TW: BDSM, Dom/sub, Military Kink, boot licking, Leather gloves, Dirty Talk, Spanking, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aftercare

"Chin up. Shoulders back! " Trott commands sharply.

Ross complies and stares straight ahead. He stands barefoot in the middle of the bedroom, listening to the sound of Trott's boots clunking on the wooden floor.

Trott circles him, scrutinizing.

Ross tightens his grip on his wrist. His hands are clasped behind his back, more at ease than at attention. The fabric of his t-shirt pulls taut on every breath he takes.

"No coat, no shoes..." Trott tuts. "Out of uniform, and at ease on arrival- disgraceful." He stops in front of Ross and looks him in the eye. "I run a tight ship here, private, and I expect each and every soldier to obey orders. Rebellion against policy will not be tolerated."

Ross lowers his gaze enough to look back at Trott. The other man is dressed in tight leather pants, leather gloves, and a pressed military jacket. Ross is decidedly underdressed in only a t-shirt and slacks.

"You and your decorum have been of ill repute in the past few months." Trott continues, circling him again. "Instead of keeping your post, you were found napping below deck. Your lack of timeliness and responsibility looks bad on my account, and nobody...makes my infantry look like shit."

Ross swallows thickly and stares hard at the wall.

"Do you understand me, private?" Trott asks, voice stern and laced with iron. "I will not have disobedience, not from you, or from your tart-mouthed lackeys."

Ross purses his lips together, holds his tongue, as Trott comes around to face him again.

"Have something to say, do you?" Trott snaps, "Do you? "

"No, sir." Ross mutters.

Trott humphs. "I didn't think so."

He starts circling again, like a shark in the water, and Ross shivers.

"If you keep up your horrible disregard for the rules, you're going to find yourself licking the tiles in the shower rooms clean. Keep it up, and you'll have my foot up your ass faster than you can blink." Trott states bitterly.

Ross hears Trott stall his steps behind him, heavy boots shuffling to a standstill.

"But not to worry, private..." Trott murmurs, voice softening in tone as he strokes a leather-clad finger down Ross' spine. "I'll whip you into shape."

Ross holds his posture, but goosebumps rise along his arms.

Trott continues walking. His boots clunk loudly on the wooden floor, every step heel-to-toe. "I will give you a series of tasks, and if you complete them to my satisfaction, I will waive your insubordination. One hair out of line, however, and punishments will be seen to. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." Ross says.

"What was that?" Trott asks again. "I said, do I make myself clear? "

Ross speaks louder. "Yes, sir!"

"Good." Trott comes around to his front and stops. He looks Ross up and down, and Ross has half the mind not to meet Trott's eyes this time. Though he wants to, he knows it is better to hold his position.

"On your knees, private." Trott orders. "I want you to lick my boots until they shine."

Ross folds down and in half to reach Trott's feet. The leather boots are brand new, and already shiny, but he does as he's told. He licks across the top of the boot in broad stripes, from the toe to the top of Trott's ankle. The taste of the leather melds to his tongue, tasting faintly chemical, and the smell is rich and musky.

Being on his knees under his superior makes the humiliation burn hot on the back of Ross' neck. He keeps his hands clasped behind him and licks broadly from the top to the side of Trott's foot and around his heel. When he's cleaned both sides of one boot from top to heel to toe, he starts on the other.

A few minutes later, Trott clears his throat. "That'll do."

Ross moves to sit up, and Trott pushes him back down with his boot on Ross' shoulder. "Hold your position."

Ross obeys. He flexes his fingers around his wrist and hears Trott move behind him.

"I rather like you like this, private." Trott mutters, pushing gently at Ross' rear with the sole of his boot and bending him further towards the floor. "I could have you kiss my boots and beg for mercy, but I'm no saint to pray to." He chuckles. "Get up, and bed over the bed."

Ross stands, wincing softly at the pain in his knees.

"Pants off." Trott commands.

Ross turns and crosses the room. He stares hard at the wall as he unbuttons his pants and pulls the zipper down.

"Now, private, I haven't got all day!"

The remark hurries Ross' movements, yanking his pants down and kicking them aside. He bends over the bed and clasps his hands behind him, with his face pressed to the sheets.

"I want to hear you to count, private." Trott murmurs. "Fifteen, out loud. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir! " Ross says louder.

"Good." Trott's hand skims the fabric of Ross' boxers almost tenderly, before his hand strikes across Ross' right cheek.

"One." Ross stutters.

Trott strikes again, and then repeats the motions on Ross' left cheek.

"Two. Three, four."

Ross feels the stinging pain where Trott's hand lands, lets himself relax the tiniest bit from the warmth spreading through his cheeks.

"Five. Six. Seven, eight."

Trott alternates the hits on either of his cheeks, the last two harsh and hot.

"Nine." Ross stammers. "Ten."

Trott's fingers skim along the waistband of Ross' boxers before pulling them down far enough to expose his ass to the air. He rubs his hand over the pink marks, and Ross winces. The leather gloves are soft, but Ross' cheeks are tender to the touch.

"Just look at you." Trott starts and ends his sentence with sharp smacks to Ross' cheeks.

"Eleven. Twelve." Ross clears his throat. He's not sure if Trott wants him to keep counting, but he said fifteen. Either way, he's getting them.

"Getting all hot and bothered, are we?" Trott asks, rubbing the flesh of his ass. "Are we? "

"No, sir." Ross mumbles.

"Liar."

Ross can hear the smirk in Trott's voice, and cries out when his hand comes down hard.

"Thirteen. " Ross growls. He's breathing heavily.

"I'm not blind, you know." Trott murmurs. He cups Ross through his boxers, soothes the pain from his welts with a firm stroke.

Ross can't help but let a moan escape. "Fuck, please-" The words slip out of his mouth before he can reign in his tongue.

Trott laughs. "Fuck? " He teases, laying the rest of the blows out hard. "Please? "

"Fourteen. Fifteen. " Ross pants. "F-Fuck, sir, I-"

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you, private." Trott chuckles. "You don't have to beg for me to do that."

Ross can feel his legs shaking. He winces as Trott rubs his cheeks, soothing the sting.

"I'm going to fuck you nice and hard..." Trott says slowly, rubbing his palms in circular motions. "And when I'm finished with you, you'll know the difference between who takes the orders around here...and who gives them."

Ross lets out a heavy breath.

All too soon, Trott pulls away. "Hands and knees, up on the bed. Shirt off."

Ross clambers up, feeling like a dog, and pulls his sweaty t-shirt over his head.

"Speak only when spoken to. No sounds- no moans, whimpers, or cries. Understood?" Trott orders.

"Yes, sir. "

"Good."

Ross hears a cap being opened and closed, and then one of Trott's hands strokes up Ross' lower back to grip his wrists where they're clasped together. Trott's other fingertips, glove removed, circle his rim before pushing inside. One finger slowly stretches him open, and then two. Ross gets used to the feeling, relaxing with the gentle movements of Trott's fingers.

Then Trott inserts a third and presses harshly on Ross' prostate.

"Fuck-" Ross gasps, unable to keep the expletives in. "Shit-"

"Quiet." Trott snaps. He delivers a sharp smack to Ross' asscheeks and Ross cries out. Trott smacks him again for the noise, harder, and this time Ross bites his lip to keep any other sounds from escaping.

"Keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, sunshine..." Trott murmurs darkly. "Or I'll make you."

Ross swallows down a moan. He isn't sure if he wants to obey. He wants the punishment as much as he wants to be good. The heat from the welts, spreading across his cheeks from where Trott's hand lands, turns him on.

He lets out a whimper.

Trott pulls his fingers free and spanks him with his bare hand, alternating blows on either one of Ross' cheeks.

Ross bites his lip. His cheeks sting with every hit.

"Look at you. Bent over with your ass cherry red." Trott delivers a hard smack, and the pain sends sparks of strange pleasure to Ross' dick. "Maybe this is how it should be, private. I could have the boys take their turns keeping you stuffed at both ends. Maybe that'll prove who's in charge here."

Trott's nails scratch at the welts on Ross' cheeks, and Ross sucks in a breath between his teeth.

"Because I'll tell you what, sunshine..." Trott coos sarcastically. "It sure isn't you." His fingers prod at Ross again, slipping inside and curling. Ross bites down on his lip harder, trying desperately not to thrust back on Trott's fingers as they stretch him.

Trott keeps pressing on his prostate, and pleasure blooms through Ross' body. He's hard and aching; it feels almost too good. He's afraid if he comes without permission he'll be in for Trott's sadistic tendencies again. It wouldn't bother him none, but as turned on as he is, he isn't sure how much more he can take.

All too soon, the fingers leave. Ross swallows down a string of whimpers as Trott replaces his fingers with his cock.

"There we are..." Trott murmurs. His gloved hand strokes down the nape of Ross' neck. "This is where you were meant to be, private. On your knees for me."

Trott starts thrusting gently, increasing his speed in increments until he's fucking Ross hard and fast. Skin slaps against skin, nails dig into hips.

The pleasure's too much. Ross chokes on a groan seconds too late, and Trott's hips stop moving.

"What'd I say about being quiet. " Trott reaches up and shoves his fingers in Ross' mouth. "Don't you dare fucking bite down." He growls. His other hand grips Ross' hip hard enough to bruise.

Ross winces. He knows now he can make noise as long as it's muffled by Trott's fingers. The leather gloves taste sharper than the boots did, the bitter-sweet tang more noticeable. Ross tries to keep his mouth lax to prevent himself from biting down, and to keep Trott's fingers in his mouth at this angle. His tongue laps along Trott's fingertips, sucking wetly.

The feeling of his ministrations draws a moan from Trott.

Ross whimpers when Trott shifts the angle of his hips to hit his prostate on every thrust.

Trott's thighs are slapping against Ross' ass, flaring the welts up in tiny bursts of pain. Ross lets out quiet little gasps around Trott's fingers until Trott withdraws them from his mouth.

"You're going to come like this." Trott mutters lowly, gripping Ross' hair with one hand and digging into Ross' hip with the other as he fucks him harder. "You're going to come just from my cock in your ass."

Ross pants loudly. He doesn't have the breath for anything else, with Trott pounding him.

"Trott -" He chokes out, feeling his orgasm roaring up; his toes curling against the sheets.

"Come for me." Trott orders.

Ross trips breathlessly over the edge. He shakes from the aftershocks as Trott fucks him through it.

Trott's own rhythm stutters to a stop, and he spends inside Ross with a low hum. Slowly, Trott's fingers loosen their hold in Ross' hair and on his hip.

"Very good, private." He murmurs breathlessly. "Very good, indeed."

Trott leans over Ross and kisses the back of his neck before pulling out.

Ross slumps onto the bed. The fabric grazes his skin, and he whimpers quietly at the oversensitivity. His head is still swimming with the rush. His limbs are achy and pliant from holding his position for so long. Trott tosses the gloves aside, leather hitting carpet with a soft sound.

Ross flinches at Trott's first touch, half expecting to be hit again, but Trott intertwines their fingers and squeezes once.

"Ross?" He asks softly.

Scene over.

Ross sighs and squeezes back.

Trott presses a kiss to his shoulder. "I'm going to start the shower, sunshine. I'll be back in a few minutes." He squeezes Ross' hand again, and pulls away.

Ross takes the time to catch his breath. He can hear the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, of Trott cleaning himself up. Slowly, Ross sits up and knee-walks across the bed. His legs wobble. His knees are sore. He winces sharply as he sits down on the edge of the mattress.

He's beyond tired, but the shower is much needed, since he's sticky with sweat and other bodily fluids. Ross stares down at his hands curiously, watching them shiver like branches in the wind. He closes his eyes and sits with his hands in his lap.

In a few minutes, Trott will come back and they'll take a shower. But for now...he just wants to rest.

Ross could fall asleep. The water cascades down the back of his head, along his spine, making his muscles feel warm and relaxed. He lets the heat of the shower soak into his skin, standing in front of Trott and feeling his body heat.

Trott scrubs his back gently, up and down his spine and in circular motions across his shoulders. The sponge moves over one arm first, and then across his chest and stomach, before cleaning the other arm. It crosses Ross' hips and rear, and glides down each of his legs.

When that's done, Trott washes his hair. Ross winces and opens his eyes when Trott traces his busted lip with a thumb.

"You really bit into this..." Trott says with a frown. He reaches behind Ross to turn off the shower.

Ross blinks tiredly, barely having the energy to dry the water dripping from his hair. "My ass is sore." He says.

"Good sore or bad sore?"

"Sore." Ross gives him a sleepy smile.

Trott blinks back. "That doesn't tell me anything. Are you alright?"

Ross kisses him instead, wincing through his split lip. "I'm fine, Trott." He murmurs against the other's lips. "Just need some bed rest. And cuddles." He pecks a kiss to Trott's cheek.

Trott moves in closer and starts drying the both of them off, kissing along Ross' neck and shoulders. "You were so good." Trott murmurs. "You did good, Ross."

Ross sighs and closes his eyes, nuzzling his face into the towel wrapped around Trott's shoulders. "Bed now?" He asks.

Trott nods and kisses his cheek. "Yeah, sunshine. Bed."

Credit to ghostofgatsby on Ao3