Disclaimer: Neither randi nor I own Voltron -- WEP owns the show, DDP owns the comic.
A Superior Officer
by randi and JoAnn
Hawkins arched into his lover's grip. One hand cupped his ass, the other cradled the back of his head. Warm lips nibbled across his face; a tongue took advantage of his helpless moan to invade his mouth. Clothing melted away, and he found himself panting, sprawled naked on the bed, looking up at his lover. Who was *already* more than tall enough when they *stood* facing each other.
His eyes traveled up the muscled body as his partner pulled his shirt off. His records said he was 6'6”, but there were times when he looked even taller than that.
Pausing as he unbuckled his belt, Garrett noticed his gaze and smiled. For some reason, that smile did not give the impression of happiness, or pleasure . . . No, though it *did* say that he was pleased, after all . . . pleased to have a senior officer under his control. Under him.
Garrett bent slightly and ran the back of his scarred knuckles over Hawkins' cheek. “Do you like what you see?” he murmured in a voice like thunder.
Hawkins shuddered under the rough caress, one hand wrapping instinctively around Garrett's wrist, holding that large hand against his face. Licking his lips, he watched as Garrett's eyes darkened. Even under the weight of his gaze, Hawkins kept his voice steady, calm. "Yes. I like what I see." Part of the thrill was knowing that, even if he tried to hold onto his control, Garrett would tear it apart.
Garrett's smile grew wider, and with surprising ease, he removed his hand from Hawkins' grip. But rather than touching him further, as Hawkins hoped he might, he returned to unfastening his pants.
Hawkins made a faint sound of protest that brought Garrett's glittering eyes back to him in an instant. “Now, now,” he rumbled chidingly. “Patience is a virtue, Colonel . . .”
Suddenly, before Hawkins could even blink, Garrett was nude, kneeling over him. A meaty hand grabbed his wrists and held them, pinning them over his head, and he felt the shaggy hair brush his cheek as the big man began to nuzzle the side of his throat.
“But I've never claimed to be all that virtuous, anyway . . .”
The words sent a shiver down Hawkins' spine.
He opened his mouth to say something, anything – but Garrett's teeth on his neck turned the words into a low moan. He twisted his wrists, terror and desire blending intoxicatingly when he couldn't shift the hand holding his at all. His hips arched up, searching for sensation, only to be pinned with insulting ease by his partner's other hand.
Garrett's dark chuckle reverberated against Hawkin's body. "Guess you're not much for virtue either."
“No, I never was . . .” But the words were cut off as Garrett's mouth slanted down over his, and a tongue tasting faintly of shouyu and sake demanded entry into his mouth. For show, he tried to drive it out again, just for the pleasure he could take when Garrett pushed his way in. But the way their tongues entwined was entirely too sensuous, and Hawkins found he craved more contact than his half-pretended defiance was giving him.
And then Garrett's hand released him, freeing his hands. It slithered down his arm, down his flank, and he tried to buck again, but that heavy hand on his hip prevented him. Growling into Garrett's mouth, he brought his freed hands down, and they immediately twined in the unruly locks of hair.
Hawkins gave up on words, and sunk himself in sensation. His lover's tongue in his mouth, his large hands around, and then under his hips. Blunt fingers slid against his hole, hairy legs scissored his own open. Heavy strands of hair entangling his fingers. Scent of his lover, the bone deep smell of oil and metal that no amount of showering ever cleaned away. The heat of Garrett's body pinning him against the bed. The complete inability he had to do anything but what Garrett wanted him to do.
Hawkins moaned as his brain fizzled, shifting from random sensation to random sensation. He writhed upward against silken skin with coarse hair over bulging muscle. He bucked back against the fingers growing more insistent against his opening.
He danced to the orders of his lover's body.
“What's the matter, Colonel?” Garrett purred against his neck. Oh, the way that man could use his very voice as a weapon! It vibrated through his chest, and set his nerves to tingling in ways he'd never felt before. “At a loss for words?” He laughed softly, and let his breath swirl inside Hawkins' ear.
Hawkins moaned, then gasped as he felt one thick finger spear him. He ground down, though whether he was trying to push it out or draw it deeper was not entirely clear. Despite his actions, it kept working its way further and further up, and it brushed against something inside that send sparks through his vision. He cried out, unable to help himself.
From a great distance, he heard Garrett chuckle again, felt the heat lessen slightly. The bed creaked mightily as the big man reared up onto his knees. Dimly, Hawkins felt his opening being probed and worked, and now and again, if he grew too quiet, there would be a stab at that center of pleasure to make him thrash and wail.
Garrett watched Hawkins move exactly – and only – as he willed. There was nothing like this. He'd never met anyone who submitted so perfectly to him, and yet was simultaneously so defiant. Studying the twitching muscles, slick with sweat, the precum slicking out the twitching head of his toy's prick, Garrett let his finger twist one more time, before pulling free of the clinging heat.
As he expected, Hawkins arched up, seeking that contact. He grinned wolfishly as the colonel's eyes snapped open, looking up at him angrily, looking almost as if he was going to give the order to fuck him into the mattress.
Slowly- as if he had all the time in the world and wasn't at all inflamed by the sight of his superior officer practically begging for it beneath him- Garrett lifted one of Hawkins' legs, then the other, and rested them on his shoulders. His huge hands grabbed the older man's hips, and he betrayed his arousal by gripping hard enough to leave bruises. Carefully, he positioned himself just right, and then began to sink into that hot well.
Hawkins fought against the hands, trying and failing to move faster. Bruises blooming on his hips added pain to spice the pleasure of the thick cock sinking deliberately into him. Desperate, Hawkins clenched around Garrett, trying to provoke him into moving faster, to hit that spot deep inside of him. His hands clawed and pushed against the bed sheets as his legs trembled in a futile effort to try to pull Garrett in.
“Ah, ah, Colonel.” Hawkins got no satisfaction whatsoever out of the fact that Garrett's voice was tight from control. “You'll have to learn how to wait for it . . .” And then he chuckled again, as Hawkins began to toss his head back and forth on the ancient pillows. “You'll have to learn virtue . . .”
Every muscle trembling with the effort of holding back, Garrett eased into him, inch by cautious, tortuous inch, delighted by Hawkins' whimpers and breathless pleas. Finally, he stopped, no more than half-sheathed, and watched as the older man tried to gain enough purchase to force him just that little bit further . . . to fill him that little bit more . . .
It was only when the muscles began to clench around his shaft again, massaging it, that he took a deep breath and shoved in the rest of the way, hard and fast, how it seemed Hawkins wanted it.
Garrett slammed into him, driving the air from his body in a wail. All Hawkins could do was hang on. Unerringly, Garrett hit his prostate, massaging it with every thrust. The pounding set the bed creaking and thudding against the plaster of the wall behind them. One thrust just right, the big hands clenching a fraction harder on his hips – and he exploded, cum splattering them both.
A second later, the way that Hawkins spasmed about him drove Garrett over the edge, and with a long, low groan, he threw his head back and came, cock throbbing with pleasure.
But it ended eventually, and despite the way he felt- enervated, drained, only half-conscious- he did not allow himself to collapse onto Hawkins.
To do so would shift the balance of control. And that was out of the question.
So he took a deep breath, then another, and opened his eyes to grin down at Hawkins.
He was a limp, cum-soaked mess. His legs, as Garrett let them slide to the bed, quivered with aftershocks. His hair was plastered to his forehead, runnels of sweat trickled in every crevice of his body.
Garrett lightly let one finger rest on the center of Hawkins' chest. He leaned over Hawkins, chests almost, but not quite touching, that finger, his cock, and his breath their only points of contact. "You are mine."
Garrett pulled out, lifted his finger, and slipped off the bed.
Hawkins shivered in reaction as the big man's cock left his body, but had no energy left to make any protest. He watched through half-lidded eyes as Garrett dressed, every movement as precise as if he were fine-tuning the delicate triggers of a missile.
The words Garrett had spoken didn't even register until he opened the door of the squalid little room.
*You are mine*.
Hawkins forced himself upright, but the door was already closed, and he shut his mouth, the words he wanted to say choking him.
*You are mine*.
It was true.