There Is A Tsunami Between My Legs

there is a tsunami between my legs

Concept: John Price has a lovely little wife at home, that he shares with his boys when the going gets tough…

John Price x Kyle Garrick x Mrs Price

Pure smut with very little plot. Danke @shotmrmiller as always for adding fuel to my toxic brain. MDNI ta.

It’s a truth universally acknowledged, that John Price lucked out in the marriage department. When his boys saw you for the first time, such a pretty thing waiting in the aircraft hanger for him, each and every one had the exact same thought. A hive mind Pavlovian response, throats growing thick and sweaty palms rubbing on the outside of their tac pants.

“Wish I had someone like that to come home to.” Kyle murmurs, while Simon nudges Johnny, who seems to have lost all trace of coherent thought, wide eyes gazing at the way you throw yourself into their Captains arms, whispering honeyed words into his ear.

John isn’t stupid. He’s fully aware that you’re a walking dreamscape, buttery and soft, a contrast to the bloody, dirty world he inhabits. His escape, his perfect girl, one he comes home to on leave, dropping his grime covered boots at the front door along with the remnants of the unsavoury decisions he has to make in the field.

Never complacent, John adores you entirely. You wait for him through long, cold nights while he’s stuck in some far flung and dangerous situation. You welcome the team into your shared home with reckless joy, ever the hostess, even going out of your way to invite Simon for Christmas dinner because you know innately he has nowhere else to go. You ruffle Johnny’s mohawk until he actually blushes and feed Kyle bites of dessert off your spoon, giggling happily, pleased to be of service. Playing your part in whatever war they’re fighting. Never once do you complain about it. Not one irritable word passes your lips.

And that’s how John knows you won’t mind going that extra mile for him, for your beloved boys. You’re the unofficial team mascot, so it’s only right that you pull your weight.

The first time it occurs to him, he’s leaving the helo with a shaken Kyle in tow. Finally back on friendly soil, the man has taken a beating or two this mission. Falling out of that chopper was the last straw on an already overloaded mind. Kyle’s been unusually quiet, contemplative. Clearly he’s caught up in his own head, having faced death countless times in his life, this scrap with it hit close to home. Still he performed admirably, John’s protégé, he couldn’t have asked anymore from him.

Taking in Kyle’s sullen form in the chow hall, eyes downturned and far away, shoulders hunched while he thinks about his own mortality, Kyle starts slightly as John pats him on the shoulder.

“Come home to mine this weekend. We got leave, the missus would love to see ya.”

John’s rewarded with a small spark of happiness in Kyle’s dark orbs, a little flare that tells him he’s making the right decision. The younger man nods, looking marginally cheered by the prospect of a good meal and John’s ever so pretty wife doting on him.

The first evening goes exactly as planned, you’re overjoyed to see them both, fluttering around Kyle and dragging him by the hand to look at the strawberries you’re growing in the garden. Price can see the grin curling Kyle’s face at your touch, the dark cloud of anxiety lifting from his shoulders with every step he takes behind you.

Later, nestled between your thighs, Mr Price asks you for a favour. Thick fingers curled upwards to his rough knuckles, he plants heavy kisses over the skin of your inner leg until you’re close. The burning embers of desire behind your eyelids, you hear his low rumbling voice and feel the vibration of it across your weeping pussy.

“You gonna be a good girl, give Kyle the full treatment this weekend? He needs to blow off steam, n you’re always happy to help eh?”

You let out a whimper as his touch scorches the plush fabric of your inner walls, keeping you just at the precipice where he knows you’ll be more pliant. It’s not lost on John that you get noticeably wetter at the mention of Kyle, something he plays into with every stroke, fingertips withdrawing to the seams of your cunt then plunging deeper still.

“Handsome lad is our Kyle, you’ll see him right won’t you. Need him back to square darlin. Team only works with him firing on all four cylinders. Wouldn’t ask it of you sweet thing, but I know you can get the job done.”

John talks to you like you’re his most fragile recruit, some new, shy creature that needs coaxing out of her shell. With a nod and yet another moan, you comply, always so eager to please. Happily John fastens his mouth over your clit, tongue swimming in you until his beard is wet with slick and you’re sobbing in earnest at the pleasure of it.

When dawn breaks, light and airy, you take your orders seriously. Scratching soothing patterns into Kyle’s scalp at breakfast every time you pass him, coming up behind his body while he washes dishes so that he can feel the voluminous swell of your form against his weathered, lean one. To begin with, he seems vaguely bemused, glancing at John surreptitiously beneath ebony coloured brows. The only reaction he finds in his Captain’s face however is a calm acknowledgement.

So Kyle allows himself to slip into the fantasy that you’re made for his eyes also. When you sit close to him in the garden he takes your fingers in his own, runs his mouth along the column of your throat until you whine and bat your lashes. At dinner he hooks his foot around your calf, pulling you closer to him beneath the beaten oak table.

By the time dusk is creeping across the landscape around the house, Kyle is watching you wolfishly, amber gaze levelled at your body like a hawk, observing each sinuous breath you take. Shooting your husband an irresistibly sultry look, you lean close to Kyle and kiss his cheek. Your smaller palm against his, he lets you tug him onto his feet and towards the stairs. Coquettish and playful, every squeeze of Kyle’s fingers in your own makes him weak at the knees.

He freezes at the first step, glancing back at John for that resounding approval. Kyle gets a nod in response.

“Go ahead soldier. Take ya rest. It’s earned.”

John pours himself a finger of scotch, snipping the end off his faithful cigar, then follows you both. Kyle barely glances up when he settles himself in the corner, the flare of his lighter illuminating the darkening room. His Sergeant has you sitting spread across his lap, two hands cupping your face while he gets entirely lost in the nips and sucks you’re placing on his neck.

Your sharp love bite makes Kyle grunt, swollen pupils beginning to eclipse the tigerish colour of his irises.

“Fucking ‘ell.” He breathes, taking you in while slowly you start to undo his shirt, letting your fingertips brush the honed torso beneath. Kyle sucks his lower lip between white teeth while you play with him, gently scratching along the ridges of muscle across his shoulders and digging one nail into the bud of his nipple.

Kyle watches you undress holding the edge of the bed-frame like it’s going to vanish beneath him, observing the way you’re revealed to his stare with a potent lust close to madness. He scoops your vacated panties off the floor from between your legs, wrapping them around one fist tightly until his fingers turn red. He needs grounding, a soft place to land after the tumult of The last few weeks. To know he is loved and there is life left to be lived.

John’s face is obscured by grey, curling fumes. But the evidence of his own arousal presents itself neatly in the form of a growing bulge aligned with his right thigh. This isn’t about him however, although the enjoyment of watching another man straining against his own boxers for you, is a welcome addition to the fray.

Quickly Kyle tries to take the lead, shucking off his jeans and drawing you back into him, between two thighs. You have your orders though, now isn’t the time for Kyle to perform. He does that well enough under fire. It’s a moment for his mind to be occupied so thoroughly, he forgets about falling out of helicopters, tracing the scum of humanity and poisonous warheads. With the dedication you place into all things, you unwind your underwear from his purpling arm, and wrap it around both of Kyle’s hands. Without the need for words he understands, offers up no complaints when you place your favourite sleeping mask over his handsome face.

Sinking to your knees, you roll down his boxers, letting his rigid cock hang between you both. Some of the air is sucked out of the room at that gesture. Kyle’s got length on John, the mouthwatering deep caramel of his skin fading into a thick, pulsing crown, the leaking of his spend already visable and beaded there.

Just the sight of it makes your toes curl, dampness gathering between your thighs at the thought of the cushion of his prick hitting every pleasurable angle you have to offer. Kyle lets out a low hiss when your warm lips encircle him, tongue seeking out the plump blood vessels that line his shaft. His hands clench against the hair on his thighs, so you link your own through them, guiding his surrender, easing him into peace.

The small gags and sucks you make are enough to tease John to depravity, undoing his flies to release the raging tension building beneath them. Easily you work Kyle into a fervour of grunts and moans, fingers still laced against his, tongue tracing his briny slit as he starts to jerk faster against the back of your throat.

But he needs the warmth of your cunt, that heady mixture of your arousal with his. So lightly he moves you off him, blinded by the silk over his brows, Kyle’s lips search for yours, finding them readily and tasting himself on your tongue. That forces a deep groan from his chest, strong arms scooping you up towards him, desperate to finish inside your tight core.

Kyle’s head hits the pillows, his hold full of you. It’s bliss, his head finally quiet, nothing stirring within the recesses there but coiling lust. The absence of his vision is comforting, he doesn’t need to be anything tonight, there’s no one to perform for or guard against. It’s just you and him, your blazing slick now sliding against his shaft, spreading the tantalising wetness between you. You’re utterly drenched, desperate for him, and the sound of it makes John and Kyle both huff.

You ride him gently at first, eyes blurring as your body struggles to accommodate his cock, bullying yourself with it until stars start to pop under each watering lid. Kyle runs his hand over every plane of your stature, lost inside you, breaching the tight grip of your pussy.

“Come on love. Can take ‘im deeper than that. Show my boy what you’re made of.” John growls, making you shudder, dominance dripping from every word like syrup. Curling yourself against Kyle’s chest, you relax into him, his fingers spreading you wider than you’ve ever been in your life. He bottoms out with a low noise in the back of his throat, while you cry out into the night, drawing him to that seamless void of ecstasy.

Each thrust you give him is languid, luxurious, the slap of skin melding into a soundtrack. Fleetingly you throw John a look, one he returns with ardent pride that makes your heart swell.

The demons of death are firmly behind him, Kyle can feel every inch of you, the caress of your body in time with his own, nipples grazing the light hairs on his pecs. Gentle hips rock over him, drawing out each morsel of mortal uncertainty until he can feel the blooming knot of a climax inching over his thighs.

“M’gonna cum.” He whispers into your ear, gripping the flesh of you hard enough to bruise. Then he spills, the throb and saturating warmth spreading inside you is enough to tip your heart into the haze along with him. Arching, taking him to the root, together you ride it out, while John’s knuckles turn white against the leather of the chair beneath him.

A lazy night unfurls around you all. Kyle seeking more of that abject blankness only a good fuck can provide a man with on some occasions. He screws you dumb, leaves fingerprints over your stomach while he licks you clean, makes your body a vessel for his own therapy.

You don’t mind, letting Kyle drift off to sleep on your chest, while John plants a kiss on your forehead and takes the spare room.

“Wotcha. How was the weekend at Caps ‘ouse?” Simon asks, while Kyle loads gear out of his car back on base.

“Good.” Kyle replies airily. “His wife is just such a sweet’art.”

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