#levs rambles

“o-oh, fuck— john—“ you gasp, his hands gripping your hips and bouncing you on his cock. you’ve already cum a few times, but it’s taking him a bit longer to than when he was younger. you wanted to comfort him, right? so just let him fuck you! he’s grunting words of praise as you ride him on the couch, meanwhile you’re too fucked out to process them.

just like how when he stares at your sandwich that you were snacking on during a meeting, you didn’t think twice before sliding half of it over to him. then, you saw how unsure he was, and picked it back up again before placing it in his gloved hand.

you could tell he was pretty shy. but he was sweet, too. like how when you let out a small shiver in the common room on the couch, and he laid half the blanket that he had on his lap over yours too. you didn’t think you’d make fast friends with the big guy, but you did. and you were happy.

living in an old prairie house together. your apron always has its pocket full of eggs from the coop. when he comes home for his leave, you’re at the door waiting for him. a record spins softly in the living room as you cradle his face, gently wiping at the remnants of dust and grime before giving him a small kiss. price’s hands rest on your waist, gently swaying you both back and forth to music he pretends he doesn’t hate because he knows you love it.

he helps you calm the horse at the stables before making his way into the field. your spoilt herding dog bounds towards him, knowing it means more attention and leftovers snuck his way. John insists on cooking dinner, but you always tell him to “just sit, love. you’re tired, let me take care of you.” and of course he relents! he’d do anything for you. except leave his job that makes you worry oh so much.

dread slowly builds in the pit of your stomach during the days leading up to John’s next deployment. you can’t stand it. you stare at the email on his phone screen as he lay asleep next to you in bed. it’s always the same, no specifications about where or when he’ll be sent to die, only what base to go to for drug, physical and psychological tests before confidential briefings. long, extensive tests about things that he brushes off instead of visiting a doctor for. things that toy with his mind that he won’t tell you about, but will tell a stranger. tests that assure he isn’t on anything like those people in town that seem to have an endless supply of, or he’d be sent home and discharged…

…discharged.

your wedding ring glimmers in the moonlight as you make your way into town.

And then there’s Gaz who when you dissociate, he waits. “Oh— okay. Let’s get you comfy,” he says. He patiently tells you about his day while you’re out of it. He makes sure you sit or lay down somewhere, resting his head against your shoulder or chest so you feel the comforting pressure. He’ll hold your hand under tables at meetings, gently squeezing to ground you when you’re ready to come back to reality. afterwards, he fills you in on every little thing that was said while giving you some water and one of the snacks he keeps in his pocket.

yes ughhh….

Kyle is into pain play. He’ll hump your boot until you start crushing and kicking his dick with your foot. His hips always stutter, not sure whether to pull away from the pain or hump against the pleasure. He’s drooling and cumming whenever you kick his dick with your knee and choke him out. (He always pouts afterwards when you ice his bruised balls)

Soap is into scent. No matter what position, he ends up shoving his face into your armpit as he ruts into you. He’s begging you to never shave any hair there so that the smell sticks, and huffs whenever you put on deodorant. He’ll be rearranging your guts and pull your arm above your head before pressing his face into your armpit, inhaling desperately. “Fuck, love— ye smell divine.”

Price loves fauxcest obviously, but plenty of people talk about that. I think he also loves prostate play and sounding. His old man dick isn’t exactly working all the time, and when he discovers strap ons or if you want to top? He’s bent over his desk, hairy ass spread. He loves feeling you slam into him, sounding rod with slight vibration in his dick. He’s always sobbing, begging to cum, nodding desperately when you call his dick useless and his ass his pussy.

he wakes up with a heavy weight in his pants, his skin sweaty and flush already. hes never felt so little dysphoria before, the small amount only from the fact that it’s your body— but even that makes him moan as he ruts against the mattress. he’s always so horny in the mornings…the thought of you in his own body, thumbing at his t-dick, letting out broken moans with his own voice…