Colonels and Colonials

Warnings: Slash, Skeeviness, Uniform Defilement, Will cause readers to never view The Patriot in the same way ever again. This one's for ejab, who requested Tavington/Stumpy/Horse Blanket. I couldn't resist putting a twist on the ending...


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The horses raced across the clearing, their riders shouts causing startled birds to take wing as they plunged into the undergrowth. His quarry would not escape him again, Colonel Tavington swore to himself, booting his horse savagely and imagining just what he would do when he caught Benjamin Martin – he could forget about being turned over to Cornwallis, that much was certain. The rebel ahead of him suddenly reigned in his horse and leapt from its back, vaulting over a fallen tree with his prize. The fact that the man actually had the audacity to steal General Cornwallis’ dress uniform made Tavington grind his teeth angrily, and he followed in close pursuit after casting aside his shako.

There would be a reckoning the likes of which Martin had never seen before once he captured him, the colonel promised himself.

He believed in keeping his promises.

Tavington dodged tree limbs and struggled to keep his footing on the uneven terrain – he noted grimly that he was gaining upon his prey, but he stopped short as an idea came to him. Yes, that would do just fine. He turned around and hurried to his horse, yanking the bridle savagely towards a barely navigable path; with any luck at all, the trail would lead directly to Martin’s destination. It was difficult going, but he managed to guide his mount at a reasonably fast speed and he reached his goal. Tavington swung down from the saddle, ground-tying the horse before reaching for his gun as he lowered himself behind a bush to wait.

Martin sauntered – sauntered! – into the glade, looking over his shoulder and smiling. Tavington’s lip curled and his finger twitched on the trigger of his musket. Just a little closer…

The rebel dropped the purloined uniform on the grass and reached behind his neck to untie his queue, running his fingers through his undoubtedly sweat dampened hair.

Now.

He rose from concealment and leveled his pistol at the rebel, who blinked his eyes stupidly and froze. “I’ve got you now, rebel filth. Drop your weapon,” he snarled, advancing. He felt satisfaction spurt up his spine as Martin complied, licking his lips nervously…oh, there would be nothing at all to stop him from taking his revenge now. Tavington kicked aside the weapons – no tomahawk this time, he noted – and ordered Martin to his knees, pressing the end of his pistol to the other man’s forehead.

“Are you going to kill me now?” The smallest trace of a tremor in his voice. Ah, yes. This was lovely.

“Give me any number of reasons why I shouldn’t.”

The man kneeling before him cleared his throat and, finally moving his eyes from Tavington’s face, flicked them to the opening of the Dragoon’s breeches. “I might be able,” he began as he slowly moved one of his hands from the traditional gesture of surrender to rest it against Tavington’s groin, “to convince you with something more than words.” Another nervous lick of his lips drew the colonel’s interest immediately and he felt himself, disgustingly, respond. He glanced around the small clearing – there were no others in sight, who would ever know? Besides, he was armed and Martin wasn’t.

His decision made and helped along with the slow rubbing of the rebel’s hand against his straining erection, he moved the pistol to the side of Martin’s head. “The moment I feel teeth, you feel lead.”

The fantasy came to an abrupt halt as the man before him looked around behind him. “Uh, Colonel? The ‘horse blanket’ is over there…wouldn’t be much point to stealing it if we did this on the grass.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Wilkins! You were supposed to kneel atop it, not half an acre away,” Tavington sighed, moving the pistol away from his captain’s temple and stepping back to let him rise. He couldn’t help admiring how the handsome Loyalist overtopped him by several inches as he got to his feet – the man was huge. Wilkins located Cornwallis’ stolen coat and knelt upon it, blue eyes heavily lidded as he waited for Tavington to approach him again. He had to admit…although initially skeptical about Wilkins, the man had proved to be the perfect outlet for those less-than-polite urges that seized his loins more and more frequently.

He strode over to where his lover – yes, he supposed he could indeed call Wilkins his lover – waited expectantly and stood before him, raising the pistol to the big captain’s temple once more. “Where was I…?”

“When you feel teeth,” Wilkins prompted.

“Yes…when I feel teeth, you feel lead.”

Wilkins opened Tavington’s breeches slowly, his careful motions at odds with the look in his eyes and pulled out the swollen cock, leaning forward to run his tongue up Tavington’s length before taking his colonel into his mouth. Tavington threw his head back as Wilkins began to suck him eagerly, moving up and down on his shaft and taking him deep while his hands gripped Tavington’s thighs. He felt the muscles of the captain’s throat work convulsively as he swallowed over his length and, all too soon, felt orgasm approaching. The fist which was gripping his Dragoon’s curls tightened in warning and Wilkins redoubled his efforts, moaning around the cock in his mouth to provide yet more stimulation as he plunged one hand down into his breeches. Tavington pumped past the other man’s lips, snapping his hips until the intense pleasure of orgasm overwhelmed him and he emptied his seed in Wilkins’ mouth with a loud cry. The gun in his hand slipped at the same time and his finger pressed against the trigger, the noise melding with his shout of completion.

The sound of the gunshot startled him and he looked down to see Wilkins with his eyes closed, not moving. “Wilkins? Wilkins!” he shouted, pulling out of the man’s mouth in alarm. Christ, had he shot him?

He heaved a sigh of relief when Wilkins opened his eyes slowly and looked up at him.

“Well, man? Say something!” he urged.

The captain’s mouth worked and he turned his head to spit out a glob of semen directly onto a sleeve of Cornwallis’ coat. He turned his head back to look up at Tavington, and a smile one could only classify as mischievous curved his lips. “Didn’t shoot me yet.”

Tavington placed a hand against the other Dragoon’s cheek. “Wasn’t aiming to, this time. Is that all of it?” he asked, motioning to the coat sleeve with a jerk of his head.

Wilkins’ grin grew enormous. “No.” A lick of his lips confirmed that he had swallowed most of it as usual.

“You Colonials,” Tavington shook his head in dismay, and had to laugh out loud when Wilkins gestured to the section of the coat between his legs, which he had copiously adorned with his own fluid.

“Is it enough of a mess, or should we add more to it before we take it back?” Wilkins asked as he tucked himself back into his breeches.

Tavington smirked as he viewed the defiled uniform. “It would indeed be a shame to give it back with uneven discoloration…”

“We won’t be missed for hours yet,” Captain Wilkins pointed out.

“This is true,” Tavington conceded, trying not to smile. “However, you might like to retrieve your horse so the beast doesn’t wander back to camp and cause Borden any worry. And when you get back…” he left the promise open ended.

Wilkins rose to his feet again and reached to tie his hair back.

“No, leave it – it suits you…James.”

“If you say so, Will.” Shaking his head, the captain turned to leave.

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