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Captain Price ends up pulling him aside after all, though, it didn't really have anything to do with ghillie suits. They’ve long since abandoned those, stripped down to nothing but their muscle tees, cargo pants, and boots. Gaz isn't complaining, not even in the slightest. How can he when Price has him pinned against the wall like this? Large hands slide down the covered parts of his body, and they linger on the dips and divots mesmerized.
"Why don't we have a look, Sergeant?" Price murmurs in his ear, thick full mustache tickling against his earlobe. His hands have explored all over, and finally, they dock themselves on the smallest part of his waist. His hold is firm and stable; occasionally, his thumbs reach for the hem of Gaz's pants. They don't move beyond that; they wait for their next signal.
Gaz smiles: he tilts his head slightly to the side, giving Price more room to work with. A silent invitation, though not the one Price was waiting for. He takes it graciously anyway, facial hair leaving a burning trail in its wake as it slides down to scratch beneath the sharp jut of Gaz's jaw. He presses little kisses against it, scraping his teeth along the jugular when he gets close enough, and Gaz just melts.
"Take a look at what, Captain?" Gaz tries for cheeky; the sigh that spills out from his lips only barely ruins it.
Price pulls back from his work if only just to stare at Gaz; he's brandishing his own smile, too. This one feels teasing, mocking really. "Don't tell me your memory is that bad, Kyle. I've got to make sure you weren't lying to me."
Gaz's memory most certainly is not failing; they both know that. As if Price really needed to check to see if Gaz was potty trained– please. He plays along, though, letting Price check, willing to see this through no matter what. After all, he was the one who encouraged him. The games only just begun.
"Never, sir." He sighs again, shaking; the misuse of formalities makes his stomach drop and his head spin. "Wouldn't dream of lying to you, Captain."
Price's smile widens, cooing as he squeezes Gaz's waist. He slid his hands down to fumble with his pants, unbuckling them with practiced ease and dragging the belt out of its loops without faltering.
"Oh, Garrick," The sound of his zipper being pulled down is near deafening in the silent room, Gaz meets Price's expectant gaze with wide eyes and parted lips. "Of course you wouldn't."
There's a rush of cold air that douses his bottom half. Price had pulled his newly unbuttoned pants forward, exposing his cock to the open, stretching it out just to peek inside. Gaz is burning from the inside out, suddenly embarrassed. The humiliation feels sticky, and it coats every square inch of his body, and somehow him being half-hard, chubbing up in his pants, makes it worse. If Price checking his underwear to see if he really soiled himself wasn't humiliating enough, getting hard over it felt like the cherry on top. Price takes the hand not holding the pants and forces it under Gaz's tee. His fingers ghost over his stomach, he's still smiling.
"Well would you look at that, princess." He huffs out a laugh, tearing his eyes away from Gaz's to look back into his pants. "Guess you weren't lying after all."
Gaz pointedly looks everywhere but the inside of his own pants. The word Princess bounces around in his skull over and over until he feels rattled. They've hardly done anything, yet Gaz can feel his cock twitch anyway, swelling up to attention. His stomach flutters, he's so turned on it starts to hurt. He'd drown himself if he could, just so he can ignore how his brain sloshes like liquid in his head. He squeezes his eyes shut against Price's amused smile. He keeps them shut even when the captain places a gentle kiss against his cheek. They stay shut when Price lets his pants go, hastily rolling Gaz's shirt up and over his head. It’s tossed to the ground with a soft noise that Gaz hardly hears over the roaring in his ears.
Price pressed another kiss against his cheek, though this one was accompanied by gun-calloused hands running over Gaz's exposed chest. Cupping and groping at his pectorals as if they were a pair of tits. It's only when his thumbs swipe over his stiffening nipples that Gaz opens his eyes with a wet gasp.
"Captain-?"
Price hums, cutting him short when he leans down to latch onto his right nipple, fingers pinching and pulling on the left one. His mouth feels hot, swirling his tongue around the nub before carefully dragging his teeth along the length of it. His efforts send jolts throughout his body, electric and sharp. Gaz shifts against the wall, bucking his hips against air, trying to do something with the influx of sensations strumming through his body. Frustrated, he groans. It doesn't do a thing.
Price is diligent and thorough; he doesn't leave jobs half-finished so why would it be any different here? He leaves Gaz's right nipple sensitive and raw. It's shiny with spit and he graces it with one final suck that has Gaz's hips rolling in tight little circles. Price kisses his way over to do the exact same thing to the left side. He's planning on marking every part of Gaz's body, lavishing every square inch until there was nothing left untouched. Leave him spent and trembling in a puddle of his own mess by the end of the night. Meticulous, painstakingly slow. They’d be here for hours. Which—
The thought is nice—really it is. But that took so long.
Kyle squirms around impatiently, hissing through his teeth when Price pulls hard at his abused nipple. It aches, it hurts so much it feels good. He wants to hurry this up– needs to hurry this up. He's never been a patient person, especially not with this. He much prefers the rush, the animalistic bite and pull of sex. He wants it frantic and desperate, taking pieces of each other until there's just nothing left. It's perfect like that, he wants to be wrecked by the end of the night–
Price, the old bastard that he was, didn't care for that rush. Why would he? He's careful and slow, wouldn't he have his sex the same way? He enjoys taking his time, he could spend hours like this if Gaz would let him. The methodical, almost analytical, take on sex is what Price liked. Dragging each moment out like it's an act in some grand play, not ending the show until Gaz was fucked out and satisfied.
There's an inherent problem here, but it wasn't about whose idea of sex was better. No, the problem was figuring out who called the shots. Who exactly got to dictate what pace they'd be running at, slow and sweet or rough and fast? That's the problem. It’s their own little unspoken game. One that, really, Gaz wins often. He’s just good at making Price lose his cool, getting him heated enough to forget all his careful little steps and gentle touches and kisses and just let go.
Admittedly, the ball started in Price's court this round. It'd been there since Price had started this whole thing, teasing Kyle on the comms as if Laswell hadn't been listening in. It was such a dumb thing too. Well to be fair, he had said then, he'd have been potty trained by then, Kate. And Kyle just had to rise to the bait, he had to, especially with the way it had made his cheeks flush and the grip on his sniper tighter.
Still am, sir, he volleyed back, keeping his words nice and even. Trying, and ultimately succeeding, to sound put together and professional, because wouldn’t that have been embarrassing? Sounding flustered over comms during a recon mission, Jesus. He couldn't see his Captain, not then, but he didn't need to see anything to hear the smug smile coming from Price, like he knew exactly what his words were doing to him. We'll check your ghillie suit when this is over, Sergeant. A promise and he’s embarrassed to say he nearly dropped his fucking gun because of it; he could practically hear Kate rolling her eyes over the comms.
So maybe Price has got a head start on him. Pulling him along like he's a puppet on a string, pushing and prodding at all his buttons. That's fine, it's fine– It just means he needs to catch up.
(Thinking back on it now, he should probably send her a gift basket, something nice like that. She said everything would be going into her report and he can imagine how headache-inducing writing that would be. He needs to give her something that says: 'Thanks for Putting Up With My Shit!'. Maybe those edible fruit baskets or something with Epsom salts. She more than deserves it.)
Cold air against spit-slicked nipples definitely isn’t the most comfortable feeling in the world, but Gaz bears it. They stand stiff, perked up and swollen and Gaz knows if he touches them it’ll hurt like a bitch. Price kisses the skin around them, the sweet gentle press of his lips is a far cry from the faint bite marks and darkening bruises. He kisses his way upwards, from his pecs to his sternum, to the deep dive between his collar bones. Gaz feels his mustache before his lips when Price is finally face to face with him. Another sweet kiss, this one gifted to the corner of his lips, Gaz relishes in it. Price smiles, Gaz does too, he cranes his neck to steal a proper kiss but Price pulls back.
“Sir…” Gaz whines petulantly, pouting his lips and batting his eyelashes. Going for cute and sulky and hitting the nail dead on its head.
Price’s hands, which have been a heavy weight on his waist, tighten their grip a little. Not too much, the pressure is gone almost as soon as it was applied, but it’s enough for Gaz to see it as the warning it was. One of them disappears from his waist, he’s no time to mourn it when Price grips his face. Squishing his cheeks between his middle finger and thumb, forcing the pout away with it. His lips are puckered forcefully, he feels chastised. Gaz’s stomach drops and without Price’s stupidly thick fingers contorting his face he knows he'd be grinning like a madman. This is more like it, he thinks, watching Price’s brows furrow into a deep frown.
“Now why can’t you just be patient, princess?” Price tuts, scolding him like he’s some dumb dog who still hasn’t figured out that it’s not supposed to shit inside. “You know I’ll take care of you, I always do, so why won’t you wait?”
“I hate waitin’ Cap’n.” More squirming, he can hardly enunciate his words like this, he doesn’t let it stop him. “You know tha’, you do, so?” He’s pushing it, testing the bounds of Price’s control here, he knows that, he knows, he knows, and he feels damn near proud about it. “I can’t—” Wait forever, he doesn’t get to say, not when Price’s grip grows harsher, unrestrained, painful really. The tips of his fingers dig into his cheeks, pressing hard enough to make his gums ache and molars grind.
There we go.
Price’s eyes narrow, he’s moving Gaz’s head side to side like he’s inspecting him for something. His nostrils flare, whether the irritation there is genuine or manufactured is irrelevant. “Could care less about what you can’t do, Garrick. That I do know.” His hold lessens marginally, instead of squeezing the fuck out of his face, he uses his thumb to caress his cheek. Eventually, it brushes over Gaz’s lips, catching on the bottom one he drags it down. “Tell me this, Kyle.” Price says thoughtfully, wedging his thumb between Gaz’s clenched teeth. Sliding the thick digit into the warmth of his mouth, pressing it down on his tongue harshly. Gaz fights the gag; he can’t tell if Price is disappointed or proud about it. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?”
Gaz stares back at him dumbly, the thumb on his tongue isn’t nearly a heavy enough weight and he’s more focused on that than whatever the fuck Price is saying to him. It takes him a genuine second for the question to really register in his brain, pausing his suckling to think. He tries to shake his head, it doesn’t work, so he tries to speak and predictably that’s worse, so he’s stuck looking at Price feeling both stupid and caught and feeling damn good about both. Price stops pressing down on his tongue, instead he hooks his thumb on the inside of his cheek. The readjustment allows Gaz to speak properly this time.
“No, sir.” He gurgles, more than speaks. Talking while he tries to swallow the excess saliva that pooled in his mouth from nearly gagging before. He manages it, sort of, some of it spilling out where Price has him hooked. He feels it slide down his chin, dip under, and continue its trek down his neck.
“Sloppy.” Price chastises.
“Sorry, sir.” Gaz slurs, not drooling on purpose, but not putting an actual effort to stop it at this point.
Price hums, considering him and his words for a moment. Like he’s really taking Gaz’s saliva filled apology to heart and deciding whether it’s worth accepting. He slides his thumb out, making the drag of unhooking Gaz’s cheek as uncomfortable as possible before shoving his middle and pointer finger in its place. They settle themselves back on his tongue, having a much farther reach than his thumb did. Gaz can’t stop the gag this time, breathing through his nose noisily when Price begins slowly sliding them back and forth out of his mouth. The taste of skin and the muted blandness of soap makes him yearn for something heavier, thicker. He tries licking at the thick digits in his mouth, wishful thinking has him pretending he’s sucking dick instead of fingers. He hollows out his cheeks and tongues between the divots of Price’s fingers and is rewarded with them pressing down hard on the back of his tongue. Pushing harshly against the bed of tastebuds back there.
Ho—ly shit.
He retches hard, it hurts and it’s instinctive when he raises up a hand to try and push the offending appendages out of his mouth. Price is bringing his fingers out before anything can come up, allowing Gaz to grip on his wrist but not pulling away entirely.
“Slowly, Sergeant.” Price says sounding wholly unconcerned, scolding as if it’s somehow Gaz’s fault he nearly threw up. Then, like an afterthought, he adds. “You’re in such a rush— imagine if it’d been my cock instead? Who’d you think would clean up after you, even? I can tell you now, it won’t be me.”
Gaz doesn’t know, he doesn’t, he can’t think that far ahead right now, but fuck him that’s hot. He tries to imagine it, then. How it’d feel, what it’d be like, picturing Price’s cock in place of his fingers. Sliding slowly into his mouth like he has so many times before, the weight of his cock familiar and hefty, holding his head steady while he fucks his face. Sinking farther and farther until Gaz gags, refusing to pull out even as it gets louder, harsher. Not stopping even when Gaz can’t curb the gagging off anymore. Pushing and resting his cock there until deep breathing and squeezing his thumbs can’t save him. Keeping his dick so far back until Gaz’s throat seizes around it, retching so violently that he heaves up whatever the fuck they had in the canteen earlier, forcing Price’s cock out with the strength of it.
Shoulders hunched when it finally happens, ears filled with the roaring sound of blood rushing and heaving. Trembling slightly, whining around dry heaves and little gags when his thighs squeeze around his erection. Keening when Price selfishly seeks pleasure from any part of him available, rubbing his dick on Gaz’s forehead, his cheeks, the bridge of his fucking nose, anything, anywhere. Smearing cum and coagulated spit against his clammy skin, scolding, mocking him, telling him how he just wasn’t ready for it. Ridiculing how big of a mess he made, like Price wasn’t the sole reason it happened in the first place.
Gaz thinks he might pass out with how violently his cock lurches in his pants, the idea is almost mind-numbing, moaning brokenly he can’t— he doesn’t— fuck.
Blearily, through tears and clumped eyelashes, Gaz tries to make out Price’s expression as he tries to recapture his fingers. Tugging on Price’s wrist, whining, babbling nonsensically when he doesn’t budge. “Again,” he blinks away the tears in his eyes, rapidly fluttering his eyelashes, trying to meet Price’s eyes properly. “I can take it, I swear it, Price— please, please.”
It’s vile how badly he wants this, no, needs this. Spurred on by the thought of Price fucking his throat ‘til he’s sick on it, mucking up his boots and the floor beneath them. Wanting so badly for Price to push him to the upper height of his limits. He really can’t wait now, how can he ever be patient like this? Why can’t Price just do it now? Push him down to his knees and shove his cock down his throat until he couldn’t breathe. How hard was that?
He searches Price’s face, it’s ridiculously smug, so desperately he tries every little trick in his, albeit small, book. He bats his lashes, he pouts, sniffling his nose pathetically as if Price has slighted him in the worst way possible. He knows he’s pretty; he knows he’s a disgusting mess, he’ll make both facts work in his favor. Price’s expression stubbornly stays the same, he does however bring the tips of his fingers back to Gaz’s lips, relenting if only just. Hovering above them, touching but just barely, Gaz for once doesn’t take what hasn’t been given to him.
If anything, that makes Price the happiest. His eyes crinkle from his smile. “Slow.” He commands, his rule for the night, he won this game. He slots his fingers back in Gaz’s mouth without much preamble. Gaz’s tongue stays still, not even when Price begins fucking his mouth, adding his ring finger for a wider stretch. “Smart lad, knew you had it in you.” Price punctuates his praise with a rough swipe on the back of his tongue, reaching as far as he could go for it. Trying to pull another rough gag out of Gaz, using him like he’s an instrument only capable of making grotesquely human sounds.
Gaz’s fingers are still wrapped around Price’s wrist, they’re circled loosely. Anchoring himself rather than guiding Price, instinctually squeezing his pulse every time Price pushes a little too far back. Back to puffing out harsh breaths through his nose, staving off gags. Letting his eyes flutter close, lightly sucking, making an effort to keep his tongue still. The drag of Price’s fingers is slow, though not careful, pushing and prodding at the back of his throat with little concern. It’s comfortable aside from the mild choking and background threat of vomiting.
“Oh, princess.” Price sighs, sounding far away despite being right in front of him. Laying his fingers flat atop Gaz’s tongue, holding them in place, Gaz struggles against the non-stop pressure, gags minute. “Look at you go, that’s right, hold it for me.”
His throat spasms on nothing, esophagus convulsing on air and spit, his fingers squeeze painfully tight over Price’s wrist. Saliva pools in his mouth again, unable to be swallowed as it bubbles out and spills around Price’s fingers. Hot trails of it slides down Price’s arm, it coats his fingers, it spills over his lips and cascades down his bruised chest. It’s messy, disgusting, sloppy just like Price had said. He waits for the feeling of obtrusion, danger, regurgitate now to go away, but with his captain’s thick fingers blanketing his tongue he knows it won’t. Gaz knows if he pushes Price’s hand away, he’ll give, just like that. It’ll be over and done and Price will just move on to the next act, no fuss. But honestly, he doesn’t want to. He continues to gag and struggle and gasp, he chooses this. He whines and cries and his throat hurts and fuck, God, it’s overwhelming and so, so good, his cock jerks in his pants again.
Price groans, beyond pleased, pulling his fingers out for the final time. Leaving his mouth open and empty, Gaz’s tongue lolled out stupidly as he tries chasing after them. Against his hip, pressing right into his pelvic bone, Gaz can feel Price’s arousal. He’s close enough for Gaz to feel the strain of his cargos, the heavy weight of his cock a painful reminder of what he could be having right now. Gaz tries to say something, his mouth is already open anyways, tongue heavy like lead in his mouth.
Spit-slicked fingers interrupt his efforts, gripping his jaw and pulling him forward to crash into Price’s lips. The rough collision of their mouths a direct opposite of Price’s wishes of going slow. Their teeth clink together in their violent assimilation of a kiss. Gaz’s mouth is sluggish against Price’s, moaning while he tries to match Price’s sudden ferocity. Price’s tongue coaxes him, sliding against Gaz’s, the feel of it slick and hot and wet. Gaz thinks, shoving his hands down to fumble with his unzipped pants seconds from just pulling himself out, that he can’t breathe. His lungs burn, his head feels stuffed full of cotton and steam and literal nothingness— he wonders if this is what death is like? If it is, he doesn’t want to stop, he wants to die over and over and over again until the end of time.
Price breaks away from him, panting, face splotchy and red, lips slicked with spit. He makes his own pretty picture, Gaz dreamily thinks, greedily sucking in air with loud gasps, always loving an opportunity to see his captain debauched. Gaz watches his lips move when he speaks, wanting his mouth on him, anywhere, everywhere. Struck with the want to feel his facial hair against his body again, scratching over his most sensitive of areas.
“You’ve been so patient, love. So good.” Price says, kissing against his heated cheeks and his runny nose, swiping a thumb through a tear track. “Don’t you see how better things are when you listen to me?”
Gaz nods, sniffling, hands still near his own dick, he instead moves them over to Price’s crotch. He hesitates, peering at Price through his lashes, struggling to find the words for a moment. “Let me…?” He finally asks, slow, careful, he feels like a fucking idiot.
Price certainly doesn’t say anything about his sluggishness, instead he presses a quick chaste kiss against his lips. Detangling himself from Gaz, he steps back, making a wide gesture with his arms. Clumsily, on slightly wobbly legs, Gaz pushes himself off the wall and sinks quickly to his knees. Shuffling forward on shag carpet, scraping himself as he inches his way closer to Price. He cranes his neck upwards, staring at the large man above him, his presence oppressive, dominating. Gaz notes, with no small amount of shame, that he’s still mostly dressed. His own undershirt is still on, though untucked. He can’t see if his pants are even still zipped and buttoned, but with the way his cock strains against them, bulge more intimidating under it than above, it probably is. He’s even got that stupid fucking hat on, really, if it weren’t for his obvious arousal and the way his breathing was uneven and choppy, Gaz would think he was completely uninterested in all of this. He swallows dryly, squirming on his knees as he tries to readjust his erection without actually touching it.
Price looks down at him, his eyes twinkle when he sees that Gaz isn’t moving without explicit permission. He grins at the way Gaz’s hands twitch over his knees, antsy, doing his best to be good for Price. Moving to unfasten his pants, he goes as slowly as he can. Pulling the zipper down each dip and groove of the teeth slowly, fishing the button of his cargos out with all the care in the world. Gaz watches both frustrated and entranced, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at the flesh until it starts to sting. Finally, finally, after what feels like 30 minutes, Price pushes his cargos and underwear down low enough for his cock to be freed. It bobs, shaking slightly, its tip is flushed already, a bright and furious mix of pinks and reds. Holding it in his hand, he’s pressing the slick, sticky tip against Gaz’s cheek.
“Kyle,” Price says above him, sounding miles away no longer close, stroking himself once and pulling his cock away from Gaz’s face barely. Ever so patient, his captain was. “Remind me again, love, of the rule.”
Gaz scowls, he opens and closes his mouth and opens it one more time to answer. Which he’ll do, he just needs to remember the answer. What’s the rule? His brain feels sluggish, it sputters and hacks and coughs like an old, rusted C/K. He has to close his eyes to think, but…he can’t—his thoughts are sparse, too far apart, he just needs to get them back together again. Make himself come back, he can— like, he can do that.
“Uh. Sl—ow,” he sounds the word out, the syllables feel alien on his tongue, opening his eyes to look up at Price now that he’s got it. He dives straight for that foggy, hazy barrier that washes over his brain. That’s infested every groove and curve and slimy part of his frontal lobe. He pushes against it, squinting, he’ll fall into it later. Later, later, later. He just needs to be here now. “I swear I won’t rush, Cap’n. Won’t sick up on you, please, I need to— I need this.”
Price frowns, but he doesn’t look angry, more like…speculative? Questioning, Gaz settles on finally, still not satisfied with that. With one hand holding his cock still, Price brings the other to cup the side of Gaz’s face, still sticky with pre-cum and dried tears. “Back with me then, love? We can stop here if you want?”
Gaz blinks, then blinks again, things are getting sharper, clearer. He keeps pushing against the fog and now Price sounds like he’s right above him instead of a room away. He nestles himself into Price’s rough hand, still feeling desperate to feel his cock on his tongue. Refusing to end this night without at least that. “Still here, ‘m back, please keep going?”
“Where are we at?” Price asks, gentle.
“Green, Jesus, c’n you fuck my face now?” He’s never been beyond begging and it’s especially true now. Then, because he wants to be on Price’s good side. “Pretty please.”
Price beams down at him, replacing his hand with his cock, lightly smacking the tip on his face. Dragging it down and over to his lips, pre-cum smeared on them like some crude form of lipstick. Serene, Price begins pushing against the barrier of Gaz’s lips. “Open wide for me then, princess. I know you’ve been aching for it.”
Gaz lets his jaw go slack, moaning softly at the first taste of Price’s cock on his tongue. The sharp, bitter flavor of his pre is the first thing he tastes. Squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to keep his head still, laying his tongue flat on the underside of the cock in his mouth. Desperate for more, seeking out the musky, salty taste that solely belongs to Captain John Price. He squeezes his knees, his nails dig into his pants, pushing the fabric further into the carpet burns on them. Slow, Gaz has to remind himself, slow, slow. He can’t lurch his head forward, can’t grab at Price’s legs to force him deeper into his mouth even though he really wants to. He keeps his mouth open, pliant, shuffling his thighs together to ease the pressure between his legs.
If Price is aware of his struggle to stay still, he doesn’t seem to give a fuck about it. He has his own pace, his own special rhythm, and Gaz would just have to take it. He feeds Garrick his cock inch by inch, pulling out before he can fully seat himself inside. His thumb, roughened and worn, rubs on the corner of Gaz’s mouth, revering at the way his girth makes Gaz’s lips stretch obscenely over him. Price still hasn’t gone deep enough for his cock to leave him breathless, but he’s building up to it, working up to sheathing himself in his mouth completely. Price pulls out at one point, sliding out of Gaz’s loose mouth easy as anything. Gaz cracks his eyes, keeping his mouth open, a stream of saliva lands on his pants.
Price is stroking himself above him, Gaz’s spit and pre-cum making sick little wet noises with each pass of his hand. In his hold, his cock twitches, looking almost angry above Gaz like this. “You vom Gaz, it’s on you, understood?” Price’s voice is gruff, rough like gravel, breathing harshly through his nose.
Gaz nods, frantic, desperate. “I—I won’t sir, swear it.” His tongue drags through the syllables, slurring.
Price chuckles, real honest to God laughter, slipping his dick back into Gaz’s waiting mouth. There’s no hesitance, no inching forward, he slides home in one, slick glide. Laughing over the muffled sound of gagging, he holds Gaz’s head between his hands. Rubbing sweetly over his hair, his puffed cheeks, his creaking jaw, lovingly petting him while he fucks into his face. “I could care less if you do it, Kyle. What does it matter to me? Just— Oh, there you are princess, Christ look at you.” He groans then, a low throaty sound that goes straight to Gaz’s dick. Price sounds strained, like his resolve has finally been chipped away. “Just don’t get it on my shoes, buttercup. They’re new.”
Gaz thinks he might have tried responding, but if he’s honest with himself he stopped listening as soon as Price eased his cock back in his mouth. The tip of it shoves on the back of his throat uncoordinated, pushing uncomfortably on the delicate palates back there. Gaz brings shaky hands to squeeze on Price’s thighs, tongue excitedly squirming beneath the oppressive weight of his captain’s dick. Sucking noisily, feeling his stomach burst open with heat and glee when Price doesn’t stop him. Bobbing his head as much as he can, letting Price maneuver his head in whichever way he desires. They could’ve been doing this like an hour ago, why the fuck would Price ever want to stall something like this?
Price doesn’t take his mouth fast or quick, instead his thrusts are powerful and deliberate. Fucking into Gaz’s mouth like it’s some fleshlight he dumped half a bottle of lube into, his head tipped back while he gasps and groans, uncaring even when Gaz starts back up on gagging. Ignoring the fucked out little noises Gaz makes below him, sputtering and choking and moaning—
“You can take it,” he hears Price say, hissing out the words through clenched teeth. He pulls out again, ragged breathing overshadowing the small little pop it makes. Stripping at his dick, pushing his tip against Gaz’s lips again. “Want you to hold it, sweetheart. Remember, like before? All you have to do is hold my cock for me,” He coos, not waiting for a response before pressing back inside Gaz’s hot mouth. “It’ll be easy love, you’ll see.”
Around Price’s cock, Gaz groans. Easy, sure. This is worse than Price’s fingers, it’s nothing like how he imagined. This was—It’s girthier, thick and suffocating. It fills too much of his mouth, takes up all the room, makes his jaw ache and his teeth pound. Price’s pelvis is pressed flushed against his face, a nest of coarse curly hair tickles at Gaz’s nose, his large hand holds the back of Gaz’s head. Keeping him in place while he sits in his mouth.
Gaz’s tongue spasms, thin wheezy breaths leave through his nose, he tries to swallow against another gag. Fighting through the seizing, his throat twitching desperately trying to force the cock out of his throat. He’s dizzy suddenly, like, really dizzy. He blinks up owlishly at Price, unable to tell if the dense fog in his head is from before or caused by the acute lack of oxygen. There’s an all too familiar feeling of lightheadedness, blood rushing…rushing…somewhere. The room spins, he can’t tell whether he’ll vomit or pass out first. Can you do both? Gaz thinks you can do both. He’s certainly about to find out—
Price pulls out almost violently, the hand he had on Gaz’s neck gripping harshly, scruffing him like he’s some mutt. Whatever, Gaz doesn’t care. He’s busy. He heaves once, twice, the motion is wholly violent. Clumsily he slaps his hand over his mouth, his limbs feel jittery, uncoordinated. The bitter and sharp taste of stomach acid bubbles up from his esophagus. He tries to swallow it back and holy fuck he deserves a fucking medal for keeping that down. He sucks in air greedily, hot puffs of air leaving his mouth, moistening the palm that’s still over it. Blinking away the little specs of white light and after images that are still burned into his retina. His stomach rolls, his lungs are fucking singed, he’s had a more pleasant time during basic and still, standing pathetically tall, is his dick.
Gaz giggles, just a bit, still feeling woozy even when he’s able to breathe again. Laughing around gasping breaths and lingering gagging— God, that was a lot. Like, more than he thought he’d been getting tonight. He peeks up at Price, laughing, crying, both probably, and he’s awed. By the time he’s meeting his captain’s eyes, he’s got cum on his face. Thick hot blobs of it rest just above his eyebrow, goopy and sticky against his skin. It drips down in clumps to his eyelid, threatening to get into his eye—which, not pleasant, but future Gaz can deal with it. Price can deal with it.
Price groans low and rumbly through his orgasm, smearing the last of his spend on Gaz’s lips, his favorite place tonight. And Gaz feels envious, it cuts right into his hypoxic euphoria, makes him so desperate and wanting that it splits his body in two.
“Lemme, lemme finish—” He begs, pleading, panting and sniffling and covered in so many fluids he can’t feel himself properly beneath it all. “Cap, please, please.”
Price bends down to pull on his floppy wrists, holding them in a loose grip. Price is right in front of his face, so close, and he’s speaking but Gaz can’t catch on the words at all. It sounds like complete and utter gibberish, taking about ten extra seconds for his brain to decipher it.
Price speaks slow, Gaz stares at him.
Uh.
Um.
“Go ahead sweetheart, I’ll be right here. Go on, finish just for me.”
Oh.
Gaz can do that; he’s been waiting for this all night. Price drops his wrists, allowing him to fish himself out of his boxers, and finally, blessedly put his hand around his cock. It’s beyond hard, twitching and strained. Oversensitive and almost painful to the touch, he strokes through it. He can’t stop here, he can’t stop now, even if he wanted to. His hand blurs over his dick, bucking wildly into his tight fist, babbling incoherently at Price’s feet. Speaking to him, speaking at him, not speaking to him at all. The pleasure boils in him, it bubbles up and infests his guts. A distinct mix of hurt and feelsgood hooks on his insides. Snagging on his lower intestine, his heart, his burning stomach— he’s fit to burst over it.
“It hurts.” He tells no one, he tells Price, his hand not faltering in the slightest. Price cups his face, soothing hands sliding over his heated skin. His thumb swipes over the cum on his forehead, lovingly wiping it away, then unceremoniously shoving it in Gaz’s leaking mouth—
And that, is how Gaz cums. With Price’s cum soaked fingers on his tongue and his dick spilling over his own fist. It’s punched out of him, intense enough for him to cry out, squeezing his eyes tight while he tries to roll through it all. Limbs feeling heavy and unmovable like pure steel. Price’s hands are still on him, even after his orgasm. Pulling on his wrist again, this time he tugs on them, pulling up, urging Gaz to try and get on his feet. Moving to lift Gaz up from beneath his armpits when he realizes Gaz isn’t really going anywhere. Gaz tries to be cooperative, even when everything is light and airy, with his body so loose and relaxed it’s too floppy to move. He stumbles wherever Price leads him, humming noncommittally with every praise, and every little check-up Price gives him, moving on an autopilot that hasn’t been updated since 2009.
It’s not until his back hits a bed and his clothes are gone that Gaz realizes he’s been missing parts. A warm damp rag is wiping away at his face gently. Wiping away all the myriad of fluids Gaz has managed to accumulate on there, reverently patting away on his face. Twisting his neck slightly, he can see the full naked body of Price next to him. A bottle of water, a towel, and a small snack beside him waiting on the nightstand, calling out to Gaz.
“You ok? Back with me, Kyle?” Price asks once he notices Gaz looking at him, dragging the rag down to Gaz’s neck. “You did so well, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”
Gaz nods, smiling. He stretches his body, wiggling his toes and splaying his arms out. “’M good. That was good.” The rag is cold now, he shivers against it and Price pulls it away. “’M beyond tired, though. Sorry.” He’s already got his eyes shut; his lids feel heavy. He should probably be taking his shower now, but he’s fucking spent.
A series of kisses are pressed against his skin, with the last one placed on his cheek. “You’re fine, love. I have you. You were so perfect for me tonight, go ahead and rest.”
He does.
But—
“You should make me vom next time, Price.” He sleepily slurs out. Dreamily he’s reminded of his vivid fantasy earlier.
Price huffs, amused. “That so?”
“’S hot.”
“Go to sleep, Garrick.”
“I won’t do it on your shoes, sir. Swear it.”
He kind of doesn’t remember what Price said after that, he’s pretty sure he passed out. But that’s fine, whatever, he got his point across. It’s just another round he’d have to look forward to.