Whiskey
Cw: Slight belittling and forced intoxication, no sex but implied dub-con, Mdni!
“Come now, sweetheart, open up for me, I thought you liked drinking your Captain’s whisky” Price’s words were low and mocking as he tipped the glass back towards you, the dark amber liquid swirling slightly with the movement of his wrist
You weren’t a drinker, the whisky had tasted like paint thinner to you when you’d first sipped it, but you’d felt bad tipping the rest of the glass into one of Price’s poor neglected office plants and so you’d finished it, slowly, pulling a face with every wash of sharp bitter liquid over your tongue, the burning it left in your throat going down that lingered
The smell of expensive cigars and men’s cologne had gone unnoticed until you’d felt a large hand on your shoulder, Price was smiling down at you, having waited for you to finish the glass of expensive spirit you’d pilfered from his office before making his presence known
John had listened patiently to your stammered excuses, how you’d let yourself in and eyed the bottle on his desk, how you’d never drunk whisky before and just how sorry you were that you’d let your curiosity get the best of you
But Price just tutted at you, you hadn’t used the right glass, an inexperienced thing like you should’ve asked for help if they wanted to pick up this hobby, single malt’s like this should be taken neat, not with ice
You’d just wanted to drop off some forms, it hadn’t even been your job but you wanted to be a team player, so when Sergeant Garrick complained about driving all the way out to Price’s house after a long mission you didn’t hesitate to offer to take them yourself
And now here you were perched in the older man’s lap, tipsy and feeling like a scolded child or pet as Price coaxed your lips open and made you sip some more of the acrid drink, cooing at you as you cringed
“There we go, wasn’t so hard now was it?” The hand cupping the back of your neck squeezed minutely when you instinctively went to swallow, drawing a quiet whine from your stinging throat “None of that now, just hold it, savour it”
Reluctantly you obeyed Price’s honeyed words, the whisky sitting heavy in your mouth while he stroked your hair and the side of your face, a sparkle in his eye that made warmth stir low in your belly
The lazy smile on the Captain’s face widened, as if sensing the effect his words had on you, Price allowed the now empty glass to return to the desk, his now empty hand resting on your thigh
