Ferocity

Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine. I make no money, and I'll put them back when I've finished playing with them... ;)

The hand cupping his skull tightened, fingers finding a precarious grip in the short, cropped hair, but enough to drag John’s head back, baring his neck. Strong teeth scraped down his jaw, down his neck, until sinking in hard enough to draw blood at the junction of neck and shoulder. John shuddered, then arched into the body moulded against his as Sarge’s mouth latched onto his again, the taste of John’s own blood still strong on his lips, the iron tang awakening something primitive and fierce in him.

It was always this way between them, dark, furious, bloody. It was as though a red mist descended, and they reverted to cavemen, biting, clawing, marking each other. Anything to sate the lust and the heat.

One minute they’d been standing in Sarge's room, arguing over something trivial, the next they were as close together as clothes allowed, as mouths clashed, biting and licking, fingers gripping, hard enough to bruise.

John had one hand on Sarge’s arse, the other was caught, held behind his back, so tightly he could almost feel the bones grinding together. Sarge used his weight and height advantage, bending John backwards, erection pressed tightly against John’s, the pressure drawing a gasp from him, and a growl from Sarge.

The moment the grip on his wrist loosened, John pulled his arm away, took half a step backwards, then shoved, hard. The dull thud as Sarge’s back hit the wall sent a surge of lust through John, and he slammed his full weight against the other man, knowing he was grinning like a lunatic as Sarge’s skull bounced off the wall.

He bit Sarge’s lip, the hiss and the growl that resulted were an arousing counterpoint to the taste of blood on his tongue. He drove his hips into Sarge’s, the friction exhilarating, but nowhere what he needed, though it made him shiver and his breath come in harsh pants.

He dropped his hand, fumbling with the button and zipper of his trousers, lust making him clumsy. He finally got them open, letting them fall to his ankles. He could hear his CO’s rapid breathing, with the hint of a growl still lurking beneath it. Sarge’s hands grabbed his buttocks, fingers squeezing hard, short nails cutting into the skin, the small pain sending a surge of desire through John.

Sarge suddenly heaved him off his feet, turned them around, staggered a couple of steps, then dumped John on the desk, heedless of the papers and pens that were scattered. He fumbled with the laces of John’s boots, before yanking them off, followed by John’s trousers. He fumbled a moment with his own trousers, then managed to get them down to his knees. John spread his legs wide, feeling the burn in his thigh muscles as Sarge stepped between them, hand reaching for the tube he kept in his desk drawer.

Two fingers slid into him, the burn of their entry contrasting with coolness of the lube, making him squirm, even as his hands clutched Sarge’s biceps, feeling the strength beneath the skin. John arched his hips, impatient. He was hot, sweat trickling down his back, his skin tingled and the bite on his neck itched. He dragged his nails down Sarge’s arms, watching as bright red marks emerged. He did it harder, nearly drawing blood this time, and Sarge sucked in a breath, cursed and twisted his fingers viciously.

John’s head dropped back, a groan pulled unwillingly from him. The burn was stronger now, and it sent tremors rolling through his body.

Sarge pulled his fingers away, the sudden withdrawal as potent an aphrodisiac as the their entry. He watched through slitted eyes as Sarge spread the cool lube over his cock. The strokes were firm, and lazy, and John wanted to feel that cock in him, wanted to feel those hands on his skin, on his cock.

Hands, slick with lube and sweat grabbed his thighs, and pulled him closer, until his arse was right on the edge of the table. John braced his arms behind him, anticipation making his stomach clench, inside and out.

The first thrust was brutal, and John was torn between the deep ache and the burn as Sarge’s cock slammed into him, even as he wrapped his legs around his CO’s waist. Sarge was tall enough to lean forwards, hands braced either side of John’s body, sending John down onto his elbows, back arching into the other man.

There’s something basic and animalistic about the way they fuck that John can’t ever get enough of. Seems that Sarge can’t either, because he’s never yet refused, never yet done anything but fuck John raw when this mood grips them. This time is no exception, and John knows he’s going to be sore as hell when this is over, but pain has never been a problem, the physical pain reminds him that he’s alive, that he can still feel something.

John shifts his weight onto one elbow, then wraps his hand around his own cock. The lack of lubrication makes his hand drag over the sensitive skin, but he doesn’t care. The Sarge’s pace is nothing short of violent, and John knows it won’t take much stimulation to climax. These encounters are never long, but this one is looking to break all records.

John’s climax, when it hits, is just a shade more pleasure than pain. Sarge holds out longer, but not by much. His last thrust shifts John further up the table, sends a stab of real pain shooting up his spine, making him gasp and curse.

Sarge’s head is bowed, and John can see the barely visible tremors in his shoulders, see the sweat, the flush on his skin, feel his breath against his chest and stomach. John’s muscles are screaming from the tension, cock sore, arse aching, but as always, he can’t feel the slightest second of regret.

This is nothing more than sex in its most primitive form. John wouldn’t even class this as a buddy fuck. He knows that it changes nothing between them, and in a few minutes, when they’ve stopped shaking, they’ll get dressed and everything will be as it was before. The sex, Sarge, the job, even the other team members, it’s all the stability John needs. Long as it stays the same, he’s more than happy.