you put a note in price’s lunchbox ! (18+ mdni)
it’s a known fact that price’s wife packs his lunch every day when he’s on desk duty. soap always used to ask what the “missus” had made, getting his hands on the box you have packed for your husband.
( nowadays, you pack enough for four hungry men anyway, you’ve seen how starved they are all the time, how they eat your sunday roast like a pack of wolves. )
today is no different, the little bento boxes are labelled. a little skull for ghost, a bar of soap for soap and a little hat for gaz. and your husband gets a bento box with a love note on it, like every day.
you always put something sweet in there, and he always takes the post it note and saves it in his desk drawer. it works, you’re shy as a mouse at the best of times, and writing these notes and making this food is the way you really show affection.
“your missus has outdone herself this time.” soap says, as he opens up the first box to the smell of steaming curry, probably butter chicken with the way it looks. the box underneath has small dumplings, john knows you’ve been obsessed with filling them yourself, the soup is completely your own recipe.
price blushes, face going red. he looks away to see ghost already hungrily going for the food with a spoon, the rice halfway complete. gaz is taking a photo, probably to send to his own girlfriend as inspo. you and her really get along.
johnny leans on simon’s shoulder, and nudges to split a dumpling.
until he sees the folded up paper at the bottom of his final box, taped to the bottom.
he opens it, why wouldn’t he, there in the mess room.
he opens it, and slams it closed. not here.
it’’s a photo of you, angled, in the lingerie he brought you last month. pink and red, cherries littered on the straps. it’s lacy, and he hasn’t seen you wear it before.
he excuses himself to his office, his cock already painful from the glimpse. his hands hiding it as he shuffles into the room.
the locks clicks, and he takes his cock out, thick and heavy. and unfolds the photo.
it looks good. you look good, the lace cupping your boobs, cunt wet already. your hands tease your clit, and he’s so painfully hard from just looking at the photo.
february 14th. of course you’d do that. you’d be too shy to do anything at home but this? an image, you could do that for him.
his hands smear precum over his cock, and he starts rubbing it, desperate for relief. your cunt wouls be so fucking tight around him, but you aren’t here. you’re at home, twenty minutes away. and he has meetings.
it’s not long before he comes, with spurts of white cum that he tries to desperately keep a hold of. his hand doesn’t grip as hard as you, it’s not as warm as you, fucking hell.
he’ll fuck you right when he gets home. but for now the image of you is enough, teasing him.
