes. Why are you wearing so many clothes?
"Off," he barked lowly against your lips. He relished in the shiver it earned him, filing it and storing it in his mind. The command was useless when he helped you anyways. Then just undressed you himself because you couldn't move as fast as he could.
He wasn't sure how his clothes came off. Everything moved too fast and too slow at the same time. He didn't know when he'd lifted your naked body against his, or how long your throbbing pussy had been pressed against his abdomen. You could've told him he kissed you for years in that moment, and he would have believed you.
All he knew was your bare shoulder rested over the residue from his lines. His empty bourbon bottle, that he didn't remember finishing, on the floor. Next to every other piece of evidence that showed how they ended up like this.
Your legs still around his hips while he leaned over you, now on the table. Then he straightened and took in the sight of you. Eyes wandering slowly before his hands followed suit. Grabbing your breasts and kneading them, swiping his thumbs over your hardened nipples.
His brain seemed to move faster than his hands. Eyes tracking every movement despite the languid travel of his calloused palms.
"Ben," you whined, shifting your hips closer to his, and he nearly combusted. He pressed his hand into your lower belly as he took a deep, shaky breath. His jaw clenching and unclenching.
His arms hooked under your thighs and yanked you further down the table. One hand slid from your thighs and over your pussy. His thick fingers sliding through your folds to gather some of your wetness. Ben shivered at the sound of your moan. He pumped his dick once, then lined himself up at your entrance.
He pushed in a single inch before the breath was knocked out of him. Hands clamped down on your hips to still your needy movements, pinning them to the table. The drawn-out moan from your mouth as he bottomed out was imprinted on his brain. You were so fucking tight. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt a pussy like yours in his life.
Ben didn't have time to register how you would haunt his future endeavors. Nor did he have the time to bask in the wet heat of you around his dick as he pushed further in. Or how fucking perfect your body was. Tits so damn pretty he wanted to take a picture, they fit perfectly in his hands. Softness all over, every inch of you. If he could define the word woman, he would've with just your name. Thighs that squished in his hands, a lower belly that he could nuzzle. A silky patch of trimmed hair over your mound and, holy fucking shit, he couldn't breathe.
He shattered when you—involuntarily—clenched around him.
"Don't—fuck," Ben's tip bumped your cevix and he came without warning. Nowhere near a mind blowing orgasm, but just as consuming. It snuck up on him like he was a fucking virgin. His thighs flush against your ass, cock pulsing inside of you.
You thought you'd made it up at first. He was still rock hard, buried deep inside of you, but you felt it. The thick vein on the underside as it throbbed. The hot cum spurting against your walls.
"Doll," he interjected hoarsely, his beefy hands still braced on your hips. Thumbs pressed into your skin, "ain't exactly get my dick wet in that lab."
You would've chuckled too had you not seen that haunted look flash in his eyes. Instead, you reached for him. Ben found himself surprised, again, by how easily he went.
His arms slid under your back and lifted you from the table, one quickly gripping your ass to stay buried inside of you as he moved. A few steps and messy kisses before your back met a mattress instead.
Ben drank the sigh that left your lips and leaked into his mouth. Hands slid up your sides before they cupped your breasts again, he squeezed and groped, then tore his lips from yours. Only to press scorching kiss after kiss down your jaw and throat.
"S'fucking beautiful," he grunted against your skin, finally moving his hips again. He carefully bit down on your collarbone, groaning at the moan that tumbled out of your chest. One arm braced his weight next to your head as his other hand traveled back to your waist.
"Ain't cumming that quick again, doll," he chuckled lowly against the skin below your ear. His smirk twitched into a smile—that he'd also deny—at your breathy laugh. Groaning when it broke-off into a moan.
"That's it," he drawled as his breath hitched, "let me hear how good I make you feel."
Your legs locked around his hips again, heels dug into his lower back as his pace quickened. His hand at your waist slid under you and lifted your ass with a rough squeeze. Adjusting the angle to drive his dick deeper. Each thrust rewarded him another shameless moan from your mouth while he fucked you with earnest. The withering motel room was filled with the obscene sound of; skin-against-skin, the wet squelch from your pussy every time he snapped his hips, your near-feral moans and his chopped grunts.
He relished in it, like a cat when it rolled on sun-baked concrete. He studied each expression of pleasure on your face, the way your tits bounced from the force of his hips. That gorgeous pink blush that dusted your cheeks and neck. Those sweet, sweet fucking moans he wished he could capture in a bottle.
Ben looked down and his eyes landed on where you were joined. Lost in the sight of your greedy cunt swallowing his dick with every thrust. You were so damn wet it spread over his groin, dampening his patch of thick black hair.
"Look at 'er, takin' me so fuckin' good," he grunted as his thumb brushed over your stretched folds and clit, swollen and plump from the repetitive impact of his crotch. Another broken whine left your lips, your nails drug down his back, "yeah—make a fuckin' mess on my dick—that's it," he drawled, voice rough and so damn hot in your ear.
"You like that. Huh, doll?" He grunted again when you moaned, smirk audible this time as he mouthed below your jaw and nipped your jugular.
“Yeah. I know. The way you're takin' it—shit—so fucking good. Pussy's heaven doll." You trembled as his hips drove you closer to that maddening edge. Your thighs tensed where they were locked around his waist.
“F-fuck Ben,” you whined as your back arched, one hand tangled in his hair and tugged, that got you a deep groan and another nip.
Ben cursed lowly as he wedged your legs from around him. His hands cupped behind your knees then pinned your thighs against your chest. Pounding into you with a pace barely shy of desperate. You were a fucking masterpiece beneath him. His eyes devoured you as greedily as he fucked you. Glued to every twitch of ecstasy that struck your face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman that knocked the breath from his lungs like this.
He felt you tighten around him, clenching in soft flutters. His eyes rolled back in his head from the tighter sensation.
“Basically choking me doll fuck,” he moaned in approval before adjusting your thighs again. Flattening them to his chest, calves against his shoulders, and one strong arm to pin them there.
“You close, huh?” He drawled. His ears rang as his entire purpose narrowed down to your pleasure. You nodded urgently with a pathetic whine. His thumb found its way against your clit. Quick, firm circles to match his thrusts and you were gone.
“Fuuuck yes,” Ben groaned as you came, his pace never slowed while he chased his second orgasm, “cum all over this dick, baby.”
Your entire body trembled as the aftershocks rolled in. Pulsing waves of pleasure the left you grinding up to meet his thrusts. His head fell between your knees against his pecs as he came. Arms tight around your thighs to keep you there.
He didn’t pull out. He buried himself to the hilt and ground against you. Fucking his cum back into you. You probably would’ve shrieked in horror had this been any other hook-up, but you still hadn’t come down enough to give a shit. Fucking look at him.
“Whose pussy is this?” Ben grunted as he languidly pulled out to slide back in, watching his cum spread with yours as he did.
“Mmm, mine,” you murmured lazily, playful. Eyes half-lidded and a blissed out expression on your face, a melted smirk adorned to your lips.
Ben honest to God chuckled at your reply. His dick remained hard inside you despite now having cum twice. His movements slow and lazy. If he was being honest, he didn’t want to pull out. He wanted to stay enveloped in your heat until he forgot what it felt like to be cold.
“Mine too?” He asked with a dopey grin, blissed out himself. It was your turn to laugh, or almost laugh, still a little too breathless.
“S’pose you’ve earned it,” you hummed as your hands slid up the sides of his thighs. Not to seduce, just to touch.
That grin spread on his face. Twitching into a smirk at the feel of your soft hands on his thighs. Most of his still flush against your ass where he refused to pull out.
“So whose pussy is this baby?” He asked again.
Then he hoped you didn’t have a Prince Charming waiting on you. Either way? Didn’t matter.
Prince Charming wouldn’t survive Soldier Boy.
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