Work Text:
He’s kneeling at the foot of the bed, waiting patiently for them. He’s wearing nothing but his underwear, yet strangely he doesn’t feel cold. He sets his hands on his thighs, tapping out a rhythm he’s never heard, but somehow recognizes.
The door opens, and they walk in, holding a collar and a leash. He stops tapping his hands. From where he sits, he’d have to look up at them to see their face.
Instead, he bows his head. Docile. Obedient. He stares at the ground as they fasten the collar to his neck, and the leash to the collar. The click sound is oddly satisfying to him. It echoes in the quiet bedroom.
They tug on the leash, pulling him forward. He starts to stand up.
“No.” Their voice sounds… strange, but he can’t quite place it. He kneels back down, walking on all fours towards them. They pull him around the bed, and sit down on the side. He waits.
“Sit.” He does. “Stay.” He would do anything they commanded him to without question.
His eyes rake across their body, down, and up, stopping below their face. He won’t, or can’t look them in the eye. It doesn’t feel right.
Instead, he focuses intently on their hand, watching it reach for their zipper and dragging it down. They’re efficient, not bothering to put on a show. The front of their flight suit opens, exposing their underwear and T-shirt. His eyes fall straight to their crotch, to the outline of their cock pressing against their underwear. He feels heat flow through his entire body, and his mouth waters, but he stays still, like they asked.
He hears them chuckle. “Eager?” He swallows, nodding. Their voice… It’s almost like an echo of his own, with radio static and a sort of distance to it. They aren’t wearing a helmet, are they? That wouldn’t make any sense.
He’s pulled out of his speculation by a tug on the leash, pulling him up towards their lap. He settles his hands on their thighs. One hand finds its way to the back of his head, pushing him down to where they want him.
He rubs his cheek against them a few times, mouthing gently at their length through their underwear. He feels them subtly rolling their hips against his face and hears a soft groan come from them, barely audible. He reaches for their waistband, but hesitates. His hands hover, trembling slightly.
“Go ahead,” they say. Again, their voice…! Like a projection of his own.
He obeys, dragging their underwear down as far as he can, exposing them to the air of the bedroom. He hesitates again.
He can almost feel their eyes rolling, despite being unable to see their face. “What are you waiting for? You know what to do.” And then, quieter, so quietly that he has to strain to hear it, “who’s the dog now?”
Another flush of heat through him, straight to his groin. He almost whines.
Another huff of impatience from above him. He settles his hands back on their thighs, and calculates how he wants to go about this. He licks a few times from the base to the tip, relishing the soft sounds that come from their mouth, before wrapping his lips around the head. He begins to sink down slowly, taking their whole length down to the hilt.
He can feel them trying to restrain themselves from thrusting up into his mouth, but when they speak, their voice is still firm. “Good dog.” they say, rubbing the back of his head. He really does whine this time, though it’s muffled and comes mostly out of his nose.
They stay mostly still, allowing him to move at his own pace. He bobs his head, slowly moving up and down the length of their cock. Despite their stillness, he can still feel the way their hips roll slightly up to meet him as he comes down. They grip his hair, softly pushing him down, but they’re not rough. It’s… surprisingly tender. He wishes they would be rougher with him.
Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, as if they could hear his thoughts, they grip him harder. The next time he brings his head down, they give a rough thrust into his mouth. They grab his hair with both hands, using them to move him up and down as they fuck his mouth.
It takes no time at all for him to adjust to the speed change. He doesn’t even choke. He lets out a muffled moan around them, heat once again flowing through his entire body. He loves it when they use him like this; he’s more aroused than he’s ever felt in his life.
He grips their thighs harder to keep from reaching to take care of his own erection. He knows they wouldn’t like that. He needs to obey them, and patiently wait his turn.
They speed up again, and he can tell they’re close. He can hear them panting above him, breaths growing heavier and faster. Still, he doesn’t choke or gag, taking every inch of them like he was made for it.
There’s one particularly rough thrust, and they reach their peak with a restrained sound, releasing down his throat. He takes all of it without question. When they pull out, they don’t have to hold his mouth closed, don’t have to tell him to swallow. He does so without being asked.
“Good dog,” they praise him again in that projected voice, sending another wave of arousal through him. He sits back on his knees, awaiting their next order. His fists are clenched, and the pressure in his groin is enough to make him dizzy, but still he waits. Waits like the obedient dog he is.
They tuck themselves away, and tug on his leash once again, pulling him all the way up into their lap. He’s straddling one of their thighs. He lets out a small whimper as they pull him forward, encouraging him to grind against their leg. While one of their hands still holds the leash, the other wraps around his hips, helping him move back and forth.
He can’t help himself, rocking his hips faster and faster, trying to stifle the sounds coming out of his mouth with the back of his hand.
They remove their hand from his hip and pull his hand away. “No.” They say simply. He nods, swallowing roughly, wrapping his arms around their shoulders.
The added grip allows him to move even faster, and he loses himself in the sensation. Nothing else exists except for them. So close. So fucking close. His eyes are squeezed shut with pleasure.
“Look at me,” he hears them say. His eyes remain shut; he’s still chasing his release.
“Look at me,” they repeat. He can’t, he wants to say.
They grab his chin roughly, tilting it towards their face. “Look at me, Crimson One.”
He opens his eyes.
“...Monarch,” he gasps, staring right at their face as he reaches his climax.
He wakes up.
—
Crimson One’s eyes shoot open. The first thing he notices is the light shining in through the window. He groans and tries to pull the blankets over his eyes.
The second thing that he notices is that his underwear, along with a spot on the pillow his body was apparently wrapped around as he slept, are all wet and sticky. Fuck. He’d have to do laundry.
Which leads him to the third realization. He’d just dreamt about… “Mercenary dog…” he grumbles, horrified.
There is no way, no goddamn way that he’s just had that kind of dream about them. He tries to block it out of his memory, unsuccessfully.
He’d been so… submissive. Obedient. And clearly, he’d enjoyed it. Enjoyed it so much that he’d been grinding against his pillow in his sleep, apparently.
He wants to feel disgusted. If anyone asked him, that’s what he’d say he felt.
He doesn’t have any time to ponder how he truly feels about it, though. He has to get the laundry done and change out of these clothes before his squadron wakes up, or somebody comes into his quarters and sees his mess.
“Ugh…” He cringes, climbing out of the ruined underwear and rolling up the sheets. He’ll think about the implications later.