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First things first: David didn't actually do anything wrong.
Well.
Not exactly.
Rephrased a little: he didn't break any ship rules.
He did break a rule, though.
His insubordinate behavior was fairly mundane. It was another element of their roleplay, actually. The same roleplay wherein David gets punished when he breaks rules.
Normally, Harper doesn't hold any claim to David's body outside of what is shared between them by choice — that is to say, David masturbates on his own, and sometimes Harper walks in on him and joins him, and it's a pleasant surprise when it happens, and sometimes he doesn't, and David gets off on his own. Sometimes it's maybe not an accident, but rather a kind of seduction from David's end.
This time, it's really nothing different, but they've given the play a different skin. Harper caught him frantically jerking off in the locker room and it only escalated from there. He half-shoved David like he was guiding a prisoner to the goat locker to be interrogated, pushing him through the door with a hand firm on his lower back just for the pleasure of watching him stumble, watching his eyes go wide and desperate at Harper's shadow looming over him.
When they're in the goat locker, things are different. Here, Harper's in charge — no one can enter without his permission, not even officers. That means David.
When he's in the goat locker, David isn't Lieutenant Commander Mason...he's just another private. And Master Chief Petty Officer Harper is his superior. In the goat locker, Harper is the highest ranking officer.
Harper crosses his arms, glowering down at David sprawled out on the couch under him. "You promised not to get off without me this week."
David's head flops back against the soft cushions, indignantly tossing his hair. "You were teasing me all day, trying to turn me on. I couldn't hold back."
"Hmm. I think you need more discipline. You can learn a little delayed gratification."
"Sorry, officer, what am I being charged with?" David snarks.
Harper glares at him. "Say my title. My full title."
David shuffles back on the couch, making himself comfortable with his arms slung across the backrest, looking back defiantly at Harper. "Sorry," he drawls, looking intentionally right into Harper's eyes, "Master Chief Petty Officer Harper, what are my charges?"
Harper steps forward, legs spread wide to box David in on the couch, pressing him back even further into the cushions. "You disrespected my authority. And I think you did it intentionally. You wanted me to find you. You were hoping I would walk in on you. Did you want me to punish you, is that it?"
He knows this game. He knows David likes to play at being defiant at first, like he's done nothing wrong, but once Harper has, shall we say, beaten him into submission...then, he’ll be very willing to take his punishment.
That's what they do this for — or part of it, anyway — David has to work out the urge to bite back at authority before Harper will reward him. Part of David wants to be punished, part of him needs it, and Harper wants just as badly to give him everything he needs, forever.
But first, he has to be good. He has to be so good for Harper. So Harper steps even closer, leaning down into David's space, hands curling around David's wrists, sliding down to intertwine their fingers for just a moment before he removes them entirely.
"If you're good for me, I'll reward you," Harper croons in his ear, trailing his fingers lightly over the curve of David's shoulder. "I'll make you cum until you can't think anymore. But you have to be a good boy for me. Can you do that? Can you take everything I have for you?"
"Please, please, yes, I want it all," David gasps quietly.
Harper's hands cradle his cheeks, forcing eye contact. "Do you know what you're asking me for?"
"Yes. I do." It's thoughtless; he knows intuitively, instinctively, that anything he could do with Harper is, at the least, worth trying once. That, and they planned this. So he does know, specifically, what it is he's implicitly asking for.
"Well, then I think you've earned my fingers. Spread your legs, soldier."
David spreads his legs open obediently, excitedly. He keens happily when Harper's fingertips brush the seam of his thighs, so tantalizingly close to where he wants to be touched, but Harper doesn't give him anything more, anything better. He cups David's junk through his cargos, running his thumb over David's tdick, finding it already hard and pressing back against him. Harper makes quick work of David's belt, shoving his cargos and boxers down to his thighs in one motion, baring everything for him to look at. He drags his fingers along David's entrance, gently spreading him open, watching how his own fluids glisten on his skin with his arousal, and doing absolutely nothing to sate him as he squirms under Harper.
David's so relieved when Harper finally touches him, one finger dipping just slightly inside of him for a heartbeat, but all Harper does is give his pussy a tiny slap and then pull back, smirking when David whines at the loss.
"Ahh, ahh, not yet. Not inside. You don’t deserve that, you have to show me you’re worth it, okay, private?"
"Okay," David says breathlessly.
Harper slaps his cunt again, looking at him pointedly, and his heart skips a beat.
"Okay, sir, yes sir."
Harper's lips crack into a thin, restrained smile, twitching upwards at the corners. "Good boy. Now turn over. Open up for me."
The praise makes something deep inside of him sing. At the same time, humiliation burns low in his stomach, and in his cheeks, but he doesn't curl up and hide. He's a soldier; his only job is to follow orders. Not to think. Master Chief Petty Officer Harper is doing more than enough thinking for the both of them.
So David rolls over, lying on his stomach and settling his weight over Harper's spread thighs, letting Harper's gloved hands move him where Harper wants him.
Harper spreads David's thighs, exposing everything between his legs, moving down from his pussy to slap his ass instead. David slumps over his knee, sinking into Harper as he spanks David, slow, gradually faster, back and forth against one cheek, building a steady rhythm.
The impact of Harper's hand stinging against David’s ass, the aftershocks vibrating through his brain, all of it makes him feel so good, so warm inside. The relieved little sighs slipping off his tongue with each slap, as the heat and the sting and the sharp pain of it start to blur together into one fuzzy, warm sensation. It’s so close to where he desperately wants to be touched, and yet not close enough at all. The echoes in his nerves aren’t strong enough to do anything but tease.
When he stops, rubbing his hand gently over David's ass to soothe the impact, David whines with the loss. Harper has to bite back the urge to soothe him with words, too, to call him some sweet pet name that's totally out of place in this scene. Instead, he shifts to unbuckle his belt, paying rapt attention to the way David shudders in anticipation at the metallic clink of the buckle, wondering if Harper will take his belt off to use it in place of his hand, or if he's just getting his dick out.
"Get on your knees, private. On the floor."
Ah, so it's the second option.
David turns over, Harper nudging him down into place. His ass aches where it presses into his heels and the floor, kneeling awkwardly before Harper. It’s an almost pleasant ache, though — a burning reminder, a signal fire grounding him in the scene, in the moment.
"Blow me. Don’t touch yourself. Your hands stay where I can see them, soldier." He wants to see David writhe in need. For him. For him.
David grips his thighs tightly, in malicious compliance.
"Is this good enough for you?" he hums. Reaching in, he bites Harper's inner thigh, and receives a slap to the cheek for his trouble. His face stings, red and sharp, the localized thrum of pain helping him focus as he watches Harper's reaction. David's grin is far too smug for a man on his knees.
Still, he obediently unzips Harper's fly and pulls his waistband down with practiced fingers, taking Harper into his mouth as sweetly as ever, sitting there with those pretty eyelashes kissing his cheekbones as he gazes pleadingly up at Harper. He’s giving him the fuck me eyes. Harper absolutely cannot resist the fuck me eyes.
Usually, he'd go fairly slow like this, letting David adjust at his own pace, not trying to take overt control. But today David's asked him to take the reins, and to give him a rough ride, so that's what Harper does. He doesn't wait; instead, once David's swallowed down those comfortable first few inches, Harper pushes his hips forward, interrupting David trying to tease him with kitten licks to his head, forcing David to take him all the way.
David moans low in his throat when Harper bottoms out, annoyance and arousal, a tempting vibration that travels up Harper's spine like an electric shock. His breath rolls over Harper's cock, and then he's gagging, throat closing up, muscles flexing around Harper as he lets his eyes roll back with a deep breath from the gut, opening himself up, relying on muscle memory and pure instinct to fit Harper's cock all the way to the hilt in his mouth.
He's soft, so soft and perfectly wet and slick around Harper, tongue teasing the underside of his shaft as David starts to bob his head, eager to get started. Once he's got a little momentum going Harper helps him along, pushing him incrementally harder with each thrust until Harper's roughly fucking his throat. David's lips are a mess of spit and precum, red and swollen, a deliciously puffy vice around his cock.
Harper lets his head tip back; in the slew of pleasure, he allows himself to lose composure a little. Even like this, playing this part for David, he doesn't need to be 100% on, not the way he has to be on the field. Not the way he's pretending to be. Just enough to keep the illusion, to keep the immersion. His lips part, groans tumbling from his mouth, biting back the common urge to call David's name, to call him all sorts of sweet things.
Instead, he tightens his fingers in David's hair and growls to keep from moaning too sweetly. "Yeah," he hums, "just like that."
Just like that, he keeps fucking David's throat, only pulling off to let him breathe when he outright chokes.
David presses his forehead into Harper's thigh, breathing hard, and Harper lets him have it. Doesn't stop him when he turns his cheek into Harper's skin instead, resting his head on Harper's lap. This, this is more personal, more private than pretending David is a private, but it's still submission.
Harper is far too entranced by the soft huff of David's breaths returning to normal, anyways, to ever dream of stopping him. His hair is silky smooth where it falls over Harper's skin, and he's running his fingers thoughtlessly through David's curls now.
"Doing alright?" Harper asks him, when he's had a chance to breathe again.
"Sir..." he whispers, and his voice is so raspy, so rough from Harper making his throat raw, it renders Harper speechless for a moment. "'M okay. Just...please, fuck me, sir." He sounds so in character, it's unbelievable; it almost feels wrong to say in character, because this part of it isn't even really him playing a part. The almost awestruck tone of voice, the need resonating in each word...it's so genuine. It reminds Harper that, even if David flaunts his technical superiority over him on a daily basis, he still deeply respects Harper.
Harper’s fingers tangle in his hair, cradling his face as he tilts David’s head to look him in the eyes. He doesn't look smug anymore, but he does look especially turned on by the fact that he's on his knees for Harper, and they both know it.
David looks up, craning his neck to search for something, any hint of returned softness in Harper's eyes. In the dim light, all he can make out is the stern gleam of authority. But the way Harper's thumb strokes his forehead is a subtle giveaway; the way his hand cards gently through David's hair, as if he can't help himself.
"Please," David whispers, like he's this close to giving up. Like he's this close to tears. "Please, I need...I need to."
"No, you can't touch yourself. Not until you've gotten me off first. You can grind on my boot if you want it that bad."
He's half joking about the boot, but the way David looks at him, he realizes he's been taken in full seriousness. And...well, that's fine. He doesn't think David will be able to hold on very long, otherwise. Not with the way his arousal drips down his thighs and puddles on the floor beneath him, making it obvious how turned on he is just by being on his knees for Harper. That alone is a powerful enough drug to keep Harper going for weeks, the knowledge that David gets wet just from submitting to him like this.
It occurs to Harper that if he finishes without letting David touch himself at all, he might cry. Suddenly, he decides he wants that. Not the first thing, though. Maybe he won't let David touch himself, but he deserves a little stimulation elsewhere to balance out Harper thrusting into his mouth. Maybe one last rough, quick orgasm before they go a proper round.
Harper doesn't fuck him. Not yet. Not how he wants. Instead he guides David's mouth back onto his cock, using a hand in his hair to keep him where Harper wants him.
He pushes his foot forward, just a couple inches, pressing the toe of one boot against David's cunt. Even through the reinforced steel he can vaguely make out the shape of David's arousal pressing back against him, soft flesh made firm with rushing blood, but still so soft compared to the leather rubbing against David, slick like shoeshine as David ruts desperately against him.
"Good boy," he hums. David's always quick to pick up on Harper's cues.
Still, he won't praise too much. He won't let David have the satisfaction of losing himself fully in submission, swallowing Harper's load with those pretty eyes fluttering shut, sinking into bliss; no, he hasn't earned it that good.
Right when he's about to finish, he pulls out without warning. His cum splatters across David's face, his cheekbones, dripping into his mouth, down his lips and chin. It's obscene. It's disgusting. It's beautiful.
David's mouth is parted in a soft o, tears streaming down his cheeks, mingling with the cum making a mess of his face. Fuck, he's gorgeous like this.
Harper thumbs over his lip, pressing the mixed fluids into his mouth; a soothing gesture, mingled with humiliation. Harper shudders when David sucks Harper’s thumb into his mouth, licking the tip gently.
"Messy," he breathes. David grins against his fingertips, flushed and disheveled. "You’re so pretty like this."
Harper's voice is soft, soothing, but there's still an almost condescending lilt to his tone, and it makes David's gut swirl hotly. Still not fully satisfying him. Still holding what he really wants just out of his reach. It's exactly what he'd asked Harper for, when they sketched out a game plan for this scene.
"Thank you, sir, I’m glad you enjoy the results of your hard work." His tone is amused, but genuine — it’s not a dig, David’s actually thanking Harper for fucking his face. The thought makes heat curl in Harper’s abdomen, sending blood between his legs all over again.
"You’re such a slut. Is that where you get off? Being used? Letting someone else take your body to the limit?"
"Yes, sir," David says, grinning sharply. "I want you to use me."
"And then what? Throw you away when I break you like a toy?"
David shivers. "That’s for you to decide. I just want to make sure I feel it when you do."
Harper trails his fingers over David's chin, examining his expression, his posture. "Well, such an eager little slut…I suppose it’s only fair I give you what you deserve, especially since you’re so sweet as to ask for it outright. I thought I was going to have to beat it out of you. Mmm, not tonight?"
"No," David says easily, only the flush on his cheeks betraying his mortification. "Couldn’t wait."
"You're a whore for me."
David dips his head in response, like he wants to hide it in Harper's shoulder, but of course there's nothing there save Harper's fingertips at his chin, forcing him to look back up, forcing him to meet Harper's eyes again.
"I know," he says, hushed.
Harper bites his tongue to keep from smiling. He loves when David gets pliant like this, but he doesn't want to sugarcoat things too soon. After all, the whole point of this exercise is discipline — not just on David's part. It's a delicate balance they both play a part in holding.
"So eager, so patient. You’ve been good waiting for me, you know. Maybe I should reward you."
"Please, sir." He looks pleadingly into Harper’s eyes, and Harper can hardly resist. Those puppy-dog saucer eyes wreck him every single time without fail.
He wants to ruin David, passionately. He wants to fuck him up and fuck him, over and over until they both grow tired of it. He really, really wants to tug David up into his arms and off the floor and fall back on the bed with him in tow; wants to stop the teasing and the games and just feel him close, tell him how much he means to Harper, how absolutely terrifying the scope of Harper's feelings had been at first and how that horizon has only expanded over time.
But he doesn't do any of that.
Because he doesn't really want to stop. Not really. It's nothing more than a passing urge.
Deep breath. Focus.
What he really wants — his goal, his- his objective in this exercise, if you will — is to guide David to a very particular edge, and then carefully guide him over it. To let him fall, knowing Harper will catch him. And then, once he's melting, once he's met his punishment (fabricated as it may be), he'll get his reward. Which is also Harper's reward for remembering all of this shit. Not that he minds, far from it — but sometimes he has to pause to look at his mental roadmap.
Objective: break David down.
They're probably almost there, now, but there's still a little further to go. A bit more fire in those pretty hazel eyes gazing up at him. A bit too much defiance in the way David clutches Harper's thighs, like he's not done yet, even though Harper's dick is definitely finished for the next few minutes.
No problem. If he's not done with this, with being on his knees, then Harper will find something else to sate his hunger.
"I think you can finish like this, private. Let me put you in your place a little more, hmm?"
He looks down, and David is fully humping his boot. Harper suddenly feels a little weak-kneed. All he can think to do is shove his foot forward, almost kicking David, and tangling on hand harder in David's hair, enough that he knows it'll sting when he tugs, and that does it.
David comes weakly, roughly, dryly, pressing his face into Harper’s thigh, hands clutching almost painfully through the fabric of Harper’s pants as he spasms momentarily, thrashing against the boot shoved between his thighs, against Harper’s strong legs boxing him in, against the unbearable heat of Harper all around him, pulling him in like a magnet.
Finally he’s being lifted, momentarily weightless as if in a dream, and Harper’s arms are around him, pulling David onto the bed, into his lap.
David blindly curls into the familiar contours of Harper’s body, even in this illusion of unfamiliarity between them, pressing into the gentle touches — Harper tilting his head back and up, Harper kissing his tears away, Harper sneaking a single soft, chaste press of lips to lips, just a tiny one to comfort David. Neither of them can quite resist holding each other the way they really want, it seems.
“I’m gonna give you everything you want, I promise, sweetheart,” Harper murmurs low into his ear, like it’s privileged information. His hands are cupping David’s face, and David feels like he’s Harper’s entire world, the center of all his attention, and it’s overwhelming after being degraded so much, but he loves it.
He's desperate, and strung-out, and so sensitive his nerves have lost the difference between up and down. He's thrumming with need, and he can't even slow his brain down enough to identify what, exactly, it is that he needs. Just that he needs it, needs something, and that Harper will give him whatever he needs, if he can figure out how to ask.
"Sir, please, please, I can't think anymore, just..."
Harper's hand on his cheek pulls him back to reality, a tether as he clings to Harper's fatigues. All of the reminders of his rank resisting crumpling under David's fingers, digging into the cloth hard enough to wrinkle.
"Shhh," Harper shushes him, thumbing over his parted lips, "you've done your part, soldier. Now let me do mine. I just need you to bend over for me, okay?"
Let me take care of you. Even like this, he still finds a way to say it.
David rolls over for him, sinking into the bed. Even like this, even with Harper manhandling him, he still relaxes into the warmth of those hands on his body, the varied rough-and-smooth textures of Harper's gloves, the almost unbearable heat of his exposed fingertips wrapping around David's hips.
Harper carefully maneuvers David's limbs into place, moving with decisive swiftness; he knows what he wants, and he knows just as well what David wants. It just so happens those two things heavily overlap.
Face down, ass up, pussy dripping — David makes a pretty picture, spread out under Harper like this. His skin is pleasingly red where Harper slapped him, and Harper can’t take his eyes off the curve of David’s spine, arched invitingly towards him. Harper has to pause to admire, wishing he could take a picture — even just a single Polaroid, to indulge himself with. Never mind the security risks, he deserves to commemorate the stunning beauty of seeing David like this. Raw and vulnerable but undeniably safe.
Harper gives his ass a proprietary slap. Still raw from before, he cries out at the sharp sting. It's still good. It hurts and it's so fucking good, and some part of his brain doesn't really understand how those can both be true at once, even now, but he's too far out of his head to question it now. It just makes perfect, intuitive sense, and he loves it. Loves being able to melt into the safety and certainty of Harper's touch, however rough or gentle.
"How'd you get so good at bending over, hm? Showing your pussy off like some cheap whore? Like, you don't even need to tell me, I just look at you and I know you want me to fuck you. But I still want to hear you say it."
Well, he needs to hear David say it. But that goes without saying. He just wants to hear it, too, so he can rub it in that little extra bit: you want me so bad it makes you look stupid.
David groans in embarrassment. "Shut up and fuck me."
The snark earns him another slap, this time on the other ass cheek. It stings in a completely different way from the first one, and the contrast makes him a little dizzy, even though he's lying completely down right now.
He wonders: how will Harper fuck him? When will he show mercy?
Harper rocks against him, their combined arousal easing the glide of his cock between David's thighs. Not trying to push in, not trying to penetrate, just idly stimulating the both of them for now. Slowly, David's muscles relax, his wetness creating a suction that starts to pull Harper in, and Harper tilts his hips when he feels David begin to loosen up. This is something they've figured out through long nights where they couldn't do much more than frot through their clothes, and then longer nights when they had all the time in the world to lazily move their bodies together, nothing in between their skin. It takes time, but it's shockingly easy to be patient when the rhythm they make together feels so damn good, letting the heat build at exactly its natural pace and not any faster, until arousal has done half the heavy lifting for them. Until it's easy as anything for their bodies to couple — like particles, like bodies in some physics simulation, linked together by inextricable, not entirely inexplicable forces.
Then, only then, Harper stops holding back. When he's hard again, and he knows David's ready.
A broken sob of relief works its way from David's mouth when Harper straddles his waist, mounts him like a dog, and finally pushes inside of him. If nothing else, the feeling of his girth stretching David out, steadily beginning to fill him, is a sweet, familiar relief. It has nothing to do with the dimensions of Harper's dick so much as how he uses it — and more than that, even, it's just the fact that it's Harper's, it's Harper, and the way David's body reacts to that familiarity is far out of his control by now.
"For a private, you’re pretty good at taking me. How'd you get that kind of experience? You bend over for all your superiors? You moan for them like this too? Let everyone on the ship know what a slut you really are?"
His voice takes on a new kind of heat as an idea strikes him, dipping into a lower register. When he speaks again, it's rough, husky, heavy with emotion.
"I think you were made to serve like this. Not to serve your COs in battle, not getting your hands dirty. Like this. Made to get on your knees for another man. Made to bend over for my cock. Made to serve in pleasure. Not war. Not pain."
"What about you?"
"Hmm?"
"You, too? I think you were. I think you were made for love. We both were."
Harper grinds slowly into him in response, gently but steadily filling David up once more. He groans into the stimulation, shuddering happily as it rolls over his entire body, almost overwhelming.
"We were," he breathes. "You feel so fucking good, you're perfect. We were made for this, huh?"
We weren't made to hate other men, we were made to love each other. To touch each other. To fuck each other. We’re not meant to live in war. We’re meant to fight for this, for something just like this. Something pure. Something just ours to have and hold. Something they can't take away from us by force.
Nothing’s ever felt more right, more natural than Harper’s hands wrapping around David’s hips, his mouth on David’s neck — the call and response, even if they're holding it back for this particular game, of confessing I love yous. Nothing’s ever felt more natural than making love to this gorgeous, sweet man.
If Harper could take David out of the field and replace his service with this, every day until he retires, he would do it in a heartbeat. Whether David would make that choice is another story, but there’s always wishful thinking.
He can’t, though. He can’t take David away from all of the pain no matter how much he wants to. So he has this, the next best thing. The sometimes when he can pull David away from at least some of the pain, for at least a little while. At least he can be a distraction, for a few hours at a time.
Harper hilts himself in David and wastes no time finding a quick, strong pace. thrusting all the way, pulling out quick, grinding slowly back in. Chasing his own pleasure, yes, but doing so in a way he knows David likes. As long as he can open his heart wide enough to handle it, David likes taking whatever Harper will give him. He likes when Harper takes, and takes, and pretends, a little bit, to take without regard for David's comfort. Sure, it often winds up with David being in a submissive position, but make no mistake — he's always the one in control, and if it looks like that's not the case, it's because he wants it that way. At the end of the day, Harper is serving David — but then, that's what he signed up for. If he could choose anything to serve, it'd be this.
It starts to feel rhythmic, the sparks of overstimulation each time Harper pushes into him, the fuzzy feeling washing over him in warm waves as Harper keeps talking him up, keeps giving him exactly what he asked for.
David loves it. He loves knowing that no matter who else gets to use this space, Harper only brings him in here like this. He's the only one for whom Harper will dedicate hours of his free time and an invested roleplay scenario to entertain his whims. He's the only one who Harper will bring in here to spend hours with whether there's paperwork waiting for him or not, simply enjoying idle time together; the only one Harper brings in here to bend over the furniture.
He alone has the privilege of loving Harper like this. He alone gets to take Harper apart in this way, and in turn, be taken apart by him, piece by loving piece.
"Let me hear you," Harper whispers, an inviting purr from over David's shoulder. He lets his jaw fall slack, though it takes a moment of thinking about it, and Harper slaps his ass — lightly, like he's spurring on a horse.
He keeps giving David quiet encouragement, and soon enough David is moaning louder than ever, beautiful little whimpers tumbling from his lips with each roll of Harper's hips inside of him.
Gradually, the moans turn to words, hardly coherent, but understandable nonetheless — "in me, please, finish inside me, please please please —"
His chanting is cut off by Harper’s hand clamping over his jaw, fingertips pressing into his mouth. Two fingers hook on his lips, and David swirls his tongue around them, suitably distracted, even as another warbled please tumbles from his mouth.
"Whore," Harper hisses, the low rasp of his voice grating deliciously against David's frayed nerves. "You’re gonna get knocked up if that's your move every time you suck up to a superior officer."
He won’t; he’s on birth control and he and Harper aren’t particularly trying to test that limit. But the taunt makes his blood rush sideways, which is the point.
"That my punishment?" David taunts. "Gonna breed me? Fill me with your cum, that way everyone'll know."
Harper's grip on him tightens, David's lower jaw pressing back against his fingers. He's sure he'll have teeth-shaped bruises later, but he's not sure he minds. Even the weirder and less pleasurable marks are still marks left by David, still the imprints of his body. His bones pressing into Harper's skin, the closest they can get to being one. There's something sacred about it. Harper hasn't been a religious man in a long, long time, but he'd get on his knees a thousand times over just for David's mouth on him, just for the way he moans low in his throat as he sucks on Harper's fingers, like a sacrament.
"Everyone will know you're mine," Harper whispers, a confessional just for David, his David; his protector, his savior, his saint, his angel, his everything.
"Yeah, yours," David gasps, pressing back into Harper's weight on top of him. He wants Harper to claim him in this way, wants lingering proof of Harper's connection to him. Proof that no matter if they pretend David's some anonymous private, no matter if they pretend there's nothing between them but raw, convenient desire, what they have is special. Unique. There are strings attached, and maybe they're the tapestry of fate or just found objects the two of them have made into a nest, but it's a functional fabric nonetheless. Hell, playing pretend is part of that — there are all manner of things they share with each other that nobody else has seen, from either side. Is there anyone else Harper would do this with? Anyone else David would allow to see this vulnerable side of him?
Not in a million years; not like this.
"Fuck, you’re gorgeous." It slips out of his mouth almost by accident, too genuine to be part of the bit (if they can call it that, complex and personal as it is). David, even in the haze of arousal, even under the spell Harper's weaved on his mind, catches the slip-up — of course he does. It's a rare treasure for him to be so fucked out of his head that he misses Harper's blunders, and one for Harper to handle with extra care. Slowly, gently, honestly. Probably in a position where they can look each other in the eyes, if not at first then definitely at the end. Not for a night like tonight, fast and rough and full of smoke & mirrors.
"You say that to every private you fuck?" David teases, sounded a little exerted, but still easily enough, pushed out in a rush of breath.
"I only fuck the ones who act like you. Like regular discipline isn’t enough. You get off on me spanking you, what else am I supposed to do?"
Harper bends down, kissing David's lower back. There's suspension of disbelief here, too, in every part of their act — even in the world where Harper would actually fraternize with privates, he'd never show that kind of soft intimacy, too. Even in the world where Harper's idea of regular discipline were harsher than it is, he'd still reserve corporal punishment for the bedroom. Each of these is a separate lie, a separate layer they construct for kicks, and at the end of the day they don't care about perfect immersion in the scene, only being immersed in each other.
They circle right back to the truth via Harper's lips pressing into each divot between David's vertebrae, kissing his deepest unspoken feelings into his lover's skin. Their hips roll like linked gears in some sprawling clockwork mechanism, and Harper holds him just right so he feels wonderfully full and agonizingly empty in intervals, body gone lax with the endorphin rush as Harper's hands run over his thighs, roughly rubbing his clit now and then to tease him, to keep him hurtling towards an edge he won't yet fall over for a while. Not until Harper lets him. Denial, a firm and steady hand — all of it feeds into delayed gratification. And isn't that a form of love? Teaching someone, training them, helping them be good because they want to try; lending your strength in the name of discipline.
"My pretty boy," Harper croons, because he can't resist being a little bit possessive. It just fits, it just makes sense, like this. It's almost animalistic, primal behavior, but then again, so is the way they're making love today. "Made for my cock. Slutty little kitten, mewling for me. Whining just like a bitch in heat."
"I am your bitch," David whines, like he needs Harper to know it or he'll die, like he needs Harper to tell him it's true (because of course it is); like, purely, he just needs to say it again: "yours."
"Yeah you are," Harper affirms, grinning widely, "all mine." There's heat in his words, but they come out soft, almost embarrassingly tender, brimming with delight. David can't see him, so he can't see the dopey smile on Harper's face, the way that even now he feels a little stupid with how much he loves David, far too much to hide. But he can keep his mouth closed for now, and so instead of speaking he kisses the truth of it into David's skin, following the arch of his spine with chapped, soft lips. His hands splay over shapes made by muscle and fat, subconsciously trying to maximize their contact, trying to feel as much of him as possible; alive, breathing, pulse hammering beneath his ribcage and everything else holding him together.
His body is shifting under Harper, nonstop, always somehow in motion, and he's moving with Harper too, and Harper would do almost anything — no, scratch that, he would do anything, anything at all — to keep this moment in his memory forever — David warm and soft and firm and his chest rising and falling as he grasps at the sheets for purchase and Harper still doesn't hold him quite how either of them want to because they're still playing a game and that game has rules and neither of them are far gone enough to tap out, but Harper wants. Oh, he wants more than enough for the two of them together.
Each roll of his hips against David's says mine mine mine, says I want you, says please stay with me forever, and David's soft little answering moans are the sweetest response, louder and louder as Harper slowly chips away at his composure. Bit by bit, he's watching David unravel for him, and it's a beautiful thing to see. To have a hand in.
When he feels David begin to tremble, the telltale signs he's about to orgasm, Harper doubles down. He doesn't stop until he's certain David is riding the edge, and only then does he pull his hand away from between David's thighs, cutting his orgasm short just as he begins to buck and cry out, driving him just far enough to ruin it for him.
The sound he makes is nothing short of obscene, and Harper almost feels bad for him, but intentionally pushing him over the edge like this is far too fun to have reservations.
"I didn't say you could come yet," he croons, fingers slipping back to caress the folds of skin around David's entrance, carefully avoiding his swollen, overstimulated cock.
David lets out a broken sob. "Sir, please — " he begs, and a jolt of almost nauseating arousal rockets through Harper at the sound of the title still on David's tongue, fingers curling in the sheets, a tear dripping from his face that Harper still can't see, god damn it —
Harper pitches forward and wraps one arm securely around David's middle. The other hand remains splayed over his junk, softly pinching his dick, one finger pressed lightly into the pool of slick at his entrance, rubbing around the sensitive stretch where Harper's dick is buried inside him, hips infuriatingly still.
"Fine," he purrs. "I changed my mind. You can come. You can come as many times as you want, but I'm not going to stop getting you off until I'm done too."
A quiet, wracked sob. Harper rubs one hand over David's pecs, soothingly. Waits for him to respond.
He says nothing. Breathing hard, silent otherwise.
"David," Harper whispers, and feels his lover jolt under him, brought back from wherever he was falling into by the familiarity of his own name. The arch of David's spine remains taut for an uncomfortable second, shoulders pulled tight, and then he breathes again, and he slumps down into the bed, the tension leaving him. "David, baby, gimme a color?"
David's chest heaves and shudders with another long, grounding breath.
"Green," he breathes after a moment, hushed, both of them caught in this strange liminal space between what they were pretending to do and what they're actually doing. "Green, green, so fucking green, please, please — "
He comes again with a shout, just a split-second burst of white-hot pleasure from Harper's thumb and two fingers expertly working his dick between them as he starts to roll his hips once more.
And he groans, forehead flopping into the pillow beneath his face, whole body trembling through it as Harper carefully grinds into him, intentionally dragging his cock over David's G-spot each time he pulls out, teasingly avoiding it as he pushes back in.
"God, fuck, please fuck me," David groans.
"Never heard you beg this much before," Harper comments, rolling his hips back and up on a particularly deep thrust, relishing the way David arches his back into it, hot and wet and deliciously messy around him.
"'S your fault," David manages, though there's no force behind it, just a half-slurred, weak accusation, mumbled in between the moans Harper is still easily working out of him. "Got me all worked up."
"It's my fault you're easy?" Harper fires back, hands sliding up David's hips to grip his sides, groping at his pecs, his abs, any of the muscles or lovely soft places he can rest his hands.
"You make me wanna be," he blurts, not an accusation so much as a confession: you do this to me.
It's deeper, weightier than expected, and it gives Harper pause, gets him lost in thought for a moment even as his body continues to rock against David's, almost caught in a rhythm of its own, like he has no conscious input in the motions of his limbs. Has no need for conscious input, when his heart sings to him, his body's engine harmonizing with David's, their pulses beating almost in sync.
He can't wait to feel David's heartbeat against his own when they cuddle after this. Because they will. Once they're done wringing out their gnarliest and most tangled emotions, being close is more important than playing roles anymore. No matter what kind of personal and/or work shit they have going on, no matter how livid the hate sex (or what looks a hell of a lot like hate sex, anyways) they might be having at any given time may be, there's never been a time where they haven't clung to each other after getting off. David's the really, really, unabashedly clingy one, but Harper loves it a lot more than he'll readily admit. Frequently looks forward to it along with and during sex. Sometimes outright enjoys it more than the sex.
(And, well...yeah. Even when they don't have sex, when one or both of them are too tired, physically or otherwise, when they're short on time or privacy or supplies or they just can't get it up on account of moderate to severe psychological distress, they cuddle. Long before they were brave enough to call the thing between them love, they still felt it strongly enough to answer its call. Mostly the call is a strong, ever-present need for physical closeness.)
David calling his name draws Harper fully back to reality. They've lost the thread now, lost most of the constructed element of the scene. The reality of it is beginning to show through the paint job — but that's fine. They're softly fading back into it, settling back into the comfortable routine of their usual skin. It's not so different at the heart, anyhow.
Harper's devoted to David, to reassuring David like he would any civilian, any private, any VIP — anyone he'd been entrusted to serve and protect. If David calls his name that overrides everything else, that brings out the part of him that simply wants to keep David safe, wants to cradle his world in his hands and whisper sweet nothings.
"Harper, please, please, sir," and he's begging for nothing at all but he's in between Harper, his lover, and Master Chief Harper and both of those people are the same man, ultimately, so he responds in kind, both hands steady on David's body, thighs wrapping around him and squeezing, comforting, grounding. The same quiet resolve, the same glimpse of his thoughtful side that made David start to fall in love with him as far back as BUD/S. He loved fresh-faced, buzzcut, bare-armed Harper. He loves stubbly, rat-tail, full-sleeve Harper, too. He loves stern Harper and he loves sweet Harper and he knows every single version of Harper has a David-sized soft spot in that heart of his, tucked away safe inside his ribcage.
"Gonna fill you up," Harper breathes, curving his hands over the soft part of David's abdomen, pressing down just enough that he knows it'll make David feel the pressure inside his body. David's responding cry of pleasure is like angels harmonizing, to his biased ears.
David pushes back into him, ass slapping against Harper's hips with each thrust. His thighs are a mess of his own slick and Harper's precum, glistening in his leg hair. The muscles of his back ripple beautifully as he moves under Harper, and Harper itches to flip him over, to see his face, to kiss his mouth.
Not yet.
When he feels his own orgasm start to approach, he starts to tease David's clit again. David squirms under him, burying his face in the pillows with a muffled whimper, and Harper swears he feels his heart skip a beat even as it also feels like it's pumping far too fast for him to track each individual beat.
"Oh, fuck, please don't stop," David breathes, turning one cheek into the pillows to speak clearly, with obvious effort.
Harper's starting to lose himself too, struggling to focus on anything but the rhythm of his hips rolling against David's, the harmony of David's moans and his own, as they come louder and louder from his own mouth, unable to hold back anymore.
"C'mon, cum for me," Harper pants, rolling his thumb over David's tdick, and on a stuttering thrust he feels David clench around him, spasming with sheer pleasure, white-hot bliss rippling through his body as he goes lax, melting into the pillow, back arching all the way up in a steep curve.
"Yeah, good boy," he purrs, and David cries, an incoherent noise of pleasure and overwhelm and need all wrapped together in one, impossibly slick as he gushes heat around Harper, and then Harper's own orgasm hits him too.
It's like the tide rolling in, pulling the sand out from under his feet, making him stumble along with the gravitationally-assisted pull of the water, the earth moving under him, the entire world spinning on its axis and Harper just one tiny speck on the shoreline. Lost in bliss, lost in the warm body pressed against him, entirely immersed in David still shuddering through his own orgasm as Harper spills inside his lover.
Harper collapses against David's back, the two of them melting into one pile of sweaty, heavy limbs as they both finish. David rolls onto his side, plastering his back to Harper's front without making any effort to separate them, Harper's dick softening inside of him but still very much sensitive when David shifts against him.
"God, I want to stay like this," David breathes after a long moment. His voice is raw, tender with exhaustion. He sounds happy. He sounds wrecked.
Harper squeezes him gently, kissing a soft path down the column of his neck. "So do I. You know we can't sleep like this, though. Gonna get gross."
"Wipes are in the nightstand," David reminds him, and he moans unhappily when Harper peels himself away to search, but he's pliant, lifting a thigh to let Harper watch his own cum drip out of David's pussy as he pulls out. Harper watches, intently and gratuitously.
And then he wipes David and himself down, because he's a gentleman. The second he's done, David's climbing into his lap, straddling Harper's thighs and burying his face in his lover's neck.
Harper balls up the used wipes and tosses them towards the trash can. He misses most of them. Oh well, he'll get it later. He's not leaving this bed anytime soon if he can help it.
Once his hands are free he's all over David again, rubbing lazy circles into the curve of his spine.
"Did I do a good job?" he asks, and David laughs so hard Harper flails trying to understand the joke for a moment until he pulls back, kissing Harper messily, and he's grinning against Harper's lips.
And okay, yeah...it is kind of funny that Harper's the one asking that question, but hey, he wants to know.
"You did amazing." David shudders in his arms, aroused just by the memory. "It was...fuck, it was really good. Next time can you belt me?"
Now it's Harper's turn to shudder. He kisses David again, gentle and light. "We can try that next time. I take it you liked the 'special' discipline?"
"Yeah, I might need to put some ointment on that before I sit anywhere for too long, but...it was good. You're good at it."
Harper curls his index finger under David's chin, softly anchoring him for another kiss. "Good. I'm glad. And don't worry about the ointment, I'll get up and find something for you in a little bit."
David rests his head on Harper's shoulder. "Can we take a nap now?"
Harper smiles, laughing softly. It never fails to make his heart flutter, the way David so quickly and predictably settles into this comfortable headspace after releasing all that pent-up energy, all that discontent for authority. "As long as you don't mind me wandering off for a few minutes first. I want to get us some water, maybe a light snack, couple protein bars or something. See if I can't find you some ointment while I'm at it. That way you'll be all comfortable before we pass out."
"Mmm." David hums into his skin, tilting his head to kiss Harper's collarbone, then the junction of his neck and shoulder, trailing the tip of his tongue over the cord of muscle. "I might fall asleep while you're gone," he warns.
Harper's hand on his cheek brings him into a soft, slow kiss, foreheads pressed together in a simple reassurance. "That's okay. You need it. I think I wore you out pretty good."
David still stretches to keep kissing him as Harper pulls away, but he settles back into the bed with a lazy smile when Harper's feet hit the floor.
He is, in fact, asleep when Harper returns a few minutes later, promised supplies in hand. Shifting somewhat restlessly, but not in any distress, just shuffling his feet and mumbling nonsense into the pillows.
When Harper settles next to him, David stirs slowly, groggy, sleepy — he's so fucking adorable like this, blinking heavily, moving just like a sleepy cat.
"Hey, kitten," he murmurs, petting David's hair, letting the soft curls fall over his fingers one by one. "You got real tired out. You feeling okay?"
David shifts, pressing into his side, humming noncommittally. One arm snakes out from under the blankets to worm around Harper's middle, tugging him closer. David's head is practically pillowed in his lap now, and Harper's sure he'd try to climb all the way up there again if he weren't still so tired. Clingy as always. Harper loves it, loves him, loves the way he doesn't even pretend to be ashamed of how much he both wants and needs Harper glued at the hip at all times.
David mumbles something into his hip, a tiny vibration, and it takes Harper a moment to realize he's spoken.
"What was that? Didn't quite hear you." He curls a lock of David's hair around his index finger, smoothing over it with his thumb before letting it uncurl and fall back to David's forehead.
He feels David's nose press into the divot of his hip, nuzzling him. "Said I love you."
Harper shifts his hand to cup the back of David's head, fingertips pressing into the warmth of his bare skin. "I love you too, kitten. I love you so much."
"Mhmm, that's right, I'm kitten," David murmurs through a yawn, sleepy-happy, stretching out his legs under the blanket and still speaking half into Harper's skin. "Thank you for indulging me."
"Of course. You know, you're indulging me too. Not every day I get to be Master Chief Harper, with you...Lieutenant Commander Mason."
Harper takes a long moment to just enjoy the way David shivers against him, clearly pleased by the mention of his rank. Then David tugs at him again, beckoning him even closer.
"Come lie with me," he pleads, "I wanna hold you. I know you already did your paperwork earlier."
Harper sighs softly, resigning himself to the fact that David knows everything he's about to say before he's going to say it. He's heard every one of Harper's token protests a million times, after all. "That I did."
David pats the blankets invitingly. "Then get in here. That's an order from your commander."
An order mumbled teasingly by a groggy, beautifully disheveled man whose cheeks are still a little red from being slapped, neck blooming with a constellation of pretty bruises placed carefully just below the collar. But an order nonetheless. Well, how can Harper refuse a request so sweet as that?
He slides under the covers and gratefully accepts both of David's arms looping around his middle, instantly tugging him as close as possible, warming the meager pocket of air trapped beneath the blankets, warming both their bodies.
"Kitten," Harper murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to David's forehead. "My kitten." David rumbles happily, snuggling into him. They spend a long moment just getting comfortable, getting their legs all tangled together, David nosing into Harper's jaw.
"Yeahhh," David hums softly. "All yours."
The curve of his smile is a whisper against Harper's neck, lulling him to sleep.