#Pricesoap

[halfadiamond]

PriceSoap but Soap falls first

Price wanting to give Laswell a gag gift decides on giving her a picture of himself. He knows that Soap is a good artist so he asks Soap to draw him, not mentioning it’s a gift.

Soap who gets too excited tells Price to get naked for the drawing (Soap wants to draw Price like a French girl *titanic movie reference*).

Soap is just down bad for his Captain.

Deleted Scene: Gaz who was planning on coming to see Soap draw Price (he wants to learn how to draw), overhears Soap tell Price to get naked and turns the other way

[gomzdrawfr]

For your information:

GhostGaz Week: July 14th to July 19th [twt | tumblr]

NikPrice Week: July 21st to July 27th [twt | tumblr]

PriceSoap Week: (prompt unreleased yet) September 12th to September 18th [blusky]

Price Appreciation Week: (Currently under prompt submission period) June 1 to June 22, Prompt voting June 25 to July 12, Prompt reveal July 17 [blusky]

Unconfirmed:

PriceGhost Week Round 2 (est November)

NikGhost Week (est December or next year)

Nik Appreciation Week (est mid August)

[rawme-price]

Say what u want but price has totally made his sargeants get off on his boot while he smokes, enjoying the show while they beg and whine to at least get their mouth on him lol.

[tamago-art]

Kisses from the captain 🥰

[yakowo]

Commission for @/tamagoart on twt! 💤💕

[tanked-up]

Soap: So pretty

Ghost: Are you flirting with me?

Soap: Yes

Ghost: Don’t ever do that again

*Soap leaves*

Price: Ghost-

Ghost: I need him so bad

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap = dog of the 141

Everyone is protective of him, borderline possessive of him (ghost nost of all). And all of them with a hand on the back of his neck, scruffing him while he bares his teeth. Like when Price grabs him by the neck before he can make a move with a gruff "MacTavish" and anger in his eyes. Like when Gaz holds him with a hand at his nape and a "cool it" like river water, smooth and inevitable. Like when Ghost grips at the base of his hairline, pulling him down so the top of his head thunks against his shoulder with a "not yet", taming the wildest of fighting dogs, the ones with a bloody muzzle, and threat behind his eyes.

[lay-z]

pricesoap 😩

This is for you, hon. Thanks for always matching my freak 🩷

Pairing: John Price x 🐇 hybrid!Reader x John MacTavish

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Hybrid AU; bimbo!fem!Reader; military issued emotional support hybrid; smut; soft dom!Price; abrupt ending (sorry!)

When you were assigned to the 141 as their lovely and incredibly submissive emotional support bunny hybrid, Johnny ended up bonding with you in an instant while it took his teammates a moment to warm up to something so utterly sweet and docile like you.

And while Simon and Kyle were less brash in their approach to your service as their ESH, Johnny thrived in your presence—seeking out your attention and affections every chance he gets while steadily falling for your buzzing energy and immaculate good vibes.

And on top of that—you matched his freak with equal fervour.

In fact, so much so, that for the first time in his life, it’s actually Johnny who ends up tapping out first while you continue to bounce on his spent and poor overstimulated cock with blissfully wild abandon.

And when it gets to a point where Johnny reports late for duty thrice in a row—dark circles now dulling his naturally bright eyes while he foolishly tries to refuel his dehydrated body with a deadly mix of black coffee and energy drinks—it’s Captain Price who finally steps in to prevent his Sergeant from ending up in the med bay with a broken prick and a rupture.

And Price takes Johnny aside after a long briefing, having watched him fidget and squirm in his seat, fully aware that he’s just dying to dig his meaty fingers into the plush fat of your hips while burying himself deep into your giving cunt.

The Captain knows, because he’s been there, too.

“You gotta slow down with our girl, son,” he chides the younger man eventually, steely eyes boring into bright blue ones to get his point across. “She’s not some mindless fucktoy for you to use every night. She’s part of the team and I need you to respect her position–”

Oh, but Johnny respects your position, alright.

When Price notices Johnny’s wandering gaze and drifting thoughts, he brings his hand up to curl around the man’s neck, giving him a firm squeeze that leaves Johnny gasping with wide eyes as the Captain leans in closer: “Fuckin’ focus, Sergeant. I’m not gonna say it again, understood?”

Johnny nods, barely able to move while Price basically scruffs him. “A-aye, sir!”

Price huffs through his nose, pleased by his Sergeant’s stammered answer before he loosens his grip around his thick neck.

“Good,” he grumbles, giving Johnny a firm few pats on the shoulder. “My place at 2100 sharp tonight… and don’t you dare be late, MacTavish.”

Johnny shows up ten minutes early, still shuddering with the memory of his Captain’s strong hand around the nape of his neck, gooseflesh pebbling on his skin underneath his civilian clothes.

When he knocks on the front door of Price’s private quarters, it takes less than a minute before the door swings open, revealing the Captain himself; wearing a pair of comfortable slacks and a black polo with the buttons left open and dark coarse chest hair peeking out through the gap.

“Evenin’, sir,” Johnny greets him, already looking past the older man’s broad shoulder, expecting to hear Simon and Kyle inside—and hearing none of their familiar voices. His thick brows furrow in confusion, but Price merely chuckles gruffly, shaking his head and taking a step aside to let his Sergeant in.

“Come in and wait in the living room. I’ll join you in a moment.”

Ever the obedient soldier, Johnny does as Price says—only the freeze on the threshold to the dimly lit room once he spots you sitting on the black brown leather couch, all pretty and clad in his favourite pair of matching lingerie—the pale pink set he’d gifted you not too long ago.

He expected a surprise poker night with Price and the lads, but not—this. Definitely not this.

“Johnny!” you exclaim, eyes shining with the kind of raw adoration for him that has his cock twitch in his boxers like a Pavlovian response.

“Hi, my bunny,” he greets you, somewhat breathlessly, as he approaches the couch. He has no right to question why you’re here—you belong to the rest of the 141 as much as you belong to him—but your presence, after what Price had told him today, makes his stomach tie into nervous knots.

When he bends at the hip to steal a kiss, you eagerly meet him half-way, straightening your spine as he cups your face with one hand and pets one of your floppy bunny ears with the other; thick fingers brushing over the soft, creamy-beige fur.

He can feel you smile against his lips as your hands reach up to grab fistfuls of your shirt, keeping him in place as you try to deepen the kiss. Johnny can only groan, resolve melting like stick of butter in the sun, while the thought of his superior’s presence is pushed into some uninteresting parts of his busy brain—

“MacTavish,”

Johnny freezes, eyes flying open at the reprimanding growl coming from his Captain before he gently pries your hands from his shirt to pull back, ignoring your protesting whine with a tug on his heartstrings.

Price saunters into the living room, one hand shoved into his pants pocket, the other holding onto a freshly lit cigar. “I’m disappointed, but not surprised,” he says before taking a slow puff.

Out of habit, Johnny stands at attention—broad shoulders squared, spine stiff, feet squeezed together, and you giggle behind him before he can throw in a salute on top of it all.

“At ease, Sergeant,” Price says with a quiet, amused snort before nodding his chin in your direction. “Be a darling and strip for us, aye? We’re going to do what we’ve talked about earlier, sweetheart.”

When Johnny glances over his shoulder, one thick eyebrow raised in question, you only nod obediently as you unclasp your lacy bra with practiced ease and letting it drop onto the carpeted floor haphazardly.

“Uh, Cap’n,” Johnny croaks out, swallowing hard while his throat is rapidly drying up as he looks back at Price for some guidance—or a proper revelation about what the bloody fuck is going on here. “Wh–What is goin’ on here? If ye wanna spend tonight with our girl, Ah’d completely understan’, ye know, but–”

And then Price steps up to Johnny, and whatever words he thought about saying, immediately die on his lips when the Captain blows a plume of smoke while pushing his warm hand against Johnny’s sternum.

“I’m gonna teach ya how to properly fuck our girl, Sergeant.”

[cristaq]

“Ouch, you muppet!”

“Why did you put your fucking foot there?”

The dance instructor tries to figure out if the pair is getting married or divorced.

Price sighs in frustration. They must have been here for at least 3 hours, trying to memorise the steps and “feeling” the rhythm, whatever the fuck that means. This is their 4th such session of practising their grooms’ dance and if you were to ask either of them, they would much rather be deployed back into an active warzone than being here.

Soap tries to approach the older man with an extended hand. “Ok, let’s give it another shot, I think maybe if we…”

Price cuts him off and goes to rest on a chair. “Just… I need a fucking a break.”

Soap sighs, arms crossed over his chest, giving the instructor a pleading look. He gets the message and gives the soon to be married couple a moment of privacy.

He pulls another chair next to Price and tries to find the right words. The wedding preparations have been an extremely stressful endeavour for both of them. Price is pinching his moustache, his obvious tell that he is frustrated. He is the first one to speak.

“I’m sorry for lashing out. I truly want to give you and your family this beautiful moment, but maybe we are just shit at it.”

Soap grabs his lover’s hand with a smile. “I want to give ourselves a beautiful moment. It’s our fucking wedding after all.” And the younger brilliant man is struck by another brilliant idea. “Come on, let’s try again. Trust me on this one.”

He runs to the music controls to play a song of his choosing, which immediately puts a smile on Price’s face. Such a gorgeous smile, Soap thinks.

(This is the song I had in mind during this scene.)

They meet in the centre of the dance room and assume positions. Price rests his hand on Soap’s shoulder, given the fact that Soap is taller. He would never dare to say it out loud, but Price always enjoyed being the shorter one. Soap’s hand goes for the small of Price’s back, pulling him close to his chest.

They start swaying, a bit awkwardly at first, mostly because Price still tries to focus on some carefully planned movements.

“Eyes on me love…” Soap’s voice is barely audible and Price obeys. Worries melt away, expectations disappear and their bodies are finally in sync, moving around the dance floor. Soap gets a bit daring and tries to spin Price and to his surprise he accepts and actually chuckles!

It’s a bit like combat really. Trusting your partner, accepting to be led and then to lead yourself. You just replace the danger of losing your life with being stepped on. And this loose sense of authority and power exchange is beautifully displayed by the pair. It’s a playful fight, where Price pulls in a certain direction and Soap follows. But right after Soap imposes a new rhythm and speed to their movements. I trust you, you trust me.

It’s rare to see these two scarred men smiling like this. They look proud of their love. And now that most inhibitions are out the window, they start getting a bit silly, maybe even cringy for an outside observer with their moves. But man they seem to be having so much fun, stupid fun, the kind that reminds the world they are just boys beneath their rough exterior.

“Ready for a dip?” Soap says. Worry flashes for a moment over Price’s face, but Soap doesn’t wait for an answer. Price yelps and grabs Soap's strong arms until it hurts, but he doesn’t fall.

Pulling him back up, Soap is panting from the effort, but he looks proud of himself. As a reward, Price pulls him close, their lips crashing in a desperate kiss.

“Never do that again, muppet.” His tone is serious but his smile betrays different emotions. “Not without permission anyway.”

“Yes sir!” Soap doesn’t hide his smirk. “I can’t wait to marry you…” He captures his soon to be husband’s lips with hunger.

[dmitriene]

for the soap x john price anon in my inbox

cw: light smut, authoritative dynamics, characters can seem ooc i'm sorry.

johnny is a good soldier, farther from it, he's a well capable demolition expert, an addition to the task force that john would never trade for anything, or anyone, and he shows his appreciation for the boy quite well, perhaps a bit concerning, but it's doesn't matter when mctavish shoots him a wide, toothy grin and sparkling glint of his baby blue eyes, preening under his captains gravelly words.

that's not a place to play favorites, price knows this for sure, but the young pup got into his heart too easily for his liking, and even so, john can't push him away, not his biting jokes, not his casual touches, not his loud whines about how tired he is to be stuck at the base, he needs some air, perhaps a drink or two, a pretty lass, or not, to dance with, so john huffs with deep crease bet his thick eyebrows, promising him a proper outing at the end of this week.

johnny is careless, sometimes, childishly so, in his words, in his acts, and when it's get's him in some trouble, price gets him by the scruff and drags out like a wild kitten, despite all the kicking and hissing, tangled babbles that he had it under control, that everything was alright, only to get scolded in the end, shoulders slumped, listening to the growl of jonathan's deep, husky voice, swallowing the feisty income that curls on his tongue, stuck beneath his canines.

the knowledge that johnny knows the captain here, who he needs to listen to, sometimes even to obey, makes something searing hot curl low in his gut, press, demanding attention, and it's only between him and the gray walls of his room when he grips his cock tight and dry, fisting rough through ragged breaths and sight of johnny's eyes behind his closed eyelids, those clever, sweet eyes, smart, mischievous, swirling bright, the teasing, scottish heavy — “captain price” ringing in his ears when he cums with a punched grunt.

john should feel ashamed, fuck, he really should, not only the boy is younger than him, he's practically a father figure for him, a man that guides, supports, lends a helping hand, pats at the already ruffled mop of mohawk at his head with some encouraging words already coming, while thinking how would johnny sound while rasping his name around his big, fat cock, how he'd wriggle his perfectly lean, toned body under john's heavy bulk, sweating, arching, while pressing plump, muscular ass against slapping hips.

and still, price can't help himself at all, he acts on the feeling that gnaws his insides, falls under a haze of desperation, need for taste, so when he invites johnny into his cabinet late at evening, cigar between his teeth, abandoned glass with amber liquid on the wooden table, posture lax in his chair, and mctavish inviting himself further in from the doorway, body loose from recent shower, water dripping from the curling strands of his long mohawk, smelling of masculine shower gel and minty shaving foam, he can't resist.

beckons him as close as he can, dumping the still flaming cigar into the nervously full ashtray, before tangling his curling fingers in the long hairs at johnny's neck, and tugs him closer, seeing the way boy swallows down a ragged gasp, and flutters his doll long, wispy eyelashes, before their lips meet, clash of teeth's, silenced whimpers, beard and stubble rasping against flushing skin, grasping fingers tugging at each other's hair and clothes and johnny almost climbing up john's body.

johnny's mouth opens for his captain's tongue, ribcage cracked to laid a heart out to take, a good soldier, a perfect boy, and when price tries to pull away, lips spit soaked and tingling from numbing kisses, he get's dragged back by a painful tug at his mutton chops and johnny's leg hoisting, rubbing up towards his hip, fully understanding, now, that he didn't made any mistake when he called mactavish here, didn't mistaken his intuition.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[oilyfry]

I HAD A VERY SHIT WEEK !

[rainyramblesscramble]

Hehehe DOODLE PAGE BE UPON YE 🫶

includes past and current suggestions/requests by @lialucis @thatoneautisticshark and @ghostmoon1 …as well as two requesters from discord whose tumblr tags I unfortunately do not know :(

Thanks everybody for getting me to 350! I have had so much fun thus far and I hope to see y’all through many more ups and downs 🫶

[thatoneautisticshark]

Soap, when he gets his first ever dildo, is absolutely wracked with instilled guilt. He just can't, ends up sobbing with the dildo sitting on his bed, because he just can't.

He doesn't even know how to use it, it seems to big, and he is going to burn in hell.

Cue Simon and price walking by, and hearing sobs, coming in to see what's wrong.

They teach him how to use it and sooth his worried gently and carefully

(Aka the premise of something I'm writing rn)

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Johnny's knee hurts. Price helps him feel better.

cw: messy blowjob. For the @continentcakeshop, who love Johnny.

Johnny shifted his foot for the third time in ten minutes and felt the now familiar twinge through his knee. He couldn't decide what was worse; the constant dull ache of keeping it stationary, like it needed to click, which was driving him batshit insane, or the sharp burn of a quick stretch that made his entire body jolt, knocking the table he was sharing with the boss man himself.

“You broken?” Price asked, tapping the blunt nib of his biro against the manilla folder by his form.

“Naw, sir. Jus’ me bum knee. S’givin’ me grief cause it's cald outside.”

“You been t’ the physio?”

“Not fer a few weeks. No time, ye know…” Johnny gestured aimlessly at the paperwork in front of him. When he'd signed up at fifteen and nine months, he hadn't expected to spend so long with a damn pen in his hand instead of a firearm.

Price hummed and Johnny watched his whiskers twitch as they tended to do when he was mulling something over. Then came the full face grimace as he considered his options. The biro clattered to the table moments later, the chair legs scraping against the concrete floor. “Olrigh’, can't ‘ave ya fallin’ behind. Keks down, leg up ‘ere.”

Johnny blinked owlishly, first at Price's hands as they patted his lap and then at the intense blue eyes watching him from beneath thick eyebrows. “Come again.”

“C’mon, MacTavish. Don't ‘ave all day. Boot off, drop ‘em. Quick rub down will make it feel better.”

Oh, he wasn't taking the piss. Well, shit. Johnny glanced at Price's hands again, big, weathered, with long clever fingers and a scar across the knuckles from where Price had skinned them open on the steel-plated jaw of a Kortac operator. The thought of having them on his body in any capacity made a sudden surge of heat fill his belly.

His knee gave another unrepentant throb and he stood awkwardly to undo his belt, jamming the heel of his boot against the toe of the other to kick it off before loosening the laces. He managed to slide his leg out, the knee support catching on his waistband, before slumping back into the chair. His foot hovered off the floor, suddenly conscious of how fuckin’ filthy his sock was. And how tight his boxers were.

“Ain't got all night,” Price said. “Stop bein’ a pansy. Ain't gonna ‘urt ya.”

Johnny scowled and extended his leg, setting it gingerly across Price's lap while his hands cupped over his crotch. “Naw one says pansy any more, old man.”

Price raised an eyebrow as he hooked Johnny's knee support and coaxed it down his calf muscle, bunching it at his ankle as he wrinkled his nose. “This sock ever seen a washin’ machine?”

“Oh feck, now ye really sound like me pa.”

“I was eleven years old when you were born, I ain't yer dad, MacTavish.” Price chucked the support and the filthy sock onto the floor and ran his thumbs up the sides of Johnny’s leg, pressing into the swollen ligaments and tendons either side of his patella. The sensation sat keenly on the threshold of pain and pleasure; Price couldn't press too hard without oil, but his pressure was damn perfect.

“Oh, fuck… mmm, aye, but I c’n still call ye dad–”

“If ya finish that sentence, ‘m gonna dislocate yer knee cap.”

“Aye, sir."

Johnny tried to stay quiet. He yapped when he was nervous and Jesus wept he was nervous now. Not because it hurt - god, fuck, Price’s hands were a damn dream - but because the heat in his belly was spreading out through the rest of him; a warm, fuzziness humming just below his skin. As the dull ache ebbed into a low throb, Johnny’s chin tilted down and his eyes lidded. He watched those strong hands work, manipulating his muscles and tendons like putty, pressing to and fro in easy glides that left Johnny lightheaded.

Johnny bit back a moan. Price was good. He knew what he was doing. Didn't stay only around the knee, but rubbed behind it and slightly down the calf to ease the resulting tension from where the rest of his leg was overcompensating. That was all fine… it was when those thumbs went up his thigh, one on the hairy outside, the other up the milky soft skin of the inner, that the whole arrangement got a bit spicy.

Johnny was getting hard. Proper hard, not just a cheeky little chubby. He could feel the wet patch in the cotton where his leaking tip was pushing up against his palm. Fuck, fuck. His eyes squeezed shut, and he tried to distract himself. Mentally listing off the steps for stripping a gun, the ingredients for a pipe bomb, the starting fifteen for Man City–

“Ev’ryfin olrigh’, Soap?”

Johnny’s eyes blinked open and he realised he'd been damn panting. Price hadn't stopped though. One hand had wandered a little higher, massaging his thigh muscle while the other cupped beneath his calf. Just a little higher and he could slide his cock into his captain's palm. Those callouses would feel unreal against the silky skin of his shaft… no, no, normal thoughts. Normal.

“Aye, sir. Sorry. Jus’... Uh…”

“Feels good,” Price finished for him. “Been a while for more ‘an jus’ physio then.” There was a wry amusement to his tone and Johnny’s lower lip pushed up in a pout, his face flushing red.

“S’not what it looks like.”

“Looks like yer hard from a little tenderness, sergeant.”

“Fuck, don't tell anyone, ah’ll do dogsbody in officer’s mess fer a whole month.”

“Oof, humiliatin’.”

“Not as humiliatin’ as Garrick takin’ the pish cause ah got a stonner for me captain,” Johnny blurted out, making it infinitely worse. “Fuck.”

Price snorted a laugh and Johnny’s eyes blew owlishly wide again. Those big hands were still working; any pain had faded, and only a warm pleasure remained, pressure coiling in his groin. Price hummed. “Maybe I can help ya with that too. If yer up for it.”

“What?” Johnny squeaked. Price was a gay man. That was no secret. He was one of the few gay men in the service that Johnny had ever encountered that endured precisely fuck all abuse about it. No cunt was daft enough to even try. Johnny had been too feart to own his sexuality, but Price had probably heard Grindr ping one too many times to be left under any illusion that Johnny was straight.

“Yer not the only one goin’ through a bit of a dry spell. Offer’s there.”

Johnny swallowed thickly. He couldn't lift his eyes from Price's hands, watching those strong thumbs circle either side of his knee again, prick throbbing in the confines of his boxers. Of all the days to wear his snug Calvin Kleins that left nothing to the imagination. The bulge had filled his palms now. He could pull away, put a stop to it, but he didn't want to. He wanted Price’s hand wrapped around his prick. “Aye.”

“Whot?”

“Aye, sir… ah’d like some… help,” Johnny finished lamely, his fingers tightening over his cock as he shifted his arse in the chair.

Price blinked at him slowly, leaning back in his chair. Johnny’s leg shifted a little, foot tilting out, and he saw it for the first time. A huge fuck off bulge in the front of Price's Carhartts. “Oh-ho, fuck me, look at the size of it,” Johnny wheezed, and then clicked his mouth shut, lips sucked in so he could chew on them before murmuring, “Respectfully… sir.”

Price chuckled, rubbing a hand over his face, nails raking down through his beard around the edges of his grin. “‘m gonna be glad ev’ryone's on leave, un’ I?”

Johnny flushed to the tips of his ears. “Ah can be wheesht.”

“Nah, don't be.” Price took Johnny's ankles and lowered his leg slowly to the floor. Johnny licked his lips as anticipation bubbled in his chest, hands still clasped over his crotch despite the futility of trying to hide his erection. His eyes somehow widening further as Price slipped from his seat and onto his knees between Johnny’s feet.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” Johnny breathed, hands shaking as Price took them and guided them away from where they still cupped protectively over his cock. He felt the warm puff of Price's breath over the hair on his belly and the damp spot on his boxers, and his toes curled against the floor. Those weathered fingers stroked up his thighs, over soft cotton to the elastic of his waistband. Johnny’s cock flicked gratefully free, ruddy and dark compared to the rest of him, and he sucked in a sharp hiss through his teeth as cool air found his wet slit.

“Well, pretty all over, ain’tcha, sergeant?”

Johnny knew he had a nice dick, good girth, nice upward curve to hit all the right spots and a respectable length. He'd taken enough selfies with it and then had his phone blow up to know, but to hear Price say it in that silky rumble made him go weak. His hips squirmed, and he bit his lower lip as Price's beard rubbed on his inner thigh, followed by the softness of his lips as he kissed a trail up. Johnny fingers bit into the outside of his legs as they pushed out, urging Price to get to his destination. “Please, sir…”

“Relax, soldier. I gotcha.”

Finally, Price grasped Johnny’s cock, fingers pushing through the coarse thatch of hair at the base. Johnny let out a soft whine, shaft flicking in Price’s grip as a thick pearl of precum welled from his slit. It was sweet, sweet torture. A mixture of relief and yearning that made his entire body light up. Price’s thumb swept below his waistband, brushing the swell of his sac, before he stroked up, fingers brushing over the flare of Johnny’s crown.

Johnny groaned, head flopping back because he needed to briefly thank fucking God for blessing his dick and promise to visit confession at some point in the next decade to repent for lusting after his captain's hands and mouth. He couldn't take his fucking eyes off Price for long, and he looked back in time to watch Price ease his foreskin back, the wicked tip of his tongue pushing though Johnny’s slit to lap it clean of pre. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… god, shite, ahh, sir, mmm.”

The lines around Price's eyes deepened in amusement, and then his eyes slid closed in what Johnny could only describe as bliss as he kissed the thick vein down Johnny's length, brushing the tip of his nose across silky skin until it buried against Johnny's groin with a soft groan. “Mm, fuck, ya smell good.”

Johnny spread his legs a little further, lifting his arse when Price tugged his boxers to bring them further down his thighs. The heat of his mouth enveloped Johnny’s balls, his tongue pressing down the seam, Johnny's cock resting against his cheek as he tasted his fill. Johnny panted through parted lips, one hand finally leaving his leg to slide around the back of his captain's head to pull his face closer. “Aye… sir, fuck… ahh.”

The moan that rumbled from Price’s chest rolled up Johnny’s body like an earthquake, and he heard the clatter of a buckle as Price fumbled with his belt to free his cock. Jacking himself off to the taste of Johnny’s sac in his mouth. When he finally drew away, he left Johnny's dark curls wet with spit, his blue eyes lidded, drunk on Johnny's musk and the pleasure of his hand pumping slowly up and down his own cock.

“God, yer a fuckin’ bonny picture, sir. Love tae suck cock, eh? Fuck.”

Price didn't say anything, just licked back up the underside of Johnny’s prick to draw the tip into his mouth. The wet glide of Price's tongue around his glans made Johnny groan, and he lifted his hips, pressing his tip over the ridges at the top of Price's mouth, fingers tightening at the back of his head. Price didn't need much encouragement to sink down, but he did so at his own pace, slowly, torturously, sucking Johnny deeper into the glorious wet heat of his mouth until Johnny’s head hit the back of his throat.

Johnny held him there for moment, admiring the stretch of his lips around the heft of his shaft, the lidded, fucked out enjoyment in his eyes, the way his broad shoulders were completely relaxed as he palmed himself lazily. Bonny was right. Johnny wondered what he'd be like on his back with his hands pinned above his head, what his moans might sound like when they weren't muffled by cock…

Price drew off, sucking greedily until he reached the tip, before lowering again in a steady glide, fucking his own mouth on Johnny's prick. Johnny moaned loudly with each dip of Price’s head, his thighs shaking as warm, irresistible pleasure curled in his hips, through his belly, his balls firming up beneath Price's chin. “Ah, ah, sir, fu-mm, fuck, yer mouth… is… ahh.”

And then Price swallowed him down proper. Johnny felt the pop as his head pushed into Price's throat, the clenching tightness made him choke out a low, trembling moan, Price’s nose buried against his groin. The sound of Price’s pumping hand, the wet slap of skin, grew more urgent and the thought that Price was even more turned on by having Johnny in his throat was dizzying. When he began to bob his head again, half choking on Johnny’s cock, Johnny knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

He didn't know where to put his hands, bunching Price's hair between his fingers, scrubbing them over his beard just to feel the bristles against his fingertips, sliding them down his throat to feel his Adam's apple bob and strain around his cock.

His heels lifted from the floor, toes pushing into the cold concrete, a sharp contrast to the blistering, pulsing heat of his captain's mouth as it milked him. He babbled incoherently, half Scots, half unintelligible English slurred out like a drunk at last orders, delirious with pleasure as saliva and precum pooled around his groin. His thumb stroked over Price's cheeks, pressing to feel the glide of his shaft through them and trace the damp of the tears that tracked from hazy blue eyes.

“Sir, ah’m, sir…” Johnny tried to tug him off because a gentleman didn't cum down a fella’s throat without asking, but Price fucking growled like a wolf having its meal stolen and that was enough to punch Johnny over into a heady climax. “Sir, fuck!” His stomach clenched, toes pushing against the floor as his hips lifted from the chair. Price kept sucking, drinking every drop offered by Johnny’s twitching prick. It coaxed him higher until he was whimpering in fucked out bliss, his fingers shaking in his captain's hair. Just as he was tipping over into oversensitivity, Price pulled off and pressed his face into the sweaty crease of Johnny's thigh, arm moving furiously, hips humping as he fucked his own grip.

“Yeah, g’won, sir, gonna come for me, liked havin’ my prick down ye throat, belly full of my cum.” Johnny stroked Price’s hair and watched his eyes roll back, his shoulders seizing, as he came hard into his fist. He panted between Johnny's legs, catching his breath for a moment, before he slumped back into his heels. Johnny took the opportunity to look down at his prick, still semi-hard, and he sucked in a breath. “Fuck, look at tha’ beast… ye top with tha’ weapon?”

“Only if you ya’sk nicely,” Price rasped. The sound of his throat, fucked raw, made Johnny's soft prick twitch against his thigh.

“How nicely?”

“State secret. S’classified.”

“I’ll steal L.T.’s clearance,” Johnny replied testily, and his hunch was rewarded with a quirk of the eyebrows. “Knew it.”

Price chuckled hoarsely. “Clean up. Got work t’ finish.” He rolled to his feet and for a beautiful moment his cock bobbed close to Johnny’s face. Be seein’ ye soon, sweet thing.

“Can't, ye jus’ sucked me brain out me prick.”

“Now, MacTavish.”

Johnny's mouth clicked shut, and then he mumbled a “yessir” as he pulled his boxers and jeans back up. He'd be lying if he said it was somewhat difficult to focus on the reports for the rest of the evening, especially when he lifted a foot to tease Price's crotch and the bastard spread his legs to give access. Didn't even flinch though. Wily git.

[tamago-art]

[MW3 SPOILERS]

This is the canon btw I don’t know what game you played but this was the ending I saw.

[yakowo]

pricesoap and sauna commission 🧖