“Love you. You're the best.” - Fennec Fox! Female! Reader.
Pairing: Ghoap x fennec fox female reader
Content warning: fluff. Fennec fox hybrid female reader. Smut at the end.
Note: Got tired of seeing dog and cat hybrids yet no fox ones - Like c'mon guys it's THERE - Do you not see the potential-
Words: 1326
Masterlist
Credit for Dividers (And Template): @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics
Summary: You boldly said it so loud, he could have sworn you said it louder on purpose, “Love you, you're the best.”
Ghost, who had been watching the playful exchange with a mix of amusement and curiosity, was caught off guard by your sudden declaration.
His surprise and he paused. “What did you say?” he asked, his deep, velvety voice carrying a hint of scepticism.
You boldly said it so loud, he could have sworn you said it louder on purpose, “Love you, you're the best.”
Soap's eyes widened, and he stumbled over his own paws. “What did you just say?” he asked, his tone a mix of astonishment and confusion.
You said it even louder, your eyes sparkling with joy, “Love you, you're the best!” This time, it was clear as day, and the courtyard fell silent. Soap stared at you, his jaw hanging open in shock.
Kate and Price exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of surprise and something else—perhaps a flicker of hope that the darkness of your past hadn't completely stolen your capacity to form attachments.
Soap snuck extra snacks to you which he knew you liked, hoping to win your favour.
A gesture that, while small, spoke volumes of his desire to be closer to you. Treats like slow cooked chicken were greatly appreciated, especially after a long day of training.
Soap would often sit by your side, watching you devour them with delight, a soft smile playing on his lips as he listened to your happy munching sounds.
You tried Wagyu once, a rare and exquisite delicacy. The tenderness of the beef, the way it practically melted in your mouth, the 'thank you' with each bite you took of the wagyu beef. As well as, 'this tastes so good.'
Ghost looked at you while you were eating the wagyu beef he gave you as a treat, not expecting you to like it THIS much.
Not as much as you showed him when he cooked it up for you. You looked up at Ghost, your feline eyes wide with pleasure. “This is heavenly,” you murmured, your voice thick with satisfaction. The warmth of your smile seemed to light up the shadowed corners of his heart. He had never seen anyone appreciate his cooking quite like this.
Ghost's expression softened, a hint of colour rising to his cheeks. “I'm glad you like it,” he said gruffly, trying to maintain his usual composure but failing miserably.
His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of doubt or mockery, but found only sincerity.
The kitchen grew quiet once again, save for the occasional sizzle of the frying pan and the sound of your happy chewing.
“I lived in a desert. Anything you make for me will be eaten with gusto, as it should be.” You told him. “You could have given me a cicada, and I'd still eat it.”
Ghost was about to satisfy your “heat cycle” when Soap, finishing his cigarette, intrigued, asked, “What's happening here?”
You were on the king bed. Your muffled,” 'm tempted to grab my vibrator.” As you were about to leave for your bedroom in the basement, which consisted of a hanging round bed draped with black cloth.
Ghost's voice grew serious, his eyes locking onto yours, “Wait,” he said, his hand shooting out to gently grab your wrist. He pulled you back to face him, his gaze searching your eyes. “You can't just say something like that and walk away,” he said, his grip tightening slightly. “Do you mean it?”
Face first into his pecs as if god ordained it somehow, as if the lord had come down and said, “This fennec fox hybrid female reader shall know thee by the touch of her cheek to thy chest,” you nodded against him. “Yes,” you murmured, “I mean it.” The words were softer than a whisper, but the gravity of them was palpable in the room. You felt Ghost's body tense, his heart hammering against your ear. For a man who was often the epitome of stoicism, this was a revelation, a crack in the armour that you hadn't expected.
As you prepared to sleep on your hanging mattress, the house's tension grew as palpable as a sea fog. Aware your words had impacted the men, you pondered the atmosphere's shift. Then, descending footsteps reached your ears, your heart pounding from a blend of fear and anticipation.
Ghost's silhouette appeared in the doorway, his posture rigid and unyielding. “Ghost,” you whispered, noticing his eyes were as intense as a moonlit arctic night. “What is it?”
He took a step closer, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. “You said something, earlier.” His voice was a rumble of thunder, low and demanding. “Something important.”
You were wearing a nightie which left little to the imagination, the thin spaghetti straps on your shoulders the only barrier between the fabric and your bare skin. You squinted, half asleep, “I said a lot of things.” You mumble into your pillow, trying to play it cool despite the racing of your heart.
Ghost took another step, his hand reaching out to stroke your cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “You said you love us.”
You turned to face him fully, the gravity of the moment weighing on your heart. “I do,” you admitted, the words spilling out of you with surprising ease. “Both of you, in my own way.”
Ghost's hand paused on your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jawline. “And what way is that?” he asked, his voice softer now, the thunder replaced with a gentle rain.
You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin. “In a way that's fierce and unconditional,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “In a way that makes me want to fight alongside you both, to keep you safe, to… to be a part of your lives.”
Soap, who had been quietly watching from the shadows, emerged into the dim light. He approached the bed, his eyes shimmering with something unreadable. “Is that right?” he asked, his voice gruff. His Scottish accent seemed to thicken in the tension-filled silence.
You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yes,” you said, your voice stronger now. “I love you both.”
Soap's expression softened, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a rare smile. He reached out to you, his rough hand taking yours in a gentle grip. “And we love you too, lass,” he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “In our own messed up way.”
Soap's eyes drifted to the vibrator underneath the layer of faux fur pillows filled with goose feathers.
He smirked, “Looks like we might have some competition.”
Ghost chuckled, the tension in his posture easing a fraction. “Looks like it,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “But I think we can manage.”
The three of you fell into a fervent embrace, a bond only forged through shared hellish ordeals. Ghost lifted you effortlessly as Soap drew your head to his for a kiss, a blend of tenderness and roughness. Their scents—Ghost's musky smoke and Soap's faint gunpowder—overwhelmed you, and you melded into their comforting warmth.
They laid you on the king-sized bed as Ghost hovered, eyes ablaze with desire mirroring yours. He seized your face, kissing you urgently with a passion built over years. His tongue explored your mouth as if new, while Soap's gentle hands roamed your body through your thin nightie, tenderly committing every curve to memory.
Their touch was like a delicate symphony playing across your skin, each caress a note resonating deep within your core.
The fabric of your nightie was peeled away, revealing your nakedness to the cool air, and their heated gazes.
Your breasts were swollen and sensitive, begging for attention, and Soap's mouth found its way to one, suckling gently, making you gasp against Ghost's insistent kiss.
This would continue on until morning. Where you are asleep in the middle of the two burly men who changed your life forever.
Oneshot Summary; Your mum warned you of getting into strangers’ cars, but John isn’t a stranger anymore, especially not when he remains with you as evening turns to night.
A/N: The last part of this mini-series is here! I’m debating on whether to make this pairing a little universe, let me know if it’s something you guys are interested in xx
MAIN MASTERLIST
The pub lay on a one-way avenue, a strip of parking slots separating the sidewalk from a low-speed street. The main road you now rolled down sported twin lanes, opposite traffic and wide sidewalks on either side as if desiring to lure people from taking the car. Yet, there weren’t many driving at this time.
Your eyes caught more pedestrians strolling down the sidewalk than cars. Some in groups, others in pairs, but everyone with the same desire to not waste one of the few perfect summer nights. Neve knowing when one would return.
Although your head shifted closer to the window as John steered the car into a different lane, your eyes flittered to watch him.
One hand retreats from the gear shift, settling on his jeans-clad thigh. ’Course I drive a manual; don’t find any smart cars in the army’, John said when you commented on the non-automotive choice earlier.
His fingers tap in tune with the low beat playing from the speakers by whatever late-night station. Meanwhile, his right-hand grips the wheel at two o’clock, elbow resting on the window sill, relaxed as he navigates the near-empty streets.
He must feel your eyes on him because John’s gaze falls from the road to momentarily glance back at you. His brows lift slightly as those blues lock with yours, offering a smile before his attention retracts to the road. You follow the journey of his eyes as you near an intersection.
"Left up here”, you nod forwards, only earning a hum from John as he shifts before slowing down at the traffic light that's gone from green to yellow only to change to red long enough for the car to roll and not come to a complete stop before reversing its colour scheme. Late-night traffic lights never make sense.
”Know, love”, he replies whilst his left hand joins his right on the steering wheel to make the turn, straightening the car by letting the wheel naturally spin into place by easing his grip.
”You do now?” You believe him, as you’d forgotten to give him the heads up a few minutes ago, and he’s still shifted into the correct lane. Still, you tease him, giving him an amused glance he probably doesn’t notice, but your voice must be enough as he chuckles.
"Considerin' I know the city as the back of my hand, knew since you told me the street”. You angle yourself slightly more towards him.
”Sight-seeing your hobby aside from visiting Marissa when home?”
”Mhm, not all too shabby second choice for clearin' the head”.
”Wouldn’t call driving in a city anything near clearing the head, more so blood-pressure raising”, you scoff, John huffing in amusement.
”Not a bad way to be amongst folk without their presence”. He gives you a swift glance, instantly locking his gaze with yours as your eyes already were focused upon him.
Your head cocks, naturally resting more against the headrest. ”What do you mean?”
He looks back to the road.
”Bein' deployed ain’t the most challengin' part of our job; most times, comin' home is”. Your brows furrow as he continues. ”Sometimes it’s… not easy accommodatin' to civilian life. Outright horrid to be alone sometimes and at others-”, he let out a humourless laugh. ”-can’t really say crowds settle your nerves either”.
”I…”, you trail off, lips pursing.
Something in your chest twinged at John’s words. You want to say something, but… you fear you’ll misstep. He talks casually about it. But something in the way his gaze momentarily locked on the road with a faraway look in his eyes and his body seemingly pressing into the seat made you think some muscle memory kicked in for just a few seconds, implying it isn’t as uncomplicated as he wants it to seem.
Your swift cut-off and redirection of attention apparently earned John’s attention, as his hand suddenly settling on your knee pulls you out of staring at the road.
Your eyes flicker to find his eyes shifted back to you. ”If you got questions, ask ’em, and I’ll just say if I need to get to know you more before answerin' them”. He winked to lighten either his comment or the air your hesitation had created. And it worked. Your head dips, a chuckle leaving you and letting out the air trapped in your lungs, as John looks ahead once more, a smile forming on his lips as his hand retreats to the gear shift.
”Aside from your scenic drives, how do you spend your days after coming home?”
He hums, tapping the wheel twice before he speaks. ”Have a property outside of town, it was rickety when I got it, but I’ve been refurbishing the place in-between deployments. Still some bits to do, but it keeps me occupied”. He shrugs.
”So a handyman as well. Anything you can’t do?”
”Not too confident in my decoration abilities, but I can pick a comfortable armchair, and not much more is needed to sit down with a book and glass of scotch”. You smile at the image as it checks with the picture he's painted of himself during the evening.
Despite the old-fashioned sense of John, it felt refreshing compared to what the standard was today. And you find yourself sinking a bit further into your seat as if the image of him in an armchair, with book and scotch in hand, wasn't just a picture he painted for you but one you observed from a matching seat opposite him.
”So you’re able to relax then?”
”Have learned to unwind, can’t always be on your toes”.
”Hasn’t always been in your blood then?”
John chuckles, sparing you a soft glance. ”No, definitely not, but it ain’t healthy to keep so much excessive adrenaline lingerin' despite gettin' away from the battlegrounds”.
”Can’t imagine what it's like”, you breathe out, head rolling towards the window, watching the scenery for just a few seconds before your eyes fell back to John. ”The shifts back and forth”.
”Ain’t for everyone, that’s for sure, can’t even say that you get used to it”.
You suck your lower lip, nodding. ”What’s the worst, with coming back, that is?”
”Isolation. When you're on the field, your mindset changes; you don't think about anythin' else. And at the base, there are always people around, so it ain’t as easy fleein' the presence of others and gettin' stuck in your head there. But, away from all of those things... it changes”.
”That’s why you and the others go out?”
He nods. ”We try. It’s a shot at shifting routines when returnin’”.
”So, does that mean you came back recently, then?” You peek curiously at him.
”Mhm, touched down on base three days ago. The lads had some stuff to get out of the way first”.
”And you, I presume?”
He gave you an amused look. ”Still got things to finish up, love”.
”I guess that comes with being Captain”. You shrug, and he chuckles.
”Remind me to never accept a higher rank; paperwork will be what puts me on my deathbed." You can’t help the unfiltered laugh that escapes nor how it fades into a sigh as you silently watch John as he drives for a few beats with a smile.
”So the others are returning to base for what reason?”
”Eh, the lads got some trainin', but neither MacTavish have any planned disappearances to Scotland nor has Kyle planned to visit his Ma down south, so they’ll probably remain there until they fill their schedules”.
”And will you hang around there as well?”
John took a deep breath, his chest puffing out slightly before answering. ”Most likely. I may visit the property some days, but if I'm couped up there, I would need to resort to those drives”.
You made a small ah sound, understanding his choice of activities better now and yet you can’t but wonder if he genuinely doesn’t use those drives to meet someone. Despite what Marissa and Johnny implied, your thoughts wouldn’t rest until you hear it from him. Not wanting to face the embarrassment of having misinterpreted the evening.
”And you, John, ain’t no-one missing your presence aside from that property of yours?”
He pulls his eyes from the road, a second of silence following your heavily implied question. ”None but my superiors, and even they push me off base on leaves”.
You could sigh out of relief when he finally answered. You even feel a giddy smile tug on your lips. But you school your expression, offering John a nod instead. One he must've caught through the edge of his vision as he faced forwards not long after speaking.
As your fingers play with the strap of your purse, you finally reply, ”Well, thank them next time you see them. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have met you along with the others tonight”. Despite being honest, you feel a warmth enter your chest as you say the words. And you feel even more bashful when John gives you a swift sideway glance accompanied by one of those smiles that makes his eyes seemingly shine.
”Already planned to, love”. John's smile is noticeable despite being mostly hidden by his beard.
You avert your eyes first despite him being the one who drives, and that’s when you notice John’s pulled into the familiar road to your apartment, only sealing that the night you’d spent with him neared its end.
Although the silence is comfortable, you dry-swallow when he parks in one of the visitor spots outside your building.
”Your stop”, John says, tearing your eyes from the apartment's entrance as he shifts his body to rest his elbow on the middle console, the other hand still on the wheel.
The streetlight shining through the front windshield highlights his face, those pretty blues sparkling. The longer you’d spent in his company, the more you desired to remain in it. And, it was precisely that feeling making you stall and not simply thank him for the drive home and jump out after unbuckling your belt.
Your eyes flicker over his face, lips parting only to close again when you can't find anything to say that would prolong the moment.
John's eyes crinkled in the corners, a soft smile quirking his lips. ”Somethin’ on your mind, love?”
Of course, he knew there was. He didn't need your dragged-out goodbye to know.
It felt like he'd paid just as much attention to you as you'd done to him during the evening, or it wouldn’t feel as if you and he been introduced for the first time tonight. Otherwise, he wouldn't assume your mind ran rampant, suspecting that you were debating whether if you should stop chewing and just spit out the words that hopefully would earn you his number. Though that’s precisely what you did, you hesitated for one reason. It didn't feel enough, or else you would've let him be on his way already, content that you'd be able to speak with him again with his numb rib your phone. But you didn't want the night to end.
"Want to make me company?" You bite your tongue the second the question leave you.
Whatever surge of courage made you voice your thoughts disappeared upon his reaction. John's brows swiftly raise, clearly showing whatever he thought was on your mind, then this wouldn't have been his first guess.
"What now?" You tear your eyes from him, gaze trailing upwards to your dark living room window facing the road. A deep inhale precedes your tongue coming out to wet you lips, catching the flesh between your teeth. Fuck it.
"You heard me".
John's blue eyes flicker down to your lips when you turn to him and release your lower lip. His attention remains there, causing your mouth to open and close, wanting to fill the thickening silence but unable to. The action makes his eyes ascend to yours.
He remains silent, but something has entered those blues when his gaze locks with yours.
"John?" The gentle question his name conveys triggers something.
He averts his gaze, eyelids fluttering close as he slumps back in his seat. Both hands now grips the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. With his head pressed against the headrest, his neck cranes, and he faces the roof. Something is mumbled beneath his breath, too low for you to pick up. And then, he jolts into action, swiftly ripping the key from the ignition, opens the car door and jumps out, closing it with a slam behind him.
You watch him with wide eyes as he hurries around the front of the car, half a thought if you misinterpreted the whole evening entering your mind. Just because he doesn’t have anyone waiting for him at home doesn’t mean he’s interested in you, even if he would give you whiplash from how he’d acted.
When John opens your door, the apology is on your tongue until his actions completely erase the words.
His hands settle on your legs, pulling them toward him so you are on the verge of slipping down from your seat and into his broad chest.
"Wanna use those big words now as well, eh?" Your heart beats at the base of your throat as John stares at you. Incapable of saying anything as your chest heaves on your inhale as his reaction isn't what you'd anticipated. "Use your words, love. Need to know you meant it".
You swallow. ”I want you to follow me up to my apartment, John”, you repeat. A full-body shiver rolls through his body, a curse leaving him as he takes a sharp breath.
”I’d planned to ask you out, take you to some pleasant little restaurant or somethin’. But then you turned out to be much less sweet than I ever could’ve thought, invitin' me up to your place at this time”.
John didn't admonish you, but you don't know whether his words were meant to make you smile, either. But you couldn't help the quirk of your lips, not when you realised the turmoil in his eyes was brought forth by you pushing the restraints of his gentlemanly fashion.
That desperate slip in his stoic nature rouses something. Something that had been dormant beneath your fluttering heart and near shyness beneath his gaze when in solely his composed and assured company during the night.
"Still think I'm pretty sweet." You muse with a tilt of your head. John's eyes narrow, catching the playfulness suddenly coating your sentence. He shifts on his feet. Fingers tapping against your lower thigh as his chin raises.
"That so?" John seemingly decides to entertain your game.
"Mhm", you nearly giggle as his defined eyebrows rose, silently commanding you to state why. As you lean forwards slightly, your upper body now more outside than in the car, his hand grips your legs to steady you. "Any man would think me sweet with a pretty dress like this".
"Would they now?"
"Don't you think I look sweet, John, be honest with me now?" His head cocks, eyes travelling over your body at the invitation.
As John's gaze drops, his hands gradually slide up your legs to your waist. You follow the action, your gaze only flickering to meet his when his big paws splay over your sides, thumbs resting over your hip-bones.
God, you didn't regret asking him to stay a bit longer with you, but it wasn't boldness that flowed with the heated rush in your chest as your gazes locked.
You swallow, lips parting as if challenging to draw in a proper breath with how you shrink in his overwhelming presence.
"You may be sweet-lookin' in this dress. But you've shown how your mind is too sharp to be shielded, and I know brilliant minds never are entirely sweet". John's lip curls into a smirk, something devious gleaming in his eyes. It ain't boyish but teases you of the playfulness the man you'd gotten to know preserves behind his front. "Indulge me, love, if knowin' that every man thinks of you as stunnin', what does it say of a man such as me acceptin' your offer?"
You look at him through your lashes, this time unable to honey your words, causing the teasing tone to dissipate and bleed into sincerity. "I've had fun tonight, meeting the others and especially you… I would think no different of you, John, especially when ending the night differently would possibly also mean you'll have to drive back to base alone”.
There was such weight to your words that John’s eyes close, his shoulders falling.
Your eyes flicker over the features of his bowed head, his lips a neutrally set, the lines between his brows fading as his lashes rest against his under-eyes until you're met by those blues looking back at you when his eyelids flutter open. He steps closer, head barely tilting upwards to look at you.
”That’s so?” He receives a nod as an answer, words unable to form beneath his heavy gaze. John's eyes flicker between yours, seemingly searching for something in them before he speaks. ”Is it out of pity? You don’t want an ol'man like me alone at night?” This time, you sought contact, your hands finding his on your waist, testing the waters by slowly running them up his arms.
His muscles jump beneath your fingers as you trail them upwards until they encircle his neck.
”John…”, you sigh. ”You’re not old; you’re a handsome man, charming-”
”Charmin', eh?” He cocks a brow, and you give him a teasing glare.
”As charming as you military men come without being jerks”, you returned. He huffs with a shake of his head, an upwards tick curving his lip. "I'm trying to say that I can't remember when I've enjoyed spending time with someone other than Marissa this much."
"And so you offer me to stay with you?" The incredulous statement isn't explicit. Still, the tilt of his head to the building at his back insinuates enough.
"Oh, piss off", you defend yourself, the corner of his eyes creasing as he chuckles. ”I was about to say that anyone would be lucky to have you come home to them, but you destroyed that moment”.
John tips his head, dipping closer. ”You offerin' something, love?”
"Already did". The reply is quick, but John doesn't tease you. Instead, he raises his brows in a 'fair' gesture.
"Should we head up then?"
"Yes". You split into a grin, the expression mirrored on John's face before he surprises you when taking a firmer hold of your waist and heaving you down from the seat.
He set you down close to him, his neck bowing to look down at you for a second before he reaches around you, closing the door with less velocity than he’d done his own, swiftly locking the car afterwards. Then, as his attention retracts to you, he steps away, only to offer you his hand in the space he'd created.
This man. You wonder if you'll ever not be able to smile at him as you card your fingers through his.
...
You don't live in a skyscraper, but the stairs to your apartment seemingly never end. Thankfully, John is in better shape than you could ever get in, so you don't need to tug him after you. Still, you glance over your shoulder occasionally, each time you're met by those bright blues and his gentle smile, a reciprocated squeeze of your interlocked fingers.
When you're more than halfway, in one of those moments when you lock eyes with him over your shoulder, you realise your situation with the ridiculously handsome man. And if anything, it makes a silly smile spread on your lips.
"Regrettin' your choice?" John knows his guess is wrong. If not by the casual why he asks, then the shake of your head as you state your thoughts.
"It's astonishing how no one has claimed you as theirs, you know. You look too good to be in practically any setting". His step falters, bringing you to a complete stop two steps ahead. When you turn, you find him watching you intensely.
”Attemptin' to sweet talk me?" He smiles, brows quirking as he take a step so only one fleet of stairs separates you.
"Think I've already succeeded if you're here with me". You give John a one-shouldered shrug, to which he huffs in amusement. As his head dips, you sway on your feet. Should I…you swallow, wetting your lips, battling down the quiver entering your body as you step down so nothing separates you and lean close. "But I would do all the sweet talking necessary to help you relax, want to help you unwind, want to now”, you whispered against the shell of his ear.
Two things happened in quick succession. First, a low sound vibrates from his chest. Then, a slap to your ass.
You yelp, the hand not in his tightened grip shooting up in a too-late attempt to stifle the sound escaping you but only succeeding in smashing your purse against your chest.
Wide eyes stare up at him when you fall back to your feet. ”John Price!” You exclaim in a hushed voice muffled by the hand remaining in front of your mouth, fearing any of your neighbours catching the name following the not-so-smooth action.
”Should be careful with your words, love, can't expect a man to behave when you say things like that”, he chides, gently pushing your tangled hands against your stomach, signalling you to resume the journey to your apartment, with a new, darker, look in his eyes.
"We're there soon, and hopefully, you can behave until then". You reply, continuing to step up the stairs at John's wish.
"Depends". You feel him shrug.
"On what?"
"How much you're willing to push your luck."
A flush rush through you, and you withstand ducking to escape his heavy gaze pinned on the back of your head. Like a red sniper shot searing its aim into the base of your skull. But as you mount the steps, a quivering excitement settles in your marrow. Even though John can't see it, you hide the smile it unfurls on your lips by rolling them inwards.
When you finally reach your floor, you let go of John's hand to fish out the key from your purse. Despite the loss of contact, you can feel his tall frame at your back regarding how he steps closer when you come to a halt.
Despite it being your imagination or his breath you actually feel against your neck, you stutter in unlocking the door to your apartment. That’s why a relieved sigh unintentionally leaves you when you only need to juggle the lock once before entering your home.
"Pretty place". John's words were soft as you sense his head poking around yours to get a better glimpse into the apartment, following you into the foyer briefly afterwards.
There was no frenetic fumble towards each other. No teenage-like desperation. Instead, you hum at John's comment, glancing over your shoulder as you let muscle-memory help you discard your purse on the side-table only decorated with a bowl where you drop your keys.
"A city apartment can't be pretty. Functional, I'll give you, but not pretty". You smile when you hear him close the door behind him and turn the lock. "Your place, on the other hand, with something besides concrete and fake wooden floorboards, I reckon is a sight for sore city-eyes". You turn to face him, catching the shake of his shoulder at your dramatics.
"At this day and age, it's as functional as four walls and a bed comes", John says amusedly, swinging his body into slowly stepping towards you, moving so naturally in the space of your home. "So, in that regard, your place is more homely".
You huff, smile still present as you turn your face upwards. "I remain firm in my belief into proven otherwise". John cock his head, the side of his lips twitching upwards.
"Fishin' for an invite?"
"Would you grant me one?" He steps up close now, hands naturally seeking your hips from the close proximity. His hands radiate a comfortable warmth through your dress. You reciprocate his move by curling your arms around his neck.
He tips his head back and forth, making a show of contemplating your question. "Show up in a pretty dress once again, and I won't be able to say no to you".
"Sounds like a date", you muse.
"Must make it up to you somehow". John hums low and gravelly as one of his arms circles your waist and pulls you into his front.
Your legs suddenly felt weak, and at the moment, his hold stabilises you more than your heels. Coupled with those intense blues gazing at you, it was good, as you felt like melting against him.
"How so?" The smile John flashes may have been spurred by how you leant more of your weight against him as the breathy words left you. Or, it was the way you naturally tilt your head, lips seeking his even though he lingers just out of reach.
"From how I barely can think about anythin' else than what's underneath this pretty fabric at the moment".
"What says it won't end the same way?" That finally broke the tension.
John presses his fingers into the white textile at the meat of your hip, his head dipping towards you with a tilt, eyes simultaneously slipping close. You sigh when his lips finally meet yours.
The kiss was a slowly repeated slant and press of lips. A gradual desire that had built from the moment you two were introduced and acted upon for the first time.
But, you felt how John's control was just a slip away as his hand at your hip travelled up to your neck, a swift flex of his fingers inclining he wanted to bring you closer. You breathe your amusement through your nose, a gentleman through and through.
Deciding you want to push him past the gentleman he thought he needed to be, you let your hands slip down his chest until your fingers curl through his belt loops. Then, with a tug on his jeans and a lick of your tongue, you deepen the kiss, knowing his restraint snaps when a groan leaves him.
Your tongues slip against one another before John dirtily sucks your pink muscle. Something short-circuits in your head. A whine from far back in your throat leaves you. At the sound, John lets his teeth graze your lower lip in a light nibble before he pulls away. The both of you drawing in shaky breaths of air.
”Bloody hell, love”, he exhales, causing your eyes to open. You just catch his head dropping, shielding his eyes from yours for a moment before they return. You smile, fingers unfurling from his belt loops and spreading on his lower abdomen, the taut muscle flexing beneath, apparent even through his shirt.
He drops his body to you, seeking more of your touch. But, concerning no wall props you up, you stumble backwards slightly as his gait sets off your balance and makes your heels wobble.
John catches himself with a shuffle forward of his right foot. He chuckles against your lips, an unspoken recognition of his larger frame a incompatible combination with your heels.
"Whatcha' sayin', should we get you out of these?" He mumbles. Then, before you manage to comprehend his comment, let alone answer, John kneels down.
He raises one of your feet onto his thigh, making your hand reach to stabilise yourself on the table at your side.
You watch as he pulls on the textile ribbon wrapped around your ankle. It slips from your leg, and he eases the shoe off your foot, settling it beside him while letting your bare foot rest against the ground.
A pleased groan leaves you, finally able to rest your whole weight on your sole rather than just the front.
"That good?" You don't know when your eyes slipped close. But they open upon John's voice.
You glance down at him as he gently grips your other ankle, waiting for you to shift your weight to mimic his previous motion. "You couldn't imagine".
He shakes his head, yet a smile is evident through the bunched-up parts of his beard as he unties your other shoe.
You're about to answer him when the second shoe slips off your foot, but your lips remain parted without a sound leaving you when you watch John lean in and kiss your ankle. His beard tickles as it grazes against your skin when pressing another kiss to your calf and kneecap.
But he doesn't stand up when dropping your leg.
With wide eyes, you watch as John brushes his lips over the soft skin above your knee, leaving yet another tender kiss.
A stuttering breath leaves you as you wordlessly follow his journey upwards as he disappears beneath your skirt.
John's head moves beneath the fabric. His puckered mouth leaving featherlight presses against the soft meat of your thighs.
The hand previously gripping the material of your skirt fumbles backwards to steady yourself against the wall half a meter behind your back, supporting the grip you already keep on the side-table.
You feel him nudge between your legs, his beard scratching the inside of your thighs. Without asking, you widen your stance. John's heated breath immediately flans against your inner thighs and upwards to your steadily heating and throbbing cunt as a groan immediately follows your action.
"These the only things you've gotten on all the time?" You think you answer him because the next thing you feel is his lips kissing your mound through your panties.
Your breath catches, soft sounds following the action as John switches between pressing kisses to your thighs and where you need him the most. The muscles in your neck go lax, head dropping back as a sharp last peck is placed on the fabric covering your clit before he retreats.
Head tipping forwards, you find John looking up at you, his hair ruffled and out of place, a lopsided grin curling his lips. You can’t help but stare down at him, attempting to stabilise your breath as your chest heaves. Fucking hell, he’s handsome and on his knees for you.
"Looks so sweet lookin' at me like that". John rubs his hands on your thighs, and you can’t help but groan.
”Swear you’re trying to kill me”. He chuckles, rising to his feet, now even taller without the added inches beneath your feet.
"Only fair".
"Fair would be if you ended what you started", you huff at him, the heat he'd set off in your body only growing with the throb between your legs.
He squints with a slight tick of his head. "Careful with your wishes".
"What, the Captain too scared to finish a mission?" Something flashes in his eyes, the blues darkening considerably. Then, his strong arms encircle your body, hands resting beneath your ass, swiftly hauling you upwards as if weighing nothing.
You gasp, arms instinctively shooting around his neck and hooking your legs around his waist as your hips connect with his, a semi-bulge pressing into your core.
"Don't go make assumptions, love". His voice is a delicious drawl, even deeper than his natural husk. A shudder runs down your spine as he grabs fistfuls of your ass, pressing you closer to him. "I'll plan to finish what I started, but I'll take my sweet time with you and ain't gonna do that in the hallway", he states with finality.
You giggle, leaning in so your lips brush his as you speak. "Bedrooms straight ahead and on the right". A low sound escapes John, muted by the press of his lips against yours as he toes off his shoes before making you giggle as he carries you to your bedroom.
The door was already ajar, so you didn't need to fumble it open. Hence, John was at the side of your bed with a few strides.
He knelt sideways to drop you in the middle, making you bounce slightly. A smile stretches your lips when John climbs onto the bed and between your legs that widen to make room for him.
He keeps himself above you, silent as his eyes flicker over your form beneath him.
”You sure you want this?” He asks, looking into your eyes. ”You sure you want me? An old captain in the military?” Your hands rise, resting on his bearded cheeks, taking a second to linger on the fact that this man possibly had doubts about you wanting him.
John's eyes flutter when your fingers comb through his well-groomed and incredibly soft beard. But he forces them to stay open, watching you, waiting for your answer.
”Yes, I am”. You suck your lower lip into your mouth, and John groans, shifting more weight to his legs as one hand beside yours raises and pulls it from your mouth.
”Don’t do that”, his voice has dipped, huskier. Yet the only thing you do is smile.
”Do you want me, John?” His eyes flicker up from your lips.
”How could I fuckin’ not? Look at you, that smile, pretty eyes”. His hands travel to the hinge of your jaw, your arm on the same side falling to his ribcage.
”Thinking the same thing about you. Didn’t call you handsome for no reason”. It feels soppy when the words fall from your lips, but you notice something in his body melting away as he lowers himself, moulding his lips against yours.
A soft groan vibrates against your mouth when your hand travels to the back of his neck, nails grazing his hairline.
It's fucking heavenly to kiss him. The feeling of only wanting more, more of him against you bubbling to the surface. And John must feel it as his hand slither to your nape, deepening the kiss with his fingers threading through the hair nearest your skull.
His dominance along his big frame surrounding you as he presses closer, makes you melt beneath him.
John detaches from your lips with a pant, only to rove down your jawline and downwards. His beard tickles, the bristles scraping against the delicate skin of your throat as his hand journeys from your neck and down your throat.
He brushes over your collarbones with his thumb before settling on the slope of your shoulder, playing with the straps of your dress. With a soft tug, the bands loosen. ”Gonna help an old man?” John mumbles against the column of your neck.
”Hm, almost like seeing you struggle”, you hum with a smile, tipping your chin downwards, signalling you want a kiss.
”Menace”. You feel John's smile against your lips as he lingers a peck while loosening the second strap over your opposite shoulder. You giggle as he pulls away, settling on his haunches to give you space to rise up.
You follow him, sitting up so he's positioned in-between your legs. It's the perfect position for your hands to land on his thighs, stroking the muscles you know are hidden beneath his jeans.
”The zipper is at the back”, you tell him, not shying away as he leans forwards, towering over you.
Expert fingers latch onto the small piece of metal you’d given him directions to. Cerulean eyes lock with yours as his chin dips to rest against his chest, lips centimetres apart, breaths mingling. John doesn’t point it out, but a quick flicker of his eyes tells you he notes the goosebumps the short nail of his thumb creates as it grazes along your spine.
”A piece for a piece?” Your fingers play with the hem of John’s shirt as his palm rest against your now naked spine, the fabric of the dress having parted as it barely was kept up by itself. Your elbows, pressing against your sides, are the only thing still pinning the fabric against your body.
”Bargainin' with me now?” Your teeth catch your lower lip, eyes falling, roaming over his torso, imagining what's underneath.
The white shirt only enhances his chest and muscled torso as he takes deep breaths.
Gaze trailing upwards, you see his eyes stuck at your mouth. A slight groan leaves him from how you’ve caught your lips between your teeth, something you slowly have gathered his obsession for.
With a smile pulling the flesh from your teeth, you straighten your back somewhat, getting closer to him, earning his attention from whatever thoughts he momentarily entertained.
”Concerning you’ve already seen the only other piece I’m wearing, I’d say it’s fair”.
The corner of his eyes creases with his smile. You knew he was about to say something from how his lips had parted, but his action curtly halts as realisation bled into his eyes.
John's gaze drops as something dark enters it. He let his eyes rove over your body, cursing, rushed and heated as he barely gave you enough time to lean away before grabbing the back of his shirt and yanking it over his head.
”Fuck”. The curse is breathed from you as you stare at John's bare upper body.
You’d called it from the start. He was muscular, but fucking hell, he felt even broader up close, torso on full display for you to indulge in.
As if possessing a will of their own, your hands trail upwards. You prevent a moan from escaping as your thumbs brush the delicious happy trail on John’s abdomen. Though your eyes follow it downwards while your hands continue up, the fine line of hair disappears beneath his waistband, lower than your eyes could follow. Defeated, your gaze trails upwards, catching up with your hands as they travel over the outlines of his abs and his pecs covered in a similar dark dust of hair.
”Feelin’ me up?” Without any shame, you delay the shift of attention from the sight in front of you to John’s eyes. Once you do, a darkened gaze, barely lightened by his cocky smirk, greets you.
”Can you blame me?”
”Only if you don’t keep your end of the deal”.
You notch your head backwards as the side of your lip tick upwards. ”What would you do if I didn’t?”
”Only fair I would enforce it, wouldn’t it now?” He questions, leaning closer, his hand settling on your waist.
”Wouldn’t mind that”, you reply as you stop pressing your elbows against your ribs.
Now John was the sole one keeping your dress up, giving him the choice of proceeding.
You note the slight flicker of John’s eyes downwards before jumping back, seeking eye contact. As if to check one last time for any hesitation from your side. When finding none, he bunches the fabric of your skirt around your waist and pulls the dress over your head in a sweep of the layered textile.
You lay down in your now mostly naked form, panties the last article covering your body. Blue eyes, heated with intensity, follow your movements.
A warm wave rush over you at John’s attention. Your skin prickles, body vibrates as you practically feel his eyes trail up and down your body.
”So bloody gorgeous”. It’s a rumble when John’s eyes finally meet yours, iris blackened considerably by his dilated pupils. His hands settle on your hips, near boiling palms pressing into your flesh in repeated up and down movements and occasional squeezes.
You prop yourself up by one elbow, the other raising up to grab his neck and bring him into a kiss, one he readily accepts.
One hand falls from your hip to beside your body, supporting him as his body bends forward at the waist. As you part, you’re met by John’s lustful gaze, though it’s swift as he starts trailing kisses down the column of your neck, down to the swell of your breasts. He spares little time on kissing around them before he sucks your nipple into his mouth. His action pulls a soft sound from your lungs.
His fingers travel down from their place on your side to your pussy, fingers pressing into your heat. That's when you realise how wet you were. ”S’all for me?” He drawl with a low groan as he switches to your other breast, paying as close attention to your nipple as earlier.
”Y-yeah”, you breathe as he starts circling your clit through the fabric, thighs flexing, hips jumping toward this touch. As he lets his canine lightly toy with your nipple, he slips his fingers lower, pressing against your hole through the fabric, making you clench around nothing. ”Fuck, yes, all for you”.
You squirm as he rises from your breast, the air around you cooling your nipples wetted by his mouth, only pebbling them further. His eyes drift down your body to where he’s playing with you,
”S'pretty for me”, he mutters, moving down your body as his other hand drags along your side until it hooks beneath the fabric obscuring his view of your dripping core.
A sound conveying your protest leaves you when his other hand stops its administration, but it ebbs down as you watch John pull your panties down your leg.
You help him by lifting your legs slightly, paying no more attention to the white lace he finally frees from your legs and tosses to the side the moment his hands settle on your legs, parting them.
Your eyes flicker over him as he sits back on his heels, a rumble vibrating from his chest as he admires the sight before him. You feel you’re wet enough that slick covers the apex of your thighs.
”Such a pretty cunt, eh?” You heat at his words and attention when his eyes flicker to you. ”Bet you taste fuckin' heavenly. You gonna let me eat this cunt?”.
You let out a stuttered breath as you follow John lying down between your legs. A smack of his palm against the meat of your thigh brings you out of the daze, blinking and refocusing on how he stares right back at you with a cocked head, beard tickling your inner thighs.
”Come on, love, need to hear it from you”. His breath fans across your warmth, making you shudder. John notices, blowing pointedly on your heat, watching how you writhe in anticipation,
”Yes, yes, John”. His satisfied smile is the last thing you see before he closes the distance between his lips and your pussy.
When his mouth lands on your wetness for the first time, your head snaps back, and a shaky exhale leaves you. He licks a broad stripe up your heat. Instinctually, your hips roll to push his tongue further into your wetness.
Although not giving in, John flexes his muscle, pointedly flicking your clit, causing you to whine. It’s then you realise he knows what he's doing. Everything he did, from how your mind never strays from following the pattern his tongue draws to how he quickly has you writhing beneath him, speaks of his experience.
”Ah... fuck”, you moan as John presses his lips to your clit before drawing it into his mouth, the sensitive nerve-endings making your abdomen spasm, and your hand shoots down to clamp into his hair.
You tug John further into you, earning a pleased hum that travels through your body in return. But, when your hips buck, he locks an arm around your mid-drift to pin you to the bed.
”Gotta be still for me, love”. He parts from your wetness to mumble before diving in again. In response, he gets a keening sound. One that only increases as his tongue dips lower and presses into your wet hole.
He thrust his tongue into your quivering hole. Nose nudging your clit. You only become needier, attempting to buck against him but to no wail, his grip only tightening on your hips.
You physically feel how you become wetter, slick trickling to the slope of your arse. It fills the air with sloppy and wet sounds as Johhn switches to lap at you.
The noises, the loss of his tongue at your entrance, constricting around nothing, all produce a growing sensation of emptiness, a desire to feel full.
”John, I need more. Need your fingers”. You can feel his grin as he leans away, uncurling his hands from around your thigh that kept your spread open to trail along your wet folds.
”Such a good girl, eh? Beggin’ for what she wants”. You moan in response, feeling how your slick coats his fingers before he lodges his digit at your hole, slowly pushing in, stretching you for the first time.
”Yes”, you breathe out, his finger thicker and reaching further than your own ever could. Your hand falls from his hair, clutching the hand still around your hips, fingers worming themselves through his.
He pumps in and out of you, your wetness making the penetration easy. However, John doesn't continue long before he pulls his finger out. You protest, a noise ripped from your throat. Though it’s short-lived as you feel him trail not one but two digits up and down your wet and swollen pussy, both entering you when covered in what he deems is an adequate amount of your arousal.
A guttural moan leaves your parted lips. It’s a stretch, and you feel a slight burn even though John was gentler about thrusting two fingers in and letting you accustom to the feeling. He begins with only wiggling them gently inside before scissoring them when he feels you relax somewhat.
Although soon, his movement and the attention he gives your clit make the sensation fade, making you moan his name, letting him know he could continue and that’s when he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you.
You feel it somewhere in your body, how the tension slowly builds, nearing the edge from the continuous stimulus John drowns you in. Your head feels floaty, fibres vibrating, hands receiving a squeeze from him to ease how your curl your fingers into your skin.
”Ah, come on, love, you can do it, you can take it”, his mumble is distant, a gravelly sound that resonates through your ears and wrap warmly around your head. ”Come on, my good girl, you can take them”.
At first, you think John’s encouragements are in the heat of the moment, mumbled nonsense edging you closer to the peak he must feel you neared from how you flutter around him. But when he continues, you realise it isn’t.
”Look at me”, your head is heavy as you crane it downwards to look at the man between your legs, his gaze already set on you. ”Look at you, s’good, takin’ all three”. Your eyes drop to where he’s pumping in and out of you.
You need the visual of three of his finger entering to recognise how full you've come to feel, how he stretches you when having added a finger without you even noticing in your pleasure-ridden state.
Your mouth drops open, panted cries stuttering from you as you watch his fingers disappear, stretching you wide from their girth and reappearing slicker than previously. You feel how the muscles in your neck go slack. But rather than letting your head fall back onto the mattress, John's demanding voice stops you.
”Keep lookin’ at me, love. I want your eyes on me when you cum”. Your head bobs forward the slight amount it tilted back, reattaching with the heavy weight of his blues.
When he notes your attention won't stray, John keeps your gaze as he lowers himself, his mouth attaching to your clit once more. Fingers now stroking more than pumping inside you.
It feels downright fucking dirty to moan, not upward into the air, but forwards, so your breath travels down your stomach to fan against John’s face between your legs as your eyes lock. It makes your body buzz and head airy as your orgasm hurls closer.
You were close. So close. It becomes impossible to be still as the sensation in your stomach tightens, and the muscles in your abdomen spasm repeatedly. Your legs begin to shake. And then it just becomes too much. The flick of John's tongue, the push of his fingers as deep as they go, tickling that spongy spot at the roof of your walls.
You gape, time feeling like it stops for a few seconds as you go silent before jerking against John’s face, gushing into his mouth as your orgasm slams into you.
You can’t physically keep his gaze for more than a few seconds of your high as your back arches off the bed, eyes wrenching shut as your head slam back into the soft mattress.
As his sole free hand only lock your hips in place, your legs jerk upwards from the bed. Your thighs slot around John's head, knees bending so your feet brush against his back. He grunts, the vibrations along his fingers continuing the come-hither motion inside you while his tongue flicks your clit, only prolonging your high.
It’s intense. Never-ending. Your high seemingly continues for far too long for your body to know how to react. You wouldn't put it past yourself to estimate a similar time as John had when considering the last time anyone apart from yourself had made you cum. Still, it's hardly comparable as you writhe beneath him.
When your high finally ebbs, your muscles slacken so suddenly that your legs drop from their elevated position around John's head without much care. One of your knees falls to the side, and your leg falls to the mattress. The other dropped straight over John's shoulder, now resting on his back. In fact, your whole body goes limp as pants heave your chest.
That's when he finally also pulls his fingers from you. Although, he doesn't leave your puffy pussy without a final broad swipe of his tongue, lapping up your excessive arousal until a satisfied hum stems from him. In your over-sensitive state, the vibrations make you whine and twitch away from John's mouth.
A soft chuckle leaves him as his hand still intertwined with yours strokes your skin. The other settles at the hinge of your knee, leaving a slick spot from his fingers covered in your arousal, as he gently lifts it off his shoulder with a kiss to the apex of it, shy of too close to your pussy.
”Did so good for me”, John praises, planting another kiss at the middle of your thigh, then the inside of your knee on the same leg where his palm rubs assuringly as he moves down on the bed.
A lazy smile spreads on your face as one arm hooks over your face, the summer night apparently still too bright in your keyed-up state as it illuminates your room through your window, only covered by a thin curtain.
The loss of John’s touch as his hand slips from yours and how you feel him still shuffling ultimately pulls your arm away.
Despite sinking further into your bed due to the body-melting feeling of your orgasm, you watch John as he backs off the bed and onto the floor.
Standing at the edge, he raises one of his hands to his beard, pulling his hand over the slick shining strands. Your heart jumps at the display and you feel the sluggishness in your limbs withering away with the steady rise of desire once again.
”John”. Your voice is a drawl, bordering on a gentle whine, as you call for his touch, for him to join you again. He cracks a smile at your voice, or display. You don’t know
”Patience, love”, he chuckles, unbuckling his belt.
The sound works as a spell. Your eyes immediately drop, watching him unzip his pants. His prominent bulge gets glaringly more apparent as he drops his jeans and steps out of them. He palms himself over his navy trunks, making you squirm as his head tilts back and he groans in relief.
Your pulse beats rapidly against your throat as you watch the show he puts on, testing your patience that’s swiftly thinning as your eyes are glued to him.
A soft breath leaves you, a whine following. It makes John's legs flex and hip jut forward against his palm. That's what breaks you.
”Don’t tease”. You sound broken even to yourself, but you feel just as desperate.
You’re just about to shuffle into a seated position and towards the edge of the bed, closer to the man before you. But his eyes land on you before you get any further than rising to your elbows. They're dark, unbudging, authoritative and without even voicing his thoughts, John’s demand is silent but obvious.
Stay put.
You could thrash your head from how devastatingly much he makes you feel. How good he makes you feel. Instead, your hands only dig into your rucked-up sheets, fisting the material. Your nails press through the fabric and into your palms. Thankfully being propped by your elbows stops you from falling backwards when a low-spoken ‘good girl’ is breathed beneath his breath upon your pliancy.
Your jaws press together tightly. Gaze set firmly and unbudgingly upon John as he hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband of the single piece of clothing left on his body. As his briefs slip off, his cocks bob upwards toward his stomach.
He was big, not ridiculously so that you fear taking him, but he was above average and thick. Understand the prep better now. But it felt like it wouldn’t have mattered because at the sight of John's cock just as aesthetically beautiful as him and flushed at the tip, you grow wetter.
”My eyes are up here”.
”I know”, you reply, tongue pressing against your teeth. John moves towards the bed with a chuckle before he stops himself. At the sudden halt and redirection, his cock tap against his abdomen, coating his skin in a light sheen from the precum beading the tip.
At first, you don't understand why he stops and rummages through the pocket of his jeans only to pull out his wallet. Then it clocks.
”I’m on the pill”, his eyes jump up to you. His movement stilling. ”And I’m clean. Routine check a few weeks ago”.
A smile tug John’s lips as he drops the wallet onto his jeans. ”Haven’t had anyone for over a year. Clean since then”, he says, kneeling on the bed with one leg, head cocking as his eyes rove over you before meeting your gaze again. “You sure, love?”
”Mhm”, you hum, eyes dragging over his naked form. Sparing an embarrassing amount, despite how small it was, to feel giddy about the fact that John hadn’t had anyone else for a long time until you. Even though a hundred different rational reasons could be the cause rather than him simply not being interested enough to entertain anyone. ”Yeah, I wanna feel you, all of you”. He smirks in that boyish way at your shameless staring and shakes his head.
At this rate, the sway of his body, his heavy cock, made you wet your lips, swallowing down the saliva pooling in your mouth. You’d never wanted to devour someone, but at the specimen of a man before you, fuck, you never wanted it more.
”Fuck, I want to taste you”. You sit up, but John simply grunts, pushing your shoulder so you fall down immediately.
”Another time”, he grouses, settling on the bed before crawling forwards. ”I need to fuck you now. Isn't that what you wanted, love?” You drop the thought of getting your mouth on him in a second, instinctually parting your legs, mumbling a ’yes, please’. John slots himself in between them with a low laugh. ”Desperate, huh?” He muses, gripping his cock, pumping his shaft, chest heaving with steadying breaths.
Leaning forward with a hand beside your head, John hovers over you, running his cock through your folds, slick coating his tip. As he nudges your clit, your hips jump, causing his cock to catch at your opening, forcing a moan from you both.
”Come on, love, ask nicely”. He dips his head beside your ear, hot breath cascading down your naked skin. Shifting his hips so you were unable to make him slip inside you. ”Said you were a sweet girl. Show me it ain’t only your cunt that’s sweet”.
”John”. Your arms encircle his neck as you lean up. With a slight tug, you indicate you want him to meet you halfway for a kiss. His lips find yours and you can feel a faint taste of yourself, even more so when you slip your tongue against John's. However, you don't go further than that before parting from him. Instead, you kiss the side of his lips, his bearded cheek, and the hinge of his jaw before you reach the soft spot beneath his ear. There you come to whisper, ”I need you inside me”.
You notice how he shudders as you breathe fans softly over his ear, and he doesn’t wait long until lining himself up with your weeping hole.
John keeps his thumb above your entrance when he slowly pushes into you. A low groan tears itself from his open mouth as he slips deeper into your wet heat while a keen escapes you when clenching around his length.
”Feel s’good, fuck”, John grunts. He rocks in the last bit, your hips meeting as he pants, filling you up, cock nestled so deep. ”So tight ’round me”, he moans when his thumb slip upwards, strumming your clit and making you clench around him.
”J-John”, you moan, head thrown back.
”Can I move, love?” You hastily nod, circling your hips as your arms tighten around him. But remembering what he said earlier, a few words are rushed from your tongue.
”Yes, yes, you can move”. He drags his cock out until only his tip rest inside you before roughly entering you to the hilt.
Your stomach clenches as John sets a steady pace, thrusting into you with a snap of his hips that makes you unable to silence your moans. It feels too good to have him in you, on you, around you. One of your arms remains around his neck as your other hand trail down the fine hair on his chest to wrap around his torso, fingers groping his muscled back.
The flush sensation flowing through slowly builds a thin sheen of sweat over your skin, a similar slickness coating John as he fucks you.
His dog tags swing above you, the cool metal quickly turning lukewarm from the heat emitting from your skin. He pushes one of your legs upwards and to the side, clutching the flesh as he spreads you wide, gazing down to stare at the place you’re joined.
You think you could scream. John looks so good, towering over you, mouth hanging open slightly, dog tags twinkling in the air. The grip digging into the meat of your thigh barely grounds you as he switches to long and plunging strokes, pulling out before he pushes his cock as deep as it goes. His well-trimmed pubic bone kisses your mound each time he bottoms out.
His gaze burns into the place where you’re joined. Only making more wetness rush from you until a wet sound escapes your core each time he drives himself into you.
You don’t know what urges you to do it, maybe from stopping the way your jaw works and accidentally chipping a tooth along the way. But you push upwards and, with a tilt of your head, catch the metal swinging above you with your teeth.
A metallic taste fills your mouth as you bite down, the carving of his identification uneven beneath your teeth as you quiet yourself.
John’s movements stutter as he’s tugged forwards slightly when you fall back onto the pillows, accommodating by swiftly bending down and stabilising himself on his forearm. The accompanying sound escaping him is not human. Deep, guttural, vibrating against you. Nothing can describe how primal it sounded stemming from him.
”Fuckin’ hell!” He pants, stilling inside you while the grip on your thigh tightens, meat spilling between John's fingertips. The bedding beside your head moves as you feel his hand fist in its new potion slightly above your crown.
He’s staring down at you. None of that pretty blue present, only a darkness shading them oceanic.
”The things you fuckin’ do to me”. You let go of the tags, the metal bumping against your chin, dotting it with a wet patch from the saliva your tongue coated his identifications in when pushing them from your mouth. When they slide off, the metal taps against your upper throat.
”And what are those, Captain?" A storm rolls over the oceans. Skies darkening, the air whispering silent promises of lighting that could flash any second. In its wake, cracks of thunder would growl, beautifully intimidating in its power. John’s the enigma now, with the lighting striking in his eyes, the thunder rumbling from his lungs.
”Threadin' dangerous ground now, love”. The pet-name he’d used during the evening lost its smoothness and got replaced with a reprimand, a warning.
The deep cadence rocked your core, making you squirm against him. He hisses at the shift of your hips. The hand splayed on your thigh falls to your hips, anchoring them to the bed with the rest of his body weight as he drops his lower body, immobilising any further movement.
”Happen to love those grounds when it comes to you”, you gasp, feeling full as he remains there, filling you up so deliciously.
”You do, don’t ya? Have a hard time convincin’ me of you being sweet when you act like a dirty fuckin’ girl”. A whimper rips from your throat, a shudder leaving goosebumps on your skin as your nails dig into his side, your core throbbing at the lewd sentence.
”John”, you attempt to rock your hips upwards, but his paw and weight keeps you in place.
Noticing his effect on you, his head dips the crevice of your neck. Lavishing the skin there with kisses and nips, the bristles covering his lower face tickling the skin. It makes a quiver journey up your skull, causing an involuntary twitch of your neck as it cranes away from him.
”Don’t think so”. John shifts, the hand he'd kept himself up with by the side of your head worming under your arm and shoulder. It enables him to clutch the side of your head, stopping any reactions that would bring your further from him as he whispers dirty things into your ear.
"Think I wanna let you go, eh? You're so pretty beneath me, love. Those eyes of yours, your dirty fuckin’ mouth", his voice dips into a growl, making you boneless, tipping more than pressing against the fingers at the back of your head.
He took the invite to once more pay attention to your neck, enough so it wouldn't be a surprise if a few love-bites would bloom. And as he does, he jostles himself inside you, causing your thigh to flex and the knee of your leg, having rested against the bed since his touch had left, press against his hip.
You need him to move, not comprehending how John could act as if he wasn’t inside you when you clench around him, only continuing to lave at your skin. The restraint on this fucking man would drive you insane.
”Move”, you pant, hand clenching, the pads of your fingers denting his skin as they curl.
”Didn’t hear ya”. John mumbles the response with the quirk of his lips against your throat. You groan both at his reply and the surging need.
”John, move, please”.
”You can do better than that, love”. He rose, face hovering above yours. Your gaze is unsteady and hazy as you blink, feeling wetness coat your lower lash lines. A rumbling chuckle left John upon the sight. ”Despite being so cockdrunk”.
Desire crawls under your skin and you wail, one hand slipping to grip his arm beside your head, the other just attempting to feel him all at once, gliding over his skin with no aim in sight. You open your mouth, but your tongue feels heavy.
”Need you”. The plea is barely coherent as you try to rock your hips upwards. Emphasis on tried, as John still pinned you down. Signalling he wasn’t satisfied. ”I-fuck, ’m need you to move, fuck me, whatever ya want, need to cum”. The end of your sentence became rushed, warbled as warm lust boiled over and constricted your throat. But this time, it was enough for John.
”That’s my girl”. You moan even before he pulls back and rocks into you. Your back arching, neck craning when he finally does.
His pubic bone rubs against yours as he sets a steady pace. Bottoming out each time with a grind that makes him kiss a part inside you that has your toes curling.
John drops his body to yours as his hand circles around your shoulder rather than your head. He presses impossibly close to you, the soft curves of your body moulding against the hard planes of his working muscles.
Your hand move to the back of his neck, fingers carding through his brown locks. Your nails dig, catching his skin, earning you a particularly harsh thrust.
You moan louder and John continues as the same pace as he punches into you with repeated snaps of his hips. Your body jolts, now thankful for his grip on you, or otherwise, you would’ve scooted up the bed until presumingly hitting the wall.
As he hits a spot that makes lighting sip up your spine and you arch against his unmoving front, a wrecked moan stems from your lungs to join his grunts. John notices the difference in your sound of pleasure and continues at the same angle, watching how your head lolls almost too easy to the side. And, if it hadn't been for the desperate noises escaping your open mouth, John would also have worried.
You groan a broken sound into his mouth when he presses his lips to yours, the kiss quickly turning from the press of lips to dirty slides and sucks of tongues.
John's hand on your hip settles on your waist, dragging you to meet each of his thrusts. In response, your legs curl over his hips, your heel pressing into the back of his thighs to drive him further into you.
As oxygen becomes hard to pull in, your stuttering breaths incapacitate you from continuing the fervent exchange with him, simply keeping your mouth open, panting against him. John doesn’t mind. Not when his grunts bounce against your breathed whines as well.
You don’t know who loses the battle of eye contact first, but soon you find your cheek pressed against his bearded one, head tilting slightly backwards as his hung between his shoulders, breaths puffing against your clavicle.
He mumbles incoherent things, sweet nothings and lewd sentences. "Squeeze me so good”. ”Come on, love, need to feel you come around me". ”Fuck, I’m close”.
You latch onto the last one as you feel your high nearing its crest.
”Inside, John, cum inside me”. He pushes deeper somehow, his first reaction entirely instinctual upon your sentence.
Your curse gets swallowed by his lips as his hand beneath you grips your neck, fingers pressing into the base of your skull as he claims your lips in a possessive kiss. It’s short as he swiftly parts from you when a moan is ripped from you both, as his dominant display made you clench hard around him.
”S-sure, love?” He groans.
”Yes”, you wail.
”Jesus, I-ah fuck”, his voice is gruff from breathlessness, pleasure-strained sentence clipped. John's eyes close harshly enough that his brows furrow, unable to hold his head up anymore as it drops.
Your legs start to quiver as John slips his finger to rub fervent circles to your clit with a ‘come one, love, need you to cum f’me’ mumbled against your skin.
Your orgasm builds quickly, cresting like the dent your nails press into John’s back. And then it snaps.
You go rigid with an arch towards his frame, broken cry leaving you. You convulse, toes curling as your legs tighten around John's waist.
His thrust doesn’t stall, he continues to pound you down into the mattress. Though with more restricted movements. He barely pulls out, more so harshly grinding into you, pumping into the spot inside you that only prolongs your pleasure and trashing.
Barely able to moan any longer, mouth just hanging open in a silent scream, your arms envelop his neck once more, forcing him to rest more of his weight on you as he can't keep himself elevated with your insistent tugging and the weakness his nearing high causes.
His thrust turns sloppy when you whisper his name, urging him to cum, that you can't take it any longer, that you want to feel him, to warm you up.
You would've been embarrassed at the words that left your tongue if not for the seemingly continuous stream of ecstasy on your end and the man moaning shamelessly at your purred sentences. And it doesn't end until John's thrust turns erratic, a few more thrusts into your spasming cunt until he comes with a shudder.
A deep groan resonates from him as his back curl, seemingly wanting to crawl into you as he spills deep within you, warmth filling you and leaving you with a sated sensation. He collapses onto you then, his entire weight tending to a deep need of comfort emerging as you both heave for air.
The thin sheen of sweat covering your body cools you down, causing your skin to prickle and a shudder to work through you. Both of you let out near-whiny sounds as it makes you involuntarily clench around him.
But you can't help how you unconsciously clench around John in the wake of your orgasm despite your oversensitive bodies. It makes him grunt and gently pull out of you, sparing both of you the strained pleasure as he rolls to the side.
Although feeling a sudden emptiness without his weight inside you and your mixed juices slowly trickling out with each spent tremor of your hole, one of John's arms remains around your waist and pulls you close to his side. Tending to your need for closeness.
Your laboured breaths fan against his ribs and back in your face as you feel his chest expand harshly beneath your palm. For a few seconds, you simply revel in the post-euphoria. Eyes closed, basking in John’s presence as you feel the usual drowsiness after reaching your high emerging. Still, you notice how he shuffles all too soon, his arm beginning to slip from around you and his warmth moving away.
”M’no”, you mumble, hooking your arm around John’s waist as he attempts to sit up, face burrowing more into his side.
”M’not gonna disappear, just gonna grab somethin' to clean you up”. Your heart flutters at his care, but at the moment, you need him here with you more.
”Not now, in a bit”. Your eyes flutter open, hooded gaze locking with John’s as you look up at him. Something stalls in his body, stopping him in his movement.
”S’alright then”, he speaks softly, falling down and pulling your upper body onto his chest, and you nuzzle into the column of his neck with a smile and sigh.
”Awfully cosy you are”, John hums beside your ear, shuffling a bit, and you feel the covers that slipped down your bed being pulled to your waist. His hand seeks your skin beneath the fabric giving the both of you some modesty, fingers running up and down your spine.
”Live with it, soldier”.
The air of his soft huff travels over your shoulders. ”Ain’t complainin'”.
”Good”. You kiss the base of his throat, receiving a rumble from his chest.
As you lay there, you slowly feel how you come to. God, you didn’t want to move, but if you didn’t, you would fall asleep. Attempting to stretch away some of the comfortable softness in your limbs, you emerge from his neck to look down at him.
Your hand settles on his chest, your pinky resting on the chain of his dog tags, moving the metal slightly with the flex of your fingertip.
Upon being so close to him, you notice the incredibly sparse, yet still present, specks of grey sprinkled in his hair and beard.
”Hi”. Your soft greeting earns you a smile, that one you liked so much on John's handsome face.
”Hello”. Despite its natural gravel and husk, John's voice is softer than you ever heard during the evening.
The slow smile pulling your lips doesn’t stop even though he leans up for a peck, which swiftly turns into a few shared kisses. When he parts from you, his head falls back to rest against the hand behind his head, head tilted slightly from the position.
”Remember you mentioned you weren’t needed anywhere in the morning”. Your fingers play with the chain resting on John's chest. The hand around your waist slows until his thumb traces lazy circles against your lower back.
”What about it?” One of his brows quirks, and you glance down at your fingers, suddenly shy beneath his heavy-lidded gaze and confidently relaxed posture in your bed.
”Like to stay the night?” It feels like you mumble the question into his chest, and you even stop yourself from continuing with ’if you don’t want to, you don’t have to’, knowing he’s a grown man aware he has a choice without you plainly stating it.
A slight tap of fingers against your chin brings your gaze back up, and there, his lips meet yours in a deeper kiss than earlier. At the low hum his act pulls from you, he smiles and leans back to rest against your pillows again, index and middle finger resting along your jawline.
”Hadn’t planned to go anywhere if you didn’t shoo me out”.
”I won’t, or maybe just to re-park your car in the morning so you don’t get a ticket”, he chuckled before pulling you closer to him again.
No CWs, they are idiots in love and I want them to be happy
It wasn’t a grand wedding by any means. Both men didn’t have much family left, and even if, even fewer wanted to see their son getting married to another man. But that didn’t stop a certain brit from going all out.
John Price was precise about it. He knew his Nik would have loved a big, traditionall wedding. His Pa there, his Babushka and Nona, all the traditions.. But they had told him noone would show up. That if he went through with marrying a man, that they wouldn‘t see him as their own anymore. And that alone had.. dimmed Nik. Sure he was happy to marry the man of his dreams, but.. somehow he gained love in exchange for his culture.
Nik tried not to affect Price with all that, but there is only so much you can hide from an SAS Captain.. And Price? Who was deadset to make this wedding perfect? He noticed. And then he planned.
The night was sleepless. Price slipped into russian networks and websites, and researched. He learned, he studied, and along the way? Price decided this wedding was gonna be grand.
And so? It is. Price had to keep this thing a secret as best as possible, and he managed! So just think about Nik turning around to see his soon to be husband in a burgundy red silk suit. Red. The colour that represented buty in his culture. The rings, who have Niks name in russian and a small ruby on them. He thought that was it, but before he could walk Price down the isle, the team blocked his way. They ushered Price behind them, crossing their arms infront of Nik.
☠️: „He‘s a hostage now. Gotta get him free mate.“
🧼: „Tradition, aye? I‘m willing to fight ye for 'im, but can‘t hand off our captain to some rando.“
🧢: „Yup. Gotta get past us to get your husband.“
They tease and laugh as Nik tries to get to his John half heartedly, until he catches on- Bride Ransom, or in this case- Groom ransom. He laughs, tears up a bit as he recognizes the tradition. So, he tells Ghost jokes until the Britt is laughing, playfully fights with Soap, and has a singing battle with Gaz right there, just so he may get the honour of walking his John Price in that stupidly red suit down that damn isle.
The wedding itself is spectacular. Not big, but full of love. Nik held Prices hand as they walk down the isle to Moscow Nights, and again Nik is close to tears. At one point he has to press a hand to his eyes so he wouldn’t cry right there.
And then there are the vows. Nik had to ask Laswell for help multiple times, because even though his english wasnt that bad, his grammar was defenitely horrid. But his vows are compasionate, beautifull.
„I promise to choose you over bird any time.“ Nik had said with such fierce loyalty that it was almost Prices turn to cry, but the tables are flipped verry quickly when Price unfolds his vows. Nik was preppared for english in that sweet brittish drawl he loved- What did he get? Strangeld russian that sounded like it was beaten into posh submission by an agressively brittish teapot. Prices voice is too soft to pronounce harsh vowls, and he doesn’t roll the r’s like the russian language demanded.. Nik did have to help Price pronounce a few words, but oh if he wasn’t crying before, he was now.
They get pronounced husband and husband in russian, and Nik just slams his lips to Prices. No hesitation, just a long, claiming, soft kiss. He pours all those years of their time into it, let‘s his hand find his husbands hair as Price just smiles into the kiss, melts foreward like a man who finally made it home. Nik breaks the kiss, leans foreward and kisses Prices forehead again, murmurs a soft Lyubimiy into his skin..
This wedding, this man.. All of it tried so hard to be something he missed and thought he couldn‘t recieve. Yet, it felt like everything he ever longed for was in his husbands vows, the chappel that had white horses painted on it‘s walls and a bear pawprints on the stairs.. In the 141 who made him pay ransom for his husband, and in the sourdough and salt they got after all of it was over. It was in the way Soaps face contorted later at the pub, saying his beer tasted sour and that maybe Nik and Price should kiss to sweeten it up. It was in the way Niks husband had found all those symbolics and traditions, and incorporated them into the wedding.
Later that night they lay in bed, Prices head on Niks chest, his eyes soft as he looks up at his husband.
„I see you. I love you. I want to tell you that I love you in your mother tounge.“ He whispers into the night.. Both of them knew that „till death do us part..“ was an understatement.
nah cause wait price and the reader fucking in the bathroom of marissa’s bar……idk if she’d do that to her friend marissa but still it’s lowkey hot as fuck 😭😭😭😭
A/N: Oh anoooooon this is sinful in more ways than one🫠 A little filler until the next part of the main sunshine!universe chapter is published.
SUNSHINE UNIVERSE MASTERLIST
—Okay, so I definitely think sunshine!reader and Price would be apprehensive to sneak off and have some ehm... fun during normal hours and when the rest of 141 is there, ’cause you know, you wouldn’t hear the end of it from Marissa and Price would probably not take such a chance with his menaces' of mates around for a similar reason
—But just imagine you're helping Marissa for the night, stepping in on her late closing shift, as she and Johnny have a date planned (bc after my last request regarding those two, it's canon they're dating now) and you and Price are well into your relationship
—You dress up in something that you're not too afraid will be damaged, stains and whatnot something you'll have to count on behind a bar, so after rummaging through your closet, you settle on an all-black outfit, suit pants and a short-sleeved slim turtleneck
—When you step into the pub, you immediately greet some of your co-workers for the night, all of which you'd met previously and got along well with thanks to your friendship with Marissa and sometimes helping out at the pub, like tonight
—You fall into your old routine quickly, flashing smiles and mixing drinks, putting on a show for whoever came up to the bar and ordered something that wasn't a beer or plain drink
—Imagine Price coming towards the end of your shift, about an hour or so left
—You spot him when he steps into the bar, a quick glance to note the new customer only to be pleasantly surprised by him, seeing you hadn't thought you would see him until after closing, as he'd said he would come get you after the shift
—As he sits at the end of the bar, you're by him in an instance, greeting him swiftly, deciding against leaning over the bar to plant a kiss on his lips in favour of professionalism
"You're here early". Your hand are clasped together, leaning on the bar, his finger brushing yours as he sits similarly on the other side of the counter.
"Decided to come and keep you company". You smiled at that. It was getting late and the pace was slower. In the past 30 minutes, many of the customers you didn't recognise trickled out, only the regulars still around, and you'd called out goodbyes to more and more co-workers.
"Well you don't hear me complaining", you reply and he chuckles at that.
"Didn't think so".
—You and Price fall into a conversation about how both your days have been until one of the older men rises from his seat and you excuse yourself, knowing he would order another round for his mates
—It's something about the way you talk to the man, and anyone else that comes to order afterwards, that makes Price transfixed, eyes always on you rather than the glass of coke you put in front of him just out of hospitality
—You don't flirt with them, of course, even if some may drop a flirty comment here and there. You're all smiles, some are more genuine, while others are, what he comes to recognise, your service smile. And still, there's always the same glint in your eyes when you pitch a pint or mix a drink.
—Price finds himself sitting with a smile as he follows you, but something grows in his belly, a warmth unfurling as blood slowly gets diverted further south, he knows what it is but can't do anything about his desire flaring to life, it's just something about you at the moment that urges the reaction.
—And he can't help himself from perking up when he catches you informing the patrons they can enjoy their drinks in peace if you can start some of the closing procedures, the old chaps are all jovial laughter and appreciative smiles as they reassure you that it's fine, they'll be out of your hair when you return.
— When you come back to him, this time on the same side of the bar he sits at, kissing him on the cheek and saying you'll be back in a bit, swiftly disappearing down the corridor towards what must be some staff backroom, Price can't help himself to stand from his seat.
—He tries to convince himself he follows you because he wants to offer his help, but the uncomfortable tightness over his crotch calls bullshit, especially when he sees you bent over, shifting some boxes of bottles, the glass clinking together.
—In a few large strides, Price is swiftly standing behind you, instantly hooking an arm around your waist, hauling you towards his chest.
—He feels you stiffen, hand gripping his lower arm, instinctively trashing until the two of you stumble through the door he'd push you towards, the staff bathroom, and you see him in the mirror.
—He isn't a fan of quickies, he likes to take his sweet time with you, taking care of you good and proper, the foreplay as exhilarating as finally bottoming out inside your pretty and wet cunt.
—But in this instance, Price can't help himself, thinking with his cock throbbing for release rather than his head, something about you tonight making him lose all semblance of the control he likes to keep, thankfully he at least remembers to lock the door behind him and that there still are people down the hall.
"We gonna do this quick". His face is pressed close to yours, blue eyes locked with your wide eyes in the mirror as he husks the sentence straight into your ear. "Be a good fuckin' girl and stay still".
You shiver as John let his hand fall, swiftly joined by the other, hands jerking your pants open and rucking them down the swell of your ass.
'I adore when you're sweet on me, John, but I-I also like when you're rough, just, you know, take what you want sometimes'. He remembers your words clear as day despite it being ages ago you'd uttered them. He wouldn't try this otherwise. Even so, he remained attentive to your reaction for better or worse.
—As your panties joined your pants around your lower thighs, neither pair cared about being pushed down any further than needed, Price would swiftly start circling your clit, wasting no time teasing you, making you jolt against him and whimper.
—His hand would shoot up, covering your lower face and mouth with his big paw and whisper into your ear, 'gotta be quiet for me love', as he uses all the knowledge he’d gathered about your body to make you feel as good as possible
—While working your core into a weeping mess, he would be rutting against your ass, hard as a rock, making you grow even wetter as your head hangs, basking in the sudden onslaught of pleasure
—He would pull away suddenly, stepping away from your body, making your head rise. As you watch him in the mirror, you catch some of his hurried movements following the sound of his zipper
—He would swiftly step into your body, pressing you tight against the sink, its edge pushing into your lower abdomen. His cock press against your upper thigh, hot and throbbing
"So fuckin' pretty tonight I couldn't help myself", you're mindful enough to silence your moan into a forced breath through your nose, lips in a tight line as he grips his cock and runs it up and down your slickness
”John”, you whine when he runs his cock up and down your slickness, immediately earning the muzzle of his palm again.
He hushes you before pushing into you, both of you grateful he’d covered your mouth, seeing how the lack of proper stretching makes you moan unabashedly against his palm.
Your breath is a hot, dragged-out puff of air and Price feels your mouth hanging open beneath his hand, your cunt clutching tightly around him at what he know is a burn-like pleasure from the stretch. And he can’t hep himself from harshly kneading your bared hip as he fold forwards, lightly biting your shoulder, eyes scrunching together in concentration to not make a noise hhhimself as you feel like a wet, hot vice around him.
—Price would work himself into you as slowly as possible concerning the time pressure, but as soon as he bottomed out, he would start rutting against you
—Your clothes silenced the slap of skin, but if anyone would pass the door, they would undoubtedly know something was going on inside, which only made Price thrust quicker into you, the situation dawning on him in a mix of concern of being caught and thrill induced pleasure
—You would go slack as you felt his thrust get harder, brushing against something making your lower belly tingle and legs quiver, forehead resting against the mirror that swiftly fogged from the proximity
—Price would lift himself slightly, changing the angle just a smudge in his thrust in his now upright position, immediately catching how the vibrations forming beneath his hand increased and your back arched the best you could from being bent over the sink
—And then, just imagine when Price’s orgasm would rush up on him, he just need to see your pretty face so he grips your jaw rather than cover your mouth, forcing you to look up and into the mirror
"Come on, love, smile for me like you've done all night", he taunts through a grunt, thrusting into you harshly enough that you only stare back at your reflection a muted uh, uh, uh sound punched from your lungs.
Your mouth is hanging open, cheeks pushed together by his fingers digging into your flesh.
"Ain't you a fuckin' sight", he can't help but groan, your eyes unfocused, pleasure written across every feature. Your brows are harshly narrowed, creases littering your forehead and the space between your brows. John would feel you flutter in that easily recognisable pattern that always pushed him over the edge, knowing you were close too.
—You're so close you can taste it when Price suddenly slumps against your back with a moan, stopping all movement as he remains nestled deep as his seed coated your inside.
—You whine, writhing against him, but Price stills your hips with a firm grip on them and then he does the worst thing he ever could, he pulls out and tugs your panties up and in place, covering your throbbing clit and clenching pussy, the fabric catching some of his cum dribbling out.
"Keep you nice and warm until gettin' home to yours", John pats your cunt through the lacy material, making you jolt and whine, head raising as he pulls your pants up your legs.
Any sight of your orgasm has faded and when your gaze locks with John's in the mirror again, you know he sees your frustration as his head ticks and he grins.
"Don't be poutin', love", he steps up close behind you as you stand straight, legs wobbly from what just happened and your robbed orgasm rather than a weakened pleasure state.
His hand previously on your hips slide forward, now zipping your pants up and doing the button so they're kept up by themselves.
"Just gotta lock up and I'll take my sweet time with you when we get home".
"Better be a promise", you say, turning to face him. His chin falls, a big palm coming to cover your jaw and upper throat, his thumb brushing against your cheek.
"M'gonna takes such great care of you, spoil you rotten, hm, what so say 'bout that eh?" He hummed, dipping his head to slot his mouth over yours.
"Well deserved", you breathe in return when he steps backwards, amused eyes locked with yours util he opened the door to take a peak out the corridor.
"Go on then", he cocks his head towards the door he now holds open, deeming the coast clear. When you pass him, he gives you a cheeky slap to your arse. When you jolt in your step, you send him a look, only to be met with an arch of his brows and a smug quirk in the edge of his mouth.
—Price would feel such a fucking possessive pride in watching you scurry out of the bathroom, trying not to shift your hips too much from feeling his spend still inside you as you rush through the closing procedure and attempting to keep a straight face when bidding goodbye to the last customers
A/N: And yeah, I think I died somewhere along the way of this🫠
Oneshot Summary; The handsome stranger isn’t much of a stranger anymore as you get to know him. John Price, is his name, Captain John Price. In fact, the gentleman of a soldier makes you much less calm than what their night out was attempted to be and as the night goes on you realise that maybe the feeling is mutual.
Pairing: John Price x reader
Rating: Mature
CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Chapter 2/3
Word; 15k
Warnings; nothing major, implied age-gap
Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing
A/N: *Dropping my 15k flirting Price fic and runs*
MAIN MASTERLIST
Pair. Three of a kind. Full house. They played often, you understood. Cards dealt, a flick of the corner, bets placed.
Johnny seemingly sobered up his ecstatic personality once the games began. No less favouring running his mouth, but less expressive. Eyebrows, for the time being, are set as if carved into stone. A new glint -a competitive one- gleamed like well-polished medals in his eyes. But those sparks also spawned his tell-tale cues.
Ghost had an unfair advantage in your eyes. Those sole expressions previously visible through his eyes swept away as if he put another coverage over his face. An invisible but nonetheless detectable one. But what you evidently lacked in piecing his character together -those blank niches yet to be fleshed out- the other men around the table knew, taking advantage of it as well. Hence, you commenced eyeing the others rather than Ghost to catch his tells.
Kyle kept a constant easy smile in the corner of his lip. His previous persona not having changed much since he brought out the deck of cards. But with contrasts so slight, what you guessed would be signs of... not anxiety, but whatever emotion worked itself through his body in other high-attentive situations wormed itself into his game as well. Attention honed in on the deck, sharp eyes following the card being pulled, flipped and placed amongst the rest. A quick dart of eyes up and down the row. An additional check of his cards.
John... John was good. You noted it quickly. He was expressive but not revealing. A quick pull in the corner of his eyebrow gave you the impression he'd gotten an intriguing set on his hands. With the bet set, no 7am drills for a week, along with the seemingly amused cock of his head when Johnny countered, I'll be washin' for double the time, another card flipped to the community and his action of upping his stake to three weeks, you'd been sure he'd gotten himself a winner. He had won. But not impressively, at least not when he flipped his two cards. A pair of fours, no match amongst the community cards. You'd watched him play closely after that.
Marissa, understandingly more acquainted with their group than you, play against them well. Betting with free drinks and whatnot, occasionally winning thanks to her familiarity with watching them, you suppose. Nor does she react when new names start slipping into the air. Shut it, Soap. Come on, L.T. You can do better than that, Gaz. Nicknames, military ones, they nearly favour using more, you realise. That's why they sound so natural coming from their tongues but never leave Marissa's.
You started suspecting that getting introduced to their real names, apart from Ghost's, was merely first-encounter manners.
It would probably have remained that way if you stayed a stranger.
"Already, Cap'n?" You're brought back from your thoughts as Johnny utters the question, not in the slightest accompanied by the dissatisfaction as a complaint should, but rather the glee of unbelieving bafflement.
Eyes landing on the table, you notice what had caused the Scot's outburst. John had thrown his cards into the discarded pile, signalling he was out. One of the rare occurrences seeing it was only the first round.
But the man at your side only shrugged, and those around the table didn't press too hard on the fact. Bigger chance of them taking home the round when he wasn't in the contest.
However, what you hadn't expected as your eyes continued to follow those still playing, was John shifting closer, clearly showing he redirects his attention to you as he leans on the armrest just beside your own, slouching back somewhat in his seat to not invade your space all too much.
"Ain't too rowdy of a crowd for you, are we?" Your head is pulled towards him first, eyes following a moment after as you watch the second community card be flipped. King of Spades.
Just as your eyes lock, Johnny, with perfect timing, exclaims something triumphantly in incomprehensible Scottish. Your smile brought on by the action is directed towards John, a similar one reflected on his face, along with the tip of his head, expressing a silent 'as I said'.
"Don't underestimate my time spent in companies like these", you reply. The corner of your lip tugs upwards as you lean backwards, the skin over your shoulder blades moulding to the imprint of the backrest until you can feel its slight poke into the bone.
He quirks his brows, head tilting as he dips his head closer. "Do tell?" Curiosity laces John's low-spoken voice, the same interest shining in his blue eyes.
"I-", you start, hesitating to continue. Glancing at the others to see how invested they were in your conversation versus their game. When finding Johnny in an argument with Ghost, and none of the others even batting an eye in your direction to miss their altercation, you turned fully to John, shifting in the seat until feeling the subtle poke of the armrest into your ribcage instead of back. "I've done a few basic military courses through the private sector. Ain't much, but I've done the basic".
"Few basics, eh?" He shifts his foot to lean on the table's leg. The thigh closest to you falls outwards slightly, widening his seated position, accidentally brushing against yours. He moves it away to still have his body directed towards you but not touch it. "Have a feeling there's some advanced there too?"
Your eyes widen, lips parting, a question of how he could've known -because despite being worded as a question, it was a statement- on the tip of your tongue. But before you can ask, John continues, seemingly knowing where your train of thought went.
"In this line of work, you know a fair share about the private as much as the public sector. Those workin’ in private industry are probably familiar faces". You can't help but smile at that. Indeed, your instructors had mentioned their time of enlistment more than once.
Tipping his head, John encourages you to tell him more about what he'd mentioned.
Without hesitating, you did. "Had an instructor who'd worked in intelligence, interrogations more specifically, so I approached him about it. Besides curiosity, I don't know what he saw. But he offered to give me lessons, said he had some connections still in service, contacted them, and some were gracious enough to teach me some things".
"Fuckin' hell", he huffs in surprise, arms crossing over his chest. "Thought I recognised it". It sounded more like he said it to himself, but his eyes never left yours.
"Recognised what?"
"Those eyes, all of you interrogators share them". He leaned closer to you as he said it, one of his hands sneaking from his crossed arms to amusedly gesture towards you, yet the look in his eyes was soft.
"We do not!" You didn't realise you spoke louder. Nor that the round had ended. Therefore, the groups' attention fell on you at your protest.
"What the two of ya talkin' about then?"
Your eyes briefly found Johnny's before skating back to John, who, this time, seemed to be in no hurry at all to answer the Scot. Instead, the amusedly raised brows along the tug in his lips were directed at you as he remained in his position.
Realising he left it all for you to tell them, you sighed. No need to fight it. With the intrigued look reflected in Johnny's eyes, you instinctively knew it wouldn't be possible to brush it off. "Just told John about some training I've done-"
"Come one, love, seemingly ain't no secret if you told me". You sent him a look, annoyed he'd caught how you'd attempted to, not even smoothen over but exclude what kind of training.
You weren't ashamed of it, far from it, in fact. However, you felt yourself shrink into your chair somewhat at the thought of telling the men watching you with intrigued eyes at John's words. They were soldiers. Working, breathing soldiers, for goodness sake. Even if you didn't believe they would laugh in your face when telling them, it felt so... petty compared to whatever they must do, not something that should earn this much attention from them, out of all people.
And yet, it was John's soft nod, one you don't know whether it was even consciously done, that calmed your mind. He hadn't laughed, perhaps in surprise but not to mock you. He'd seemed slightly... impressed.
"Alright", you directed at him, to which he cocked his head, easy smile still slightly hidden by his moustache, then turned towards the rest of the company. "I just mentioned how I've dabbled in the military".
As suspected, they reacted. But not in the way concern had made it play out in your head.
Ever the expressionist, Johnny's lips parted, his complexion drawing together in reflection as if wondering if he'd heard right. At the momentarily distant look entering his eyes, brows knitting together forming harsh lines on his forehead, you assumed he recalled your sentence. But once the Scot realised he didn't imagine the statement, the morph was swift as his complexion settled in astonishment, mouth opening and closing.
Even Ghost revealed more than what you'd gotten used to during the evening, enough for you to paint a picture in your mind of his reaction. It was impossible to catch the whole expression behind his balaclava. Still, despite the blank facade that those hidden features formed for you, the slight widening of his eyes suggested his eyebrows rose and remained pinned higher than their natural place on his browbone intended they should. The tick of his head, just a twitch to the side as his eyes skated over you, assessing, before settling on your features with a narrow, suggesting he verged between not believing and awe of, perhaps, fooling him.
However, Kyle was the sole one whose immediate reaction was to voice his surprise. "Pardon?" His question worked wonders to finally set off the perplexed Scot and make him spit out the words he'd chewed for since you told them.
"Ya mean, what in the steamin' hell did ya just tell us?"
"As unbelievable as me having worked behind the counter?" You offered the wide-eyed man in a chuckle, finding amusement rather than timidness growing in your chest at his actions, to which he jerked his head as if asked the stupidest question.
"More so!"
You exchanged a look with Marissa, who sat relaxed in her chair, knowing very well of this fact.
It had emerged during one of your late shifts, you'd mentioned it in passing, and she'd physically stopped when she heard it. She'd more or less forced you out on a relaxing night, 'of course, it will include drinks', as she'd probed for every last detail with wide and amazed eyes. Never would've believed that of you, she'd laughed in near disbelief, ‘at least I know you'll be able to hold your own behind the counter’.
Johnny picked up your silent exchange, a look from you conveying that this was as bad as when she'd gotten to know and the slight tip of her head 'sue them' in reply, and turned to her. "Ya knew about this?"
"As much as I know about you lot", she flashed him a grin. "If not more, to be honest, yapped about it for weeks", she snickered.
"Oh shush", you feigned ignorance -sure, you'd talked to her about the further training you'd done in intelligence, but only because she'd asked- yet, the blue eyes of the Scotsman jumped back to you.
"Ain't none of that, bonnie, didn't know ya were one of us!"
"Nor am I". You pointed out, underlining it with a finger directed Johnny's way. "Learned a few things through the private sector, never listed. So I never did the official stuff, simply something attempting to emulate it".
"Why?" Ghost's low voice questioned. His dark eyes steadfastly focused on you. You found yourself opening and closing your mouth. Why indeed? You hadn't known what fucking else to do with your life.
"Was curious about the paths I could take", you shrugged. "Realised it wasn't really for me in the long run, but learned an interesting thing or two".
Ghost let out a breath, not a scoff nor a laugh, just a drawn-out gust of air. "Good choice". His words caused your brows to raise, but you didn't press. If anyone knew what they were talking about it, it would be the men around you.
"So what ya learned then?" Johnny leaned forwards on the table, earning your attention.
"Well, I had a standard boot camp, learning the basics of physical training, firearm and close combat".
"Not bad", Kyle nodded, lips pursed. "Didn't think you would've been thought firearms here though, over in the State's maybe...". He trailed off with a shrug as his brows rose and fell.
"As the Captain said-", you nodded towards John, not catching the way his head turned to you as he straightened in his seat somewhat while the others raised their eyebrows or cocked their heads. "-most, if not every instructor, was past military members. So special licenses for firearm exercise wasn't too difficult to get, I suppose".
There was a slight pause as they watched you until Ghost spoke up. "How strict were they?"
"If you mean wheater I had to withstand them screaming at me with no care for personal space and calling them by rank or else, I'll run till my face was in the mud, then strict is the answer to both".
"Explains it", John mumbled under his breath. You spared him a glance, and he tipped his head as he unwinded his arms, letting each rest on their corresponding armrest. His fingers tapped the wood, and when it was apparent that you didn't understand his comment, he offered you a gentle smile as he explained. "Not usual for civilians to call us by rank".
"Oh", god, you felt stupid. "Sorry, sometimes it just happens, I guess". You cringed, frowning, disturbed by having fallen into old habits while delving into the subject. And yet, it hadn't felt unnatural calling John by his rank. It fit him. "Even though I don't meet many army affiliates anymore".
Compared to the first time his rank had fallen from your lips, he didn't regard you with that veiled expression. This time, it was something else, mirth intertwined in the lighter specks of blue in his eyes, whereas something... darker infected the aegean shadowing of his hues.
You don't know whether John got reminded of what branch you'd explored as your eyes remained locked with his, attempting to decipher whatever you couldn't in his gaze. But, as if remembering you hadn't indulged the rest with the fact, he spoke. "You haven't told them about the most interestin’ part".
This time you didn't fight him on indulging the rest. Instead, you turned back to face the rest. "Right, I specialised in intelligence at the end as well".
"Ha, yer the same as the big guy!" Johnny turned to Ghost before his eyes shifted back to you. "Ain't no way I would've guessed that one".
"Infiltration, Johnny, not intelligence", the man corrected him. "I use what they give me". Ghost nodded towards you. You didn't feel like correcting him, more so you knew you didn't need to.
"I 'now ya prick", the Scotsman scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "But ya bloody work with information collection as well, if I'm not wron', standin' there as a feckin' reaper durin' inquests".
You chuckled. "Can't say I got that advantage". Those dark eyes shifted to you, and Ghost didn't need to say anything for you to understand what he thought, the entertained expression in his eyes stating a firm but amused ‘no, you don't’.
"Well, let's see how much you learned, then", Kyle smiled, expertly shuffling the cards before he started dealing them, a card landing before you even before you'd managed to answer the question. "Ain't no backing out now", he smirked, continuing to deal out the cards to everyone around the table.
...
You played well, though you thought it was more so because of you being used to the game than being able to read them. Your collection of their tells during the initial rounds helped, yet it wasn't the sole reason you managed to beat them. Luck played a big part. But that, you wouldn't tell, not when noticing the rile you got on one person in the group.
"Come on then, Johnny, what's your move". You hummed, leaning forwards so your elbows and crossed forearms rest on the table, observing the Scot across from you. His eyes intensely honed in on the fourth community card that just had been pulled.
When his eyes switched to watch you, you promptly saw it. Not the card he'd hoped for. Cocking a brow, you offered him a smile.
"Feck", Johnny grumbled. Sore looser. He grabbed his cards and threw them into the discarded pile, mindful not to let them accidentally flip. "I fold". Joining Marissa and Kyle.
Your eyes flickered to Ghost, awaiting his action. Without delay, he delivered it. "Call".
"Call", John's voice sounded in succession, your own falling suit, causing Marissa to flip the fifth and final community card.
Ten of hearts.
Not a bad card, but since the initial two community cards had been revealed, you'd been set for this round. You rapped your finger against your elbow. Compared to Ghost, who thumbed the edge of his card, you recited your hand in your head. Aces, red and black, heart and spade.
Your eyes were set on the tall man, observing the glimpse down at his cards, the move a quick flick of his eyes before his index and middle fingertips pressed the edges flat against the table as his gaze rose.
Ghost's auburn eyes locked with yours, dead straight, staring back. He'd felt your attention on him, no doubt, yet you didn't retaliate once you had his in return. Instead, you cocked your head just the right amount to not let it rest against your shoulder, practised smile stretching your lips.
"It's your turn, Ghost, in case you forgot". You know he hadn't. But, you also knew that he weighed his options at the moment, cost and benefit, what play was synonymous with what. Ghost's considerations depended on you, what your game was, deceit or honesty. And he knew, much like John had pointed out, how you, those interrogators, worked; it was never either or but a balance of both. The question is what direction the scale tipped towards the most.
"You're good", was all he said, throwing his cards into the growing pile of discarded cards, signalling his fold. Your smile could've grown, showing your satisfaction in how your mask had been better than the faceless man's. But, instead, you kept the same expression as you turned to glance over your shoulder, elbows still planted on the tabletop.
"John?" His attention was already on you. No need to call for it. And yet, you like to see him work, strip your utterance of his name and the redirect of attention on him bare. Attempting to spread the layers until he could read between the lines, much like Ghost.
Unlike his working comrade, however, he doesn't move. Instead, he remains lounging, two fingers resting on the table edge, his left hand on his thigh. And yet, when John doesn't shy from your eyes, you find the opposite of his stoicism.
His eyes seem alive, an entity on their own apart from his being. And yet, you can't discern the story they're showing you.
"Call. Your move". It's like a breeze over your back, like a phantom finger trailing your spine. You pray the shiver doesn't leave goosebumps in its wake.
You take a moment, a last one, to observe him and what dances in those eyes.
Around the blackened void charrs a blue flame seemingly devouring the air, sucking it from deep in your lungs. It doesn't leave you breathless, but it damn well delays your contemplated words, your final play. Instead of rolling from your tongue, they get stuck on repeat in your mind, a manuscript yet to be followed but halted at the knot forming in your larynx.
"Call". The word isn't clipped nor abrupt. Yet, at the perimeters of your spoken choice of play are frayed edges, the consequences of those fires dancing over your features, those you decided not to avoid despite their blaze.
John flashes a smile, probably satisfied with your choice of not folding and letting the game reach its rightful end. "Show me 'em cards".
You do as told, nails catching the edge of your cards and, with a flick of your wrist and right arm settling on the armrest, you open up your upper body by turning it towards him, confident in your four-of-a-kind. Aces, nonetheless.
When those blues flicker down, inspecting your hand placed face-up on the table and having earned several impressed hums and whistles, you dare cock your brows in conviction. Beckoning John to mimic your move and show his lesser hand. However, you witness a swift, minimal quirk of his eyebrows. And, when his eyes seek yours, features morphing to copy your facial expression, you know.
You don't need to look at his cards when he leans forward to flip them, just shy of propping his arms and upper-body weight on the table in contrast to the actual move of a forward shift in his seat. Regardless of the amused flash in his eyes, the quirk in the corner of his lips telling you he’d won, you follow the curses uttered by those around the table as their eyes find the hand his cards, paired with the community ones, created.
A flush, hearts, one that would've been royal if the ace wasn't in your possession.
"Next time, love". John pats your clothed knee as his hand slips down the table top while leaning back again.
"Battle of wits, indeed".
"I'll go prepare the drinks then".
Johnny's voice, subsequently Marissa's, is distant. Your eyes are stuck on the cards flashing red and white, but you don't mourn your loss, all attention on the warmth that seeps through your skirt at his touch.
John's hand momentarily settles at the last tap before he retracts it and drops it on his thigh once more, his fingers tapping a joyful celebration against the muscle.
And yet, the phantom touch, the memory of his heavy and warm paw engulfing your kneecap without needing to try, remains. It unfurls an ecstatic quiver in your chest.
"I'll go see if Marissa needs help". You flash a quick smile, trying not to rush like your heart does in your chest when moving out of your chair.
As soon as your back is turned to the group, feet moving you forward on their own command, you momentarily close your eyes, taking a deep breath. This feeling wasn't new. But hell, it had been long enough since you felt it that you hadn't noticed it since the start. The way your gaze wanted to travel to John. How he kept your attention and his presence in your immediacy never felt odd despite meeting him less than an hour ago. Fucking hell, women, calm yourself...
Your eyelids fluttered open, gaze settling on Marissa a few paces ahead. The breath you held -which hadn't done much to lessen your rapid heartbeat- was released in a last attempt to shake off, or at least tame, the feeling John had awoken. Without success.
As though your eyes now glued to her back worked as a call of her name, your friend's brown eyes flickered over her shoulder with the slight turn of her head. Perhaps she'd thought it was a particular Scot rather than you because her brows raised. Nonetheless, she let you catch up with her as she slowed a fraction.
"Don't", you warn Marissa when her lips part, possibly to ask about why you were here and not at the table. Knowing very well you could always pay later in the evening for the drinks you'd bet and lost.
At your clipped word, she instantly smirked. Yet, she didn't say anything, at least not until you'd put some distance to the men still seated at the table as you rounded the bar. You know something's coming when she leans on it, cocking her hip and not reaching for anything needed for the drinks instantly.
"So, how are you finding them?" The questions seem innocent enough that you can't help but smile and chuckle. A minimal shake of your head accompanied the released breath of nerves mimicking the feeling of jumper cables hooked to a car, a stream of high voltage sent straight through your nervous system.
"Pleasent, quite the characters but nonetheless pleasant". Marissa hums in agreement at your answer.
"Despite their habit of arriving at times when not many others are here, they're hard not to notice". You quirk a brow as she moves to bring a liquor bottle from the wall. Standing still when part of her still was in working mode was never her strong suit.
"Don't think you complain, though", you mused. The nerves in your body slowly reduced at the lack of John's immediate presence and attention on you. Marissa's eyes find yours over her shoulder, and you cock your head, attempting to smoothen down your amused smile as you continue. "Starting to believe Johnny ain't the headache you'd made him out to be".
"Oh, a headache he is", she retorted. But, your grin turned victorious as she turned away again, not succeeding in hiding her smile before it was visible to you nor continuing her sentence before you pointed it out.
"I saw that". With your muted laugh, a finger was waved in Marissa's general direction.
"Pushing it in my face, ain't you?" She faced you as you stepped closer to help her carry some of the bottles needed for the Scot's mixture, a quirk between her brows present. You sent her a mocking kiss, one she rolled her eyes at, yet couldn't help the tug in the corner of her mouth at your antics as she turned with the bottle she'd fetched.
Following suit, you brought the ones you'd grabbed before joining her at the metal countertop, where she'd put forth a glass for Johnny's drink.
At the thought of his name, you glanced towards the company at the table.
The deck of cards was put away, and they sat talking, laughing. Instinctively your eyes sought John, you couldn't hear his sound of amusement, but you could see it. Whatever Kyle had said made him shake his head before tipping it forward, his shoulders jumping. Something warmed in you at the scene, a softer glowing sensation, different from when he'd sat so close to you.
"You and a certain someone seem to get along, though".
"Hm?" Your eyes travelled from John back to Marissa, whose eyes had made the same journey as yours, though her's seemingly only had been a quick shift back and forth. Nonetheless, one with enough time for an inquisitory look to bleed into them. "Uh yeah, I guess he's nice", you shrugged, attempting to bat away the feelings returning in your chest at the swift glance and redirection of the conversation towards John.
Marissa, however, only rolled her eyes. "Oh, for the love of- missy, that's not what I meant", she said, grabbing the tequila bottle and pointing the muzzle at you before beginning to pour the amounts needed for the drink. "I see the way you both don't and do look at him, don't believe that boy you met got even half as much of your attention when he practically was begging for it while dear John simply has to be present".
"Marissa-".
"Oh no, don't deny it". Your friend put down the bottle, grabbing the first mixture you'd brought with you. "I know a bloody skittish escape when I see one, probably threw my name in as an excuse as well", she referred to when you'd left their company previously and joined her instead.
You jerked a hand upwards, mindful to not make the action too big for the men to catch. "Yeah, because when you'd left me alone with them previously, it's gone just wonderful". Despite being nothing more than a memory now -initial awkward instances of getting to know new people brushed to the past- you couldn't deny as soon as Marissa left your hypothetical side, things hadn't... not gone awful, but not as good as you could've hoped.
"You're getting along just fine with them. It's a certain someone you seemingly worry being around by yourself".
"Stop waffling", you huffed at the last part of her sentence.
"What? You seem to get along more than fine with John, you two in your little bubble".
"We don't have no bubble", you scoffed. "And he certainly doesn't feel like I bloody do".
"And what is that?"
"Fine, I'll admit, he looks good".
She doesn't stop blending the drink more than to throw you a quick glance, a smirk adorning her lips. "Oh, I know your taste in men, and so, I know he looks more than just good". You quickly move your elbow, jabbing her in the side. Sadly, the action only brought a huffed chuckle from her as she managed to not spill a drop of liquid. Lucky she'd put down the bottle and reached for the next. "But that's not what I wanted to know".
"Jesus, okay, what do you want me to say so you'll focus on pouring the drink?" You feel jittery at the subject, so in an attempt to occupy your fingers rapping against the not-so-cold anymore metal counter beneath your hand, you move to fetch a pint glass to start pouring Kyle's beer.
"That you admit you don't only think he's nice on the eye, but you're attracted to him". You swallow, your throat dry.
"I-I... yeah". The confession isn't grand, nor does it come with a feeling of lessening the sensation in your chest. "Is that what you wanted to hear?" You mumbled under your breath, eyes flickering towards Marissa. She's put down the bottle she previously kept elevated, both hands now resting on the counter, head turned towards you, eyes fixated on how you rotate the glass in your hand before flickering up to meet your gaze.
"I never think I've seen you this flustered about someone, missy", she comments. "What about the man got you acting like this?"
"Fuck, how would I know?" You can't help the laugh of disbelief. Marissa was right. You didn't usually act like this. Like you'd said to Johnny, working behind a bar had steeled your nerves from copious things, especially when befriending the dark-haired woman standing beside you on top of it. "I don't know how to even begin describing it", you sighed, frustration polluting the exhale.
A pinch of her brows, brief as though not meant to move her eyebrows before she cocked her head. "Try".
Concerning you'd given up on trying to evade the topic at this point, you did as she said without much fuss. "I just kinda... it feels like I'm drawn to him. It doesn't feel like anything special in that regard, but it ain't just a normal feeling, you know?"
"You're overthinking it". Marissa turned her body to you, hip against the counter, arms crossed. "Yes, you're a problem solver. You like to analyse things. Ain't for nothing you find a bloody military course in interrogation fascinating, barely any mans that do. But that puts you at risk of overanalysing, which you're doing right now. This-" she motioned to you and with a nod that passed over anyone's head aside yours that caught her eyes travelling to who you only guessed could be John. "-isn't something that needs to be solved. So go with it, see where it ends up".
"I hate when you offer solid advice, you know?"
"You mean when I've solved the problem before you know how to solve it yourself". Your eyes drop, finding your barely visible reflection in the beer glass, huffing at Marissa's reply.
"Yeah, especially fucking then".
"That's what friends are for", she hummed, and you heard her finish the drink she'd spent remarkably more time on than necessary. "So, what are you going to do about it?"
"About what?" Your head tilted in her direction.
"About the glass you've been holding like a fool for the past minutes", she deadpanned. Although knowing she wasn't serious, you stopped fiddling with it, instead stepping towards the drafting station. "About Price, of course".
"For all I know, he can just behave like a gentleman compared to most". She rolled her eyes at that.
"Can't believe you're sticking with believing that. He's more than a decent man, I agree, but so is the rest of the lot, and they ain't acting the way he does".
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"He's bloody interested in you, probably feels the same attraction you do".
Your head turned to her, eyes wide as if it would emphasise your slow-spoken words. "He doesn't".
"For someone as bright as you, it certainly is fucking unbelievable how blind you can be", she muttered, causing your bows to furrow.
"What now?"
"I've seen the little bubble the two of you enter when you talk, the guys probably have noticed too, though Johnny is the one whose mentioned it", she hummed. "Pointed it out whilst the two of you chatted during the game, even referring to some conversation of yours' from before that". She sent you a look, continuing by poorly mimicking the Scot's voice. "Never seen Price like that. He's so... easy with her, sure as shiet ain't as close-lipped as Ghost, but he doesn't partake leisurely in and especially doesn't initiate conversations with someone new. Normally likes to keep to himself. Starting to believe the old fecker got heart-eyes".
You hoped how you accidentally set down the glass you had just been about to raise a bit too harshly was enough cover for the shrill-sounding noise escaping your throat.
You don't look at Marissa instantly. Instead, you keep your head bowed slightly, wide eyes staring at the wet remnants of froth from previously poured drinks in the drain beneath the draft. Attempting to steady your heart that had made an unhealthy leap at the words allegedly expressed by Johnny and passed on by your friend.
Loosening the grip on the pint glass, you force down your shoulders as you raise it and your free hand to the lever, slowly tapping the beer.
You send her a quick glance at the instance you do. "Keep your voice down".
"It's already low", she smirks at you.
"Well, then keep quiet altogether".
"Why for?" The smugness in her voice made your molars grind together, eyes flitting to the steady flow before you.
"To not attract attention from the ridiculously handsome man sitting not far away", you noted how she shifted in your peripheral.
"You mean the ridiculously handsome man who hasn't been able to stop throwing looks towards you for the past, like, five minutes? Yeah, you don't need me for that attention".
Don't look. And yet, you couldn't help how your eyes, as if drawn to John like magnets, sought him out. And, of course, your gazes lock the second you find him.
Although half a room away, his gaze felt heavy. The spotlights in the roof made light dance across his features, causing parts of his hair and beard to verge on golden bronze while others dimmed into a brown saber. Handsome, incredibly so, in an old-fashioned sense.
You didn't notice how your tongue peaked out to wet your lips, the act as unconscious as the reason for it, yet you became aware of it when John's eyes dropped from yours. You couldn't physically see where his eyes fell nor feel them in whatever place he looked. Not as when you could feel how your gazes lock despite the distance separating you. But, it made your thoughts rewind, bringing forth what you'd done to the front of your cognisance.
A flush spread through your body, and you didn't wait for his eyes to find yours before dropping your gaze.
Despite redirecting your attention to the glass in your hand and setting down a satisfyingly filled pint, in the upper corner of your vision, you noted how a conversation immediately swept over the table. Whoever initiated the exchange earned John's attention as you felt his eyes leave you altogether.
"You're a menace, you know", you mumbled beneath your breath as you glanced at Marissa, knowing you would regret it the moment you did but unable to anyway. Flashed a grin, one as victorious as yours during the initial phase of your conversation, you were proven right. "Glad I quit this job", you huffed, setting down the beer you'd drafted beside the drink she'd mixed for Johnny.
"Don't say things like that", she returned, her attention flickering away from you. "Especially not when it seems you're gonna have to battle your fears and put those skills I taught you to use, someone apparently having spoken some sense into the old man". The last part of her sentence was mumbled under her breath, yet you caught it, brows knitting together. "He's coming this way", she clarified once her eyes landed on you. This time, you didn't give her the thought of doubt.
"Don't you leave", you warned, but she'd already stepped out of your reach, sending a wink as she brought the guy's pick of poison with her, one in each hand. "Traitor", your hiss was barely audible under your breath, instinctively silenced as you had no choice but to turn towards John as Marissa left the two of you to your own with a nod in his direction, one he answered with a slight smile.
You follow John as he steps up to the barstool, registering the height you'd suspected kept his broad frame -one that narrowed nearer to his hips- upright as he moved with a slight sway to his body from his strides. You realised that he carries himself with tactical ease, one he must have learnt to get comfortable with on the field so much that it stuck to every other situation.
As he settled atop the stool, finding a comfortable position with a slight lean forward of his body whilst his arm rested atop the wooden countertop, your eyes stopped jumping over him to settle on his face.
"So, what can I get for you, patron?" You put on a charade, brushing up precisely those skills Marissa had taught you. Still, you're unable to stare into those pretty blues that this close shine like the curaçao bottle at the second level of the liquid shelf for too long, fearing your tongue would turn to lead and your heart pound out of your chest.
And yet, you can't help how those butterflies in your stomach taste freedom, yearning, to have him within your close vicinity once more. So, to cage them, you lean forwards to mimic his way of resting his forearms atop the wooden desk separating you. A heavier bend in your waist concerning the metal bar pressed into your hips.
"Drivin’, remember?" He returned, but you found yourself shrugging rather than taken aback and stunted at what to say next. Seemingly easier than you'd thought to fall back into old times when standing on this side of the counter.
"You're sitting at a bar if you remember", you shot back. John's lip twitched upwards. With the subtle action, you felt encouraged enough to continue a conversation you'd had many times but not with someone you cared to maintain the chatter with. "What's your usual under non-driving circumstances?"
"Old-fashioned".
The irony. You hummed, in both amusement from your thought and John's answer, continuing with a nod. "Scotch?"
"Yes". Something sparked in John's eyes as you turned, still partly facing him whilst also able to look at the liquor wall. While one arm stays on the wooden counter, the other accommodates your new stance by being propped against your waist.
Letting your eyes glide over the assortment, they finally settle on one of the finer bottles. "Ardbeg, 19-year-old, something of your taste?" His eyebrows raise in what you could gauge was surprise, to which you only flashed him a smile. "Had a feeling concerning the chasews".
"You're good". John's praise of your knowledge about the correlation between his earlier choice of heavily roasted nuts to the smokey scotch you'd asked him about softened your prideful smile, shifting to bashful rather than the obligatory ones you'd offered in the past to brush away the compliment.
"Have to be when working behind a bar". Your head rolled to rest on your shoulder when you switched to look at him, thanking him for the compliment with the smile he'd brought forth but raised an inquisitory brow shortly after. "So?"
He looked at you for a second before he hummed. "Those bottles often get opened after certain missions, but yes".
You gave him a final nod before pushing away from the counter, gathering the sparse ingredients you needed to piece together the drink you had in mind. Feeling his eyes on you for every step you took.
As you returned to where he sat, your gaze met John's. But, the eye contact was brief, this time his gaze flickering away. Even though it was down to the bottle you held out for inspection, together with an explanation of what would replace the alcoholic liquor of his drink.
"A distillery toying with the idea of percentage-free liquor inspired by scotch, dare to try?" His eyes scanned the label plastered on the bottle in your hands before his eyes found yours, slight creases entering the corner of his eyes, smile prominent on his features despite a lack of bow by his lips.
"Why not", he shrugged. Flashing him a delighted smile, you put down the bottle and began making the drink before him.
You felt his eyes on you -attention that faded to no longer inducing a nervous excitement, instead an avid one, seeking to keep it on you as you busied yourself with something you were skilled on- as you picked up a rocks glass.
Not needing the measurement cup to know how much amaretto versus visionary scotch to fill it with, you grabbed the mixing liquor, free-pouring to the desired amount before switching to the virgin scotch and doing the same.
Considering the simplicity of the beverage -the sparse ingredients coupled with only a square ice cube and a swirled orange peel to be added- there wasn't really any need to taste it. But old habits die hard, and before you even noted your move whilst reaching for the ice, you swirled the liquids around with a straw, tasting it with practised ease as you retracted it. Of course, the absence of smokey scotch and its burn could never be neglected, but it was a good drink nonetheless.
"There, a non-alcoholic Godfather". You put the now-finished drink before him with your free hand as you threw the straw in the trash.
John tipped his head in gratitude, eyes falling on the drink presented to him. It was your moment to observe him as his fingers gripped the chilled glass, swirling the drink -something you imagined was out of custom- before he raised it.
As his lips meet the rim, his eyes seek yours. Despite presenting an opportunity -without limitation- to observe his opinion of the drink he sipped, something seeped into those blues that already was your weakness. You couldn't figure out what it was, but it felt intimate, a bubble -to use Marissa's words- closing around the two of you. Those nerves slowly began to buzz again when you didn't have anything to occupy yourself with.
A hum preceded his opinion as he lowered the drink. "It's good". He tipped the glass back and forth before leaning slightly forward, pointer gesturing towards you to the extent it could regarding his grip on the glass. "Better than Marissa's".
"Oh, be careful of saying that beneath her roof". You hid the warmth in your body at John's low-spoken compliment, a rough whisper, with the tease. "She won't accept that the student has become the master".
He chuckles at your banter. "I'll keep it our secret, then".
The smile forming by his comment is instantaneous, a soft stretch of your lips as his words registers. Despite the previous teasing smirk accompanying John's comment, it dissolves into one mirroring your own behind the rim of his glass once more raised closer to his mouth. You can't help but duck your head, the same intensity in his gaze bleeding into your chest.
This man, the thought is followed by a slight shake of your head. You look up through your lashes, not brave enough to reveal your attention, in spite of wanting to or not, tracks back to him by fully tilting your head and facing him. You catch John's eyes flitter over you before he notes your gaze has returned to him, causing his blues to connect with yours.
His head tilts as he lowers his glass, dwarfing it between his hands once it sits on the counter. The quirk in both his brow and the corner of his lips shifts the tension in the air to something airy and lighter. And, like linked to him, your lip quirks.
You sway on the pads of your feet, forwards until your weight is placed on your toes, heels lift from the floor, and then back to reverse the action. The itch in your body makes a restlessness nest, the feeling of standing in the same place for too long joining the sensation John's attention settles in your body. And finally, it makes you break away from his presence, grabbing the bottles and returning to the shelf to place them in their proper place.
A sound akin to the roll of a glass' bottom rim against wood fills the air behind your back, whilst the slight ting of glass-connecting-with-metal sounds in front of you as you set down the bottles you'd brought.
To use Johnny's words, at least allegedly concerning the information originated from Marissa, your conversation with John had been easy. But so most were, even when you'd sat amongst the others. However, this time, something about the silent interaction afterwards felt different.
You don't know what about it settled those butterflies in your stomach, their cage dissolving along their colourful selves, metamorphosed into an intangible pleasantness as you felt his eyes on you.
Perhaps it could be that you didn't worry about paying too much attention to the weather-worn Captain now when it solely was the two of you compared to then when the rest of the company you got introduced to sat around the same table, just an arm-length away. Nonetheless, the previous nervousness accompanying John's presence, his attention on you, now felt comfortable, as if it belonged, and you didn't want it any other way.
That was when he didn't aim to give you a bloody heart attack.
"So, how did a girl like you end up behind a bar like this?" You thanked the heavens that your back was turned and that you just had placed the bottles back on their corresponding shelves once those smooth words left him. Because you wouldn't have been able to stop your brows from shooting up and lips from parting as your stomach lurched upwards once you dropped down from standing on your toes. Well, that wasn't hard to interpret.
"Was that a pick-up line I heard?" You turned, brows now quirked in intrigue as your lips pressed together to smoothen down a grin at the giddiness flowing through your body after the initial surprise.
John tipped his head side to side, eyes flittering down to watch the liquid in his glass before clearing his throat and giving you a shrug. "An attempt at one".
You giggled, the sound foreign to your ears in this setting, yet it brought his eyes back to you as his shoulders dropped somewhat.
"Not the worst one I've gotten", you said, not an unwelcomed one either. You shift your weight onto one leg while crossing one ankle over the other. It naturally makes your body fall against the counter at your lower back, and you bring your hands to rest on the edge for additional support.
"No?" A quick tick of his head along a swift rise and fall of his brows accompanies the question.
You hum, shaking your head. "You wouldn't believe half the stuff we hear behind this desk".
He did something you hadn't anticipated then. John patted the stool beside him as he straightened and leant back a notch. "Let's swap some war stories then because I can think of a few things from only what we soldiers endure".
Go with it. See where it ends up. Marissa's words rang clear in your head and made your legs guide you to reach the offered seat.
As you sit down, John angles his chest towards you, letting his hand bring his glass more to his right rather than straight as when you'd stood on the other side of the bar. It only remains there for a few seconds, though, seeing how he raised it and tipped it towards you as he spoke.
"So, love, tell me how you came to tolerate every man on the spectrum of inebriated".
A chuckle leaves you, hands coming to clutch your elbows already resting on the bar top, head tilting towards John. "Without pulling forth my whole record for scrutinisation-". The man beside you huffed lightly, to which you flashed a swift smile before continuing. "-I can tell you it took some time getting used to and knowing how to respond to men when their tongues get too loose for anyone's good".
"Though I don't dispute the fact-".
"Talking from experience, John?" You cut his sentence off, a ribbing smile accompanying your tease.
His glass stilled where he'd spun it in the air, snicker -something more delicate than his other sounds of amusement- escaping John as his head dipped in a shake. "Can't escape the fact that everyone's been young". His blue eyes find yours again, mirth swirling in them, originating from perhaps a not-so-fond but nonetheless prevailing memory. "Though life's had its way with me like most others".
"Can tell you it's been kind on you. Ain't everyone who turns into a gentleman compared to daft wankers".
John stilled, lips pressing thin as his brows pulled together.
The expression was new on him, causing you to cock your head, awaiting what seemed to be a response when he rolled his shoulders and straightened. Yet the reply on his tongue was seemingly quelled when he decided to sip his drink. His reaction felt... odd. But you didn't get to ask if he could indulge you in what fleetingly occupied his mind as he picked up the conversation again, seemingly preferring to talk about something else.
"So how come the break-in-time, 'cause you don't look like a newbie?" You caught on quickly that John backtracked to where his previous sentence probably would've ventured if you hadn't interrupted him.
"Had never worked in this kind of setting previously".
His brows quirked. "No? You look like a natural".
"That I have to thank Marissa for, didn't know a thing before moving here and getting the job".
"Ain't from around?"
"Mm, no, neither born nor bred".
"Why did you choose to settle in these ends?"
"Honest?" You straightened your arms, clasping your hands together. "Don't really know, just felt I needed to get a move on, didn't feel like I fit the picture at 'home' anymore, ended up staying longer than I thought". You gave a half-hearted chuckle, eyes locked on your thumbs. Right on top, switch, left on top.
"Care to explain?" You turned to look at John. He'd turned more towards you, his head tilted.
"Not much to explain, frankly. It felt like a search for something, but I don't know what", you shrugged one shoulder.
"Know the feelin', still grapple with it occasionally". Your head cocked, a silent expression of surprise at someone who felt so calm and naturally secure in himself that you hadn't imagined much else applying to other aspects of his life.
You pushed slightly against the bar, swivel chair turning more of your body towards him to physically show the same interest in his words that he'd done yours, and it urged him to continue.
"Our line of work attracts people without sense of direction in life like flies. Couldn't tell how much better judgement I have to knock into some of 'em recruits daily".
"Would've been one of them", you quipped, recalling how his words aligned with your reason for dipping a toe in their element without the compulsory enlistment. John shot you a look, the sharpness of a chide not as present as entertainment.
"But you didn't need it to realise you were meant for somethin' better". John's continuation was swift enough the meaning buried beneath his sentence was swept over in seconds. But, regardless, you caught it. "Despite my years in the field, doubt still trickles through, wondering if any of the sense you enlisted along with still exist".
"Don't think the one promoting you to Captain did it for your lack of sense". Your reply was soft-spoken, genuine, despite the opportunity for jest. And you knew John heard it, saw it when his eyes flickered over your face, a smile reaching his eyes and highlighting the crow's feet in the corners of them. That alluring depth entered his eyes, and something unravelled in your chest, equally as profound and warm.
As though hovering too close to an edge you weren't ready to jump from, one corner of your lip ticked upwards, a small gesture but enough to shift the energy in the air. "Trust me, you could say I'm a good judge of character".
"Are you know?" John mused, raising both brows in a mocking gesture.
"Oh, piss off", you chuckled, the back of your hand lightly swatting his upper arm.
His smile turned into a grin, not as chaotic and thrilled-puppy as Johnny, more a gradual glow lightening all his features. It was something soothingly warm about the look on him despite the harsh contrast when sparkling eyes peeked from dark lashes and pearly teeth flashed amidst the umber bristles obscuring his lower face.
"If you wanna prove your skill, read 'em". John motions backwards with a nod of his head. For the first time since Marissa left you and the Captain alone, your eyes travel over your shoulder to the company still seated at the table.
Johnny was turned towards Marissa, one arm hooked on the back of her chair, talking animatedly with his other hand. Your friend sat with crossed arms but equally shifted towards the Scot to give him the same attention. By the looks of it, they argued about something. Albeit heatedly, you noted the grin pinning Johnny's lip upwards, and even if mostly seeing your friend's back, you caught how she slouched backwards in her chair, shoulders not pulled high towards her ears.
Though not surprised by the two, what did catch you off-guard was Ghost. Or more so, his smirk. You don't know when it had happened, not more than after you'd left the table, but the baklava was rolled up enough that his neck along lower face was visible, showcasing the stretch of his lips.
It hadn't hit you that Ghost's drink had remained untouched since he took it from the tray. Not until you saw him raise the glass and sip what must've been a drink Marissa know to exclude ice from or else it would taste like watered-down tea.
Before he caught you looking -because there must be a reason he'd decided to show just the slightest part of himself despite wearing a mask in public- you turned to face John again.
"I was taught interrogation techniques, not mind reading", you joked, attempting to deflect what he wanted you to do, but you only received a look from him.
"Can't trust you if you don't show what you go for". John leaned closer as he kept your gaze. "So go on then". For a second time, he jerked his head towards the others.
"Fine". You caught the upward tick of John's lip and intrigued quirk of his brows before you turned in the chair, back resting against the wooden counter.
Despite your attention now being fixed on the ones at the table, you noted how John mimicked your motion to swivel the chair and face the company the two of you previously accompanied.
At first, your gaze merely flickered over them in turn. Johnny. Ghost. Kyle.
The most challenging task is always reading without intent. Your former instructors' voice echoes in your mind as you grapple with where to start.
"What's my goal?" You looked at John, awaiting his guidance. He rolled his head towards you, blue eyes meeting yours.
"Whatever you can get".
"So descriptive". You rolled your eyes and earned a chuckle. But you did as he said, attempting to present how far you'd gotten on the puzzle their personalities posed as since you first entered.
"Ghost", you declared to steer John's attention to who your intention was set on.
"Starting with the toughest", he mumbled.
You disregarded his comment, knowing that although it was true personality-wise, you had more solid facts about him than the others.
"Johnny has called him L.T., presumably a Lieutenant then", you began. Then, with your gaze flitting over his stature, you observed the man as he engaged, or more so listened, to the conversation Kyle maintained. "A man of few but well-chosen words, rough around the edges, has a sharp tongue, expressive eyes, though I doubt that makes him cover his face." In your peripheral, you noted John tilting his head towards you, making you tear your eyes from Ghost.
"How so?"
You gave him a half-shouldered shrug, meeting those blues. "You boys see shit that no one should, that we civilians agree on despite not knowing what that shit is all the time. So it wouldn't be weird if you wanted to separate yourself from it. For some, it could be on the field. Others, of it." Your eyes trailed back to the tall man, yet to add anything to his conversation aside from an occasional nod. "Though I don't know his reason, I would call it a coping mechanism. One that's hard turning off entirely, and he probably views as an equally big part of himself as whoever is beneath the mask."
You glanced at John, whose eyes were still set upon Ghost, but he gave an almost absentminded nod. The confirming hum accompanying the action made you think you hit the mark to a certain degree.
"Kyle?" John directed you to Ghost's conversation partner, and your eyes were set forward again, a slight furrow entering the space between your brows as they narrowed.
"Nickname Gaz", you declared the information you'd retrieved from the rounds of poker. "Not as reserved as Ghost, but thanks to Johnny, his knack for social settings appear bleaker". That earned you an amused huff from John. "He's kind and got humour, caught a few of his quips. But, he's also calm-mannered, poised, much like you".
"Hm, good kid, we work a fair share together". You looked at John, his eyes meeting yours a second later with a tilt of his head. "Any guess on rank?" You drew in air through your teeth, making a repeated sound with your tongue, and weighed your head from side to side.
"Could be a Lieutenant, but... he feels younger than Ghost, so I would opt for Seargent without too much knowledge of your ranking systems' correlation to age or serving time". You awaited his confirmation or denial.
"You're correct." He gave you a definitive nod, a smile grazing his lips as he continued. "Gimme MacTavish now".
Encouraged by his validation, you glanced at Johnny, still conversing with Marissa. "Easiest personality-wise, charismatic and easy-going, don't think I've seen him without some kind of smile this evening. Although he's more complex as a soldier, I don't have anything on him regarding that. Maybe that's why he's called Soap." You looked to John for help with raised brows, curious to see how close to the truth you were with the guess.
"He's a good soldier; his nickname comes from that", he smiled at you.
"Like my version better", you chuckled, and his smile grew, causing the bristles on his upper lip to curve, accommodating the move.
"Final thin’ then, what rank?"
At that, you actually let out a short laugh. "Would've guessed a Corporal if it weren't for you saluting his talents".
"Give up?" John's question was followed by a quirk of his brow and a sip of his drink.
"Do tell because I have no idea".
"He's a Seargent".
Your brows raised. "Yeah, no, don't believe that ", you shook your head with a laugh. "From what I've seen of him tonight, it doesn't fit his picture".
"A difficult soldier to spot outside base indeed", John referred back to your initial assessment of Johnny.
"Did I still pass the test then?" He lowered the glass he'd kept close to his chest this whole time, bending his left elbow to let it rest against the bar.
"Yes", thanks to his newly acquired position, his slight lean towards you was a mere shift. "Knew you would".
"How could you've been so sure?" You challenged him. "I could've choked under pressure".
John's brows quickly moved up and down as he raised his chin, remaining silent for a few seconds as he observed you. "No, you wouldn't have because it's your second nature. Noticed it when you came in here earlier." He gestured to the pub entrance with the tip of his glass.
As if able to get the outer-body perspective John had of you as you arrived, your eyes trailed the direction he motioned.
"How so?" Your gaze was back at him, yet his eyes remained stuck at the doorway.
"You were alert; those eyes of yours were sharp, observant to a degree I recognised ...", John's sentence trailed off when he turned back to face you, his eyes flickering over you before meeting your gaze. "Not gonna lie, the dress had me questionin’ longer than usual if you were one of us".
"What settled your mind?" He grinned, head tilting side to side.
"It's my job to notice people like you that ain't as sweet looking".
You wished you'd had a drink to cool yourself with as heat spread through your body at John's comment. To say it had taken you off-guard was an understatement. It was so unlike his earlier, not forced but definitely not innate, pick-up line; this was a taste of that same effortlessness he'd displayed during your game of cards.
Flustered, searching for your wits, you find yourself tongue-tied. And it didn't get better when you spotted John's smile behind the rim of his glass as he sipped his drink, eyes still on you.
Thankfully, he broke the mere second-long silence that had felt eternal when he swallowed the beverage.
"Maybe we should call you if we need a new face for interrogation". It was a joke. An offered out of your own flustered state.
"I bet Ghost is enough". John chuckled, yet the sound quietened when you swivelled your chair to fully angle your body towards him. "But, I still bet I could attribute with something".
"What you suggestin'?" His eyes jumped over you, a slight quirk in his brows.
"Can give you pointers on how an outside eye asses you".
"Now, can you, eh?" One of his already intriguingly raised brows arches. Your pulse increases, a slight tapping emerging at the base of your throat when John sets down his drink, turning his chair to face you. Instinctively you press your legs together, giving John enough room to not touch you with his knees as they slot on either side of you. "What would you say others see then?"
You justify the trail over his frame as required to answer his question. But, you know it's futile, knowing very well the roam of your gaze was to take in his broad body, still accentuated despite his arms crossed over his chest and the slight haunch in his back to lean slightly closer to you.
"A tight-knitted group", you say, eyes locking with his as you continue. "Yet, what the Captain says goes".
A slow side-ways tip of his head accompanies his amused huff. "That's the whole military".
You hold up a finger and raise your brows. "Ah, I'm not done". John raises his hand at your smile-accompanied accusation. "This group of yours, they look up to you, respect you, that's why they follow you. They put their trust in their Captain because he's earned it." Something softens the amused upward-turns of his features at your words, his arms settling on his thighs.
"Playin’ at an old man's pride?"
You chuckle softly. "Ain't playing anything; already said you must've earned your rank".
"You're startin’ to sound subjective, love".
"Oh, sue me", you roll your eyes, a slight smile spreading on John's features as his knee knocks against yours in jest before falling outwards again. "Fine then, if you want objective, I'll give it to you. If anyone wants to aim at your group, they'll aim for the heart". You nod towards him, inclining what you didn't spell out.
With a shift of one foot to rest on the floor to not have him fall out of his seat, John moves closer by a slight bend in the waist and forwards tip of his head. "If that's your best take on bein’ objective, I can't imagine your subjectiveness".
An all too cheerful-sounding scoff is directed at him as your knee falls out to mimic the bump he'd done against your knee previously. A grin breaks his lips apart.
"I'll tell you, it works wonderfully for persuasions". Your teeth dig into your lower lip as you feel the smile you want to suppress spread anyways. John's eyes flicker down, returning to your gaze when teeth flash as your smile turns into a grin.
"Not doubtin’ that". John could've said something else entirely. You didn't need too much imagination to convince yourself he had. The cadence of his voice, the smooth churning of something purely described as deep, rich, mingling with the accent already coating his words in almost a droning hum, a pleasant one for your ear to experience.
You swallow, the intensity in those blues causing a quiver in your fingers. You attempt to shield it by putting your right arm on the countertop and tapping the wooden counter with your fingers.
A loud noise makes you jump, fingers curling into the wood, eyes falling from John's and seeking the source of the sound.
"Keep your heads on your shoulders. You need to be sober enough to get to the base at the latest 01:00 for drills at 07:00. I'm not puttin’ in a word against office duty if you don't". You switched to look at John -or more so his profile concerning he'd twisted his neck to watch the men seated at the tables- as he's seemingly unphased by the sudden disturbance.
"Does that apply to you too, Captain?" Your eyes widened, gaze snapping from John's profile. In the corner of your eye, you catch how he cocks his head and swivels his chair until he is sitting in a similar position as previously.
You hadn't anticipated the comment from Kyle. Johnny, maybe, but not the brown-eyed man now watching his superior with a grin as his eyes remain solely on the man at your side. Connecting it quickly to what Marissa forwarded from the Scot -something you gradually started to believe- you knew it was a jab at John and not necessarily you. Still, the attempted silent snickers from the others urged a rush of heat through your body, head ducking instinctively.
"You seem to forget I'm already on office duty and won't partake in the drills tomorrow, Sergeant". John replies without a hitch in his breath, an assertiveness in his tone you hadn't anticipated. It's enough for you to raise your gaze and focus on him.
As your eyes flitted over him, you realised his whole demeanour changed. It's the same shift you'd seen earlier the night, now clocking it's a switch between John and his role as Captain. However, unlike earlier, it doesn't make you uncomfortable. Instead, the opposite, an appreciative smile spreading when the arched brow daring Kyle, or anyone else, to make a further comment is met with silence.
As John turns towards you again, not entirely but showing his focus tracks back to you with the shift, you catch him mumbling beneath his breath. 'These lot...'
He sighs, shaking his head. "You mind?" Your gaze locks with his before flickering down to the metal case he fishes from his back pocket, opening it expertly with his thumb to show the cigars inside. He doesn't reach for one until you shake your head.
"Only if it smells like a cigarette". As John reaches for one of the dark auburn rolls, balancing it between his fingers whilst pocketing the case, he scoffs as if honestly offended.
"Then you wouldn't be the only one", he muttered, reaching for something over the bar.
You can't help how your eyes travel down to the small strip of skin he reveals when his shirt inch upwards. Before he notices, you promptly avert your eyes to see he's recovered a similar tray serving to collect ashes as he'd sported over at the table in the absence of a proper ashtray.
As he placed it on his right side, away from you, he fished out the same sleek metal lighter he'd used to light the cigar earlier the evening.
"Hate when Ghost pulls those out". A flame flickered to life as he popped the cap with his thumb, the orange-yellowy flare brought to the butt of the roll now resting between his lips.
Your eyes skate over to Ghost, then back to John, eyeing him as he puffed at the end until dropping the pocket lighter with a satisfied hum when a subtle curl of smoke rises from the glowing tail.
"Didn't know he was a smoker", you say.
John glances at you, dropping the cigar enough to flash you a smirk. "We all have our copin’ mechanism. Some of us just have more tasteful ones". You chuckle with a shake of your head, following the cigar as he raises it to his lips.
He inhales a mouthful, not a lungful, John’s chest not expanding more than marginally. With his eyes closing, his hand drops to the side until his elbow rest against the counter and the cigar rests over the ashtray. When he releases the cloudy vapour, he turns slightly to the side.
As he faces you again, his eyelids flutter open, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards instantly when he discovers your eyes never left him. "You're starin’, love". You frown despite his teasing tone, nabbing the first thing that comes to mind.
"If you continue at this pace, those will kill you". You nod to the cigar in John's hand. Yet, you only get a chuckle and an amused look in return.
"If nothin’ on the field has done it yet, I take the risk". You let out a light exhale. From how John doesn't even wince but savours the taste before pointedly turning away from you and blowing out the smoke, you know you won't be able to change his habits.
You watch as he puffs the cigar, his blues not leaving yours longer than it takes to empty release his breath. The scent of smoke slowly tints the air, but there are hints of something else in those blue whisps.
"What's that?" You ask, and his brows raise as to what you're referring to. "The scent?"
John hums. "Maduro; carries a distinct coffee and dark-chocolate aroma".
"Don't know about that". You muse. Sure, it doesn't smell like acrid cigarettes, but neither would you've guessed coffee and chocolate. John smiles with a shrug before taking another puff. "You know your cigars".
"Like you know your liquor". You unabashedly shrug as John reaches for the glass he's let sit on the counter for a bit. He pauses mid-way to his lips, eyes flickering down to its contents. Or rather, the lack thereof.
"I can make another one". You say, not until now, realising all that's left is the half-melted ice cube.
Without even waiting for John's answer, you prepare to stand. However, with a shake of his head and shifting his chair towards you, he stops you mid-action.
"Sit. I enjoy your company more than a drink". When John sets the glass on the counter, those blue eyes don't fall from yours. A sincerity is laced within his gaze, and the smile he's so prone to bring forth stretches your lips again.
As you sink into your seat again, one leg crosses the other, the slip of your dress accommodating by baring your thigh. Your legs fall closer to John with your move, and your exposed knee grazes against his thigh. When he further angles his body towards you, it rests against his leg. As neither of you breaks the point of contact, you feel the warmth he emits even through his jeans.
"Never got to know how you find your way to this pub?" The air is comfortable, and you rest your elbow on the counter, head falling against your hand as you watch John.
"Kyle got a whiff of the place through some mates; it just so happened that it lived up to its reputation". Not surprised. You hummed at his answer.
"What made you regulars?"
"Because I can have a drag of this without lookin’ like a kicked puppy on the streetside", he jokes with a motion to his cigar, and you huff out a laugh, still reprimanding him with a slight nudge to his leg with yours. "Happened to be that most took a likin’ to something after our first visit". Your brows cock, eyes instinctively fleeting sideways, briefly catching Johnny gazing at Marissa as she entertains a conversation with Kyle.
When they return to John, you find him watching you as he inhales a drag of smoke. "I can guess someone's reason-". You refer to what your attention strayed towards. "-but what's yours?"
"Hm, the ambience, like the conventional setting Marissa got goin’ despite innovated. Not a fan of many of the brand new places". You nod, noticing how John works his jaw, lips subsequently pursing, before he speaks up. "How come we haven't seen you around before?"
"Why, would I've added to the ambience?" You can't help the quirk of your lips at how his brows raise, feeling as if it was finally your turn to be put on the spot but the other way around.
Before he answers, a low chuckle escapes him as he ducks his head before rolling it to the side to look at you. "Maybe I would've added you as a reason".
You bite your lip, barely able to contain the giddiness his comment elicits. Only managing when actually answering his question. "It was some time ago I worked full-time. Nowadays, I only jump in occasionally when Marissa asks".
He nodded. "What do you fill your time with otherwise?"
"Free-lancing", you explain. "Nothing all too fancy, but I get to do things I like with the freedom I want-". You clip the end of your sentence, stopping yourself before formulating your the intended question that would’ve followed. Naturally, you want to know more about his work in return, but you hesitate, not desiring to destroy the mood if he rejects explaining.
"I can hear you thinkin’". John nudges your knee with a slight move of his thigh, bringing you out of your thoughts. "Go on", he urges you. And, like so many other times during the evening, something about his encouragement makes you fold.
"Well, concerning Marissa has mentioned you, I can't lie and say I haven't been curious about you lot since arriving. But I didn't want to pry, know you're off-duty if you're here". He keeps looking at you as your head stops resting on your fist, instead moving your hand when you explain yourself, patiently waiting for the question you build up to with a barely visible smile. "I-I just wondered what you do? You guys aren't really rookies, and it was hard not to notice a certain reluctance to initially mention you were in the military...", you trail off.
John remains silent for a few beats, head tilting as he watches you, and you fear you overstepped even though he urged you to ask the question. "We ain't directly military".
"No?" Your brows furrow.
"Special forces". Your lips part, hand dropping until your forearm rest against the wooden counter. Oh.
"What branch, if I may ask?"
"SAS". Really fucking oh.
"And you made me think my training was even the slightest set apart from absolutely fucking petty compared to yours", you huff in disbelief. Your comments bring out a deep laugh from John, a grin pinning his lips upwards.
"It ain't all too bad".
"Not all too bad- the fucking SAS, John". You lean slightly closer to emphasise what you said as if he didn't realise his occupancy. "You're a Captain in the SAS out of everything on this spinning globe".
He shrugs, disturbing his slowly diminishing cigar's linear ringle of smoke. "Ain't too shabby, I guess".
"Fucking hell", your hand jerks upwards, shaking your head in disbelief as you straighten up again, an unbelieving smile etched onto your lips. That earns you another laugh from him as his hand, having rested on his leg, pats the middle of your bared thigh.
"I'm takin' the piss".
You accusingly raise your brows at him. "You better be". His hand stills and gently squeeze the spot where he touches you, an offered 'my bad' as his gaze locks with yours. It takes mere seconds before your smiles reflect one another.
"Well, gentlemen, I think it's time to shoo you out. I don't want to be responsible for your absence on any important matters in the morning." At her voice, your eyes are drawn to Marissa. She rises from her seat despite some protest from a certain Scot, to which she only offers a smile and a 'sorry, Johnny-boy'. As she turns her neck towards you, her brown eyes flicker down to see John's hand resting atop your thigh. Although her smile remains the same, you note the twinkle entering them when noting your proximity to the older man. "Ain't that right, Price?"
"Always good to know you look after them", he returns, hand slipping from you to brace against his kneecap as he straightens somewhat.
"Your boys ain't the biggest group of troublemakers, but always good to have someone look out for them", Marissa shoots back. But, with a quick shift of her gaze to meet yours, you know the comment isn't as innocent as it appears. Having spent enough time with her, you can hear the unspoken continuation. While your attention is on someone else.
As your friend turned and began collecting what littered the table, Johnny followed suit to help her while Ghost and Kyle rose from their seats, gathering their belongings.
The shift in the edge of your vision brought your eyes back to the man at your side.
You watched as John stubbed out the unsmoked bit of his cigar. His opposite hand rose to run across his beard, and until then, you hadn't registered the fine specs of ash coating parts of his facial hair.
"Ready?" You ask when the action slows, unable to hide your amusement. John's gaze jumps to you, creases entering the edges of his eyes as he notes you'd followed his movement.
"The only downside", he chuckled as he rose from his seat.
One of your brows cocked. "Only one?"
"Hush now". His reply makes the laugh you repressed escape anyways, but it fades when he stretches out his hand for you.
Your brows raise momentarily, eyes flickering down to his hand and up to his eyes, not even debating before accepting his upturned palm.
John's hold is gentle as he helps you keep your balance whilst stepping down from the bar stool. "Thank you". He smiles in return and drops your hand, and you instantly miss his touch.
John turns and moves toward the only occupied table during the evening, and you watch how Ghost throws him his jacket that he expertly captures and supposedly was to retrieve. Your attention is pulled from them when Marissa passes you.
"Do you need any help?" You follow your friend as she rounds the bar.
Her head raised as she set down what she'd carried from the table. "No need. I'll fix this tomorrow morning". She gestured to the dishes before her.
"You sure? I can help so you can sleep in tomorrow?"
"We can help". Compared to the first time the Scottish accent appeared by your side, you don't startle when Johnny rounds you, placing the rest of the dishes beside what Marissa already brought.
"I have a few deliveries that I need to be here for tomorrow anyway, so I'm just gonna lock up for the night. Head on out with the rest". She waved the two of you off, and you simply shrugged.
"Fine, we'll wait for you outside", Marissa sent you an appreciative smile as your reply stopped the Scot from possibly debating with her.
"Alright, Riss", he simply settled on. "Come on then, lass", Johnny slung an arm over your shoulder.
"Am I your human crutch now?" You poked the dark-haired man's side.
"Haven't had that much", Johnny defended himself. "I remained on good behaviour today", he puffed out his chest as you caught a laugh from your friend just as she ducked into the back.
"Hard to believe when coming from the man daring me to a drinking game", you teased, knowing he wasn't any further inebriated than barely tipsy, concerning he wasn't stumbling over his words or burdened you with his weight when he turned the two of you with a chuckle.
Facing the exit, your and Johnny's eyes fall on the others moving towards it.
You instinctively pay more attention to John as he steps away from their table. But, with his jacket already clutched in one hand since previously, your brows furrow. To your attention, he hadn't brought anything else. And that's when you see the accessory not fitting his general appearance. In John's other hand is your purse.
While something warm worms into your chest, you feel the body beside you move, silent amusement causing Johnny's chest to vibrate. You twist your head towards him, being met with a wide grin as his eyes drop to you, returning from having caught the same sight you'd done.
"You've really put ya charms on the old man, now 'ave ya?" His bright eyes are creased in the corners as his hand squeezes your shoulder.
Your mouth drops open. "I-I...uh", you stumbled over your words, suddenly bashful at having someone beside Marissa point it out. Even though he's already mentioned it to her, you remind yourself.
Your wide-eyed look earns a not-so-suppressed laugh from Johnny this time around. "No need explainin'". His smile softens somewhat, yet the glint in his eye is still there as he leans in slightly. "Only hope the old fecker doesn't fuck it up with a bonnie like ya". You duck your head to hide a laugh, nerves dissipating at the Scot's comment.
"He's got his charms". You look up, gaze locking with John's briefly before facing the man at your side. He gives you a wink before letting you go, leaving you to take the lead when nearing the others.
Your focus shifts to the exit.
Ghost pulls the door open, its never-fixed natural chime filling the air. Kyle follows him shortly, pushing the door slightly wider for John to catch with the same hand he holds his jacket. However, instead of exiting, he waits for you to come close enough to wordlessly hand you your purse and motion for you to head out before him. You smile as thanks for both actions.
The air is lukewarm. Not cold by any means. Still, a shiver prickles your skin when a warm gust blows past.
"You can't possibly be cold". You turn to look at John as he follows you onto the sidewalk. To give space to Johnny trailing after him, you take a few steps to the side before angling your body towards him as he steps up to you.
"Says the man who brought a jacket". You nod towards the material in his grip.
"Fair". John chuckles as he stops close to you, his free hand hooking into his pocket, his thumb sticking out.
As the door closes, you look away from those blues you'd stared into for the better part of the evening, focusing on what was beyond the pub window. You see Marissa with her bag slung over her shoulder, meaning she must've finished the closing procedure in the back.
Next, your eyes are drawn to the only one moving in the company. Ghost's dark frame melts into the building's facade more so than the still-bright evening as he moves towards one of the cars parked a few steps away. The late setting sun reflected in the windshield, and the cloud-free sky lightened the night considerably regarding the time.
The slight shift in your peripheral finally draws your eyes back to John. As your attention land upon him, you note he followed your previous line of sight of watching Ghost leisurely come to lean against the rear-view mirror as he waits. Soon though, his blue eyes settle on you.
"How'd you get here?" It's a simple and innocent question depending on how you interpret it. But you can't help but do anything but.
"I was already out and about, so I walked". John nods, looking away for a second as you notice his jaw works from the muscles in his temple. When his eyes return, he tips his head somewhat downwards and slightly raises his brows. "I could drive you home if you want?"
You immediately press your jaws together to not break out in a lunatic smile. Those butterflies are back, wild and whipping in your stomach, not because of nervousness but excitement. As you watch John, gaze into his blues, you breathe in.
Mingling together is the noticeable but hard-to-place smell of warmth in the air still present from when you arrived and the scent of John you'd grown accustomed to during the evening.
"My mother warned me of jumping into strangers' cars". You attempt to play down your immediate reaction to his offer.
It earns you a chuckle. "Can't say I pose as the friendliest either". John looked over his shoulder to the big black rover parked further down the street than Ghost had. You can barely shield your amusement despite attempting to when he turns back. "What?"
"Could think you worked for the Mafia rather than the military".
His brows teasingly narrowed at you. "That so?"
You nod with a light hum. "At the least thought it was more Ghost's style than yours", you'd lowered your voice to not let the man you referred to catch your sentence.
"Can't blame you", he chuckles with a slight head shake as your eyes fall back to the black rover ahead.
"Oh, jump in the car". Both you and John followed the voice to find Marissa. You hadn't heard her exit the pub and lock the door, but evidently, she must have done it slightly before butting into your conversation concerning how Johnny and Kyle joined Ghost by their car.
"I'm going the other direction anyways, and I know Price won't kidnap you". You knew she could've and would've given you a ride. She'd done it frequently when you worked together. You cocked a brow at her, one she disregarded when she redirected her eyes to John. "And, if you do so happen to take such a liking to my friend that you decide to abduct her, I know where you live".
"You don't know where I live", he huffed out a laugh.
Marissa only smiles in return. "Maybe so, but I do know where that base of yours is and that some of your boys will be there". She put a hand on her hip, and at that, he put his hands up in mock surrender, eliciting a chuckle from your friend as she turns back to you.
"Hear from you in the morning to know wheater you end up home or in a basement?" She said, but the look in her eyes said something else entirely.
You couldn't help but shake your head, knowing she had said it because she wanted all the details. "Sure". She brought you in for a hug before stepping away and heading in the same direction as the boys had, her car parked in front of theirs.
"Thanks for coming by tonight", she called as she stopped by the vehicle.
"You know I can't say no to you", you returned with a smile.
"Nice to meet ya, lass", Johnny called out as he opened the passenger seat, a grin present as his eyes shifted. "See ya, Cap'n". John gave him a nod in return as you waved to the Scotsman. Like his goodbye, your action responds to Ghost's nod and Kyles's wave.
"Seems like I'm taking you up on that offer", you said when finally turning back to face John.
"Come on then, love", he gave you a side-ways nod as he directed you to his car.
