Do As I Say

I cannot for the life of me LOOK AWAY at Jack in his tactical ‘fit. That’s it that’s the post.

he’s coming home from a long surprise emergency shift, tac shirt soaked in sweat and sleeves crusted in blood. dirty and disgusting; his knee socket aches, his back is pulling weird, and his hips creak. dog tired and bone weary — what better way to make him feel better than some tender loving from you. all he has to do is give you the look (tm) before you’re helping him settle against the edge of the bed and dropping to your knees. plucking off his boot and peeling off his prosthetic. but when your hands reach for the belt cinched around his waist he stops you by grabbing your wrists, thick fingers delicately squeezing the bones.

“leave it on,” he says, voice low and raspy. his eyes glint impishly. “it’s kinda sexy, isn’t it?”

you snort, ducking down to brush a kiss over the sluggish pulse point in his wrist. your lips tingle with the heat of his skin, the flutter of his heart. “real sexy wearing someone else’s bodily fluids, baby.”

he cocks a brow. “is that a no?” he asks with a smirk. “how boring.”

“boring? oh, i’ll show you boring, dirty old man.”

then you give him the sloppiest of toppies, have him use that same belt slung around the back of your neck to control the pace as you suck his soul out through his cock, humming and lapping and swallowing.

he shouts himself hoarse and when he cums, he pulls you into his body so hard your nose smashes against his pelvis and you have no choice but to deep throat him, feel his shaft pulsing as he pumps his load down your esophagus, eyes burning and jaw aching as your head goes light and foggy — thoughts sluggish through the mire of cotton as you struggle to fully inhale. tears leak past the corners of your eyes and he murmurs a breathy apology when he finally releases his hold and you pop off with a sticky, wet gasp and a hacking cough.

“how’s that for boring?” you croak, delicately wiping the spit from your chin. “not too shabby, huh.”

jack laughs, incredulous, and scrubs a hand through the soaked curls clinging to his sweat-slick forehead. his toes flex in the carpet, tingling. “fuck me, i think i almost died. that was — where did you learn to do that?”

you wink, “a lady never reveals her secrets.” then you’re slinking up from the floor, knees cracking as you straighten before climbing onto the bed. “now what do you say about making that tac gear of yours even messier?”

And then takes this photo.

Sir be so fucking for real.