After Hours
Apr. 24th, 2011 10:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Hannibal/Morrison
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: rough sex
Summary: A fill for this prompt over at the kink meme
Okay, so. I don't tend to dream much, but today I kind of rose from the depths of sleep with this image in my head, of young!Russ bending evenyounger!John over his desk, and John being all vocal and needy and ohohsirfuckmesir, and maybe some rank-play thrown in, maybe Morrison is pretending to discipline him, maybe John's been winding him up just knowing what's going to happen when he snaps...
I guess with what I'm writing now, my brain really wants some non-angsty Russ/John with no hints of what's to come.
Russ loves the nights when John wants to play.
a/n: basically a sequel to Hunting, but not the one I’ve been asked for. Yet
When it comes to John, Russ has never had a second thought.
The boy's, in a word, beautiful. Not beautiful in a conventional kind of sense. No. He's tall, still gangly, like even at twenty-six he hasn't grown in to that lean, long body of his. His nose is a little crooked, the result of that first mission in Afghanistan, wasn't set right by the clinic in Turkey. He's not the most ripped guy Russ has ever encountered in the Rangers, no paragon of the male physique.
But he's...elegant, maybe. All sharp thoughts and smooth movements, his lieutenant, running or fucking or killing or reading or smoking a cigar. Everything he does has a kind of unconscious, unaware grace to it, and there's something about that mixture of grace and innocent and intelligence that turns Russ' cock to steel, every single time.
And, the captain suspects, John knows it.
Knows exactly what the fuck he's doing.
Right the fuck now.
He takes another look at the kid, standing at ease on the other side of a big expanse of cheap particle-board desktop, and reaches for the cigarette smoldering away in its tray. "Want to explain to me why I'm still at work, el-tee?"
"Sorry it's late, sir," the kid drawls, the gray folder containing his report on their last mission sitting unobtrusively on the corner of Russ' desk. The captain hates paperwork. Hates doing it. Hates having to stay late at the office to get it done. He'd rather be home, cracking beers and lighting up the good Thursday night cigars, eating bad Chinese take-out from that place down the street, watching some crappy movie on HBO with John until one of them breaks... "Took me a little longer than I thought."
"I told you to have this to me by close of business," he sighs, reaching for the folder. It's all in order, everything filled out in black pen, tiny letter, John's steady, reliable hand. A major part of the paperwork he's got to have filed tomorrow morning, 0900 sharp. And he's still got a ton of stuff to compile. "It's nearly eighteen-hundred."
"Y'know, lots of little boxes on those forms, captain," his boy says, eyes glittering. Russ stares at him for a moment, considering that look. He's seen that look before. Knows it all too well. And he realizes, brain and cock at the same goddamn time, what the play is here.
And yeah, yeah. He's game. He's always game. For anything his John wants, anything he needs. And John always, always, wants to be...
"Too complicated for you, lieutenant?" Russ practically growls around his cigarette, one last good inhale, and then he's grinding it out in the ashtray, standing up, watching John shift a little in his stance. "Stop squirming," he orders.
Those high cheekbones flush, just a little. "Yes sir."
"You'd think I could trust one of my chalk leaders to know how to fill out a couple of forms," he continues, coming around the edge of the desk, and John shuffles back a bit, just enough so Russ can get in font of him. Right in his face. "Apparently not, eh?"
"I am just a lieutenant," John prompts, clearly trying not to smile.
They're so close Russ can feel the boy's body heat through all the layers of uniform. He's half-hard already and knows John probably is, too. The boy loves it like this, loves being dominated, loves, Russ suspects, being able to let go, not be the legend he's already growing into, not being anything other than his lover, his beloved. "Trying to pull that card, are we, el-tee?"
"No, sir," the younger officer lies, a little breathless.
"You have to start learning to take responsibility for your own goddamn mistakes," the captain continues, in that bored voice he usually reserves for discipline sessions for his soldiers. Drives John wild, though, nights like this. "Face the consequences when you fuck up."
"Sir, I..."
Oh, the boy's definitely into it, Russ muses. Definitely getting excited. They both know what's coming, and it never fails to amaze him how much this extraordinary young man needs it. Begs for it. Begs for him, his captain...
"No more excuses, Smith," Russ snaps, moving off to the side and going for another cigarette and his lighter. "Don't want to fucking hear it right now. You know what the punishment is for missing suspenses..."
John feigns shock. "No, boss, please, not that..."
"Should have thought of that before, John." He taps a slender Marlboro out of the white carton, watching John watching him as he messes with the lighter, coaxing the tobacco awake. "Assume the position. Right the fuck now."
Those big hands hit the front edge of his desk, BDU blouse stretching tight between quivering shoulder blades, ass pushed out in clear invitation. He's still trying to talk, though. It's that brain of his. Does a hundred miles an hour around the corners, faster on the straights, never, ever stopping. “Captain, I...”
“Shut up, Smith,” the older man grumbles.
“But...”
Russ lunges forward, quick, cigarette between his fingers, and grabs a handful of that smooth chestnut hair, jerking his lover’s head back, pulling his ear up to his mouth, biting lightly along that fine shell as he talks, tasting John's willingness, all his need. “You are in so much trouble already, lieutenant. Stop. Talking. Now. Before you make it worse for yourself.”
John shivers. “Boss, please...”
Russ knows better than to stop.
But John loves playing games. All kinds of games. Russ had no idea, that hot morning at Incirlik when he claimed his lieutenant in that narrow dorm bed, what exactly he was getting into with him. Always, always eager to play.
This is his favorite game.
And that, giving his boy what he wants, Russ has found, tends to make it all that much better. For both of them. There’s just something so, so delicious about hearing that little word, that little...
“Please? You better not starting begging for me to go light on you tonight, lieutenant,” he growls, releasing the younger man’s head with a snap of his wrist, letting his hands trail down heaving ribs, gripping tight, and slams his hips forward, cock hard as steel in his own pants. “You going soft on me?”
“N-no, no sir,” John gasps as Russ bucks into him. Letting his lieutenant feel how much he’s needed.
“I think you are,” the captain says casually, like it doesn’t matter, and slams forward again. He brings that cigarette back up to his lips, looping his other hand into John’s belt ad he continues thrusting lightly. “I think you’ve got no idea how a Ranger’s supposed to take it.”
“No, sir!” John says defiantly, and there’s some real heat behind that.
Russ chuckles, and jams into his lieutenant, properly dry-humping the kid as he clenches that cigarette in his teeth and unthreads John’s belt, undoes his buttons, one by one.
“You’re tellin’ me you gonna take your punishment, then, lieutenant?” He slides his calloused palm across the front of white briefs, that magnificent cock trembling underneath. John’s hung like a horse, he really is. That’s one reason he’s never let the boy top him.
“Sir...”
And this, this is the other. How much he loves it, shameful as it is, being able to pull rank on this man. Being able to show him, irrevokably and unmistakably, who owns his tight ass, how loved he is, being able to feel every ounce of the trust the kid has in him, letting Russ take him like this...
“Complete sentences, el-tee!” he barks, driving down with the heel of his hand as he pushes his hips forward again.
“Yes...yes sir!” John almost wails. “I’m going to take my punishment.”
“Of course you are,” Russ says, and dives into the younger man’s briefs, tearing them down with one hand as he goes back to the cigarette with his other. Caresses one of those now-exposed cheeks for good measure, pinching just a bit. “You don’t have a choice in the matter.”
“Sir, it’s...”
“Lieutenant Smith,” Russ groans dramatically as he winds his hand back, blowing out a sweet lungful of smoke at the same time, “shut your goddamn pie hole.”
“Captain, wait, no, I...”
Oh, no. No no no. No more of that. Time to take control of the situation, Morrison, he tells himself, and comes down. Hard.
SMACK.
And the strangled yelp that tears loose from John is the best thing Russ has heard all goddamn day.
Russ knows better than to give John much, if any time, to recover, but he can’t help but pause to admire that bright red mark his hand left on that muscular asscheek. He runs his palm lightly over the smarting skin and smiles to himself as the lieutenant pushes back into it, just a bit.
“Now that’s a much better sound outta you,” the older man says, pulling his hand off, the tips of his fingers stroking up in that way that John really, really likes. “Let’s see if you can make it again.”
“Sir...”
SMACK.
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
Russ doesn’t go easy on the kid. There’s no reason to. John can take it - John better fucking taking it, he thinks to himself, raining open-handed blows down on his lover’s ass, always in a different spot and with absolutely no cadence to it at all. The captain occasionally pauses to listen to the growing whimpers and desperate little pleas for mercy, to shake out his hand or take another good drag on that cigarette.
SMACK.
“Sir, fuck, it hurts...”
It’s part of the game, so Russ grins to himself and switches hands, leaning forward with the cigarette in his slightly numb right fingers. “You should have thought of that before, lieutenant,” he hisses, and lets that hand close down around the back of his boy’s neck, forcing his upper body even more down, his back almost horizontal now, fighting just a little.
Can’t have that, either.
SMACK.
They’re both Rangers, and while liking pain isn’t exactly a job requirement, it doesn’t hurt anything. And they’ve fucked almost everywhere at this point, in the gym showers, on missions, when one of them was recovering from some injury, in his office, just like this. Dirty places, or places where they’re likely to get caught. High-risk sex, John calls it, and that seems to be his favorite kink of all.
Russ, for his part, hasn’t ever had a fellow officer as a lover. Bringing that aspect of his life into the bedroom, or wherever the fuck else they happen to be, is only one of the many, many fringe benefits of this thing with John.
SMACK. SMACKSMACK. SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK.
John cries out at that last one, loud and almost in pain, knuckles white on the edge of the table. They have an agreement, he and John, about the level that these things can go to, that the younger man can shudder and beg and plead and protest, but the second he says stop, they stop. Russ suggested a safe word, the first time John asked him for this, but his lieutenant just snorted and said that was for pussies.
He’s never, ever, said it.
Russ, however, likes to be certain. Wants it to be good for his boy. Always wants that. So, right now, he stops.
“You like this, don’t you, lieutenant? You like getting held down. Fucking love it. Look at you,” he says contemptuously, going back to his cigarette, which is basically done for at this point. One last puff and he’s crushing it out in the ashtray, pressing against the sweating curve of Hannibal’s spine as he goes, pushing the heavy uniform up. For John’s part, his eyes are clearly tracking on that spent stick. Why the kid likes it, Russ’ll never know, but it’s a helluva lot of fun. Like everything is with this man... “You’re practically begging for it.”
“No, I’m not...” John grinds out, arms shaking, just a little.
Russ licks up his neck as he comes back from the tray, listening to short, sharp breaths shudder through that fine, fine body. It all gives him time to gauge the kid’s physical state. If he’s into it, or if he’s starting to... but that monster cock of his is rock hard. Leaking. Pulsing so, so hot in Russ’ grasp, and he grins as he gives it a good rough tug. “Oh, what’s this?” he asks, feigning surprise.
“Nothing,” John groans, and his forehead hits the desk, right between his hands.
It’s a beautiful, beautiful sight.
“You’re such a bad lieutenant, Smith. Only the bad ones like getting punished,” he tells him, pulling in short, sharp jerks now, grabbing the kid’s hair again, jerking his head back to bite at the soft skin of his throat. “You like getting punished, el-tee?”
“I...I...”
“Because I think you did this to piss me off. I think you wanted this.”
“No, no, s-sir...” John protests, actually a little angry, and Russ makes a mental note to speak to him about that later.
“Slut,” he hisses for now, sucking for a second, not hard enough to raise a mark, and John gasps. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re a slut for cock, el-tee.”
“Captain...”
“What the fuck is a fag like you doing in my army, huh?” Russ says, slipping his hand around to cup John’s balls, rolling lightly. “Fuckin’ disgrace...”
The kid bucks back into him, body reacting automatically, wanting more contact. He moans, words almost there, and Russ shakes his head, pressing his thumb right into John’s perineum as he does so, stroking. “Enunciate, goddamn it!” he orders.
“Don’t...don’t,” John pants, “don’t... want to disappoint you, sir...”
“Taking cock, that’s all you’re good for,” Russ says, letting go now and backing away, just a little, just enough. "All you want, isn't it, slut?"
John turns around with a groan, and fuck, the captain thinks, if that isn’t a delicious sight. Clever fingers flexing of their own accord, lightly tanned skin flushed, arousal and embarrassment fighting across the younger man’s face, uniform disheveled, shoved down his long, lean thighs, caught up around black boots. And his cock, swollen and stiff, head a lovely shade of red, reminds him of how fucking hard he is right now, too. How painfully, painfully hard he is for this boy. How hard he’s always going to be for him.
But John is fighting him again, fist clenching. “I’m not...”
“Turn around!” the captain roars, crashing back down on his boy, feeling a slight thrill race through him at the moment of insubordination, at how he gets to throw John back around and slam him, chest-down, onto the desk, papers scattering everywhere. And this time, that hand on John’s neck is actually forcing him down, really holding him flat. He drives a knee into the back of his lover’s, leveraging his weight even as he starts fighting with his own clothes. “What the fuck gives you the right to move until I tell you?!”
“I an not a fag!” John yells back up, struggling now
“You are whatever I fucking say you are, lieutenant!” Russ snaps with as much anger as he can muster. But it’s tough. He needs John. Right the hell now. And it’s a relief, an absolute relief, when he finally gets his own erection free. Free to slide right up between John’s cheeks. Feel the younger man push back into in. "Do not lie to me!"
"Sir..."
“Only one way to deal with fags like you, Smith. Only one way...”
“No! No! Fuck, I’m not...”
Russ chuckles and takes himself in hand, aiming just right, rubbing his own drooling cockhead right over John’s entrance. Teasing him, sure, but also making sure the younger man’s held up his end of this game, that he’s prepped ahead of time. He didn’t, once, and Russ gave him hell for it. Hurting John is something he’s really not into, but John, in his eagerness to see his plan come together, sometimes forgets the details.
Not tonight, though. Tonight, he’s good to go.
“You are, Smith. You want my cock up your ass so bad you can't even think, can you?” the captain growls, right in his lover’s ear, savoring the gasp he gets in return. “Let me show you...”
John groans.
Which is permission enough.
To drive all the way in, in one, long, unending push.
John screams.
Russ pulls close to his ear again, letting his hands stray around the kid’s trim waist, pulling him back even harder, savoring the feeling of being buried in his lover’s ass, tonguing up a bead of sweat trickling down behind his ear. “Tell me you love it, lieutenant. Tell me you love my cock.”
“N-nno, never...” the younger man groans, voice shaking.
He’s still a little tight, always leaves himself a little tight. Tight and slick and hot, welcoming Russ in to his very core, and the captain fists up a handful of BDU collar. Takes a good grip of his boy’s trembling hip. He can feel the need thrumming through his lover, knows him inside and out, knows everything he wants, everything he needs, everything... no matter how much of a mystery John’s swift mind is to him, Russ always, always knows his heart.
So right now, he keeps very, very still.
Like John wants him to.
“Tell me,” he orders. “Fucking say it, lieutenant!”
“Fuck, sir, I...”
“Come on,” Russ croons, “come on, Smith, say it.” He sways his hips, just a bit, kissing along the straining vein of John’s neck. “Say it, el-tee.”
“Nn-no-oo, no, I can-n’t...”
Russ smacks him again lightly, thrusts once and then takes that huge, heavy, hard cock in hand, thumb and index finger encircling the head, twisting lightly. “Beg me, John, and I’ll give you want you need.”
“Captain...” his boy pleads.
He kisses him softly, feeling nothing but love for the man in his arms. Love for his man. His. No one else’s.
His.
And that thought alone nearly snaps his self-control. But tonight is all about self-control, all about John giving over to him, John surrendering, and there’s nothing in the world that would make Russ betray the trust this extraordinary man holds in him, to let him have such a thing. So he holds himself back. Barely. For now.
“Say it, just say it lieutenant,” he murmurs, feral, voice hot.
John moans, “say...say w-what?”
“Say you’re mine,” he growls, thrusting harder now, his body responding to John’s. Yeah. Hot. Hotter than hell, wonderfully so. “Be mine, John, my boy...”
The younger man cranes his neck back, entire back arching as he does so, and reaches around for Russ’ hand where it’s clenched down on that hip with bruising force. “C-captain, captain... please...” he moans as he twists his fingers into Russ’. His palm’s sweating. “Please, sir...”
“Please. What?”
A flush spreads all the way around John’s neck as he answers, “w-want, want your, your c-cock, want to be your boy...”
That’s it. That’s it, right there, and Russ pulls out, John moaning and trying to push back on his cock, find it again. But he’s not in charge here.
Russ is.
“Right answer,” he growls, and slams right back in.
He sets an unbearable pace. Unbearable. The friction is unbelievable, all those tiny interior muscles grabbing at him, trying to hold Russ in, pulling him deeper. There’s nothing gentle about this, no, nothing at all. They’re both far, far too keyed up for anything less than brutal, which is the whole point of nights like this, really, and the captain is more than happy to answer every cry he’s ripping from John throat with another, harder, faster drive inward.
He’s got his hand around John’s cock, right at the base, not moving it but fucking his boy on his hand with every forward push, and he can feel the kid’s balls already starting to draw up, the coil curling to breaking tension in his own gut, and it’s not going to take long, not long at all... He’s biting, too, biting, but he can’t bite that perfect column of neck in front of him, not even now would he violate this thing between them with such a mark, so he tastes his own blood from the back of his hand.
John’s begging now, keening loud and clear, babbling, a whole string of nonsense, mostly fuck me, fuck me or I need you, captain, captain, please or feels so good, boss, but it’s that final wail of Russ, Russ, please! that finally snaps everything apart in his head, and he lunges forward, falling, caught by John’s body, everything caught up in that, pulsing deeper and deeper into his boy, filling him, claiming him, claiming him, even as John’s coating the desk in front of them with his own release, hot and long and wonderful...
And when he finally pitches forward completely, nerves too shattered to tell his muscles to hold him up any longer, it’s into John’s arms that he collapses, both of them hitting the floor in a sweaty, panting, sated pile. And very dimly, very, very dimly, he feels big hands combing through his hair, murmuring words as he drifts on the haze of his orgasm, kissing that badly abused spot on the back of Russ’ hand, licking lightly.
He stirs enough to turn into that, pull his lieutenant closer to him, rubbing that still-exposed belly. Turns that chin, taking John’s mouth with his the way he loves it, long and slow and sweet, nothing to this kiss but affirmation. Reassurance. Telling John that no matter what game they play, no matter how submissive or broken or begging he gets, that he’s valued. Respected. Cherished.
Loved, maybe, although there are some things too far deep to say. Too intimate, even for what they have together. Lest it all fall apart. If he oversteps himself and loses his lieutenant, his soldier, his boy, his John... and he can’t imagine his life without him. There’s no way.
“You’re amazing,” the younger man replies, playing with some of Russ’ pale hair, blue eyes fixed on him as they lie there next to each other. Not cuddling, never that, but close enough. Always close. “You know that, right, Russ? That you’re amazing...”
“You bring it out in me. There’s never anyone like you before, John,” he says back, stroking his boy’s fine cheek, dried sweat meeting the pads of his fingers. “Never.”
There’s something impossibly warm in those steel-blue eyes. Something that makes Russ think he can almost say it, that little I love you that’s been on the tip of his tongue since this whole thing started. He feels it. He’s pretty goddamn sure John feels it, too...
And then John starts laughing.
“What?” Russ asks.
“This is some pretty gay shit right here,” the younger man says, playing with the captain’s buttons. “Right, boss?”
“I’ll show you gay,” Russ says, moving up to straddle John, squeezing his knees down, hand flopping up on the desk for his cigarettes and the lighter. “Little fairy smartass.”
John just yawns sleepily and stretches long arms up and behind his head. “You gonna fuck me again, boss?”
“Sure,” Russ says, tapping a pair of Marlboros out of the pack, holding them in his mouth, cupping his hand around both as he lights them up. He offers one to his lover, their fingers meeting as John takes it from him. “Gonna take you home and do you all sweet and delicate and loving, like you're a goddamn woman...”
John laughs harder.
“C’mon sweetcheeks,” the older man says, swinging off John with another smack of his delectable ass as he stands. “Let’s get you back to your silk sheets and feather pillows.”
“Fuck you,” John says without any anger at all, staring up at him, arms back, hair destroyed, smoking that damn cigarette. Russ feels his cock, still out against the rough fabric of his BDUs, twitch. He’s thinking about what an oral fixation his boy has, how much he likes sucking....
“Oh, that’s the idea,” Russ smirks, offering the lieutenant a hand up, foot on his boot for better leverage, and pulls John up.
A little off-balance, his lover falls into his arms for a moment, and smiles at him sheepishly as he starts pulling his uniform back together. “That’s a terrible joke, Russ.”
“Can’t resist,” the captain replies, staring into those blue, blue eyes for a moment before pulling away again, nothing but fragrant smoke between them. “Can’t ever resist...”
“Russ,” John says quickly, grabbing out for him and pulling him back around, even as Russ is buttoning himself up. “Russ, look, sir, I...I...I... oh, fuck, I mean...”
I love you.
Russ can hear it. He can hear everything. All the emotion they’ll never give voice to. Because they're soldiers. Because they're Rangers. Because they're men. Because this is everything they aren't supposed to be. Not supposed to want.
Some things they can't have. Some things they just can't say.
Not yet anyway. Maybe someday.
Someday.
So he kisses his boy again. “I know, John. Me too.”
And based on that smile he’s getting in return, Russ figures that someday, when it comes, is going to be a very, very good day.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: rough sex
Summary: A fill for this prompt over at the kink meme
Okay, so. I don't tend to dream much, but today I kind of rose from the depths of sleep with this image in my head, of young!Russ bending evenyounger!John over his desk, and John being all vocal and needy and ohohsirfuckmesir, and maybe some rank-play thrown in, maybe Morrison is pretending to discipline him, maybe John's been winding him up just knowing what's going to happen when he snaps...
I guess with what I'm writing now, my brain really wants some non-angsty Russ/John with no hints of what's to come.
Russ loves the nights when John wants to play.
a/n: basically a sequel to Hunting, but not the one I’ve been asked for. Yet
When it comes to John, Russ has never had a second thought.
The boy's, in a word, beautiful. Not beautiful in a conventional kind of sense. No. He's tall, still gangly, like even at twenty-six he hasn't grown in to that lean, long body of his. His nose is a little crooked, the result of that first mission in Afghanistan, wasn't set right by the clinic in Turkey. He's not the most ripped guy Russ has ever encountered in the Rangers, no paragon of the male physique.
But he's...elegant, maybe. All sharp thoughts and smooth movements, his lieutenant, running or fucking or killing or reading or smoking a cigar. Everything he does has a kind of unconscious, unaware grace to it, and there's something about that mixture of grace and innocent and intelligence that turns Russ' cock to steel, every single time.
And, the captain suspects, John knows it.
Knows exactly what the fuck he's doing.
Right the fuck now.
He takes another look at the kid, standing at ease on the other side of a big expanse of cheap particle-board desktop, and reaches for the cigarette smoldering away in its tray. "Want to explain to me why I'm still at work, el-tee?"
"Sorry it's late, sir," the kid drawls, the gray folder containing his report on their last mission sitting unobtrusively on the corner of Russ' desk. The captain hates paperwork. Hates doing it. Hates having to stay late at the office to get it done. He'd rather be home, cracking beers and lighting up the good Thursday night cigars, eating bad Chinese take-out from that place down the street, watching some crappy movie on HBO with John until one of them breaks... "Took me a little longer than I thought."
"I told you to have this to me by close of business," he sighs, reaching for the folder. It's all in order, everything filled out in black pen, tiny letter, John's steady, reliable hand. A major part of the paperwork he's got to have filed tomorrow morning, 0900 sharp. And he's still got a ton of stuff to compile. "It's nearly eighteen-hundred."
"Y'know, lots of little boxes on those forms, captain," his boy says, eyes glittering. Russ stares at him for a moment, considering that look. He's seen that look before. Knows it all too well. And he realizes, brain and cock at the same goddamn time, what the play is here.
And yeah, yeah. He's game. He's always game. For anything his John wants, anything he needs. And John always, always, wants to be...
"Too complicated for you, lieutenant?" Russ practically growls around his cigarette, one last good inhale, and then he's grinding it out in the ashtray, standing up, watching John shift a little in his stance. "Stop squirming," he orders.
Those high cheekbones flush, just a little. "Yes sir."
"You'd think I could trust one of my chalk leaders to know how to fill out a couple of forms," he continues, coming around the edge of the desk, and John shuffles back a bit, just enough so Russ can get in font of him. Right in his face. "Apparently not, eh?"
"I am just a lieutenant," John prompts, clearly trying not to smile.
They're so close Russ can feel the boy's body heat through all the layers of uniform. He's half-hard already and knows John probably is, too. The boy loves it like this, loves being dominated, loves, Russ suspects, being able to let go, not be the legend he's already growing into, not being anything other than his lover, his beloved. "Trying to pull that card, are we, el-tee?"
"No, sir," the younger officer lies, a little breathless.
"You have to start learning to take responsibility for your own goddamn mistakes," the captain continues, in that bored voice he usually reserves for discipline sessions for his soldiers. Drives John wild, though, nights like this. "Face the consequences when you fuck up."
"Sir, I..."
Oh, the boy's definitely into it, Russ muses. Definitely getting excited. They both know what's coming, and it never fails to amaze him how much this extraordinary young man needs it. Begs for it. Begs for him, his captain...
"No more excuses, Smith," Russ snaps, moving off to the side and going for another cigarette and his lighter. "Don't want to fucking hear it right now. You know what the punishment is for missing suspenses..."
John feigns shock. "No, boss, please, not that..."
"Should have thought of that before, John." He taps a slender Marlboro out of the white carton, watching John watching him as he messes with the lighter, coaxing the tobacco awake. "Assume the position. Right the fuck now."
Those big hands hit the front edge of his desk, BDU blouse stretching tight between quivering shoulder blades, ass pushed out in clear invitation. He's still trying to talk, though. It's that brain of his. Does a hundred miles an hour around the corners, faster on the straights, never, ever stopping. “Captain, I...”
“Shut up, Smith,” the older man grumbles.
“But...”
Russ lunges forward, quick, cigarette between his fingers, and grabs a handful of that smooth chestnut hair, jerking his lover’s head back, pulling his ear up to his mouth, biting lightly along that fine shell as he talks, tasting John's willingness, all his need. “You are in so much trouble already, lieutenant. Stop. Talking. Now. Before you make it worse for yourself.”
John shivers. “Boss, please...”
Russ knows better than to stop.
But John loves playing games. All kinds of games. Russ had no idea, that hot morning at Incirlik when he claimed his lieutenant in that narrow dorm bed, what exactly he was getting into with him. Always, always eager to play.
This is his favorite game.
And that, giving his boy what he wants, Russ has found, tends to make it all that much better. For both of them. There’s just something so, so delicious about hearing that little word, that little...
“Please? You better not starting begging for me to go light on you tonight, lieutenant,” he growls, releasing the younger man’s head with a snap of his wrist, letting his hands trail down heaving ribs, gripping tight, and slams his hips forward, cock hard as steel in his own pants. “You going soft on me?”
“N-no, no sir,” John gasps as Russ bucks into him. Letting his lieutenant feel how much he’s needed.
“I think you are,” the captain says casually, like it doesn’t matter, and slams forward again. He brings that cigarette back up to his lips, looping his other hand into John’s belt ad he continues thrusting lightly. “I think you’ve got no idea how a Ranger’s supposed to take it.”
“No, sir!” John says defiantly, and there’s some real heat behind that.
Russ chuckles, and jams into his lieutenant, properly dry-humping the kid as he clenches that cigarette in his teeth and unthreads John’s belt, undoes his buttons, one by one.
“You’re tellin’ me you gonna take your punishment, then, lieutenant?” He slides his calloused palm across the front of white briefs, that magnificent cock trembling underneath. John’s hung like a horse, he really is. That’s one reason he’s never let the boy top him.
“Sir...”
And this, this is the other. How much he loves it, shameful as it is, being able to pull rank on this man. Being able to show him, irrevokably and unmistakably, who owns his tight ass, how loved he is, being able to feel every ounce of the trust the kid has in him, letting Russ take him like this...
“Complete sentences, el-tee!” he barks, driving down with the heel of his hand as he pushes his hips forward again.
“Yes...yes sir!” John almost wails. “I’m going to take my punishment.”
“Of course you are,” Russ says, and dives into the younger man’s briefs, tearing them down with one hand as he goes back to the cigarette with his other. Caresses one of those now-exposed cheeks for good measure, pinching just a bit. “You don’t have a choice in the matter.”
“Sir, it’s...”
“Lieutenant Smith,” Russ groans dramatically as he winds his hand back, blowing out a sweet lungful of smoke at the same time, “shut your goddamn pie hole.”
“Captain, wait, no, I...”
Oh, no. No no no. No more of that. Time to take control of the situation, Morrison, he tells himself, and comes down. Hard.
SMACK.
And the strangled yelp that tears loose from John is the best thing Russ has heard all goddamn day.
Russ knows better than to give John much, if any time, to recover, but he can’t help but pause to admire that bright red mark his hand left on that muscular asscheek. He runs his palm lightly over the smarting skin and smiles to himself as the lieutenant pushes back into it, just a bit.
“Now that’s a much better sound outta you,” the older man says, pulling his hand off, the tips of his fingers stroking up in that way that John really, really likes. “Let’s see if you can make it again.”
“Sir...”
SMACK.
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
Russ doesn’t go easy on the kid. There’s no reason to. John can take it - John better fucking taking it, he thinks to himself, raining open-handed blows down on his lover’s ass, always in a different spot and with absolutely no cadence to it at all. The captain occasionally pauses to listen to the growing whimpers and desperate little pleas for mercy, to shake out his hand or take another good drag on that cigarette.
SMACK.
“Sir, fuck, it hurts...”
It’s part of the game, so Russ grins to himself and switches hands, leaning forward with the cigarette in his slightly numb right fingers. “You should have thought of that before, lieutenant,” he hisses, and lets that hand close down around the back of his boy’s neck, forcing his upper body even more down, his back almost horizontal now, fighting just a little.
Can’t have that, either.
SMACK.
They’re both Rangers, and while liking pain isn’t exactly a job requirement, it doesn’t hurt anything. And they’ve fucked almost everywhere at this point, in the gym showers, on missions, when one of them was recovering from some injury, in his office, just like this. Dirty places, or places where they’re likely to get caught. High-risk sex, John calls it, and that seems to be his favorite kink of all.
Russ, for his part, hasn’t ever had a fellow officer as a lover. Bringing that aspect of his life into the bedroom, or wherever the fuck else they happen to be, is only one of the many, many fringe benefits of this thing with John.
SMACK. SMACKSMACK. SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK.
John cries out at that last one, loud and almost in pain, knuckles white on the edge of the table. They have an agreement, he and John, about the level that these things can go to, that the younger man can shudder and beg and plead and protest, but the second he says stop, they stop. Russ suggested a safe word, the first time John asked him for this, but his lieutenant just snorted and said that was for pussies.
He’s never, ever, said it.
Russ, however, likes to be certain. Wants it to be good for his boy. Always wants that. So, right now, he stops.
“You like this, don’t you, lieutenant? You like getting held down. Fucking love it. Look at you,” he says contemptuously, going back to his cigarette, which is basically done for at this point. One last puff and he’s crushing it out in the ashtray, pressing against the sweating curve of Hannibal’s spine as he goes, pushing the heavy uniform up. For John’s part, his eyes are clearly tracking on that spent stick. Why the kid likes it, Russ’ll never know, but it’s a helluva lot of fun. Like everything is with this man... “You’re practically begging for it.”
“No, I’m not...” John grinds out, arms shaking, just a little.
Russ licks up his neck as he comes back from the tray, listening to short, sharp breaths shudder through that fine, fine body. It all gives him time to gauge the kid’s physical state. If he’s into it, or if he’s starting to... but that monster cock of his is rock hard. Leaking. Pulsing so, so hot in Russ’ grasp, and he grins as he gives it a good rough tug. “Oh, what’s this?” he asks, feigning surprise.
“Nothing,” John groans, and his forehead hits the desk, right between his hands.
It’s a beautiful, beautiful sight.
“You’re such a bad lieutenant, Smith. Only the bad ones like getting punished,” he tells him, pulling in short, sharp jerks now, grabbing the kid’s hair again, jerking his head back to bite at the soft skin of his throat. “You like getting punished, el-tee?”
“I...I...”
“Because I think you did this to piss me off. I think you wanted this.”
“No, no, s-sir...” John protests, actually a little angry, and Russ makes a mental note to speak to him about that later.
“Slut,” he hisses for now, sucking for a second, not hard enough to raise a mark, and John gasps. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re a slut for cock, el-tee.”
“Captain...”
“What the fuck is a fag like you doing in my army, huh?” Russ says, slipping his hand around to cup John’s balls, rolling lightly. “Fuckin’ disgrace...”
The kid bucks back into him, body reacting automatically, wanting more contact. He moans, words almost there, and Russ shakes his head, pressing his thumb right into John’s perineum as he does so, stroking. “Enunciate, goddamn it!” he orders.
“Don’t...don’t,” John pants, “don’t... want to disappoint you, sir...”
“Taking cock, that’s all you’re good for,” Russ says, letting go now and backing away, just a little, just enough. "All you want, isn't it, slut?"
John turns around with a groan, and fuck, the captain thinks, if that isn’t a delicious sight. Clever fingers flexing of their own accord, lightly tanned skin flushed, arousal and embarrassment fighting across the younger man’s face, uniform disheveled, shoved down his long, lean thighs, caught up around black boots. And his cock, swollen and stiff, head a lovely shade of red, reminds him of how fucking hard he is right now, too. How painfully, painfully hard he is for this boy. How hard he’s always going to be for him.
But John is fighting him again, fist clenching. “I’m not...”
“Turn around!” the captain roars, crashing back down on his boy, feeling a slight thrill race through him at the moment of insubordination, at how he gets to throw John back around and slam him, chest-down, onto the desk, papers scattering everywhere. And this time, that hand on John’s neck is actually forcing him down, really holding him flat. He drives a knee into the back of his lover’s, leveraging his weight even as he starts fighting with his own clothes. “What the fuck gives you the right to move until I tell you?!”
“I an not a fag!” John yells back up, struggling now
“You are whatever I fucking say you are, lieutenant!” Russ snaps with as much anger as he can muster. But it’s tough. He needs John. Right the hell now. And it’s a relief, an absolute relief, when he finally gets his own erection free. Free to slide right up between John’s cheeks. Feel the younger man push back into in. "Do not lie to me!"
"Sir..."
“Only one way to deal with fags like you, Smith. Only one way...”
“No! No! Fuck, I’m not...”
Russ chuckles and takes himself in hand, aiming just right, rubbing his own drooling cockhead right over John’s entrance. Teasing him, sure, but also making sure the younger man’s held up his end of this game, that he’s prepped ahead of time. He didn’t, once, and Russ gave him hell for it. Hurting John is something he’s really not into, but John, in his eagerness to see his plan come together, sometimes forgets the details.
Not tonight, though. Tonight, he’s good to go.
“You are, Smith. You want my cock up your ass so bad you can't even think, can you?” the captain growls, right in his lover’s ear, savoring the gasp he gets in return. “Let me show you...”
John groans.
Which is permission enough.
To drive all the way in, in one, long, unending push.
John screams.
Russ pulls close to his ear again, letting his hands stray around the kid’s trim waist, pulling him back even harder, savoring the feeling of being buried in his lover’s ass, tonguing up a bead of sweat trickling down behind his ear. “Tell me you love it, lieutenant. Tell me you love my cock.”
“N-nno, never...” the younger man groans, voice shaking.
He’s still a little tight, always leaves himself a little tight. Tight and slick and hot, welcoming Russ in to his very core, and the captain fists up a handful of BDU collar. Takes a good grip of his boy’s trembling hip. He can feel the need thrumming through his lover, knows him inside and out, knows everything he wants, everything he needs, everything... no matter how much of a mystery John’s swift mind is to him, Russ always, always knows his heart.
So right now, he keeps very, very still.
Like John wants him to.
“Tell me,” he orders. “Fucking say it, lieutenant!”
“Fuck, sir, I...”
“Come on,” Russ croons, “come on, Smith, say it.” He sways his hips, just a bit, kissing along the straining vein of John’s neck. “Say it, el-tee.”
“Nn-no-oo, no, I can-n’t...”
Russ smacks him again lightly, thrusts once and then takes that huge, heavy, hard cock in hand, thumb and index finger encircling the head, twisting lightly. “Beg me, John, and I’ll give you want you need.”
“Captain...” his boy pleads.
He kisses him softly, feeling nothing but love for the man in his arms. Love for his man. His. No one else’s.
His.
And that thought alone nearly snaps his self-control. But tonight is all about self-control, all about John giving over to him, John surrendering, and there’s nothing in the world that would make Russ betray the trust this extraordinary man holds in him, to let him have such a thing. So he holds himself back. Barely. For now.
“Say it, just say it lieutenant,” he murmurs, feral, voice hot.
John moans, “say...say w-what?”
“Say you’re mine,” he growls, thrusting harder now, his body responding to John’s. Yeah. Hot. Hotter than hell, wonderfully so. “Be mine, John, my boy...”
The younger man cranes his neck back, entire back arching as he does so, and reaches around for Russ’ hand where it’s clenched down on that hip with bruising force. “C-captain, captain... please...” he moans as he twists his fingers into Russ’. His palm’s sweating. “Please, sir...”
“Please. What?”
A flush spreads all the way around John’s neck as he answers, “w-want, want your, your c-cock, want to be your boy...”
That’s it. That’s it, right there, and Russ pulls out, John moaning and trying to push back on his cock, find it again. But he’s not in charge here.
Russ is.
“Right answer,” he growls, and slams right back in.
He sets an unbearable pace. Unbearable. The friction is unbelievable, all those tiny interior muscles grabbing at him, trying to hold Russ in, pulling him deeper. There’s nothing gentle about this, no, nothing at all. They’re both far, far too keyed up for anything less than brutal, which is the whole point of nights like this, really, and the captain is more than happy to answer every cry he’s ripping from John throat with another, harder, faster drive inward.
He’s got his hand around John’s cock, right at the base, not moving it but fucking his boy on his hand with every forward push, and he can feel the kid’s balls already starting to draw up, the coil curling to breaking tension in his own gut, and it’s not going to take long, not long at all... He’s biting, too, biting, but he can’t bite that perfect column of neck in front of him, not even now would he violate this thing between them with such a mark, so he tastes his own blood from the back of his hand.
John’s begging now, keening loud and clear, babbling, a whole string of nonsense, mostly fuck me, fuck me or I need you, captain, captain, please or feels so good, boss, but it’s that final wail of Russ, Russ, please! that finally snaps everything apart in his head, and he lunges forward, falling, caught by John’s body, everything caught up in that, pulsing deeper and deeper into his boy, filling him, claiming him, claiming him, even as John’s coating the desk in front of them with his own release, hot and long and wonderful...
And when he finally pitches forward completely, nerves too shattered to tell his muscles to hold him up any longer, it’s into John’s arms that he collapses, both of them hitting the floor in a sweaty, panting, sated pile. And very dimly, very, very dimly, he feels big hands combing through his hair, murmuring words as he drifts on the haze of his orgasm, kissing that badly abused spot on the back of Russ’ hand, licking lightly.
He stirs enough to turn into that, pull his lieutenant closer to him, rubbing that still-exposed belly. Turns that chin, taking John’s mouth with his the way he loves it, long and slow and sweet, nothing to this kiss but affirmation. Reassurance. Telling John that no matter what game they play, no matter how submissive or broken or begging he gets, that he’s valued. Respected. Cherished.
Loved, maybe, although there are some things too far deep to say. Too intimate, even for what they have together. Lest it all fall apart. If he oversteps himself and loses his lieutenant, his soldier, his boy, his John... and he can’t imagine his life without him. There’s no way.
“You’re amazing,” the younger man replies, playing with some of Russ’ pale hair, blue eyes fixed on him as they lie there next to each other. Not cuddling, never that, but close enough. Always close. “You know that, right, Russ? That you’re amazing...”
“You bring it out in me. There’s never anyone like you before, John,” he says back, stroking his boy’s fine cheek, dried sweat meeting the pads of his fingers. “Never.”
There’s something impossibly warm in those steel-blue eyes. Something that makes Russ think he can almost say it, that little I love you that’s been on the tip of his tongue since this whole thing started. He feels it. He’s pretty goddamn sure John feels it, too...
And then John starts laughing.
“What?” Russ asks.
“This is some pretty gay shit right here,” the younger man says, playing with the captain’s buttons. “Right, boss?”
“I’ll show you gay,” Russ says, moving up to straddle John, squeezing his knees down, hand flopping up on the desk for his cigarettes and the lighter. “Little fairy smartass.”
John just yawns sleepily and stretches long arms up and behind his head. “You gonna fuck me again, boss?”
“Sure,” Russ says, tapping a pair of Marlboros out of the pack, holding them in his mouth, cupping his hand around both as he lights them up. He offers one to his lover, their fingers meeting as John takes it from him. “Gonna take you home and do you all sweet and delicate and loving, like you're a goddamn woman...”
John laughs harder.
“C’mon sweetcheeks,” the older man says, swinging off John with another smack of his delectable ass as he stands. “Let’s get you back to your silk sheets and feather pillows.”
“Fuck you,” John says without any anger at all, staring up at him, arms back, hair destroyed, smoking that damn cigarette. Russ feels his cock, still out against the rough fabric of his BDUs, twitch. He’s thinking about what an oral fixation his boy has, how much he likes sucking....
“Oh, that’s the idea,” Russ smirks, offering the lieutenant a hand up, foot on his boot for better leverage, and pulls John up.
A little off-balance, his lover falls into his arms for a moment, and smiles at him sheepishly as he starts pulling his uniform back together. “That’s a terrible joke, Russ.”
“Can’t resist,” the captain replies, staring into those blue, blue eyes for a moment before pulling away again, nothing but fragrant smoke between them. “Can’t ever resist...”
“Russ,” John says quickly, grabbing out for him and pulling him back around, even as Russ is buttoning himself up. “Russ, look, sir, I...I...I... oh, fuck, I mean...”
I love you.
Russ can hear it. He can hear everything. All the emotion they’ll never give voice to. Because they're soldiers. Because they're Rangers. Because they're men. Because this is everything they aren't supposed to be. Not supposed to want.
Some things they can't have. Some things they just can't say.
Not yet anyway. Maybe someday.
Someday.
So he kisses his boy again. “I know, John. Me too.”
And based on that smile he’s getting in return, Russ figures that someday, when it comes, is going to be a very, very good day.
