All fucked up and I make it look good

He toes the line of insubordination until it’s blurred. It already fucking is. On better days MacTavish might find it amusing. On worse ones he barks at Riley to follow him into his office because mutts don’t learn under a lenient hand.

MacTavish throws himself into his chair and with one pointed flick of his eyes has Riley dropping to his knees in front of him.

“Need to put your fuckin’ mouth to better use,” he grumbles to himself, fighting with his belt, and Riley is eagerly nodding like he’s expecting a fucking reward for his act today.

He crawls forward on hands and knees, eyes locked on where MacTavish is pulling his cock out of his trousers. He stumbles over himself as he rucks his mask up, left crooked over the bridge of his nose in his haste.

MacTavish stops him with his boot on Riley’s shoulder. Shoves him back. Riley falls onto his haunches with a whine. Has the fucking audacity to frown at him. MacTavish knocks his boot firmly against Riley’s chest to make a point before spreading his knees wide and tilting his hips up into his fist.

He gives Riley a good look as he strokes up, showing off the girth of his cock that Riley can barely fit his mouth around. Hums low in his throat as he strokes down, runs his thumb over the head in a pattern Riley usually draws with his tongue.

Riley sits still on his knees, hands on his thighs and fingers digging in harshly – behaving for the first time today. His back is tense and ramrod straight. He licks his lips and stares unblinkingly as MacTavish jerks himself off.

It’s dry and rough and almost hurts to go any faster. MacTavish could use the saliva Riley is drooling but won’t. He spits in his own palm, wraps his hand back around his cock, and makes the grip a little tighter, more like Riley’s tight fucking hole, but he’s not going to admit it to him that’s what he’s thinking about.

The spit loses its effect quickly, a slight burn underneath, but he likes it a little painful. He likes it more painful for Riley. And watching how intently Riley is staring, how hard he’s fighting to keep his hands still on his own thighs, how there’s saliva dripping from his mouth down to his chin, it looks like they’re finally getting somewhere.

“Open,” MacTavish orders.

Riley’s mouth falls open, tongue stretched expectantly out, head eagerly tilted up. His eyes flick between MacTavish’s face and his cock, presumptuous and enthusiastic. Thick strings of saliva connect his tongue and lips, and he makes a high whine at the back of his throat when precum beads at the head of MacTavish’s cock.

He speeds up the pace of his hand, the wet sound of it filling the room, meets Riley’s blown-open eyes, his pupils dark and dilated, and grunts as he bucks his hips into the tight channel of his fist. Riley’s tongue is spread wide and flat, an easy target to aim for.

MacTavish comes on the floor right in front of him.

Riley whines loud and distraught, watching the thick ropes of cum land on the ground. As noisy and obnoxious now as he has been throughout the day, wailing as he is. He tilts forward as if to try to catch some of his release in his mouth, as if to close the distance. At one firm look from MacTavish, he snaps back into place. 

MacTavish slows the pace of his hand as he works himself through it, the tension and irritation of the day leaving in a contented sigh as the final spurts of cum land in the small puddle on the floor.

Riley makes a sound like a beg, an incoherent, unintelligible moan. Yet he keeps his mouth open because MacTavish hasn’t given him the order to close it yet.

And he doesn’t give it now either, as he gives a final slow, indulgent downstroke, a last drop of cum sliding down the side of his cock that he ignores but Riley doesn’t, longingly following it with his eyes.

MacTavish tucks himself away in his trousers, nonchalant and careless, acting like he can’t see Riley’s pleading stare, like he can’t hear the distraught way he whines. He glances up only briefly and Riley shuts up at the set to his brow. But his eyes remain pleading, silently begging. Desperate enough that a tear wells up, rolls down his cheek and into the mask.

His mouth is still open, staring at MacTavish like there’s still something he might get, even as MacTavish leans back in his chair and meets his wet, pleading eyes with a condescendingly raised brow.

“Go on,” he nods at the ground, “that’s the best you’re going to get.”

Riley hesitates. He frowns under the mask and when he blinks, he squeezes another tear over his waterline.

But MacTavish doesn’t relent, doesn’t offer anything else, so he slowly lowers himself towards the floor under MacTavish’s firm look and stretches out his tongue to swipe over his cum on the floor. A small kitten lick. 

“Properly.”

MacTavish steps his boot on Riley’s head. Grinds down until his cheek is pressed into the patch of cum, and keeps him there. Riley’s eyes flick up, watery and shiny, as he reaches out his tongue to swipe over the floor. It’s a difficult angle and Riley drags his face along the ground to get to all of it.

He lets out small, pitiful whines as he laps at his cum, staring at MacTavish like he doesn’t know what he did to end up here. MacTavish uses it as an excuse to press the sole of his boot hard into the side of Riley’s face. Still kneeling, the position leaves his back arched, ass in the air.

He laps at the floor until it’s clean, some of MacTavish’s cum in his mouth, the other half imbued into his mask. MacTavish waits until he sees Riley lick up the final drops and swallow before lifting his boot from Riley’s head. A clear grey dusty footprint remains on his mask.

Riley stays with his cheek pressed to the ground, prostrating himself, and with his watery eyes and pink lips and the mark of MacTavish’s boot on his face, he makes for a pretty enough sight that it makes up for some of the annoyance he’s caused him today.

“Stay there for a bit. Maybe I’ll let you clean my boots.”

rumours say it's a spirit. that the base is built on hallowed ground and now some vengeful phantom is haunting them all. another version notes it as a woman who tragically died in the middle ages. the romantics say it's a lost soul looking for their other half they were cruelly separated from in life. the sceptics say it's wolves.

dares are thrown around to stay up for the night and keep watch to catch the source of the noise. it's a childish idea - like trying to catch santa - jeer those who are too afraid to join the cause.

but even when a daring group does stay awake, the lights turned off and exorcism chants memorised, the spirit doesn't come any closer.

it wails from somewhere distant, long broken cries that are cut off by choking, faint breathless gasping. it gives credence to the conspiracy that the mystery spirit had drowned, though the biggest body of water on base are the showers and running there with flashlights in hand, the soldiers find nothing.

trying to track it down with quiet steps and hand signals not to scare the being away doesn't yield better results. the sounds fade away into deafening silence before they can find the source.

it comes and goes, louder and quieter, until it's haunting everyone and the rumours solidify themselves - there is a ghost on base.

***

riley doesn't care where they end up, as long as it's private enough.

the wall in the armoury works just fine. the tile floor on the showers is slippery, but at least the clean up is easy. outside is fun, where it feels like anyone might stumble upon where riley has draped himself over obstacles he ran across during the day's training. or the desk in his office, the perfect height to be bent over with mactavish's firm hand on his nape keeping him still.

his favourite is the simplest. in mactavish's room and on the bed, where he might be pushed into any position. face down and ass up, mounted like they're no better than animals. riley on top, bouncing up and down, greedy for it. or taken slowly, face to face, fucked so deep he feels it between his ribs.

"let me hear you," mactavish murmurs into his ear before biting the lobe, and riley's voice goes reedy with the force of his moan, punched out on every thrust.

his hands claw at mactavish's back or his nails drag scratches into walls as he shudders into whatever surface he's pinned against. mactavish never lets him have just the one.

it's his fingers against his prostate, then his cock stretching him open, then his hand around riley's length, then his mouth sucking bruises into his neck, then the force of his thrusts when he actually fucks riley with the aim to get himself off, when riley is trembling and overwhelmed, voice hoarse, crying out at every touch.

it leaves him limp and sated, sagging into mactavish's arms. it's the perfect end to the day, his body too tired to fuss about nightmares and his mind so satisfied he curls easily into mactavish as they fall asleep.