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When Sebastian walked into the bedroom, his face did one of the most interesting things Jim had seen in a long while. A split second of pure surprise, followed by deep and intense disgust and something that almost looked like fear, or loathing at the very least.
Then everything was swept away into Seb’s usual expression of blankness tinged with mockery. Shame. Seb always looked rather attractive when he was emotionally compromised.
“Well,” Sebastian said, sardonically. “Been a while since I saw that.”
They both looked down at the uniform, spread out on their bed.
“Discovered a sudden military fetish, then?” Sebastian asked, mouth quirking into a smile.
Jim threw the cap at him. “Not everything is about sex.”
“It isn’t?” Sebastian said, eyes wide with mock-surprise. “You could’ve fooled me.”
Jim smirked. “Play your cards right and we’ll see. Anyway, this”– he waved at the uniform –“is work.”
“I guessed.” Sebastian turned the cap around in his hands. “Who am I impersonating?”
“Yourself.”
Sebastian looked up sharply.
“Why construct a whole new persona when there’s a perfectly serviceable real one available?” Jim continued.
“Depends on your definition of serviceable.” Sebastian frowned. “There’s a reason I quit, you know.”
Jim shrugged. “Details. None of the people you’ll be meeting know the exact circumstances of your discharge - military gala,” he clarified. “I need someone on the inside. And all the people there are aware of are your rank, your medals, and your family name. You’ll do.”
“Right.” Sebastian tossed the cap back. “In that case, you can take this straight back to where you got it from.”
“What?” Jim asked sharply.
“That’s the Royal Green Jackets, isn’t it?” Sebastian pointed at the uniform. “But I was in the Black Watch when I quit.”
“Then I’ll get some other insignia. No need to change the entire thing, is there?”
“Yes, there is. The Black Watch is a Scottish regiment.” Sebastian smiled, delicately. “The dress uniform has a kilt.”
“A… kilt.”
“And on that lovely image I’ll leave you be.” Sebastian grabbed a jacket from the wardrobe and shrugged it on. “Let me know when I have to perform, will you?”
Jim blinks. “A kilt.”
“Ta, then,” Sebastian said, grinning widely as he went back to the living room.
“What do you wear underneath it?” Jim yelled at Sebastian’s retreating back.
All he got in reply was loud laughter.
***
The next time Jim called in Sebastian to try on the uniform, he was watching Seb’s face closely. And, yes, once again he went through that mixture of hatred and disgust and something beneath it, something else, something Jim couldn’t put a name to.
It was highly entertaining.
“Correct this time?” Jim asked sweetly.
“Down to the long woolly socks.” Sebastian crinkled his nose. “God, I’d forgotten how ridiculous this looks.”
“Well, you'll just have to cope.” Jim nodded at the clothes. “Get dressed.”
Sebastian winced. But he didn’t protest. He just sighed and took off his jacket, like a good boy.
Jim sat back on the bed, still watching. Sebastian was trying to act casual, but it wasn’t quite working. Jim recognised the tension in Sebastian’s shoulders, the too-stiff movements.
His boy was upset.
“Bad memories?” Jim asked, smiling.
Sebastian winced again, then shot Jim a dark look.
“I thought you liked being in the army?” Jim continued.
“Some bits of it. Most of it was just – more of the same.” Sebastian snorted. “Be polite, don’t talk back, do what your betters tell you to and for fuck’s sake, don’t think for yourself.”
“And obey.”
Another dirty look.
“Don’t seem to mind that bit so much now, do you?” Jim continued innocently.
Sebastian bunched up his shirt and threw it into Jim’s face. “You’re not them.”
Jim peeled the shirt – finest quality cotton, smelling faintly of the leather of Sebastian’s jacket and deodorant and tobacco and sweat – off his face and glowered at Sebastian. Sebastian mouthed a sorry, his eyes shining with that typical challenge, that subtle message of no, I’m not actually sorry at all and what are you going to do about that, hm?
Jim didn’t rise to it.
“The point is, you like obeying,” he said instead. “When the circumstances are right.”
Sebastian huffed. “Tell that to my old drill sergeant.”
“All dogs bark at first,” Jim said casually. “They just need a bit of disciplining.”
Sebastian really did have an impressive array of angry looks.
But he didn’t reply further. He had shrugged on the shirt and was now holding up the kilt, and, yes, alright, that was a little distracting.
“Reconsidering the fetish?” Sebastian asked, with half a smile.
“Not really. It’s just practicalities, isn’t it?” Jim grinned. “That kilt makes you very… let’s say accessible.”
“Just remember to behave yourself, will you?” Sebastian dropped his boxers – not a second of hesitation, nor one bit of awkwardness – and pulled on the kilt. “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell isn’t just an American thing, not in practice. No faggots in the British Army, thanks.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t grope you in public.”
“In public being the keywords of that sentence, right?” He took his jacket, shrugged it on, and threw a vaguely disgusted look at the mirror.
Jim cocked his head, eyes slowly travelling over Sebastian’s form. Something stirred.
It wasn’t a fetish. Uniforms in and off themselves still did nothing for him, but… Well, it was certainly doing something to Sebastian, except for him it didn’t seem to be particularly pleasant. Like a psychological version of a bondage harness. He was already standing up a little straighter, gestures and body language becoming more contained. Controlled.
But Sebastian was who he was, and so that sense of control was mixed with frustration, that sense of something held down and struggling to get free.
Sebastian in bondage always look like a volcano ready to erupt.
It was that resistance that Jim had been attracted to from to start. Not complete resistance, because he didn’t particularly derive joy from forcing people. But with Sebastian… Beneath all the pride and rebellion and arrogance and sheer bloody stubbornness there was just enough of an – interest, maybe, to make it appealing. A desire to submit, let go.
Poor Seb. Eternally in conflict with himself.
“Penny for ‘em.”
Jim looked up. Sebastian had dressed fully, socks and shoes and buttoned-up jacket and all, and he looked rather magnificent. Of course, that was the intention of those uniforms, pomp and circumstance and intimidating the natives, but still. Sebastian pulled it off well.
“Just musing.”
“On?”
Jim got a box from the bedside table and threw it at Sebastian. “You.”
“That doesn’t bode well. What’s this?” he added, holding up the box.
“Your accessories.”
Sebastian clicked the box open, and his eyebrows rose. “I could’ve sworn I trashed these.”
“You did. They’re replicas. Very good ones, too.”
“Down to every bloody scratch.” He held up his Victoria’s Cross, staring at it with a face like a housewife handling a dead mouse. Then he sighed and pinned it on his jacket.
“Gorgeous,” Jim said solemnly.
Sebastian gave him the finger.
***
The army was a goddamn wet dream for anyone with even the slightest interest in power differences. Jim had only been in the room for twenty minutes and already he’d realised that. The saluting, the subtle arse-kissing, the poses – and of course the ranks, displayed open and clear on everyone’s sleeve, no confusion possible. Everyone knew exactly where they were in the pecking order.
Even Sebastian wasn't exempt. And it was fascinating to watch too, because Sebastian was an interesting rank. Not quite high enough to pull off the effortless arrogance of the generals, but there were still enough lower-ranked soldiers around for him to act occasionally superior. He was in the middle. He was both. Only a few minutes ago he’d been lounging against the bar, sprawled and comfortable and lazy while his conversation partner stood like he had a broomstick rammed up his arse. And now he was doing the broomstick-pose himself, the most junior in a group consisting of two generals and three colonels and a major.
Even so, there was something subtly insolent about Seb’s version of respect. Sure, it was understated, barely there, but… Couldn’t they see it? The challenge in Sebastian, the way he was mocking them, how his apparent observance of the rules was in fact just a well-executed parody?
Someone said something and the men burst in laughter, Seb laughing just a little too loud, too hard, his eyes glinting, and god he was just begging for a good thrashing.
But no one seemed to notice.
“Excuse me,” a soldier said, picking up a glass from Jim’s plate. Jim gave the woman a bland smile, then manoeuvred his way to Sebastian’s group.
True to form, they didn’t acknowledge him in the least. The plate might as well have flown to them on its own, for all the notice they gave him.
Sebastian noticed, though. His eyes went to Jim and he blinked, then concentrated back on the conversation.
“- well, I’m sure to tell that to Philip next time I see him, I told the little twerp, and he buggered off quickly enough after that!”
Another volley of self-satisfied laughter. Sebastian caught Jim’s eyes again and smiled. It wasn’t a shared-irritation kind of smile, the kind they often had for each other when there were ordinary people around and they weren’t at liberty to talk freely. No; this smile had a taste of arrogance, condescension. The chevrons were clearly starting to get to his head.
The men plundered Jim’s plate, still ignoring him. All except Sebastian, who was still surreptitiously looking at Jim.
“Bloody journalists,” one of the colonels said. “Who the hell do they think they are?”
Jim took the last glass and handed it to Sebastian. He carefully turned his hand as Sebastian reached, and managed to dig his nails into Sebastian’s fingers as they closed on the stem.
He immediately pulled back again, but Sebastian swallowed. Jim smiled, then retreated to the kitchens again.
Let him ponder that reminder for a while, and let’s see long the arrogance would last.
***
“You don’t look half bad in an apron, you know.”
Jim tilted his head back and blew out a stream of smoke. “Close the door before anyone hears you.”
The door fell closed, the lock clicking, and Sebastian leaned against the wall next to Jim.
“Anything yet?” Jim asked.
“Nothing concrete, no. Hints, allusions… I’ll leave it to you to make sense of them all.”
“Don’t forget any of it.”
Sebastian gave him an annoyed look. “Have I ever?”
“You’ve been downing champagne at an alarming rate.”
“I know how to handle my liquor.” He took Jim’s cigarette – without asking, without even pausing for permission – and took a deep drag. “God,” he mumbled. “What I wouldn’t give to just punch one of them in the face…”
“Contain yourself,” Jim said, irritated.
Sebastian looked at him, eyebrow raised, cigarette still between his lips. “What’s crawled up your arse and died, then?”
“Waitering isn’t exactly a cushy job. Not that you’d know,” he added.
Sebastian shrugged. “We’ll be out soon enough, and then you can go home and get your knickers out of that twist you’ve gotten them into.”
Jim’s hand cramped up. Sebastian was never utterly subservient, but this? This was just asking for it.
“Don’t forget – ” he started, in a low dangerous tone that immediately got Sebastian’s attention, but then he was interrupted by the door opening.
“Ah, Moran, there you are,” someone said from inside. “Coming back in, old chap?”
“Yeah, sure. Hang on.” Sebastian dropped the butt of the cigarette, ground it out beneath the tip of his shoe, and with one last strange look at Jim he went back inside.
Jim got his packet of cigarettes, tapped out a new one, and lit it with slightly more violence than necessary.
***
It was well past midnight once they could finally leave, Sebastian obediently hanging around until Jim had finished his waiterly duties. They made sure not to let anyone see them together, of course, and only reconvened at a point well outside the hall that had been hosting the gala.
Sebastian was silent on the way back, eyes focused on the road and jaw tight. Tense, again. Still, it was an improvement to the unthinking arrogance the uniform had caused in him – unless he was suppressing it. Either way, there should be consequences. Would Sebastian be aware of that?
Probably. He wasn’t stupid, Jim’s boy.
Sebastian pulled up the car outside the flat and got out. He strode into the building without waiting for Jim, instead of holding the door open for him like he usually did, something that had become a habit for him.
Apparently the arrogance hadn’t completely disappeared yet.
They went up to the lift in silence, Sebastian practically vibrating with tension. He even jumped when the lift pinged, then immediately strode to the door of the flat and threw it open with a bang. Jim followed at a slightly more sedate pace.
He closed the door behind him, then leaned against it, taking a moment. It was a relief to be finally back in a fully familiar environment, a safe space where he could shed the persona and go back to being him.
“God, I forgot how much I loathe those people.”
Jim looked up. Sebastian turned abruptly away from the window and sank down into a chair, legs extended, hands folded over his stomach. “The fucking arrogance of them, the self-satisfaction, the – the condescension.”
“You seemed to blend in quite well,” Jim said, hanging up his coat.
Sebastian pulled a face. “I was born and bred in that world, of course I know how to blend in. It’s a role, that’s all. A performance.”
“Entirely fabricated.”
“Obviously.” Sebastian snorted, then gave Jim an affronted look. “Don’t tell me you think I have anything in common with that fucking lot?”
Jim leaned against the table and shrugged. “I think you’re a little too eager to prove you’re nothing like them. Like you said, you were born in that world. Were you really that much of a changeling?”
“I fucking was, yeah.” He slid down a little in his chair and covered his eyes with his hand. “I was always the outsider.”
“And yet, you thrived.”
Sebastian slid his hand down and glared at Jim.
“And you haven’t taken it off,” Jim added.
“What?” Sebastian said irritably.
“Your uniform.” Jim nodded at the jacket. “Usually you tear off your disguise the second you’re through the door, but now… Comfy, is it?”
Sebastian froze for a second or two. Then he jumped up and started pacing, full of nervous aggressive energy.
“It fucks with my head,” he growled.
“I noticed.” Jim grinned, showing off his canines. “It was quite entertaining.”
Sebastian shot Jim a sharp look, then stopped pacing and sat down on the back of the sofa. He breathed out, heavily. “It’s just…”
“Just?”
Sebastian paused. Then he laughed.
And that was Sebastian, that extensive capacity for self-mockery. “It’s just clothes,” he said, smiling.
“Nice clothes.”
“Only because you had them tailored.” He got up again and stretched, lazily.
For all that he dismissed the uniform’s power, Jim could still see it. The way the strictness of it seemed only to highlight Sebastian’s lazy insubordination, the contrast between the still lingering traces of his military-straight posture and the mocking grin on his lips…
Then that grin faded. Sebastian cocked his head, eyes sharp on Jim’s face. He raised his eyebrows, mouth slightly open, his characteristic look of mild casual surprise.
“What?” Jim said, irritated.
Sebastian’s face folded into a lazy smirk. “What was it you said about fetishes?”
“Shut up,” Jim snapped.
“Yes, sir,” Sebastian said solemnly.
And he slid off the sofa and went to his knees.
Jim stared at him for a moment or two. Impeccable uniform, position – no other way to read that as submissive – and then his expression…
Jim strode over and grabbed Sebastian’s tie and yanked. “Think this is funny, do you?”
“Nosir,” Sebastian choked. He was keeping his hands by his side, happily letting Jim strangle him without even putting up a fight.
Jim wrapped the tie tightly around his fist and pulled it up. Sebastian’s mouth opened, no sound coming out – gaping like a fish, and a slight bit of panic crossing his face. There. Better.
Jim let go. Sebastian fell forward on all fours, gasping and coughing. “Christ, I – ”
“Shut it.”
Sebastian’s mouth snapped shut. He breathed in deeply, then got back up to his knees, eyes fixed on Jim. Not much mockery left there, now.
God, the possibilities… But he needed something to take the edge off first, he couldn’t think like this, not with how he’d spent most of the night hiding a semi beneath his apron.
Sebastian in a uniform really was quite appealing.
“Here,” Jim said softly. He gave his thigh a pat.
Sebastian licked his lips, neck craning as Jim moved a little closer. Jim carefully opened his belt, then pushed the zipper down. He pulled his cock from his briefs and took hold of Sebastian’s nape.
“You know what to do, don’t you, Captain?” Jim said lazily.
Sebastian’s eyes closed and he leaned forward, taking Jim’s cock into his mouth.
Jim tipped his head back. Easy enough to think Sebastian was in full submissive mode now, with those closed eyes and the careful expression and his hands impassive by his side, but Jim knew his boy better than that. Sebastian had really mastered the art of appearing obedient while still being entirely rebellious in the privacy of his own mind.
He only ever gave in – fully gave in, when he was pushed to the limit. And Sebastian’s limits went far.
Sebastian swallowed around Jim’ cock and Jim bit his lip, fingers twisting in Sebastian’s hair. He tightened his grip and took more control, fucking Sebastian’s mouth instead of leaving him to do the work. Something which Sebastian hated – he was a proactive fuck, Seb – and there was a hint of irritation in the bit of Sebastian’s face Jim could see, a tension in hid hands, still by his side. Good. He shouldn’t have it his way.
But then pleasure briefly overtook all thought. Jim came with a grunt, pushing deep into Sebastian’s mouth. Sebastian swallowed with exaggerated obviousness, then sat back, licking his lips, looking every inch the perfect obedient sub. Waiting for orders.
Jim backhanded him.
The force of it bent Sebastian double. He straightened back up, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “What the fuck – ”
Jim hit him again, an open-handed slap that left an ugly red mark on Sebastian’s cheek, and Sebastian pitched forward onto his hands. He was panting.
Jim gave Sebastian a moment to recover from the shock, then leaned down and fisted Sebastian’s hair and pulled his head back.
There it was. That challenge, that fire, finally coming to the surface.
“Who do you think I am?” Jim said softly. “One of those insipid colonels? Your drill sergeant? You honestly think you can fool me with this –” he yanked Sebastian’s hair – “fucking” – another pull, tears coming to Seb’s furious eyes –“charade?”
He let go.
“Stand up.”
Sebastian clambered to his feet. His breathing had gone shallow, quick. Jim stepped in close, right up into Sebastian’s personal space, and smiled when – almost imperceptibly – Sebastian straightened up. That’s what you did when you were face to face with superior officers, wasn’t it? He was learning, then.
Jim reached down and put his hand underneath Sebastian’s kilt, a little above his knee. “It wasn’t easy, you know,” he said conversationally, hand sliding slowly higher. “Seeing you walk around like that, all proper and stiff. Playing the submissive to those idiots. And then this uniform – do you know? Surely the thought must have crossed your mind too?”
Sebastian’s breath hitched. Jim’s hand, all the way up on the top of Sebastian’s thigh, carefully evaded any interesting areas and went higher, over Seb’s hip to just above his pubic hair.
“How I could just shove you against the wall and hitch that kilt up and have you right there, in front of the entire high command?” Jim said, hand gently rubbing Seb’s stomach. “Bend you down over the buffet table, kilt over your back, arse in the air? Would you have liked that?” Jim glanced down, then smiled. Sebastian’s erection was tenting the fabric of the kilt, nothing there to hide it. “Apparently you do.”
“Jim – ”
With lightning speed Jim reached down and grabbed Seb’s balls hard. Sebastian’s lips went thin and his face paled.
“Military etiquette, Seb.” Jim smiled. “You keep your mouth shut unless you’re being explicitly asked for your opinion. Right?”
Sebastian gave a tight nod.
“We’ll make a proper soldier of you yet.” Jim let go again and wiped his hand on his shirt. “Turn. Let’s get this bending-over bit started.”
Sebastian turned. “I’m hoping you haven’t rented these,” he said, only a very small tremble revealing any tension in an otherwise casual tone. “Wouldn’t want to explain the stains when we return them.”
“Oh, no, no one’s expecting these back. I can do with them what I want. Bend over and get the lube.”
Sebastian leaned over the back of the sofa, briefly rummaged behind the pillows, then held out his hand, offering a small bottle. His fingers were shaking.
Jim took the bottle.
Then he took Sebastian’s wrist and pulled and twisted, bending Sebastian’s arm as far as it would go. Sebastian squirmed, cursing at the pain.
“I told you,” Jim said calmly. “No talking back. Did you think I was joking?”
Sebastian groaned, rising to his toes to keep his arm from being wrenched from the socket.
Jim sighed. “You know, I do wonder how you managed to survive eleven years.”
“Learning to mutter silentl-ow.”
Jim let go of Sebastian’s arm, then grabbed the hem of the kilt and hitched up around Seb’s waist. It made quite the sight, especially with the socks all the way up to his calves.
Jim popped the bottle open.
“So, er, wait, are you gonna…” Sebastian asked. He tried to look over his shoulder, but Jim jabbed him sharply just underneath the ribcage in warning and he quickly looked back down.
Understandable, Sebastian’s confusion. It had only been, what, five, ten minutes? Jim wasn’t a teenager anymore, he did have a refractory period longer than that.
Not that he intended to reply. Let him guess. Sebastian was adorable when he was being kept on his toes.
Jim coated his fingers in lube, then slowly dragged them down Sebastian’s crack. Sebastian shivered. “Told you these kilts would come in handy,” Jim said, and he slowly pushed two fingers inside.
Sebastian dropped his head forward, arms crossed and hands holding onto the back of the sofa. Jim slowly worked in deeper until his fingers were in all the way to the knuckle.
Then he stopped moving.
Sebastian shifted.
“Keep still.”
One of Sebastian’s hands briefly clenched into a fist, then relaxed again.
Jim pulled out all the way, then slowly pushed in again, fingers curled a little, pressing against every inch of him. Sebastian made a little sound but didn’t move.
“Good boy,” Jim murmured.
Sebastian’s hand went back into a fist.
Jim continued slowly and thoroughly fingerfucking Sebastian, noting every twitch, every noise. Not that there were many. Seb’s thighs did start to tremble at one point, but for the rest he kept still as a statue.
Boring.
Jim dug his nails into the upper fleshy part of Sebastian’s buttock, then dragged them down, as slowly as he was moving his other hand. Sebastian groaned, squirmed, and his grip on the sofa turned white-knuckled.
“Keep still.”
Another quiet grunt, but he stopped moving. Odd. Usually Seb was all blustering rebellious bravado at this point, but he was being silent now. Listening, just for once.
Which was a little worrying, truth be told. Half the fun in this was knocking Seb down when he was being disobedient. Where was the fun if he just did as he was told?
Jim buried his nails in the side of Sebastian’s arse and scratched, as hard as he could, creating a neat red-lined pattern of squares all across Sebastian’s right buttock. Sebastian inhaled deeply, hands curled into fists. The very picture of control.
“You’re being good,” Jim remarked. “Getting used to this?”
“I’m allowed to speak now, then?” Sebastian asked, with an impressive amount of sarcasm for this stage. Now that was more like him.
“I’m asking you a question, I’m expecting a reply.” Jim slid in a third finger. “Well?”
“It’s – I’m – I don’t know.”
“Don’t you,” Jim said softly. He twisted his fingers experimentally, eliciting another groan from Seb.
“I’m presuming you have a theory why I’m – ”
Jim brought down his hand on Seb’s arse with a sharp crack. Sebastian jolted, clenching down on Jim’s fingers hard enough to send a stab of pain up his hand.
“I told you,” Jim said, keeping his voice even, calm. “Quiet. Imagine we’re in a danger zone, if that helps.”
“You fucking started – ”
Jim hit Sebastian again, with some relish. “I’m not telling you again. Shut up.”
Sebastian didn’t reply. But his fists were clenched so tight the knuckles had gone white again.
Jim wriggled in his little finger. Sebastian did another of those deep, slow, controlled breaths, relaxing into it. Which was sweet, really, but not exactly what Jim was after. So he angled his hand and pressed in deeper, letting his knuckles rest against Sebastian’s entrance.
Sebastian immediately went tense. “Please tell me you’re not – ”
“Shush.”
“But – ” Sebastian pushed up onto his hands, as if he was going to look over his shoulder.
Jim rolled his eyes, then reached inside his inside pocket, pulled out a knife, and put it carefully just underneath the swell of Seb’s arse.
Sebastian froze.
“That’s better,” Jim cooed.
“You were carrying fucking knife?” Sebastian said hoarsely.
“Of course I was. Prepared for anything, me.” Jim dug the point of the knife in the back of Seb’s thigh, deep enough to make a drop of blood appear. “Now, are you finally going to keep your mouth shut or am I going to have to get creative?”
No reply. And after a few seconds Sebastian relaxed, head tipped forward and shoulders loose.
Jim carefully pushed his fingers a fraction of an inch deeper inside, the tip of his thumb nudging against the skin behind Sebastian’s balls. Sebastian clenched down again and a shiver went down his back.
Jim had neither the patience nor the inclination to take this any further, but the threat of it was nice. Being fisted was intense for Sebastian, as a couple of other occasions had proven, and his feelings about it were mixed, to say the least. That, combined with the knife…
Time and a place, though.
Jim pulled his hand out, accompanied by a breath of relief from Sebastian. “Up and turn,” Jim said, putting the knife back and taking out his handkerchief.
Sebastian pushed himself slowly upright again, then turned. His face was flushed and the knot of his tie was askew, but apart from that he still looked remarkably well put together - apart, of course, from his raging hard-on, which the kilt only seemed to highlight.
Jim discarded the handkerchief and reached for Seb’s throat. “Hands behind your back.”
Sebastian complied, still silent. He was being patient, watchful. Not the fake obedience from earlier, but not the real deal either. Somewhere in between.
Jim took Sebastian’s tie and smiled at the flash of panic in Sebastian’s eyes. “Worried?”
“With reason,” Sebastian said, cautiously.
“No need to be. Well, not about this particular thing, anyway.” Jim pulled the knot loose and slid the tie from Sebastian’s collar. He stepped behind Sebastian’s back, looped the tie around Sebastian’s wrists, and pulled, snapping his hands together.
Sebastian rolled his shoulders, bent his arms a little. Getting used to it.
Jim tied a tight knot and stepped back in front of Sebastian. Shoulders pulled back, spine straight, feet slightly apart… Parade rest. Adorable.
“Don’t move,” Jim said.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow, and fine, he was keeping silent as ordered, but that look on his face more than eloquent enough on its own.
Jim stepped close and reached down, groping around briefly and – ah, there. “Needy, are we? Captain?” Jim said, his hand on Sebastian’s cock, through the fabric of his kilt.
Sebastian briefly squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, focusing on Jim. “If we’re doing ranks, I should know yours,” he said, remarkably steadily, even though he sounded a little breathless too. “Or should I just call you – ”
Jim tightened his grip and Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek, his gaze focusing on some point in the distance.
“See,” Jim said. “That’s what I want. The stoic soldier’s acceptance of whatever he’s got coming for him. Got that, Moran?”
Sebastian nodded, eyes still distant.
“Obedience. Don’t play around.”
Another curt nod.
Jim smiled. Then he let go and ripped Sebastian’s jacket and shirt open. Sebastian, true to form, stayed perfectly still, even when Jim put his hand flat on Sebastian’s chest, one fingertip delicately nudging a nipple. Jim leaned in, mouth close to Sebastian’s throat. “Don’t. Move,” he whispered slowly.
Then he pressed his lips against Sebastian’s throat, tasting his over-rapid heartbeat, and bit down.
Sebastian almost toppled over. Jim grabbed the back of Sebastian’s neck and pulled him close again, working his way up and down Sebastian’s throat, leaving behind a trail of deep, hard bites. Marks. Sebastian’s bruises tended to heal up relatively quickly, but they would still be visible for at least a few days.
It was always interesting, seeing him walk around all casual with those reminders decorating his throat.
Jim tightened his grip on Sebastian’s nape and bent him backwards a little, so he could reach the upper part of Sebastian’s chest. He licked Sebastian’s nipple, then closed his teeth around it and slowly increased the pressure. Sebastian made a noise like a strangled cat and his arm jerked, as if he wanted to pull Jim off, then thought the better of it. Good boy.
Jim let go and straightened up. Sebastian’s eyes were half-closed, his lip red where he’d bitten it. He looked like he was bracing himself for whatever came next. Jim smiled.
And shoved.
Sebastian toppled backwards and disappeared behind the back of the sofa with a muffled curse. Jim grinned and walked calmly around the sofa to the front. Sebastian had somehow landed reasonably well, flat on his back, and now he was trying to inchworm into a somewhat more comfortable position. He glared at Jim.
“Something you’d like to share?” Jim asked.
Sebastian expressively rolled his eyes, then settled back against the pillows, in as much of a give me your worst pose as he could manage, bound like that.
Jim knelt down next to the sofa. Sebastian’s kilt had rucked up again, revealing most of his thighs. Which were still unmarked.
That wouldn’t do.
Jim bent down and bit down hard on the inside of Sebastian’s thigh. Sebastian jolted and cursed, then – with an effort that was almost visible in its intensity – he lay still again.
Jim nibbled at the sensitive flesh at the inside of Sebastian’s thigh, sucking hard, then teasing over the harsh red marks with his tongue. Sebastian’s muscles were trembling with the effort of keeping still, which was… Well.
Jim grabbed hold Sebastian’s hip and bit down again.
Once Sebastian’s thighs were suitably marked – and the trembling had increased to an impressive degree – Jim leaned his chin on Sebastian’s leg and looked up. Sebastian’s eyes were squeezed shut, the expression on his face one of determination fighting with lust, and his cock…
Hard, angry red, twitching, and one drop of precome shining at the tip.
He looked up again. Sebastian was still lying mostly still, but he was trying to roll his shoulders and wincing, as if – ah, right, hands, trapped underneath his weight. Blood circulation, always a hassle.
Jim sat back and got his knife from his inside pocket. “Up,” he said softly.
Sebastian’s eyes opened, then widened as he spotted the knife.
Jim rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t look so panicky. It’s for the tie, nothing else. Your hands must be all pins and needles, aren’t they?”
Sebastian nodded.
“Then why didn’t you say something?” Jim asked sweetly.
Apparently Sebastian wasn’t that far gone, if he could still manage an unimpressed look like that.
“Come on, up,” Jim said, with a pat on Sebastian’s leg. Sebastian dug his heels into the sofa and lifted his hips.
Jim reached beneath Sebastian, found the tie, and sawed at it with the knife until the knot fell away. Sebastian was going red-faced with the effort of keeping up. He had motivation, though; if he dropped, he’d end up impaling himself.
Jim pulled the knife back and nodded. Sebastian pulled his hands free, rubbed at his wrists. His eyes were still glued to the knife, despite the reassurances.
Jim cocked his head, then slowly raised the knife. Sebastian’s eyes followed. Jim reached out, the light catching on the metal of the blade.
And carefully, very very carefully, he ran the sharp point of the knife lightly along the length of Sebastian’s cock.
Sebastian shuddered.
“I’m going to put this away now,” Jim told him, nudging the exposed head of Sebastian’s cock with the blunt edge of the knife. “And you'd better not give me a reason to take it out again.”
Jim put the knife away and stood up, and while he undressed he took a moment to drink in the sight of Sebastian on the sofa. ‘Course, Sebastian like this was always a pretty sight, but the uniform definitely added a certain something. Especially the way it was now, half-torn and rumpled and pushed every which way to reveal the body inside.
“Hands folded and over your head.”
Sebastian complied without a second’s hesitation, and yes, they were there now. Obedience.
Jim shoved a pillow underneath Seb’s arse and got up on the sofa, grabbed Sebastian’s legs. Sebastian bit his lip, eyes huge and dark.
Jim pushed in. Sebastian was already a bit too tight again, which for Jim was an intoxicating experience and for Seb, well, probably a painful one. Not that he seemed to mind it much, judging by the quiet noises he was making.
Jim slowly pushed in until he was buried balls-deep in Sebastian, then stayed there. His own need wasn’t quite as urgent as it had been before, which meant he could draw this out exactly as long as he wanted to. Or until Sebastian snapped, which - judging by his desperate expression - could be rather soon.
Jim leisurely ran his hands up the back of Sebastian’s thighs. “Enjoying this?”
Sebastian made a weak little sound.
Jim changed his position, making himself a little more comfortable– settling in for the long haul – then let go of Seb’s leg and leaned up to grab Seb’s throat. He could feel Seb’s jugular beating underneath his fingertips, racing.
Jim carefully stroked his thumb beneath Sebastian’s jaw. “Keep still,” he said lazily.
Sebastian didn’t react. But god, that expression...
Jim snapped his hips forward and Sebastian threw his head back, baring his neck, his fingers entwined behind his head, and, yeah, okay, maybe Jim’s need was a bit more urgent than he’d thought, after all.
He grabbed hold of Sebastian’s leg and continued fucking him, slow enough to not get carried away – even though it was difficult, when Seb was lying there like that, making noises like those – and kept his hand on Sebastian’s throat, Seb’s heartbeat racing beneath Jim’s fingers, and very purposefully ignored Sebastian’s cock, until –
“Please, sir – ”
Jim stopped. “What?” he asked, surprised. Yes, Sebastian begged, but not often, and definitely not with honorifics.
Sebastian’s eyes were wild, unfocused. “Please, just…”
Not a game.
Jim grabbed Sebastian’s open collar and yanked him up for a kiss. He bit down hard, tasting blood, and Seb kissed back with a desperation that even by his standards was extreme. His hand came up to Jim’s neck, and Jim tore it off and pinned it to the cushions. He pushed Sebastian’s back down, squeezed his throat, then dragged his nails down over Sebastian’s chest and fuck, he was close, just a little more…
Sebastian arched up, fingers digging into the sofa. Jim let go of Sebastian’s wrist and grabbed his cock and Sebastian fucking seized, coming immediately and clenching down violently, driving Jim over the edge as well, and he threw his head back and rode out the orgasm with his hand on Sebastian’s cock and Sebastian’s moans in his ears.
Then he collapsed on top of Sebastian, who oofed in response.
They stayed there for a few moments, breathing calming down. Jim reached up to feel Sebastian’s pulse thudding steadily underneath his jaw, slowing down to normal.
“Twice in two hours,” Sebastian muttered, after a while. “Feeling that one, are you? Getting old?”
Jim pushed up onto his elbows and glanced at the clock. “Only a little over an hour, actually.”
“What, really? Fuck.” Sebastian dropped his head. “It felt longer.”
“I’m sure it did.” Jim sat up, looked down, and smiled.
“What?” Sebastian craned his neck to look down at himself. “Oh. Well.”
True to Sebastian’s predictions, there were stains. Quite a few of them. At some point, Jim must have torn part of the kilt, which was still rucked up and seemed to be framing Sebastian’s crotch in an oddly artistic way. The shirt was torn as well, of course, several buttons missing or hanging by loose threads, and even the jacket was stained and rumpled.
“I think the socks survived,” Sebastian said dryly.
“But the rest is going in the bins, yes.” Jim fell back down onto Sebastian. “Collateral damage.”
“Well, good. The trash is the only suitable place for that fucking uniform, if you ask me.”
Jim hummed. Then he pushed up to his elbows to see Sebastian's face. His boy was already looking a bit more like his usual self, relaxed and confident, slightly smug. Almost the complete opposite of how he'd looked only minutes ago.
“What?” Sebastian asked, frowning.
“What was it they said again?” Jim smiled. “Problems with accepting authority?”
“Difficulty. And they didn’t say it, not officially. Officially I was an exemplary soldier.”
Jim snorted. “They’re just blind to sarcasm.”
“You’re not, though.”
“No.” Jim sat up, straddling Sebastian’s hips. He cocked his head, studying him. Then he said, “Sir?”
Sebastian shoved him off the sofa.
Jim hit the ground hard, his back knocking against the coffee table, but even that couldn’t stop him cackling. It was very much worth the bruises, to see Sebastian’s utterly embarrassed face.
“Fuck off,” Sebastian snapped, his cheeks suspiciously pink.
“Sir,” Jim repeated gleefully. “Yessir, please sir, can I have some more sir – ”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“No, really, I’m glad we discovered this side of you,” Jim said gleefully. “I look forward to getting more acquainted with it in the future.”
Sebastian got off the sofa and glared down at Jim. Jim beamed up happily in return.
“You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?” Sebastian said resignedly.
Jim pulled a face. “Obviously not.”
Sebastian sighed and turned away, revealing his arse, still a little red, and now there was a temptation Jim had no intention of resisting.
Sebastian honest-to-god yelped at the hit. He whirled and glared at Jim, looking absolutely livid. “Can you not – ”
“No.” Jim hopped to his feet. “Come on, Captain, to the shower.” He brushed past Sebastian and snapped his fingers.
“Yes, sir,” Sebastian replied, vicious sarcasm dripping off every syllable.
“And bring the knife,” Jim called over his shoulder.
There was a thoughtful silence. Then there was a clink, and soft footsteps following him.
Obedient boy.