Prophet's cock was hard against Mick's soft Welsh lips. Though younger, Mick proved just as experienced as Prophet. Time in the British Special Forces had seen to that. He'd told Prophet several stories about how the days of isolation while in training and participation in ops could turn into a week or more of constant stress. Lack of the female population during training, separated from everyone else but your pod, and then isolated alone with a spotter could change a person's perspective especially under pressure of the mission. They would resolve it – just a matter of men taking care of each other. He'd explained it as some warrior bond; what had to be done was done – no candy, no flowers, and no regrets.

Prophet's fingers curled in Mick's light brown hair taking a handful at the crown into a fist. They were alone at the office making use of an unfurnished room – probably once used for a karate class. Mick had been shoved to his knees first – a concession on his part. They'd only stumbled back there to handle business and the only factor in who would be on his knees first was solved by a grappling match of sorts. Both were dominant males and this time Prophet's hands on Mick's shoulders pressing and pushing him to the floor had won over Mick trying to affect the same upon the other agent.

"C'mon Mick," Prophet gasped, eyes locked on Mick's face, most his beautiful mouth, "You know what I want,"

Mick's lips parted, but not to take even so much as a taste of Prophet's slick tipped hard-on.

"Ya should work for it, yeah?" Mick whispered teasing at coy.

Prophet let out an impatient noise, not quite a growl, but not to the point of a groan and cocked his hips forward. The tip of his cock grazed Mick's bottom lip, leaving a shiny trail. Mick wolfishly smiled up at Prophet, giving him an impish wink.

Prophet's dark wash jeans hung unzipped and unbuttoned at his hips, balanced from sliding to his ankles by the straight cut and his feet spread shoulder width apart. Mick's fingers grazed his hip bone above the elastic of his white cotton boxers, similar to prison issue, some things did not easily change. With his other hand, Mick palmed his own hard length that had produced a defined arch against the crotch of his own gray faded jeans. Prophet lowered his gaze to follow Mick's stroke over the curve of his confined cock. He stiffened impossibly and the bead of pre-cum swelled at the head, threatening and then finally dribbling down his shaft.

"Mick, now," the warning and urgent tone was enough to nudge Mick into action.

He parted his lips and opened just enough to take the head in a weak suck. He seemed to savor the taste of must and salt offered up to him. Prophet had yet to make good use of the hand gripping on to Mick's hair at the back of his skull. He'd never been cruel about the way he touched Mick and never tried to become so dominant that he forced the other into submission.

Mick opened wide and laved Prophet's cock in the hot silk sensation of his mouth and the ever so slightly rougher velvet of his tongue. Prophet's groan became a gasp and he tightened his fist in Mick's hair urging him forward to take Prophet in deeper.

Truth be told, Prophet wanted to feel tonsil before he spilled down the sniper's throat. He wanted to buck and feel Mick's stubbly chin and the hard line of his jaw. He needed to come, but despite that fact, he did actually care just how he went about doing that. Prophet wanted to fuck his mouth. He wanted to fuck it hard and fast. Yet, he restrained himself and instead shut his eyes to regroup his focus. He directed his attention on relaxing his grip on Mick's crown and concentrated on the swish of Mick's tongue around and against his rigid shaft.

Mick moaned when Prophet's fingers relaxed on his hair. They were just taking care of each other, but that didn't absolve either of them from making it hot. Prophet tugged back at the strands and elicited a deeper moan from the sniper down on his knees. He opened his eyes lazily and glanced down at Mick, finding him eyes closed, single-minded on his mission of mercy, bobbing his head back and forth. The way his whole body rocked in response to his strokes just echoed his reputation and swift, silent and deadly.

Prophet gave his hair another curt jerk forward impaling his cock a little deeper into Mick's throat. His eyes snapped open and he cut his gaze up at Prophet affording the standing man the view of his eyes rolling back a little bit. Prophet's mouth hung open slack, but the corner of his lips curved into a grin.

"Fuck, Mick. You like it, don't you?" he panted.

Prophet brought his other hand from where it had hung loose at his side up to cup Mick's cheek, feeling the muscles along his jaw quivering to stay taut keeping his mouth open wide enough to suck. Mick tugged back against Prophet's hand by tilting back his head. He looked up at Prophet with wet chocolate eyes and took a strong breath through his nose.

"I want to fuck your throat, Mick," Prophet huffed in an uneven voice, "You're fucking hot, man."

Mick averted his eyes and Prophet followed watching Mick run the hell of his palm over the painful looking erection stretching against his jeans. Mick looked back up to Prophet and lifted his hand so he could wrap his fingers around the base of Prophet's cock. He gave a few half hearted strokes before cupping the other man's balls. Mick shut his eyes and took a deep breath through flaring nostrils and bent forward, swallowing Prophet down completely.

Prophet couldn't help but moan. Nothing felt as good as Mick's mouth at this point. He ran his hand down from Mick's cheek to just under his chin and then tilted balancing on his toes. Mick growled around his cock, but Prophet gave his hair a gentle jerk forward. Mick gagged and tried to clear his throat. Prophet moaned Mick's name, letting the last syllable drag out into a needy groan.

Mick moved his hand so now he had both firmly clasping Prophet's hips to slow them from jutting forward. He couldn't do much about the hand at the back of his head, but he didn't have to with fingernails digging into Prophet's skin just above the curve of his hip bones. Prophet dropped his jaw and took a deep breath through his mouth and nose, letting it escape slowly as he willed himself to relax.

"Moan if you want my cum, Mick. Moan and tell me you want it,"

Mick's cock twitched and jumped against the brutally tight fabric as Prophet spoke and over again as the words bounced around in his head on replay. At this rate Prophet wouldn't even have to suck him off in return.

The brief thought of Prophet on his knees, one hand at the base of his shaft pumping and the other squeezing half moon crescent nail marks into the cheek of his ass, sparked a nerve in Mick. He moaned and Prophet gasped, unable to control his hips pushing against Mick's palms. Mick could handle it.

Prophet could make out his muscles flexing beneath the tight fabric of his long-sleeve Henley. Again he gasped and groaned, biting his bottom lip, turning his eyes to the ceiling.

Mick arched pushing against the hand firmly gripping his hair, but Prophet just returned with a tug of hair pulling Mick forward again. It was a rush – his wet hot tongue and tight throat in spasm caused by hard wired primal fear of choking. Mick's fingers dug at his hip, holding keeping Prophet still and also holding himself steady as he exhausted.

"I'm so close," Prophet panted, squeezing his eyes shut.

Mick surprised Prophet, pulling the other man's hips forward to meet Mick's head bobs.

It was enough. Prophet grunted sharply and let out a throaty deep groan. Mick made no move to pull away, which he usually did. Prophet came coating Mick's tongue and throat with salty sweet searing hot cum.

"Yes, yes," Prophet chanted down into a breathy whisper, both hands stroking through Mick's hair.

He pulled out from Mick's mouth, half hard rather than soft and stumbled backward suddenly unsteady on his legs. Mick holding on to his hips helped him stabilize. He looked up at Prophet and gave a small laugh, before licking his lips.

"Don't go havin' a stroke on me. I've never killed anyone with my mouth before."

"Somehow, I doubt that," Prophet returned, still catching his breath.

Mick affected his cocky side-of-the-mouth grin and narrowed his eyes in challenge. He straightened his left leg and put down his foot, and then rose up as shakily as Prophet had from the floor. Prophet automatically reached forward, running the heel of his hand from the waist of Mick's jeans along the fly. He wanted to feel the outline of what he'd soon be stroking or sucking until he brought Mick off as hard as Mick had done for him.

It wasn't planned and certainly not very well thought through, but Mick took that opportunity as Prophet's lips parted in slight surprise to press his lips to the other agent's. He removed his hand from Prophet's right hip and cupped the side of his neck just below his ear, running thumb just beneath Prophet's temple. Prophet's mouth opened in alarm, to maybe call out, but instead he felt Mick's tongue push past his lips. He moved his tongue to suit and kissed him roughly. Mick pulled away first. They were nose to nose and out of breath.

"I came without you laying a finger on me," Mick whispered.

"You almost killed me with your mouth," Prophet countered, though his lips betrayed his pride at having gotten Mick off by fucking his throat.

"You blew a load that almost ripped out my tonsils,"

"Fucking liar," Prophet swore, bringing his lips back to Mick's and kissing him experimentally, tasting his come on Mick's tongue.

"You don't have tonsils," Prophet concluded, with a smirk.

"Rematch and next time -" Mick warned, "when I'm done neither will you,"