Under the Desk
Prompt: Sucking Soap under the Desk while he talks with someone part two
You and Johnny had been dancing around each other from the moment you were pulled onto Task Force 141. It started as casual flirting, playful jabs, lingering glances, but it didn’t take long before Johnny was downright pining. Clingy, persistent, like some loyal mongrel that decided you were his and no one else's.
You made him work for it, teased him, made him squirm a little, and if you were being honest, you loved how fucking easy he was to rile up. And maybe, deep down, you liked the idea of taming the Task Force’s wildest dog.
Now, months later, Johnny was yours, and it showed. Bite marks littered your thighs, your hips, the crook of your neck. He could be feral, needy, like he was trying to crawl inside your skin just to be closer to you. But when you wanted him soft and pliant, moaning for you? He melted like putty in your hands. Case in point: right now, with you on your knees under his desk, his cock stuffed halfway down your throat.
It had started innocently enough. A few hours of boring paperwork together, holed up in an unused office, laughing and complaining under your breath. Johnny had been twitchy all day, tapping his foot, shifting in his chair, glancing at you with that heated, reckless look he got when he was trying so hard to behave. You teased him under the desk, sliding your foot up his calf, running your fingers across his thigh. It didn’t take much for Johnny to crack, he never could tell you no, not when you got that look in your eye. Soon enough, you were kneeling between his legs, pants shoved down just enough for you to pull him free, thick and flushed in your hand.
His hand tangled in your hair, gently at first, a soft, grounding touch as you licked the head, tasted the salty precum beading there. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking slow and deep, taking him halfway before pulling off to kiss down his shaft, mouthing at the sensitive skin. Johnny was already panting, hips jerking up into your mouth, so desperate, so fucking needy.
And then: the door swung open.
"Johnny," came Price’s voice, casual, as if he hadn’t just walked into an impending trainwreck.
You froze, blinking up at Johnny, and the look on his face nearly made you giggle. Panic, arousal, guilt, all flashing across his flushed features in the span of a second.
Price, thankfully, hadn't looked down yet. He was too busy flipping through a file in his hands, muttering about mission reports. Johnny gave you a look, wide-eyed, pleading, and you just smirked and slowly, slowly took him back into your mouth.
Johnny bit down hard on his lip, stifling the low, broken sound that tried to escape.
"You get those forms submitted yet?" Price asked, stepping closer to the desk. He still hadn’t noticed you, your body tucked carefully under the wide oak desk, hidden by a hanging panel.
Johnny swallowed audibly, clearing his throat.
"Uh— workin' on it, Cap," he said, voice a little too high.
You hummed around his cock, sending a vibration through him that made his thighs twitch under your palms. You pressed harder against him, your nails digging lightly into his skin, urging him not to fucking move.
Price dropped the file on the desk with a loud thud.
"You’re fallin' behind, MacTavish," he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. "You've been distracted lately. Everything alright?"
You pulled back just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, hollowed your cheeks, then swallowed him down to the base again. Johnny’s hips bucked, and you squeezed his thigh hard in warning.
"Aye," Johnny rasped, gripping the edge of the desk so tight his knuckles went white. "Just, uh, a lot on my plate."
Price gave a noncommittal grunt.
"You need help, you ask for it," he said. "Don’t need you drowning in paperwork before a big op."
Johnny nodded stiffly. He wasn’t hearing a word of it, not when your mouth was heaven around him, your tongue teasing along the vein on the underside of his cock, your hand working what your mouth couldn’t reach.
You peeked up at him through your lashes, loving the way his chest heaved, the way his pupils were blown wide with lust and panic.
Price checked his watch, muttering something about checking in with Laswell, and turned to leave.
You took that moment to suck him down hard, and Johnny’s breath hitched audibly, a broken little whimper he barely managed to muffle into a cough.
"You good, MacTavish?" Price said, pausing at the door.
Johnny nodded furiously, voice strained.
"Peachy, sir."
Price eyed him suspiciously but finally left, the door clicking shut behind him.
The second you were alone, Johnny slumped in his chair, releasing a ragged, wrecked moan.
"Fuckin' hell, love," he gasped, threading both hands into your hair now, no longer gentle, desperately guiding your head as he thrust up shallowly into your mouth.
You let him. Let him fuck your mouth with short, stuttering little movements, every muscle in his thighs quivering under your touch.
"You're— fuck, you're evil," he choked out, voice cracking. "Nearly made me— fuckin'— come while Price was right there."
You pulled off just enough to pant against the head of his cock, stroking him with your hand.
"Maybe that's what you needed," you whispered, voice thick with arousal. "Somebody to catch you being the desperate little thing you are."
Johnny whimpered, full-on now, shameless. No front, no bravado, just Johnny, wrecked and needy, yours.
You took him back in, messy and hungry now, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth as you worked him with your lips and tongue, relentless.
It didn’t take long. He was already so close, so wound tight from holding back.
"Fuck— fuck— comin', love, I'm—"
You moaned around him, encouraging, and Johnny spilled down your throat with a desperate, broken cry. Hot and thick, salty on your tongue, and you swallowed every drop, not stopping until he was twitching and gasping above you. When you finally pulled off, Johnny slumped back in his chair, flushed to his ears, eyes glassy and dazed.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, smirking.
Johnny reached for you blindly, dragging you up into his lap, burying his face against your neck with a wrecked little groan.
"You're fuckin' evil," he murmured again, voice muffled.
You just laughed, threading your fingers through his hair.
"Maybe," you said. "But you love it."