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The compound bow felt unsteady in your hands. The stabilizer was doing its best to compensate for your awkward movements, your uncertainty behind the weapon, but you still kept bobbing and fucking up your shots. Your next one was no exception. You pulled the bowstring back, kisser button in the corner of your mouth, both eyes open. The arms bowed toward you: a full draw. You exhaled slowly and let the arrow fly, hitting the target, but it was nowhere near where it needed to be. The frustration left you in a groan that turned into a loud, pointed cry that echoed through the shooting gallery.
“You know what your problem is, rookie.”
The moniker only served to rile your annoyance further. Normally, it was something that didn’t bother you. You were the rookie, plain and simple, the newest addition to the unit. But right now, in this pitiful sting of anger, it felt like a barb coming from your superior.
“It’s this fucking bow–”
“Wrong.”
Heavy footfalls drop against the floor of the range. Major Krauser stepped closer to you, his hands folded neatly behind his back. “It’s your form.” His bright blue eyes were hooded, brow furrowed and combing across the length of your body. It was purely professional, but it still sent an unintended shiver down your spine. “That, and…” Krauser’s lip curled up slightly. “You need to treat a bow like an extension of yourself.”
“All due respect, major, that sounds like a total crock.” Your voice was low, grumbling, not bothering to hide how pissed you were. Krauser should have slapped his palm across the back of your head. Instead, though, a laugh left his throat and it seemed neither of you were expecting the sound.
“Watch it, rookie.” The warning was clear, his voice a little firmer. But something about his tone seemed different. It made you turn to look at him. “I’m not bullshitting you.”
“So what, I’m supposed to wine and dine the goddamn thing?” You looked over the bow, twisting your hand so it was horizontal; you tilted your head with its movement, following the lines.
“I don’t care if you spend every night coming all over your hand while you think about it if it makes your aim better.” The comment was a bite, meant to dig at your pride and at your shoddy archery abilities, but all it did was send heat rushing between your thighs. You turned your face away from Krauser in hopes of hiding the slightly pink tinge you knew adorned your cheeks. "You can't treat a bow like a rifle. So stop trying , rookie."
A fresh wave of frustration bubbled in your chest, hot and prickling, and you gritted your teeth. "You said my form was shit, right? Let's start there." You nocked a new arrow, arm dragging back the bowstring again.
Krauser took another step closer. His hands, broad and rough, slid across your back. He pressed against your shoulders. "Don't bunch. Keep your movements loose." Krauser's left hand dragged down your left arm until he reached your elbow. "Locking your elbow screws with your aim. It also puts you at risk of getting snapped with the string. And that will hurt." His fingertips pushed into the well of your elbow until it buckled. Your arm relaxed at his insistent touches, a slight bend forming. "Good."
You flicked your gaze down to watch the way his fingers kept sliding along the length of your arm. His palm circled around your wrist. Your breath hitched just so, and you cleared your throat to hide it. Krauser either didn't notice or, more likely, didn't care. He straightened your wrist out. "Feels better, doesn't it?"
Krauser didn't need an answer, but you supplied one anyway. "Yeah. It does." The slight change to your wrist’s positioning took away the cord of tension running all the way up your arm. Krauser removed his hand, and your skin itched something fierce to have the touch return.
Krauser said nothing in response. His other hand found your right arm, the muscles taut as you kept the bowstring tight. Krauser pushed your arm down slightly. Then his hands wandered further. One laid against your stomach while the other mirrored its placement on the small of your back. Krauser made deliberate adjustments before he spoke, his mouth surprisingly close to your ear, "Widen your stance. Spread your legs."
The order was simple, borderline innocent. But after Krauser's earlier comment and the heat of the major's breath fanning over your skin, it only served to make your clit swell with arousal. However, you did as he said, feet planting further apart.
"You're looking better already. Maybe now you'll actually hit what you're aiming for, rookie."
The words were smooth, cool. A small smile played at the corner of your lips. You gave a little hum before offering a noncommittal, "Maybe."
Krauser kept his hands fixed on your torso, fingers flexing tighter against the fabric of your shirt. "Go ahead then. Take the shot."
Sparks licked down your spine at the grip. Your lips parted, and you released an exhale in a quick huff. The kisser button found its way back against your mouth. "That's it," came Krauser's growling encouragement. "Keep it anchored." Your eyelids fluttered slightly before you forced them completely open. The sight glowed red against the black and white target. "Fire on the inhale. Just like normal. And don't drop your arm until the arrow hits the target."
Your breath paused. An intake of breath. Krauser dug his nails against your flesh: a sharp wordless command. Now . Your fingers loosed the arrow. It thudded into the target. Not dead center, but damn close. You gave a sigh so hard your whole body folded. Eyes slipping shut, your head tilted back toward the ceiling. Krauser gave a pat to your back before his palms dropped away.
"Nice work." Krauser stepped away. You lowered the bow. You turned toward Krauser while rolling your shoulders. His blue eyes flicked across your figure before he jerked his chin down toward the target. "A few more. Come on."
"Yes, sir." You pulled another arrow from the hip quiver and nocked it, drawing back. There was a thud of disappointment in your gut when Krauser made no move to lay his hands on you again. You tried to push it from your mind as you fired. This arrow was a little less confident, going wide. Krauser made a noise in his chest.
"Don't get sloppy now, rookie." There was a sharp, shiny edge to his voice. It cut quick over your nerves. You'd learned the major well enough to know he only got bristly like this when a soldier was being stupid. And you were. You were thinking with your dick, and it was obvious.
"Sorry, sir."
Another arrow hit the target with a satisfying thwack. Then another. And another. Krauser made a gruff comment about your grouping, pleased you were keeping the arrows tight and consistent on the target. They just weren't where you wanted.
Finally, your quiver was empty. Krauser walked down the range with you. He started to pull the arrows free, passing them to you. You took them wordlessly as he spoke, "Today was good. But I know you can do better." A trace of that cutting edge still sat on the back of his voice. "We'll keep training. Same time. Every day."
"For how long?"
"Until I say otherwise." Krauser leveled his steely gaze with your own. It was clearly not something he was going to negotiate. But it wasn't like you were arguing. In fact, it was the opposite. Time alone with the major was definitely exciting in a handful of ways.
"Yes, sir."
The anger from earlier had completely dissipated, and it seemed Krauser could tell. A ghost of a smile pulled at his lips as he turned his head back to the target. His thumb traced over the pockmarks in the paper. He pinched it between his fingers, pulling it free, and passed it to you. "Keep this. To remember where you started." You took it from him. "Now get some rest, rookie. Long day tomorrow."
You nodded. "Thank you, major." A quick salute, a nod of dismissal, and you were hurrying out of the shooting range.
Your hands shook slightly as you stored the bow and arrows. You unclipped your hip quiver and hung it on the wall. You picked up the target paper and practically scurried down the hall to your quarters.
The door slammed shut behind you. Your back sagged against it. Your fingers clung to the paper target so tightly it crumpled, nearly tearing. Away from prying eyes, your free hand grabbed a fistful of your shirt and yanked it free from its tuck. Your hand slipped under your pants, fingertips lifting the waistband of your boxers until you dove deeper.
It was almost embarrassing how hard your clit was. Pulsing, swollen, begging for the attention you quickly gave. Quiet panting filled the air as your fingers moved in quick, harsh circles. With your eyes closed, all you could picture was the major's hand on your wrist, transferring the image to Krauser pinning you against your bed. A moan left your mouth. The hand gripping the target dropped it, opting inside to brace against the door as your other hand moved lower.
Wetness immediately coated your fingers as they moved over your soaked folds and down to your entrance. It was annoying to fight against the constricting fabric of your boxers and your pants, but you were too far gone, too fogged up to waste time with anything that wasn't fucking yourself.
Two of your fingers pressed inside quickly, made easy by the slick dripping from your cunt. Your head bumped against the door as you threw it back, face a twist of gritted teeth and furrowed brows. Your hips bucked up with each thrust of your fingers. You chased your orgasm with all the delicacy of a hand grenade, rutting and pumping like your life depended on it. The heel of your palm dragged over your clit as you curled your fingers deeper inside. But it wasn't enough and it was causing a pit in your stomach like despair.
Everything slowed for a second as you let your mind wander. Back to your imaginings of Krauser holding you down. The thought of his eyes, ever blue and piercing, watching you with the same intensity he gives you in training with his cock shoved deep in your pussy caused a shiver to roll pleasantly across your body. You wondered what he'd look like when he slid inside you for the first time, if he would curl his lip the way he does whenever he's concentrating. To feel his breath on you, hooked nose pressing against the skin of your neck, teeth flashing out to bruise–
Choking on a cry, you came hard. Your walls squeezed tight around your fingers until you thought you might break them. Your clit twitched against your palm with each wave of your release. Your knees buckled; your body slid down the door until you dropped. Sweat had started misting on your forehead without you noticing. Thighs shaking, you pulled your fingers free and slipped your hand out of your pants. You wiped yourself clean on the front of your shirt. You needed to change anyway.
After a long few minutes of sitting on the ground, wading between the simmering glow of pleasure and the embarrassment of what you'd done, you finally stood with a sigh. You stripped your clothes and made your way to the shower, the afterimages of the major flickering hot against the backs of your eyes.
The next day in training, the first arrow you loosed hit closer to the center than any of yesterday's.
Silence washed between you and Krauser. You glanced over to him and saw him already staring. His mouth was neutral, but one brow was lifted just slightly. There was something burning in his eyes. You lowered your bow.
"Where'd that come from, rookie?" His voice was low, his signature rasp just a touch breathier than normal.
You shrugged, looking away to draw back your next arrow. "Maybe I took your advice."
A little laugh over your shoulder. You smiled. The arrow sailed forward.
Training continued. Days turned into weeks as you spent your evenings with Major Krauser in the shooting gallery. And after every session, you would scramble back to your room and jam your fingers knuckle deep in your cunt until you were a whining, moaning mess. Your aim was improving, but as time pressed on, you were finding that your hand was losing its appeal. That worried you.
And sure enough, as the orgasms faltered so did your progress. You weren't getting better, and Krauser was just as frustrated as you were. After one particularly disappointing session, you slammed the bow down onto the metal bench in the shooting gallery and paced.
"You need to get your head out of your ass, rookie," Krauser growled, tracking you with his eyes. "You think because you were doing better you get to just slack off now? That's arrogant. Arrogance gets pretty boys like you killed in action."
Your angry stomps didn't slow, but you did take note of him calling you pretty. "I'm not slacking off. I'm just–"
"Just what?" His voice was brusque, demanding. Krauser folded his arms across his broad chest. "Don't give me excuses, give me results. "
In a flash of annoyance, you snatched the bow back up. The arrow clanged against the frame. Your movements were rough. You wore your emotions on your sleeve. You moved to fire again without even really looking, but a hand on your neck stopped you.
Krauser was nearly flush to your back. His palm had curled around your throat, tugging until your head was up straighter. "Get your shit together." It came out as a hiss right against the shell of your ear. You didn't even have time to react before he was moving again. His other hand gripped your hip and forced them to shift forward, correcting the curve of your spine. You couldn't stop the little noise that you made, a not-quite moan that bubbled and died before it left your lips. Your fingers released the bowstring in surprise. The arrow hit dead center.
Heat rushed up your face, but you were effectively held in place by Krauser. The hand at your neck moved first. You hoped he was taking it away, letting you go so you could die of embarrassment alone in your room. But he didn't. His palm tilted up to grip your bottom jaw, fingers hooking against your flesh until you thought it might bruise.
"Ain't that something." Krauser dipped his mouth even closer to your ear.
"I'm sorry, sir." You swallowed heavily, and your throat bobbed against his hand. Krauser could feel it, and his palm flexed in response. Krauser moved the hand on your hip; it crawled forward, fingertips prodding at your flexed abdomen.
“Sorry?” It was almost incredulous. His grip tightened again, and your back arched. Your eyes slipped shut as he rasped in your ear, “You should be sorry. I told you to do whatever it takes to get better. And you’ve been holding out on me, soldier.” With a slight shift forward, Krauser’s body slotted against yours. Your brain stopped working as you felt the unmistakable press of his hard cock against your ass.
“Sorry, sir,” you repeated, breathless and flustered. Excitement ran circles around your chest, squeezing your ribs until it felt like your lungs were going to burst open in a spray of red. You tried to calm your ever-quickening pulse. It was futile. Of course it was. Krauser smoothed his hand up your stomach; his palm splayed out wide when it reached your chest and tugged you tighter against him. The bow dropped from your hand, clattering loudly. You flinched. The last thing you needed was to get written up for damaging a weapon.
“It’s fine,” Krauser rumbled. “Accident. Right, rookie?” His lips found the curve of your neck as it dipped into your shoulder. The tip of his tongue darted out to lick the goosebumped flesh, and it pulled a whine from the depths of your chest.
“Right, major.”
Krauser turned you slowly in his arms until you faced him. His eyes had that same intensity as he loomed above you. The height difference had never felt this prominent. Krauser was big, and that was obvious to anyone, but he utilized his presence carefully, strategically. So you knew, as he used his shoulders to box you against the bench in the gallery, that it was all entirely intentional.
The backs of your thighs connected with the bench. Your palms gripped the edge to keep from tipping over it completely as Krauser took any semblance of personal space away from you. He planted his hands against the metal, arms caging you in. His mouth was close to yours, but for a long moment, he just watched. You didn’t doubt he could clearly see your blown pupils, the flush in your cheeks, and the way your lips parted just slightly in an effort to soften your desperate panting.
“You meant it when you said you took my advice,” Krauser observed. His eyes squinted slightly, nostrils flaring. A smirk dared tug at his lips. The stupid throwaway comment from weeks ago must have just returned to him. The truth of it had dawned on him at this moment, and you wished you could melt into the floor. “ ‘S that it?” Krauser’s usual commanding voice seemed to blur into something more casual. “You’ve been going back to your bunk and jacking off every night like some goddamn teenager.” You opened your mouth to answer, but you knew no matter what you said, it incriminated you. Fortunately, Krauser didn’t seem to want one, and your open mouth invited him to raise a hand and push two fingers past your lips.
The pads of his fingers squished over the length of your tongue, back toward your throat until you nearly gagged. They trailed across your molars until he reached the front of your mouth again. His fingers curled over your bottom teeth and dragged your face closer. His breath, hot and shallow, fanned over your cheek. “Don’t be shy now. Show me what you’re made of.”
It was the push you needed. You closed your lips around his fingers and sucked them deeper. Krauser watched, eyes darkening, and he licked his own lips quickly. Your tongue danced over the digits in your mouth, and you peered up at him through the veil of your lashes. Drool started to puddle, and when Krauser, reluctantly, drew his fingers out, a generous line of spit connected him to your lips.
“That’s it.” The praise was simple but effective. The heat had been burning low in your gut for a bit, but now, with Krauser pinning you in place with only that stare of his, your clit jumped to attention. Heat raced all the way down your spine ending in a flood at your hips. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and used the opportunity to muffle the breathy moan riding on the back of an exhale. It didn’t work, though, and Krauser gave another smirk.
His hands found the button on your pants, tugging it free with so much intensity it jerked your hips off the edge of the bench. “Major–” You started. Krauser’s mouth found your neck, and it kept you from finishing your sentence. A choked moan left you instead, this one not even attempting to be contained, as he fixed his attention on leaving you bruised and bitten. Your hands left the bench, clinging instead to the bends of his elbows. Your fingertips pressed into the soft flesh, digging at his veins and feeling his blood thrumming through them. Krauser worked your zipper open, and one hand, blessedly, dipped beneath the fabric of your boxers.
As his fingers made contact, he slowed. They drew experimental circles over the pulsing head of your clit: a question. And then confirmation when he parted your folds and barely pushed his fingertips into the wet heat of your cunt. “Now ain’t that something,” he repeated, awestruck. “You’re just full of surprises, rookie.”
You didn’t answer him, half unsure what to say and half already too drunk on his touch to form words. Krauser’s other hand squeezed tight around your ass, bucking you closer, while his thick fingers thrust fully inside of you. Head thrown back, you gritted your teeth; your hips moved in stutters, grinding desperately against him. Krauser, bastard that he was, laughed a little. “Don’t make an ass of yourself.”
“Fuck off,” you snapped back, no real venom in your words. Another comment that should have earned you a swift punishment. But, again, Krauser didn’t mind. If anything, it only made the heat brimming in his blue eyes even brighter. Maybe Krauser liked when you bit back. Maybe he just wanted to let it slide so he could get his dick wet. Whatever the reason, Krauser was spurred on and fucked deeper into you.
“Please,” Krauser nearly sneered. “If I left you right now, you’d fucking beg for it.” Like you, he didn’t have an ounce of real malice in his words. But the threat still hung above you like a sword. “Wouldn’t you?” When your answer wasn’t quick enough, he started to draw his fingers out of you.
“God,” you breathed, hips snapping forward. “Yes, fuck, I would.” You squeezed your eyes shut, not able to meet his gaze as the desperation bled into your tone. Krauser plunged his fingers back in without much warning, and you yelped, nails digging crescents into his flesh.
“And I bet it’d be so pretty to watch.” Krauser’s lips parted slightly as he raked his eyes over you. His eyes fogged, lost in whatever he was picturing, before he focused back in on you. “Right now, though–” Krauser slipped his fingers out of your cunt. You immediately missed him, clenching around nothing as you whined. Krauser hooked his soaked fingers into your waistbands and yanked. Your lower half was exposed in an instant to the cool air of the shooting range.
You both moved at once. Your hands braced on the metal, and his palms found the backs of your thighs. With a slight bounce and the help of Krauser, you slid onto the bench, thighs falling open. Krauser inhaled deeply when he saw you, open, dripping, and you heard a low rumble of approval in his chest.
Krauser pressed his thumb just above your clit, tugging it up so he could see it better. It twitched in response, and you saw his tongue glide over his bottom lip. If you weren’t so worried about being caught, you’d throw all shame out of the window and beg for his mouth. But the fact of the matter was that you had limited time.
“Major.” Your voice was thin, needy. You hoped it conveyed everything you wanted.
The sound dragged him from his trance. He pulled his hand away from you, and he moved quickly to free his dick from his pants. You watched, shivering, as he pushed down his underwear just enough to drag his dick over the waistband. His palm circled his shaft, giving it a few quick pumps. You were enraptured. With each drag, the skin pulled back, and you saw how flushed the tip of his cock was.
Krauser stopped his movements and held his palm out toward your face. “Give me a hand.” It was an order, and you, eager as ever, obeyed with enthusiasm burning in your stomach. You spit into the well of his palm before dragging your tongue through it, spreading it all over his hand. Krauser made another noise, satisfied at your compliance, and you felt yourself drip onto the bench in response. You drew back to spit again. This time, Krauser folded his fingers inward and smeared your saliva himself. “Good boy.”
Those two words sang through your blood. Your composure was clinging to you by frayed lines at this point, and you shook visibly on the edge of the bench while Krauser slicked his spitty hand across his cock. You opened your thighs as wide as you could given that your pants were still bunched around your knees. "Major–" You cut yourself off with a sharp inhale of air through your teeth. " Jack. "
The air in the room instantly changed. Tension crackled, a wire with the covering stripped violently from its sparking core. Krauser’s eyes were holding you in place. He was unreadable as ever, and you kept your mouth clamped shut. Nothing you could say would be right here. Not after that.
“Careful.” The word slipped past the major’s teeth as he bared them slightly. The knife-sharp edge behind it was expected. What you didn’t expect was the slight wobble to his tone. It was nearly imperceptible, tucked messily behind that bite, and you suspected he wanted you to ignore it.
But you couldn’t. You worried at it like you would a scab, nails digging until it bled. “Why?” You narrowed your eyes just slightly. “I’m not addressing you by rank like this.” You flicked your gaze pointedly between the both of you.
“ Yes– ” Krauser growled, left hand darting out to grab your chin. “You will.”
“Or what, Jack?”
The use of his first name sent an obvious shiver rolling across his shoulders. You felt like you’d won for a moment, until Krauser covered you with his body. He continued to smear your spit up his shaft, palm cupping across the head. He guided his cock to your dripping entrance, sheathing himself in your pussy with a rough snap of his hips. It gave you no time to adjust, eyes widening as he stretched you. A moan ripped from your throat, half-shattered from the force of his thrust, and you caught a glimpse of his curled lip.
Krauser fisted his wet hand in your hair, tugging your head back until you were staring up at the ceiling. Punishment for toeing the line, now unable to see the effect you were certain saying his name had on him. He was unforgiving with his pace. Krauser rutted into you with something akin to desperation. But not to come, you realized. To keep you quiet.
“Jack,” you moaned, stubborn, maybe even stupid.
“Shut the fuck up.” That wobble was back, and, more tellingly, you felt his cock twitch against your walls. His fingers curled tighter against your scalp. A flicker of pain raced over your skin. “God, don’t you ever shut up, rookie?”
“No, sir,” came your smug, breathless reply as Krauser pulled his hips back, hips slamming forward. The bench beneath you jerked, scraping the floor. The sound was loud enough to cover the cry that left you. Krauser fixed his mouth against your neck and bit down. It dragged a streaming line of curses from you. The mark was going to be obvious. Bastard.
Heat was quick to coil in your stomach. Krauser filled you like you hadn’t been filled in–fuck, maybe ever. It also helped that he was fucking you like he hated your guts. Wet, squelching sounds rang through the shooting gallery with each deliberate slam of his hips. You wanted him to let go of your hair, wanted to see the way his cock disappeared inside of you. And you were soaked so you knew Krauser had to be too.
“Let me see.” Your voice was a pitiful whine, firing past your lips. Krauser didn’t answer. For an agonizing moment, you thought he was going to ignore you.
Krauser, with his hand still in your hair, bowed your head for you. You tried to catch a glimpse of his face, but he tilted you until you could stare between your thighs. Krauser decided to put on a show, slowing down. You clenched around him as he sank into your cunt. Just as you suspected, your wetness had smeared all across his pelvis. The coarse blonde curls around the base of his cock were stuck to his skin. Slick, shimmering, you wanted nothing more than to lick him clean.
“That finally shut your mouth?” Krauser growled. He drew his hips back as you watched. To your surprise, he let his cock slide completely out of your aching pussy. Soaked with your fluids, he slid his shaft against the head of your clit. The friction was unexpected, and the pleasure sang through over your nerves. You panted heavily, each exhale carrying a whimper. You sounded pitiful. But it worked for Krauser.
He softened the hand in your hair; Krauser gently guided your head so that you were eye-to-eye. Brows furrowed, jaw clenched, there was a trace of something soft in the lines of his face. You swallowed; your tongue slid out to lick over your bottom lip. Krauser leaned closer until his nose, striking as ever, barely grazed against your own. A warm billowing breath fell from Krauser’s parted lips. Again, the air seemed to change. That otherworldly wire between you flickered, sparked, and you reached out to touch the side of Krauser’s face. He stiffened before leaning into your palm. Krauser’s hips stuttered slightly, almost unsure. You weren’t, though.
“Can I kiss you, major?”
Krauser’s eyelids fluttered slightly. He dragged his cock against your swollen clit. His hands fixed against your waist and dragged you closer, increasing the pressure.
“Jack,” Krauser mumbled. “Call me Jack.”
A smile pulled at the corners of your lips. “Can I kiss you, Jack?”
“Yeah. Fuck yes.” His words were breathy and excited, that rasp in his voice even deeper. You surged forward and covered his lips with your own. Krauser’s tongue was quick to prod at your mouth. You let him in. Of course you did.
It muffled your moans as Krauser bucked his hips faster. The head of his dick was leaking generously, spilling onto your clit and mixing with the wetness from your cunt that still soaked him. You broke your lips from Krauser’s with a gasp, “Shit, Jack, I’m–”
“Gonna come for me.” Krauser growled it against the side of your face. It was spoken like an order. His nose pushed hard against your cheekbone. His breaths hissed past his clenched teeth with each drag of his cock. “Aren’t you, rookie?”
“Mhm.” Your lips pressed together, and you whimpered low in your throat. Your hands scrabbled against the front of his shirt, balling fists in the fabric.
“Come on, baby,” Krauser purred. Any of his earlier reservations seem to have fizzled away for the time being. He squeezed your hips tighter. “Come on.”
Your chin dropped to your chest. Mouth falling open, face twisted with ecstasy, you moaned loud. Your clit twitched against the underside of Krauser’s cock as you came, pulses of pleasure rolling over you in waves. Your walls squeezed tight around nothing, but god, you didn’t even care right now.
“Goddamn,” Krauser groaned. With your pussy still fluttering, he drew back; his cock bobbed in the air for just a moment before he slipped himself back into your wet cunt. Your arms jerked, yanking on Krauser’s shirt. It didn’t move him an inch. His hips were unrelenting. He chased his own climax without much thought to how your overstimulated nerves felt like they were burning. You clung to him, riding out the deep thrusts that threatened to make your eyes water.
Krauser was mumbling incoherently. You could pick up a few words. “...like heaven…fuckin’ wet for me… Christ –” Fingertips in a bruising grip on your waist, Krauser buried himself in your cunt. His head dropped to rest against your shoulder, huffing soft breaths as he spilled inside of you, his cock pumping you full of his release.
Wordlessly, the reality of it all began to dawn. You moved in tandem. Krauser tucked his dick away, zipping up, while you jumped off the table and redressed yourself quickly. Come leaked from your entrance into your boxers, hot and sticky and unbearable. You needed a shower.
You retrieved the bow from where you’d dropped it earlier. Save for a scuff mark against the sight, it was undamaged. A sigh of relief left you before you let your shoulders drop to a more relaxed position. Krauser was staring at you without even a hint of that softness he had let you see earlier. His arms were folded across his chest, and his breathing didn’t betray an ounce of effort. If it weren’t for the evidence currently dripping from you, you might have doubted anything had even happened.
It was your turn to be uncertain. You took a step back on shaking legs and raised the bow slightly. “I need to return this.” Fucking awesome work, you berated yourself. Pulse still thundering, you turned away and started to leave before you melted into the floor.
“Same time tomorrow.”
You whipped your head around. You knew you must have looked dumb, eyebrows nearly to your hairline and mouth dropped open. “Major?”
“You heard me. Don’t act like you didn’t.” Krauser pushed past you, his shoulder checking yours as he reached the door to the shooting gallery. You grabbed your arm, following his movements. He paused; Krauser didn’t even bother to look back at you as he murmured, a little hint of affection in his words, “And tuck your fucking shirt in, rookie.”
The door opened, and Krauser was gone. You were rooted in place for a long moment before hastily jamming the hem of your shirt into your pants, a grin plastered on your face as you followed him with a spring in your step.