Deeply Disastrous

Your arms tighten around his midriff, face hidden away between his shoulder-blades. He's warm there, and when you trail your hands up to his chest, you can feel the steady beat of his heart under your palm.

Price had called you clingy once. Preposterous, you only wanted the attention you so clearly deserve. You'd done everything he told you and then some. Was it really so outrageous to want a pat on the back?

"Are you not even going to say anything?" you ask.

He releases a deep breath. His finger tapping against the papers on the table, the tell-tale sign that he was going to go looking for a smoke after this.

"What do you need, kiddo?" he asks slow, tentative. For the first time since the end announcement of the late meeting, he looks at you, or at the very least glances at you over his shoulder. "Given you a lot of attention today, haven't I?"

"Hmmm....you haven't said anything about my performance," you fish around, smiling against his back when you can feel the breathy chuckle that reverberates his entire chest.

"Need me to remind you?" Price turns around, and you lose up your grip to accommodate him. "Don't remember how good you are for dad, huh?"

"I remember, but I want to hear you actually say it," you say cheekily, jabbing your finger against his chest.

He grabs your hand, both of them, gathering them up into his and pulling them to his lips. "You did good, kid. Real good." Your chest swells with pride, and a giddy smile takes residence on your face. It was all you had wanted to hear- "Make me real proud, and I can't be having you forget that."

Your eyes light up, taking the extra praise with your head raised high. It wasn't what you had expected, thinking he'd stop at the simple compliment to your performance today, but you could definitely take this too.

Price leans close, lips just shy of connecting with your own. You can feel his hot breath, strong and even against your own, slightly altered. It was hard staying so composed around him, how he did it was a mystery to you.

"Now be good and grab my cigars from my office, yeah? I'll show you just how grateful I am," he whispers, pulling back to watch your eyes delve into that foggy state when he uses just the right tone and just the right words.

You smile, mentally already somewhere else.

So you decide to take point, force Simon in something clean, help Johnny pick out an outfit that would flatter him, and shoot Kyle plenty of compliments because he never needed any help in that department.

You had every intention of it all remaining proper and respectful, putting on your best front in front of Price's family. He'd practically been your mentor ever since you met him. You'd sooner die than chance disappointing him.

Which is why it's hard to keep your frustration at bay when Johnny takes his opportunity to corner you in the hallway, hands squeezing your hips, mouth whispering filth in your ear and urging you into the bathroom just next to the two of you.

"Come on....ah swear ah'll be quick..." he begs, breath uneven against your ear.

He's already begun rubbing his hard-on against your thigh, and when he gets so desperate, it gets hard to ignore him. You're determined to make the dinner perfect, right? So what choice do you really have. It has absolutely nothing to do with how good he looks pathetic, horny and begging, and totally everything to do with keeping the dinner orderly.

"Fuck- please-" You slap a hand over his mouth, hiss at him to be quiet and patient, but when has Johnny ever been patient when it comes to getting your hands on him.

His tip has already been leaking awhile when you finally wrap your fingers around it. You're surprised nothing has leaked through from the small wet patch on his boxers.

"Can we ever go anywhere with you?" you scoff, putting a heavy layer of fake annoyance.

He whimpers into your mouth, shaking hand coming up to pull it down and allow him to respond. "Not ma fault..." he complains, hips thrusting into your stilled grip. "Ye look good enough to eat in that..."

"Price worked so hard on this dinner," you say and give him the grace of setting a slow pace. "I can't be the only person that wants to do good by him, huh?"

He shakes his head, then nods, and lets his heavy head fall on your shoulder in a broken moan. "I'll be good," he promises.

You pull him back by his mohawk, and get your mouth on his. He tastes distinctly of the drink he'd had when all of you had arrived. The flavour mixes on your tongue in the familiar rhythm. He'd always been too messy with it, now was no different.

"Johnny," you gently remind him. "You're taking too long-" The strokes start to slowly stop, and you can practically feel the panic emanating off of him.

His hand grips yours to keep you there. Speeding up the pace himself, and bucking his hips in tune to try and chase his release faster. He wasn't about to give that up. He wasn't certain he'd survive the entire night without it, having to look at you and be content with just that, watching.

"Ah'll be quick- Please- Ah promise- Ah can-" His rambling comes out in stuttered words. One after the other, every next one slower than the last, all up until he hisses out and his chest trembles.

The white liquid spurts out over both of your hands, and you smile in victory. "There you go, knew you could do it," you coo. You give him a few more strokes, helping him through the aftershocks before letting go of him completely.

"Now be quiet, be nice, and compliment Price's spouse's cooking," you order him while washing your hands. He's still panting behind you, trying to make himself decent enough to go out once again.

"Please, ah'm always nice," he smirks and gives you a quick peck on the cheek.

"Yeah yeah, just keep it in your pants till we get back home." You open the door, finally ready to face the rest of them and-

Simon stares you down with an unamused expression, and the both of you freeze.

"Si-"

"You two are menaces." You bet he would like to pretend to be unaffected, but despite the black surgical mask covering his nose and mouth, his ears have a red tint, and his pants sudden tight situation is a lot less subtle. "Price needs you."

"Right-" You step forward, and Johnny goes to follow, but Simon puts a hand on his chest before he can.

"Not you."

"Wha-"

"Okay...hey...what's going on?"

You raise your gaze to meet his. It's gentle. If you dared to think it, you might even claim soft.

"I'm fine, cap. Just a long night," you say, trying to reassure him.

You can instantly see it on his face. The disbelief robed in concern and diligence. It doesn't make you move out of place just yet, but it does make you pause and rethink what you're telling him.

"Don't ever lie to me, 'kay pet?"

What he had told you in the past echo not only in your mind but also on the expression on his face. It twists your insides, compelling the truth forward. The ugly, crying truth that instantly goes to your eyes in the form of tears, instead of the usually steady sound of your voice.

"I'm so tired, dad."

That's all he needs to hear. His entire posture changes, and within a split-second he's no longer your captain. After all, who is he to deny it when his baby is asking for help so blatantly.

"C'mere kid." He holds out his hands, beckoning you closer as he pushes his chair away from the desk to make space for you.

As soon as the words leave his lips, the rest of the papers you're holding fall out of your grip and onto the floor. He doesn't say anything then, but he'll have you down and crawling to pick them up later.

When you're this close, he can see the irritation near your eyes. You hadn't come to him. Like always, you waited for him to find you, or until the very last breaking point before you searched for him.

"Why didn't you come to me?" he asks.

It's such a simple question. You should be able to answer it, really, it should be easy enough because you know what is wrong. You've spent so long avoiding it, and it's right there, in the forefront of your mind.

But when you try to speak the words, they crack in your throat and come out as some pathetic, garbled sob.

"Okay...come on...come here." He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek before pulling back so you'll follow.

You inch closer, your knees grazing the edge of his chair, but instead of getting into his lap like you usually do and let him hold you together, you sink to your knees in front of him.

"Pet, what are you..." he trails out as soon as he sees that wet puppy dog look in your eye.

"Please..." you whimper.

He almost doesn't catch the word, but he chuckles regardless. "Feel better down there?" he asks, quieter now. His hand coming down to pet your head, and guide you to lay your cheek against his inner thigh. Right where you will come to belong.

"Yeah..." you reply in a shaky voice.

His eyes visibly soften.

"Okay kid..."

His thumb caresses over your cheek, rubbing away the tears still passively falling. He takes notice of your slowing breath, of the faraway look in your eye. How easily you settle when put between his thighs.

"What the fuck-" Your face morphs into one you hope is of disgust, but you can't really be sure because Ghost grabs your wrist and pulls you out of the room with a hurry you don't rarely see on him.

You suppose you should have seen it coming, freak that he is. Of course he'd get off on it. The pervert didn't even have the decency to leave you out of it, pulling you into his office and then onto his lap.

You'd only just managed to refuse him the blow job he was urging you to give him to pay for the damages as it were.

But you offer him the next best thing, unzipping his pants and guiding his own hand to his leaking cock. He knows what he likes, he can do it himself.

He's much more rough with it than you would've been. The red leaky tip practically oozing the more you let your distaste towards his actions known to him.

His hips jerk, and his head can't seem to stay still the more you talk in his ear so you get the bright idea to grab his face, palm of your hand pressing perfectly down on the wound you created.

The groaned moan you get hadn't been the expected response, if anything you'd thought he'd push you off, instead he leans into it, accepts the pain like he needed it to remain hard.

"You're fucking disgusting, you know," you say with a deadpan face. He, honest to god, whimpers from that. A sound you've never heard from him, and one you know you'll never let go of. That was too good to not coax out of him over and over. "Pervert," you scoff and press down on his broken nose again.

His hips jerk up into his grip, and a white patch of cum shoots out, landing on your pants from the mere speed and force of it. "Shit- shit- shit-" His head falls forward and lands on your shoulder, meanwhile your grip on him tightens so you don't risk falling off his lap in his sluggish state. "I'm sorry- I'm-"

"Fuck..." you gasp and look down in awe. How in the world could he still be hard after that. "You got it on my pants," you say with a frown. Hand ghosting over it because you don't dare touch it.

He breathes heavy. Head shaking as he mutters his last apology in an attempt to gather himself. Both of you knew you weren't coming back from this, so he decides to lean into it instead.

A beach trip that Price insisted on after a rough op. He'd been kind enough to talk to you in private before announcing it, and you'd assured him you'd much rather sleep that day, that it was no loss of yours.

It's fine, you've always hated the sand anyway, it's course and rough, and it gets everywhere, you'd told him. He gave you a look as if he knew your true feelings, but you left before he could call you out on it.

Later that night, when you're sluggish and hungry, you climb atop Gaz and feel his still warmed skin against your own. He tells you about all the shit Johnny got up to while you feed. How he had dropped a bucket of water over Price who still had his hat on. As well as how he'd lured Ghost into the sea and tried to tackle him, only to have the tables rudely turned on him, swallowing a pound of sand himself.

You don't really listen to him, after all you weren't really interested in that trip anyways, right?

There are other times you take notice of how much on the outside you really are in their lives. To you, they're all you know, your life practically revolves around them most of the time. Yet their day lives still need to function like any other human.

You'd been sipping on a glass of blood, watching Ghost show you a card trick he'd learnt the day prior, when Johnny came bursting into the commons.

He shoves his phone in Ghost's face, something clearly wildly inappropriate on it from how his expression drops. "Bloody hell-"

"Told ye I could take 'im before the end o' the night!" Johnny smiles proudly, taking a seat next to you to show you a more clothed picture of his newest date.

"You went to the pub?" You hope the confusion doesn't bleed into your voice. Johnny prattles on like nothing, but Ghost looks at you a second longer.

"Aye. Sun was still up so we didn't want to wake ye!" Johnny explains.

You nod slowly. It was fine, you really didn't like being out in the sun anyway, they were just looking out for you, but then why did it hurt to have missed out on that too.

It starts becoming more obvious after that. You take notice of even the little things. How much closer they seem when you really look into it, or how much you're actually missing out on from your aversion to the sun's scorching rays.

You start to pull back from them in turn. Just as slow at first, but it becomes noticeable. The few outings you'd have been able to join, you skip, the communal dinners are avoided, and you get quieter.

Ghost was the first to notice your absence. He kept quiet about it for a time, awaiting your turnaround back to the fold, but when it doesn't come he brings it up with Price.

The others weren't stupid, they'd seen it too, each of them waiting for you to get out of the little mood you'd found yourself in, to finally get their beloved vamp back, and when that night seems too far away, they decide to take action on their own.

Ghost finds you on the roof, the night they decide to make a surprise trip. "Vamp," he greets, walking over and cheekily snatching your lit cigarette out of your hands.

Your hiss ends in a smile, and you get it back after he's taken a drag. "It's late Ghost, you should be asleep by now," you state the obvious, but you're not surprised to see him. He'd always struggled worse with insomnia than even you, except what you find out is that he's not here because of that.

"Got a surprise for you, the boys are waiting." He doesn't listen for your answer, doesn't even give you the option to decline because he grabs you under your arms and hauls you up from your seat and pushes you in front of him so he can make sure you walk with him.

The surprise, turns out to be the beach trip you'd always been so envious of.

The midnight version.

You fight back a smile at seeing Gaz and Soap, already with packed bags and waiting at the car. Price sits behind the wheel, waiting for the rest of you.

You pretend to fight it, for your own dignity, and your claims of dislike towards the plans. They're having none of it, squeezing you between Gaz and Ghost in the backseat and making sure you stay put.

You don't want to admit it, but half-way there you can start to feel the excitement bubbling in your chest, and when you can see the dunes of sand and the dark waters you erupt in joy.

You're the first that reaches the water, the ice-cold feeling among your toes making you jump back. Even during the warm summer nights, the water itself never really heated up enough for comfortable swimming. You started to question their decision on the timestamp of this trip, but before you can voice it, a roar erupts behind you, and you're tackled fully into the sea by Soap.

It quickly devolves into a water fight, one you manage to get all four of them into. You build a sandcastle out of the stubborn sand with Gaz, have a power nap with Price, and play volleyball with Ghost and Soap.

For the first time in a while, they see you with a genuine smile, the one that's followed by laughter they haven't heard in even longer. And they intend to hear it a lot more before heading home.

That morning when you cosy up in the barracks, it's with a satisfied smile on your lips, and a blooming warmth in your heart.

They make other changes without a word. Pub outings and movies are moved a few hours later into the night, allowing you enough time to wake up and participate with a fanged smile on your lips.

Gaz and Soap collaborate on making your meals more interesting, though admittedly there's not much they can do with bloodbags. They still get a laugh out of you when you open the door to your room one night to see Soap laying on your bed, a thorned rose in his mouth and his neck offered up for your consumption.

Ghost starts inviting you into his office when he's working late at night. You find it's more cosy than you thought it'd be, often enough he allows you to snuggle up to him, and you end up getting a little more sleep in.

Even Price becomes more insistent on finding any way at all to include you in every outing, and slowly, the ones you can't attend become few and far between.

They make changes in the small ways. The ones you never need to ask for, because you're important enough to notice, and though you have days of doubt, they will always be there to remind you just how much you mean to them.

Price has a way with your heart. It doesn't matter what he does, how many times he screws up or undermines you, he still manages to crawl back into your bed at the end of the day.

"Price..."

"I know," he says in the voice he always uses when he wants to calm you. It's infuriating how much it works. Paired with his hand on the side of your neck, pulling you into a kiss that makes you dizzy on your feet.

He knows he's got you.

It always starts out slow. Soft hands on your skin, undressing you with care, kisses placed to the marks slowly exposed. He wouldn't dare to be rough, no, not before he's got you moaning on his cock. Not before he's pressed you into the bed, a hand in your hair to keep your face among the pillows and his hips smacking against yours with a rigorous rhythm.

One that always leaves you out of breath.

Exactly how he always keeps you, gasping and grasping for the surface.

There's always a shift mid-way. Somewhere it clicks and he becomes mean with it. His thrusts become harsher, his words demeaning in that way that makes you keen.

"You're really going to let me keep doing this?" he asks, pulling your head up so he can hear your response.

All you can do is nod rapidly. Who would you be if you didn't want this.

He laughs. Low tones of cruelty and victory, because he knows he's always got a clean bed and a warm body here. No matter how much you fight him, you always let him in. No matter how much you try to say no, he knows his way around it.

He knows you inside out.

Why would he throw that away, when you don't even have the self-respect to stop him.

It's always best right before you cum. When his chest is hot against your back, and his hand sneaks in front to rub your sex. For a moment it feels like he's not just doing it for himself, that he might care, even a little. For a moment you pretend his words aren't poison, and that you aren't soaking in every moment he gives you.

Except that first orgasm is always the last. It's all he can give you. All he can muster before his own pending need takes all priority.

He pulls out to cum on your back, and that's all the dignity you get.

He even knows you hate it. That the clean-up is all on you, but the choice has always been on you or inside. He refuses to use a rubber, it wouldn't feel as good, after all.

You complain when he collapses down beside you, lighting the cigar you hate the smell of and taking a drag. "Don't be so sour...felt good didn't it?"

You shuffle close, try to get more of his warmth in a cuddle you know won't last, because as soon as you fall asleep he leaves.

The next morning, you're left without a trace of him, only the awful smell that lingers. Once more a broken promise that you manage to be surprised about.

It's becoming a problem he can't properly verbalize. You aren't new to the 141 anymore, far from it. There's a place for you to fill, and you do it well, like you're told, or at least you do when he isn't the one telling you to.

Your tactics, yes, he's calling them tactics because while he can't deliberately prove it to Price, you are targeting him, are getting worse by the day.

Questioning his judgement. Outright disobeying his orders. Throwing potato chips at the back of his head and claiming it wasn't you, as if you weren't standing with the bag of chips right there behind him.

At this point, you choose to argue with him for the sake of the argument, and it pisses him off to no end. Only problem is, the more he seethes, the happier you look.

The breaking point comes with ruined tea. Why that in particular is his breaking point he couldn't tell you, but he knows it was you that threw out his favourite. No one else would be brave stupid enough besides you.

So he decides to finally take just as drastic measures. If you want to be a nuisance to be dealt with, he will deal with you.

Which is what makes him break down the door to your room, haul you out of bed, and give you no time to change into some more presentable clothes before dragging you out of base and into a forest nearby.

The moon is still high in the sky when he shoves you up against a tree, nearly dislocating your jaw by the force.

You're shivering, but he can tell it's not from fear by the tight-lipped grin you're sporting.

You might think him crazy after this.

He can't find it in himself to care.

You're asking for this.

"You only have one option here, brat," he says quietly. "You run, and you don't let me catch you, because you won't like it if I do."

You look at him like you don't quite believe him. He's your lieutenant after all, he may be harsh, but he has an obligation to guide you, to some extent anyway.

But when you feel the edge of a knife pressed to your thigh, you know he's not kidding, and finally that grin of yours falls.

You're speeding off two seconds after.

Stalking after you through the woods might be the most fun he's had after the entirety of last month. Not that he was ever going to admit that to your face. He misses the thrill of a good hunt, and you were good. Of course you were good, he taught you.

You manage to stay away from him for a full 15 minutes. A new record for you. One that he'll congratulate on you later, when he's done being pissed off.

When he catches you, it's not gentle. He never promised you soft, and still, it takes you by surprise.

Your body is thrown to the ground, and you both roll around in a thrash of limbs. You fight valiantly. Your struggle should be commendable, but Ghost doesn't have the patience nor the kindness to let up when you look like you're about to try and tap out.

He moulds you around, puts his knees on the back of your thighs when he manages to roll you onto your stomach. His hand comes down on the crown of your skull to smash your face into the frozen dirt below, and his other grabs the one flailing arm that isn't trapped beneath your front.

He presses down onto your wrist, and something snaps.

It's a sharp cracking sound in the silent expanse of the forest.

That, hadn't been part of his plan.

He had expected you to scream, yell at him to get off or at the very least fight back. What he doesn't expect, is the low groan emanating from your parted lips, followed right along with a choked moan that gets him to pause everything.

No, that can't be right. Did you really just—

His ears hadn't deceived him, because when his other hand presses your face harder into the dirt, you're much less shameless about the noise that leaves you.

Oh. That makes a lot more sense. Perhaps what you were desperate for wasn't death, instead just the next best thing that he could provide.

The pressure on your broken wrist doubles, and the only logical response you can provide is your hips grinding up against his. The leg he's unintentionally placed between your legs, being used shamelessly once you get a proper grip.

Filthy, but he can work with this.

He wraps his hand down under your throat and lifts your head up just enough that he can get close to your ear. "Didn't know Price took on freaks these days...but you just need a firm hand, don't you, pet?"