℘olaceforus 💤

"Hey sweetie bear, good to see you finally made it outside," your dad called as you slid out the patio door.

The backyard, decked out with an in-ground pool, trampoline, and a large gazebo, was completely packed with people. Friends, family, neighbors from around the block. All with beers in hand and the American flag plastered over them. Music shook the whole street, and sounds of laughter and water splash became the backdrop of your afternoon.

You were busy fixing your hair and putting on your 4th of July bathing suit (the straps gave you a headache). Your dad, ex-veteran now SWAT consultant, was frying hot dogs over the grill. All of his friends came too. Most notable was Jack Abbot, ex-veteran and now SWAT medic, since your dad offered him the job per diem—and also your most recent love affair.

After graduating college, getting back on your feet has been difficult. Veteran discounts can only get you so far in life, and the pot of gold had run out. Debt. You were in a lot of it and you were stressed out. You went to a bar one night, alone, planning to drink away your problems. You met a handsome older man. That should be the end of the story.

You didn't know that he was your dad's best friend, or, really that he knew your dad at all. You did know that the sex in the back of that bar was the best you ever had...until, that is, when you were formally introduced to him the next day by your father, ecstatic to see his old buddy for the first time since they were in basic training in 96' — 4 years before you were even born.

Now, here he is again. Grey t-shirt with an american flag in top right corner, shorts, and jeans. Black wedding band still on his finger, condensation dripping off them from the cold beer he's holding. Grey hairs, trimmed stubble around chiseled jaw, and that annoyingly handsome smile he flashed at everyone.

And you're staring, and your dad notices that you're staring, and so do your friends. Shit. You clear your throat and decide to say hi, and make it seem like you *don't* know what Dr. Jack Abbot looks like under his shorts and metal dog tags.

"Happy fourth of July" you grin, shielding your eyes from the sweltering sun.

Jack gives you that smile, arms folded, his eyes are not discreet as they linger on the plump curve of your breasts in your skimpy bikini, "Happy 4th," he nudges your fathers shoulder, "she's all grown up now. I remember when you sent me that post card all those years ago about you leaving for the kid"

Your dad nods, flipping burgers over the flaming grill "That was 2 decades ago, brother"

"God, you're making me feel old," he claps him on the back before walking past you to sit under the shade. He stops momentarily to whisper in your ear, "stay outta trouble?"

You nod, and by the time you do, he's already sitting cracking jokes with all his other buddies and their kids. Yet, the warmth of his hand lingered longer than the heat of the sun. You shake it off and put on sunscreen at the edge of the pool, putting the creamy liquid all over your tanned thighs and smearing the rest on your neck and hands.

Jack watched, discreetly, between sips of beer and weak laughs. He was fucked; he knew that. He tells himself if he would've known it was his best friend's daughter he wouldn't have had that midnight rendezvous, but now he's not so sure that argument still stands. All these years have passed and he didn't know what you looked like. You look irresistible like the forbidden fruit in the garden...all he wanted to do was reach out and eat you.

The afternoon soon bled into evening. The second the sun dipped below the horizon the fireworks started. Some of the older vets left due to the PTSD, while others stayed but clenched their bottles a little harder with each rattle. Jack wandered around the backyard, mingled anywhere he could, manned the rest of the meat on the grill while your dad helped your little cousins with the sparklers.

"You should never do dumb shit like that," Jack scoffed as teenagers fumbled with the packaged fireworks, "they're gonna blow their fingers off"

"Good thing we have a doctor here to help us"

"All I can do is put what's left on ice and pray for ortho"

You laugh along with him, "Why so grim?"

"I've worked too many 4th of July holidays. Every year it happens. Just common knowledge"

"Why aren't you working this year?" You lean against the table holding the aluminum foil trays of hot dogs and burgers. Your bikini was now covered by a light sweater, a little oversized.

"I just needed a break from all the crazy," he shrugged.

You smirk, "and I'm supposed to believe that? You're an ER doctor and SWAT medic. You live for crazy"

He closes the hood of the grill and faces you, arms folded, "well I don't think you'd like the real answer"

"And what's the real answer?"

Before he could say, another firework exploded in the air, creating streams of color and aftershocks of bright flickers. 10 more followed. Jack turns his head back toward the group of hyped teenagers.

"Well it seemed they got the fireworks working," he huffed with amusement, "with no missing fingers"

Your father comes back to check on the meat, pulling him away to look at something in the house. Great.

You sit by the pool. Small children, probably cousins or cousins of cousins or neighbor kids, splash in the water with glow sticks and american flag floaties. They swim over to you, pestering you with your name over and over again, asking you for freeze pops.

"Fine," you say, "bombpops?"

They all scream, "yes!!"

You groan as you get up from the side of the pool and get a case of red, white, and blue bombpops from the freezer. You decide to take one too for the hell of it. They all scramble out the pool and greedily dig into the sweet treats, an occasional thank you passing by you.

The ice of the bombpop was refreshing compared to the east coast heatwave that had taken over the state for the 4th of July weekend. The patio door slides open and this time you see Jack come out in a pair of scrubs. You quirk your eyebrow in confusion.

You overhear what he's saying to your dad, broken fragments of conversation "clocking in" "needed me" "something to distract" "help out".

In your head, that's bullshit code for not wanting to deal with your little incident.

Bombpop still in hand, you beckon him over to the corner of the yard where the bushes grew tall.

"Wha—" Jack started

"I thought you said you wanted a break from all the crazy"

"Well—"

You interrogate "What's the real reason?"

"Sweethear—"

You kiss him, hard and impulsive. He pulls away. He's out of breath.

"What are you doing? Everyone is out here! And you're my friend's daughter and god—" you cut him off for the final time.

"It's me isn't it? I'm the real reason?"

He sighs, his eyes diverting from your face before coming to face you again, "it's wrong...the whole morality of it all"

"You like crazy, don't you?"

"You're trouble" he says. He fights with himself before giving in.

"Come on, it'll be quick. Really quick" you bite your lip as you pull him behind the bushes, in the secluded undecorated part of the yard.

He feebly tries to steady himself as you drop to your knees in front of him, undoing his black scrub pants. He was already hard in his boxers. He's been hard since he saw your ass in that stupid star spangled bikini. It does not make him feel any more patriotic, nor does it make him feel any more patriotic as he watches you go down on him with fucking bombpop in your hand.

He is too old for this, he thinks as he watches the explosion of fireworks.

Until you decided to get fun and suck on the freezepop and then on him. The change in temperature sent a pleasurable shock through his cock and up his spine as your tongue slowly warmed around him. And he hated to admit it, but you had skill. After a few more bobs of your head he was already grasping at your hair and nearly hunched over.

You were both grateful for the fireworks and music masking the obscene noise of you gagging on his cock. When he got close you'd pull off of him and run the melting popsicle over the angry red tip of his cock before following up with a gentle swirl of your tongue, causing pitiful spurts of precum to spray on your lips.

"Fuck—c-can you stop?" He grunts as you lick the bright blue drippings off his cock.

"Admit it" you smile as you graze your teeth over the sensitive flesh.

He jerks before pulling at your hair. He growls, "admit what, dammit?"

"You know what, but I don't think you'll like the real answer"

He rolls his eyes. You're a brat.

You continue to suck him off, taking him to the back of your throat and teasing him there. You take what's left of the bombpop and place it in your mouth along his cock. He hisses, letting out a string of expletives.

"Fuckkk, fuck. Fine," he groans as the cold clashes with your hot tight mouth, "I want you. I came here for you and- fuck— I've thought about you every night since the bar. Every night on my fucking shift. Alright? Happy no—"

His voice gets punched out of him with you hollowing your cheeks and massaging the rest of his shaft with your hand. He doesn't last very long. He cums hard, it was hot and thick like the culmination of too many horny thoughts with no release. His moans were muffled by the onslaught of fireworks as the clock hit midnight. You swallow and drop the bombpop stick beside you.

You look a mess: your neck and sweater collar stained with syrup and streaks of cum, lips puffy and red from the pop, and your hair messy from his rough fingers.

Jack quickly collects himself, "C'mere"

He pulls you into another kiss, this time reciprocated. It was heavy and desperate like he'd been waiting his whole life to kiss you, to see what his cum tastes like on your lips. He huffs into your mouth with each bruising kiss before he hears his name called...by your dad.

"Shit," he groans, "look, sweetheart, I gotta go in. I'll call you alright?"

"Promise?" You ask as you smooth your hair down.

He nods with a shrug of his shoulders, hastily tying up his pants again "More or less, yes"

"Wrong answer"

"Yes, I promise. I'm a vet. Man of my word"

"Mhm.." you kiss him again before he whispers in your ear again.

"Stay out of trouble"

aerion’s chambers are always open for you

if arthur’s sheets could talk

“could donaldson make you sound like this?”

while you’re with aerion, arthur a prince in need

you echo off the stone walls in aerion’s comfort