Reader whos obsessed with hairy men, takes one look at price and soap in the gym and decides i have got to fuck them oh my god
Turns out they are the perfect duo, price always in control and soap eager to please. Ur absolutely overwhelmed sandwiched between them. The hair on prices chest tickles your back where ur laying against him. Big hands holding ur thighs open so soap can rut into you freely.
You can run ur hands over soaps body like this, feeling the thick hair across his chest and along his arms. (His happy trail thick enough you could probably braid it lol). All the while price is telling soap how to move "a bit slower sergeant, no one's going anywhere"
Soaps mouth at ur neck, beard scratching ur jaw as he whines "fuck ye feel so good. Cmon, you can take a few, right? You'll give me a few? Price- ahh- can I take a few?"
John knows from the slur to the Scot's words and from the way his sergeant wraps an arm around his shoulder, pointing an unsteady hand at the pub's telly screen.
"A'd suck ye aff if Liverpool fuckin wan that game."
It's obligatory pub chat, discussing your team and subsequently getting the piss ripped out of you for their recent matches.
Simon's still sitting at the table facing the brunt of Kyle's scrutiny for being a casual Man City supporter.
"Willing to stick to that, sunshine?"
John knows he's tipsy when instead of smacking the younger man over the back of the head, he entertains the idea. Even as a joke between lads.
"Aye, a wid."
John wonders if he's too old for 'it's not gay if you're wearing socks' to apply after cumming on the Scotman's face when Liverpool in 2-0.
The air in the windowless room is thick with sweat, gun oil, and the raw scent of arousal.
The crude, hand-lettered sign still dangles above Price’s head: CAPTAIN MILKING STATION, swaying slightly every time a breeze sweeps in from under the crack of the door.
His wrists are bound tight behind the chair, ankles lashed wide to the legs with deep red rope, forcing his thighs apart.
Shirt gone, trousers shoved down just enough to expose him completely. His cock stands painfully hard, flushed dark, the broad head shiny with the steady leak of pre-cum that your boyfriend keeps coaxing out in slow, merciless drops.
Soap circles the captain like a predator, whiskey glass in one hand, the other lazily trailing fingers along Price’s inner thigh—never quite touching where the otger man needs it most. The whole setup has been enough to make you soak through your panties by now.
“Look at ye, sir,” he murmurs, Scottish lilt dripping with mockery. “Leakin’ like a broken faucet. Bet ye’ve been achin’ for this all week, haven’t ye?”
Price’s jaw clenches, beard rasping against his collarbone as he tries to keep his breathing even. “Watch it, Sergeant.”
You giggle quietly. His threat falls flat, and you can see the tremor in his thighs, the way his hips twitch forward every time Soap’s knuckles brush just shy of his balls.
Then you step in close, straddling one of his bound legs, letting the heat of your body press against him without giving friction. Your fingers ghost up his shaft—barely there, feather-light—collecting the fresh bead of pre at the tip and bringing it to your lips. You lick it off slowly, deliberately, and holding his gaze the entire time.
“Christ,” Price growls, head thumping back against the chair. “One of you better fucking touch me properly or—”
“Or what, Captain?” you cut in, eyes twinkling mischievously. You lean in until your lips brush the shell of his ear. “You’ll give us an order? You’re tied to a chair with your cock dripping into a pint glass. I don’t think you’re giving orders tonight, sir.”
Soap chuckles darkly, finally wrapping his fist around the base of Price’s cock—tight, possessive, but still infuriatingly slow. One long, dragging stroke from root to crown, twisting just under the head to force another thick drop free. It falls with a soft plink into the glass.
“Come on, Cap,” Soap taunts, holding the glass up so Price can see how much they’ve already collected. “One more squeeze. Ye can do better than that.”
Price’s hips jerk, chasing Soap’s hand as it pulls away. “Johnny—fuck—don’t stop.”
Soap doesn’t. He grins at you, leans in to steal a smacking kiss, then starts a cruel rhythm: two firm strokes, then nothing. He kisses you again, deepens it by licking into your mouth, eliciting a needy moan from you. Two more strokes, then nothing. The captain watches, pupils blown.
Each time Soap stops, he waits until Price’s cock twitches desperately, another fat drop welling up and spilling over. You join in, nails dragging lightly down his furry chest, pinching a nipple hard enough to make him hiss, then soothing it with your tongue.
One more filthy kiss shared with your man, then you drop to your knees between Price’s spread thighs, breath ghosting over the slick head of his cock.
“You want my mouth, sir?” you ask innocently, letting your lower lip just barely graze him. “Beg for it.”
Price’s eyes flash; pride warring with raw need. When he speaks, his gravelly voice comes out wrecked. “Please.”
“Louder,” Soap demands cruelly, squeezing Price’s cock, and the older man nearly keels over. “Please—fuck—put your mouth on me, princess.”
You reward him with one slow, wet lick from base to tip, tongue tracing the pulsing vein on the underside of his shaft, then you pull back. Soap takes over again, hand flying now, fast and rough, milking him relentlessly. You wrap your lips around just the head, sucking hard, tongue flicking the slit on every upstroke.
Price breaks with a guttural roar, back arching against the ropes as he comes—thick, pulsing jets that you catch in your mouth first, then let overflow into Soap’s waiting glass, who doesn’t stop stroking, drawing it out until Price is shaking, oversensitive, cock jerking in his fist with aftershocks.
When it’s over, Soap lifts the nearly full glass, swirling it lazily. “That’s a proper yield, Captain.”
You giggle again, licking your lips while cum dribbles off your chin. Price’s chest heaves, sweat-slick and flushed.
His head lifts as he growls, “Untie me. Now.”
You lean in, kiss the corner of his snarling mouth sweetly. “Only if you say pretty please first, sir.”
Soap snorts, bright eyes shining with pride as he brushes his sticky thumb along your cheekbone lovingly.
Price, meanwhile, glares at you both; his steely eyes promising retribution.
nikpricesoap where johnny goes to tattoo artist price to get sunshine tattooed on his chest
just old school fully tatted up price in a white tank showing off his arms, wearing black nitrile gloves while he inks johnny’s virgin skin, listening to his cut off whimpers as he fights not to squirm. he sits so well for him, even during the sharper lines that make him struggle, just hangs onto the chair and bites his bottom lip, and all price wants to do is find out what other noises he can get him to make, his jeans barely hiding his hardening cock as he drags the tattoo out
price pulling out his glasses for the finer line work, lamenting how he never used to need them but that’s what you get tattooing in the basements of clubs, half cut on alcohol and anything else he could get his hands on. he pauses midway through the tattoo to pull his belt line down and show off the faded, choppy lines in his inner pelvis he did as a dare, snickering to himself as he tells johnny that to this day he has no idea what it’s supposed to be; can barely remember doing it, he was so off his face and it’s so blown out it’s completely illegible anyway
johnny gives a weak laugh and can’t even pretend to look at the tattoo when he’s so captivated by the thick, wild mess of price’s pubes next to the faded ink
he’s completely done for when nik comes in at the same moment, cigar casually hanging from his lips, and crows his own loud laughter at the sight; unashamedly tugging his belt line even lower to get the full tattoo out and confessing he was the one who dared him to do it. he tells johnny as much as he can remember about that night too like he isn’t flashing the root of price’s cock just a hand’s breadth away from his face, his own hand covered in green-black ink from tattoos older than johnny is
but as the tattoo goes on, as they laugh and smoke and talk about the lives they’ve lived as alternative gay men and nik being an immigrant, coming up in communities that don’t want either of them so they built their own, it becomes about more than just lust
johnny admits to facing his own unique bigotry because of his religious upbringing, even as he beats back the twinge of shame at comparing it to what they’ve gone through. he tells them about leaving to go to uni, hoping he would find the freedom and sense of belonging he’s always wanted… just to find out even amongst these “liberated” minds, they have their own cliques and rules about who he’s supposed to be; the gay people he thought he would bond with just as prissy and regimented as his parents, telling him he’s too wild and gives the rest of them a bad name, that they’re better than those gross queers you always hear about
price finishes the tattoo and johnny struggles to bundle up the sharp sense of grief at the thought of leaving these men, of having to walk away from this burgeoning sense of safety and just how right it feels to be with them. he’s quiet as price wraps his chest, the touch gentle but for how rough and real his hands feel on his skin, and he almost flinches when nik throws his arm over his shoulders and asks if he feels up to getting something to eat; such a long session deserves aftercare, after all
his wording is so incredibly deliberate and johnny’s a blushing mess as he pushes out a meek, “sounds good”
just johnny getting taken under leather daddy price’s wing, being shown kink events and drag clubs, these “dirty” places that are more connected and protective of their own, no matter who they are, than anyone he’s ever met. nik showing him underground artists and thrash bands, singers that scream out their rage and their grief and their longing and musicians that break themselves to play with the intensity they have inside them; where he leaves shows feeling like he’d just been in a riot, so loose and bruised and free after seeing this pure display of sound and thought and artistic intent
he learns more about expression and integrity and emotion from them all than his carefully curated art class could ever hope to
johnny realising he was never going to fit in in these “proper” places no matter how much he tried to change himself. he always needed these alternative, sincere men to show him the world he was missing, the one you can only be invited to
he needed to be welcomed home instead of chasing one that would never be his
🚁💰🧼 (horny time)
genuinely can’t stop thinking about johnny trying to fit in with these high maintenance, judgemental college gays - waxing his whole body and going on a cut when all he’s ever wanted is to bulk up - getting taken in by old man nikprice who don’t count it as a fuck until they’re both filthy and disgusting; covered in each other’s spit and sweat and cum, the only reason they’re not still fucking because they physically can’t get it up any more and even then, they can’t stop groping each other’s soft cock and empty, sweat-damp balls
johnny who can’t even get head if he isn’t completely shaved and showered beforehand, staring in pure awe and longing as nik recounts pinning price down and eating his ass the night before when he got back from a three day tattoo convention and hadn’t slept or showered the whole time
all johnny can picture during his tattoo is sinking down on price’s cock, nik’s hand tangled in his hair and guiding him down, until his lips hit that old, faded ink; the two of them sharing that cigar as they indulge in sharing a new sweet young thing between them. he almost starts drooling as he goes even further, thinks about them chuckling to each other about how cute he is as he goes limp once they’re both finally inside him, his head falling back on nik’s shoulder, mouth slack as he does his best to cling to price. they wouldn’t even need to fuck him, just sit him on their cocks as his throbbing hole milks them…
both of them are just so big and hairy compared to his gym rat body, sleek and hairless since that’s what he’s been taught is most attractive. but here are these older effortlessly sexy men, their bulk and rough edges making them even hotter, and they like ruining his perfect hair and skin; the messier they get him, the better
nikprice seeing the repressed scent goblin and maybe even pig in johnny and dedicating themselves to bringing him into the light and proving he never has to be ashamed of his desires
Something the rookies and others like to winge about. "What is it with Captains and higher up needing huge beds?"
Contrary to the rumours, John didn't feel he needed a huge bed for power reasons, or to feel important.
No he just valued his large bed because every night at least one of his team, if not all three other team members would crawl their way into his bed in the middle of the night.
And a single bed just really wouldn't fit 4 muscular tall military men.
