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Ghost has always preferred to stay hidden, ever since he was a kid he's been this way.
It's a useful preference, made him stand out as a soldier able to melt into the shadow, able to hide for hours without being found. Earned him his callsign, after all.
More than that, ghost finds the dark isolated spaces soothing. He spends...far too much of his time in random supply closets throughout base. Partially because he need someplace where his head isn't filled with the memories of roba, mostly because he really can't be arsed to read those forms price needs him to sign off on.
Which leads him to now. Lying down in the fathest corner of a supply closet, half-behind cleaning supplies and enjoying the smell when the door opens and—
"We shouldn't be doing this, kyle—" ghost furrows his brow at your voice. You, the newest addition to the team, sound breathless underneath the whisper.
"Fuck— c'mon baby, you want it too—" gazs voice now, followed by the click of the door and the soft thump of your body being pressed against it.
Ghost turns his head to watch gaz push his body against your, hold your hands above your head before pressing his lips to yours. It's a filthy kiss, full of tongue and teeth and your desperate groans.
"Fuck– don't tease, gaz, c'mon." You whine, unbuckling his belt.
At the same time, ghost quietly undoes his, just enough to slip a thick palm in and rub himself off to his two favorite sergeants. His eyes track your movements in the dark, eyes already adjusted to the thin slit of light the door provides. Ghost has to give himself a small squeeze when he sees kyles dick, christ he's fantasized about getting his mouth on that.
You two rut together like desperate animals, swapping spit and groaning, so assured in your privacy. The whole time ghost is slowly rubbing himself, hidden just out of view. He only pulls his dick out to splatter his orgasm against a few boxes instead of into his pants, kind enough to let you two bask in the afterglow of your own before—
"You both would have been found dead if I were an enemy. Didn't even check if anyone was inside." He announces into the pitch black room.
The tumble of multiple boxes being knocked over in a panic, followed by "ghost!? What the actual fuCK—"
The ex-captain could hardly believe that the woman who helped him all of those weeks ago, the one whose lack of self-preservation appalled and disgusted him, was now the person he was about to trust with sharp objects only inches from his jugular.
He had no idea why you were stuck alone out here in this cabin, but you were kind enough to feed him and give him a break from a life on the run. You even warned him about the town, which he definitely would've risked running through at some point if you hadn't. Nothing about you screamed "untrustworthy"... And John trusted his intuition enough to keep coming back to you.
Fleeing his own ex-teammates was exhausting, both mentally and physically. Both Simon and Kyle were after him now (on top of Graves and anyone else affiliated with Shepherd), and he ran into them more than once. But he was careful to not lead anyone here. He almost felt bad when he led them to the middle of nowhere, and left them on a beach a few hours away... Almost.
But then there’s you. John didn't want to get you involved in all of this, not the one beacon of light in the dark abyss that was his current situation. Coming to the cabin whenever he knew it was safe to do so almost felt normal... It felt domestic. You were someone he could come "home" to, even if he couldn't be as honest as he wanted to be.
And now, he was explaining to you how to trim his hair, his voice much gentler than when he was explaining how to stitch him up during your first encounter. He told you where to use the trimmers and when to use scissors. You were nodding along, soaking all of the information up.
“Got all of that, love…?” He asked, and he could've sworn that he heard your breath stutter for a moment. You gave an affirmative sound, and John relaxed a bit in the chair.
After you fixed the garbage bag on the ground to catch the clippings, you fixed a tissue strip around his neck. John tensed up for a moment, but not because of the pressure from the tissue collar... Your fingers brushed against his neck, and his pulse jumped in response.
"Sorry, I um... Is this okay? I should've asked." You started to take the tissue away, but he stopped you with his good hand.
"It's fine... It's okay. It's just been a long time since I've had someone do this for me." It wasn't a lie, ever since John started running he was only able to snip away a few annoying tufts here and there. And someone else's hands on him, to feel the skin of somebody else again, even a touch so light... It was startling.
The paper collar was fixed to his neck now, not too tight and not too loose, so you got to work. You started by carefully trimming away at his hair, deep in focus. As you followed the instructions he gave you before, John tried hard not to stare at you through the mirror above the sink. It proved to be a challenge though, you were so intent on getting this right. You actually wanted to do this for him, to help him. It made him feel warm in a way that he wasn't used to feeling... And he wanted so badly to ignore it.
Your fingers would brush against his skin here and there, and every single time his body would react. That warm feeling would spread through his chest, and he swore that if he started to fucking blush like a besotted school boy he would get up and leave. Thankfully, his beard covered up enough of his face that maybe you wouldn't notice.
As soon as you finished with his hair and he started to resemble who he once was, you combed his beard to get some tangles out. You looked a bit sheepish as you got a towel, soaking it in some hot water before bringing it to his beard.
"Is this alright...? I just have to... Put this over your mouth for a minute. Just a minute, to soften the hair." You explained, though he knew what it was for already. You looked and sounded so flustered, and he couldn't help but chuckle when you finally put the towel over the lower half of his face.
Nervous little thing...
It felt good... And you were being so gentle about it. You could've left the towel there, but instead you held it in place with your hands. Cradling his face... John tried to recall the last time someone was this careful with him, and he couldn't conjure up any memories. The minute passed, and you took the towel away. After combing through his beard one last time, you took the trimmer and carefully started to get to work on the mess that was his beard.
Hiding his blush was one thing, but fuck... He prayed that your eyes stayed on his face and didn't look down. As soon as you started trimming the coarse hair on one side, he felt your hand on the opposite side of his face. Your skin was so soft and warm... And above all else, you were so gentle. It made his mind wander away from the innocent moment and into a more dangerous territory. It didn't help when you moved to stand in front of him, leaning over to get a better look to check the length of the coarse hairs.
But then dirtier thoughts crept into his head, thoughts that had no right to be there while you did this completely innocent act of service for him. Visions of your fingers wrapping around his cock took up residence in his brain, how it would feel if your hands roamed and felt every muscle and every scar on his battle worn body. He needed to know how it would feel if your nails clawed down his back while he--
Stop, no, John scolded himself mentally, trying with all of his might to extinguish those ideas. He was already chubbing up in his pants, all while you moved from one side of his beard to the other. She's just being nice.
You chirped out a comment, something about how it was easier than you expected as you did some final touches. Just shaping his beard more now. Quickly, John found his voice. He'd been silent the whole time, praying to whatever god was listening that you didn't notice his inner turmoil.
"Looks bloody perfect, love," he said, and his voice came out rougher than he wanted it to. "Can't thank you enough."
"You can thank me by helping me eat the roast," you responded softly. "I think I made too much... It's an old recipe. Really hope you like it."
Too fucking sweet, too bloody soft and innocent for me, he tried to tell himself as you removed the towel and the tissue from around his neck. I can't just take what I want. I don't deserve her.
"I'm gonna get rid of all of this," you muttered, gathering the clippings in the garbage bag carefully. "There's a plastic bag for your hand if you want to take a quick shower."
Perfect.
"Yeah, I'll do that..." John got up from the chair and watched you a little too intently. He felt entirely like a starved wolf staring down an oblivious rabbit, he wanted to sink his teeth into you. To taste you until you were squirming.
But he waited. He watched you leave before he locked the bathroom door and practically tore his clothes off with his uninjured hand. John knew he had to take care of this, he wouldn't be able to act normal until he did. So he turned the water on, and wrapped his right hand up in the plastic bag. When he was sure that no water would get in, he stepped under the hot spray of water.
John's back muscles and sore shoulders were soothed from the gentle massage of the water as it rained down on him. The feeling alone made him groan appreciatively, it felt almost as good as what he was about to do. As the water washed away any excess hair from his head, he reached down with his left hand to grasp his aching cock. A soft hiss left him as he stroked up to the flushed tip, precum gathered on his fingers before he moved back down the shaft.
And so he finally did something he had absolutely no time to do before. While you took care of his appetite, he was starved for something else entirely. When was the last time John had someone under him? The last time he got off? He couldn't remember, all he could think about now was how you would feel as he worked his hand over his cock.
The pace that he set didn't start off slow or gentle, John needed a release and he needed it now. He closed his eyes, and all he could see were visions of you.
Oh, fuck... The beautiful vision of you. On your knees in front of him, wrapping those pretty lips around his throbbing length and taking him all the way to the base. Or laid out for him on your back, where he would push your knees up as far as he could get them while he fucked you nice and deep.
Bet she feels so fucking perfect, he thought as his breaths came quicker. His balls started to draw up, and he prayed that you couldn't hear a goddamn thing. I'd ruin her for anyone else... I'd... Fuck...
Pleasure coursed through him as he came from the thought of you begging for him. His legs felt like they'd give out but he was grateful they didn't. Thick, white ropes of his release hit the wall of the shower and beaded in the coarse hairs which led to the base of his cock. He had to rest his head against the shower wall, closing his eyes as he came down from his high. It was intense... Too intense, and the realization that none of the fantasies that played out in his head would become a reality made a pit of frustration form in his gut.
The frustration did nothing to stop him from getting hard all over again.
𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡
Almost a half hour later, John was properly washed up and not as keyed up as before... Even though he had to get off one more time before he felt okay again. Now he was in a pair of soft flannel pajama pants and a black tee. The look in your eyes was curious when he finally entered the dining room, you definitely noticed how long he took.
"Sorry, I..." John trailed off, trying to string the words together carefully in his head before he let them spill out. "Not used to showering one handed, just had to take my time." He took his usual seat at the wooden dining room table,
Instead of asking any questions, you just smiled so sweetly and grabbed a big, red bowl for him. John watched as you filled the bowl up with meat, potatoes, carrots, and broth before setting it down on the table in front of him.
"That's fair, I've honestly never broken any bones but I could imagine that it's not easy," you mused before getting a bowl of your own and sitting across from him. "And that's your dominant hand too, right? Shit, I don't think I'd have the patience."
John was just relieved and grateful that you were on the other side of those woods that night. The two of you ate in a comfortable silence, the only sounds being from the silverware and the old radio playing softly from the kitchen. And when you were both finished, John tried to help put the leftovers away but you shooed him.
"I got this, Bear." You said, and as soon as the words left your mouth John could tell that you regretted it. "I mean... Yeah, I got it under control."
An amused chuckle left him as he moved into the living room, watching you from the couch as you tried to pretend you didn't call him 'Bear'.
"Bear, huh...?"
"Well, you... You can't give me a name, so I just made one up for you," you explained, flustered. "Because of the beard, and you did come from the woods... So..."
"I'm just like a mean ol' bear, that's it?" He teased as he laid on the couch.
"Not mean!" You called back as you did the dishes. "No, just very bear-like. It's a compliment if anything, I like bears."
John decided not to comment further, just laughed much to your annoyance.
𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡
Some hours passed, and you didn't come to check on John... So he got up from his spot on the couch to check on you instead. He was half asleep, but awake enough to quietly head upstairs to your bedroom. Once again, it was left slightly ajar.
He peered into the room, which felt too big for one person. Posters of faraway lands and maps all over the walls, maybe some of them were of bands that he couldn't identify. And the bed was certainly too big for one person as well... With you laying right in the center of it. John leaned in the doorway, watching as you slept peacefully.
It'd be so easy to just lie next to her, a voice whispered at the back of his brain. Pull her close, hold her until morning...
Just more thoughts, another daydream that wouldn't become a reality. He watched for a moment longer before turning and leaving. As he left, he heard a faint buzzing sound... Thought he did.
Too fucking tired for this, John thought as he laid back down on the couch, pulling the blue quilt over himself. I'll see her in the morning.
𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡
You were fast asleep, but your burner came to life as John fell back asleep...
Johnny and Simon seeing this on display and joking that you should get in it and try it out. Or at least you think they’re joking, but they stare at you long enough without moving on that you find yourself sitting on the little pet couch, nervously watching them through the bars while they take photos “for reference.”
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the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be a part of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
Being Colonel Konig's cute little secretary and wearing pretty, thin blouses to work during summer. Despite you having been hired to help him, you end up distracting him, and causing him a lot more problems instead. Because alongside making you look extremely cute and downright biteable, those chiffon dresses ends up accentuating your pebbled nipples - your bra doing absolutely nothing to hide 'em. The cold air blasting from the office AC keeping them perked up for a distractedly long time.
Konig slowly shifts his legs to hide his own 'perked' distraction, and tries hard to look you in the eye, and not at your tits, as you read out your report to him. He fails once again, and debates to himself whether he should curse or praise the godawful office AC.
The first rule of fandom is have fun. The second rule of fandom is find an enabler and become an enabler. Yes you should write that fic. What if it was even hornier? What if it was angstier? What if you wrote it just for me?
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Cat-calling CoD men because I'm definitely a little sick and crave the sweet release of death
Cw: None? I'm pretty sure it's just gn!reader teasing these guys.
Y'all this is so ass. I got lazy towards the end. Someone else can make this better, I'm gonna pass out for three years...
John Price:
It's pretty common for poor Price to get bullied by you. But this? This might be his least favorite... He dropped something, barely even thinking as he bends over. What he isn't prepared for? You, slapping his ass like it owed you money, and letting out the loudest wolf whistle he had ever heard.
To say he bolted upright would be an understatement.
"Darling."
"Yes, my handsome captain?" Pretending to be innocent, blinking at him like you hadn't just sent his soul to the shadow realm.
"Christ," he rubbed his temples, "you're gonna be the death of me, luv..."
It's not like that would stop you though, not when he looked so cute while blushing.
Simon "Ghost" Riley:
Really it was his fault, strutting around in those pants. They were small, tight, and definitely deserving of what you were about to do.
He visibly froze when you whistled at him, turning around slowly. With the most deadpan voice he could manage:
"What."
Honestly he sounded baffled, completely unprepared for this. You? Whistling at *him*??
And of course, when you don't respond, he simply stalks off. Confused and defeated, forever wondering why you do this to him...
Johnny "Soap" MacTavish:
Oh you think he's confused? Surprised?
Hell no. Bro is smiling like an idiot, wiggling his hips slightly.
"Yeah? Y' think so?"
You were trying to fluster him, you ended up bright red as he tries to get you to repeat yourself. He will also be bragging about this for the next week, constantly on about how "he got cat called" and how "everyone wants him" (you literally whistled at him once)
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:
Oh my poor baby...
Despite being undoubtedly handsome, bordering supermodel territory, he still ends up looking around all confused like.
"Me?" He says while pointing at himself, confused and slightly embarrassed.
Like- obviously??? Who else would you be whistling at? It's pretty clear you meant him, and the fact he can't realize it only makes him cuter.
Just... Whatever you do, don't slap his ass, alright? He makes the sound of a startled kitten, literally shaking as he whips around. He is not prepared for this type of interaction, please be gentle with him 😔
Nikolai:
Ooh, another overconfident bastard... Obviously the second you see Nik strutting around in that silly little jumpsuit, you're making a plan.
Find him, smack his ass, then run so he doesn't find and kill you. Simple, yeah?
Nope.
He turns much faster than you expected, grabbing you (very gently), and grinning.
"Hah! And what was that for, Маленькая мышка?"
Turns out, this man has experience in getting dat thang slapped (you know it jiggle) and therefore practically smelt your intentions when you came into the room. You're never gonna be able to get the jump on him, he's gonna be pouncing on you the second you even try to form a whistle. Don't worry though- he loves the attention...
Alejandro Vargas:
A mix of cocky and flustered- aka very entertaining to mess with.
He bends over to pick something up, not even pausing the story he was telling as he does so. He doesn't expect to hear you letting out the loudest whistle, then a sharp pain. Poor guy shoots up like a rocket,
"¡¡¡JODER, QUÉ COÑO-!!!"
Then he sees your face, laughing. He has no choice but to take a deep breath and push his hair back, straightening his shirt like he hadn't just felt his soul leave his body.
"You think you're funny, ¿Querido?"
Be prepared, he will not let this go for at least a week. Every time you even think about bending over, he's gonna materialize out of nowhere to whistle and holler. Normally he'd pride himself on being a gentleman, but this? Well you started it, he's just getting a little payback.
Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra:
Dead silent.
He doesn't even twitch when you smack his ass, he simply slowly stands up.
And turns.
Yeah, you don't even need any words to know that you need to run.
Phillip Graves:
This cocky bastard- he could absolutely be a drag queen in another life with the amount of sass he pulls. (Also he walks surprisingly good in heels...)
The kinda guy who responds to your whistle with a "You're damn right!" And then saunters away with an extra sway in his hips. He doesn't act surprised, he doesn't try to get you back- heck he doesn't even seem to remember the next time he sees you!
He simply rolls with it. He's hot and he knows it, he's just happy you're finally noticing >:3
König:
Hadir Karim:
Oh this poor man...
You whistle at him, pulling a "Damn Boy!!" while you're at it, and he turns bright red. Sure he laughs it off, playfully glaring, but y'know what? He'll be kept awake for the next few nights thinking about it...
Eventually he tries to get you back, barely even getting through his awful pickup line before he regrets anything. Of course that's when Farah would walk in, and of course she'd slap him in the back of the head and lecture him about not being a creep to people.
Take pity on him and don't even try, it'll only end poorly...
He literally falls over.
You didn't mean to hurt him! You just gave him a *little* smack. How were you supposed to know that he would go tumbling forward, curses in German and English alike filling the room.
It only gets worse from there though.
Obviously you check in, right? Leaning over him, making sure he didn't hit his head. Well that only makes it worse! Poor guy almost passes out- not from the injury, but from how quickly fear turned into admiration. You just look so nice overtop him, worried for his well being...
Y'know when in anime the character gets the bloody nose and passes out? Yeah. That's König.
You learn your lesson while sitting with him in the infirmary. *Don't* try to catcall König...
I just need everyone to shut up and realize Soap is getting you pregnant even without trying on the first load he gives you.
And sure he has hyperspermia and it doesn’t mean people who have it always have a high sperm count but god damn it, that Scottish man could get your pregnant anytime you want. And maybe you weren’t trying, but you’d finally let the man turn you into a little cumdumb instead of making him pull out. Groaning your name while his fat and girthy length is pulling your sopping wet walls apart everytime he rails into you, your hand going down his tattooed and slightly hair chest, clenching down on him hard when he hits the perfect spot, your uterus practically begging to get knocked up.
You feel every fucking ounce, ever glob that paints your walls white, till it’s leaking out, always groaning that it’s too much, too full. But you take all of you, going dizzy at how good it feels.
“Sorry hen, can’t help m’self.” Soap shudders but he only pulling you closer by your legs, calf’s thrown over his right shoulder, watching your weary body only succumb to the pleasure of it. The man just loves being inside your tight heat, dragging him further inside your warm walls.
He gives you a brutal thrust, hand palming your stomach where he can feel his pulsing tip, before kissing your knee, blue eyes glossed over, “Bet ye a wee babes already in there, aye Bon?”
Didn’t even take a fucking week for you to start feeling symptoms, a pregnancy test already positive before you’d even realize, you weren’t even ovulating.
He’ll tug your standing form in between his legs, covering your face in embarrassment and shock. Johnny will kiss your stomach, “Knew it wouldn’t take long f’me t’meet ye baby, bloody mental. Don’t worry though, Da ‘nd mummy are ‘ere.”
contents: no specified gender for reader, no actual warnings tbh
MDNI! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked!
🐾🌿🐾🌿🐾🌿🐾🌿🐾🌿🐾🌿🐾
🐻Price🐻
"Shift paralysis" can happen to anyone at any time, but stress is usually what does it for Price. Maybe it was the mountain of paperwork that he had to deal with all week, or something that happened during a meeting that should've been a goddamn email. Whatever it was, it had him snapping at you and the guys, pacing around the base like a caged animal. Without Laswell there to be The Price Whisperer, there was really no getting through to him.
So when he disappears into his office for a few hours, the team decides that someone has to go in there to check on him. After a back and forth that ended in Ghost just ordering you to do it, you found yourself in Price's office... Face to face with an irritable grizzly bear. The round ears that are always hidden under his boonie hat are on full display now, twitching on top of his head. Honestly, it'd be cute if he didn't look like he wanted to tear your face off.
You keep an eye on him throughout the day, popping in occasionally to see if he needs anything. But Price is pretty solitary when it comes to getting stuck in a shift... Solitary, except for when he comes out of his office to steal whatever you're having for dinner right off of your plate or out of your hands.
🦅Gaz🦅
Gaz is usually in denial if he's stuck in a shift. If he's only in a shift for a few hours? That's fine, no need to worry. Even a full day isn't a cause for concern. But it's been three days, going on four, and everyone just has to deal with the red-tailed hawk strutting around the base. Sometimes he'll take advantage of his wings and fly around, but for the most part he tries to stay grounded.
The worst part? Nobody is allowed to point it out. The last time someone (Soap) did, he got chased and dive-bombed by the sergeant. Price just tells everyone to let Gaz go about his business, leave him alone and let the shift paralysis run its course. After all, despite acting more on instinct and the hindbrain taking over, shifters are still intelligent in their shift. So he'll continue attending meetings and doing whatever he needs to do.
Out of all of the members, Gaz somehow keeps his humanity the most when it comes to being in a prolonged shift. It might be because he goes out into the woods near the base every morning, right when you and everyone else are getting breakfast.
And it might be a coincidence, but you just happened to find fresh kill waiting for you in your bed when you go back to it... Along with some scraps of fabric from god knows where or bits of grass and twigs. Once the shift ends, Gaz is pretty adamant that he had nothing to do with it. He ran off to do something else before you could bring up his feathers on your pillow. Coincidence.
🐱Soap🐱
Task Force 141 is a team of predator shifters. A bear, a red-tailed hawk, a wolf... And a cat.
"Felidae" and "Felis" are written on a certain Scot's papers, and you were beside yourself with glee. The thought of MacTavish shifting into a cat... Priceless.
"Aye, cats are still predators!" Soap tried to explain after you found out what his shift species was. The ears should've given it away, but now you were certain. "Fierce ones at that."
"Alright, sure. One spray bottle and it's curtains for you." You laughed, and left him to stew... To plot.
The next day, Soap isn't in the mess hall. Nobody's seen him, and you don't think too much of it. But you can't shake the feeling of being watched. You feel eyes on you, swear that you see some dark shadows around corners... You can't even chock it up to a lack of caffeine since you've had your fill.
It isn't until you go down a dark hall that you realize where Soap has been. Glowing eyes await you on the other side, the low rumble of a deep growl echoing off the walls. The beast of a cat looks bulkier than any normal cat that you've seen... You couldn't get a better look, since it--he began sprinting after you.
You were then chased around the base, inside and outside of it, and it didn't end until Price intervened.
As it turns out, Soap is not a little house cat. He's a Scottish wildcat... And he was satisfied that he got to scare the shit out of you. However, he ended up being stuck in his shift for a few days and came out of it with longer hair and a more pronounced beard.
🐺Ghost🐺
Ghost hates being stuck in a shift for a few reasons. The normal reasons, like not being able to communicate with his non-shifted teammates and his instincts taking over more. But one very embarrassing thing that he has to deal with is the tail. When he's a human, he can easily hide it or keep it under control. But the fluffy appendage tattles on him and lets everyone know how he's really feeling.
The absolute worst thing for him is when he's standing idly by your side, following you down a hall and swiveling his head to watch the others. He's like your own personal bodyguard normally, loyal and protective of someone he sees as a pack mate, but it's tenfold when he's in his pale brown wolf form. His tail stays slightly lifted, at attention and alert... And puffs up if someone steps out of line.
He'll stay by your side even when you get to your destination, which happens to be your desk. As you're typing out an email to Laswell, he's right there next to your chair, sitting like a statue. Idly, you reach down and pet between his ears. Gently scritching and feeling the silky fur, you continue typing.
Ghost is disciplined, but not that disciplined in this form. He's able to hold off on the embarrassing instinct for a while... But eventually he tilts his head up into your hand and closes his eyes. And then it happens. His tail starts to wag slowly, then faster until it's hitting your leg.
"Feels good, Lt?" You ask, smiling while you keep your eyes on the screen.
He just growls and stamps one paw, he's be telling you to fuck off if he could... But he doesn't leave, because you move your hand down his neck a bit and start to scratch one spot just right. His tail wags harder, and he knows there's no coming back from it.
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He got it cold stone sober too. Probably has had it for years. Takes it out for work and wears it the rest of the time. Pushes you down and makes you think for a second that he wants you to suck him off only to make you lick and suck on the piercing until he’s ready for your mouth on his cock. Likely tries to peer pressure you into getting one yourself at some point because he’s weird and wants to know what it would be like to do the same to you.
