A/N: This prompt kept haunting me so I had to take a shot at it. I think it’s mostly going to be from Washington’s POV, but I’m going to try to have maybe some interludes from Charles’s POV because lovey, brainwashed Charles sounds crazy fun to write. Maybe this is just funny to me but I never imagined in history class when I learned about these guys that I’d be so excited to write gay fanfiction about them haha
Comments and suggestions are adored! This first part is mostly backstory, apologies in advance!
No one denied the king. Men reshaped themselves to follow his word. No inch of the land was beyond his influence and no lord was too powerful to resist his command. Not that anyone had a bad word to say about him – and those who did knew better than to speak it. Former enemies united to be brothers under his reign and everywhere he went he was revered, adored, praised for bringing together the colonies. He was so charismatic, so capable, far superior to King James. Even the uneducated who knew little about his military record or his political policies would always call him wonderful, positively wonderful, even if they hadn’t had a clue why.
Some still fell through the cracks, or were simply too stupid to follow the herd. Rebellions had whipped up around the country when King Washington crowned himself, but upon actually meeting the king, they found themselves quickly appeased. Now and then there were reports of discontented men that would rant in the streets or throw stones at the king’s soldiers. The king had become bored of dealing with these rabble-rousers personally and thus they were always shot or run through with bayonets where they stood. The townspeople always had to step around the corpse, leaving it to be collected by an embarrassed family.
Certain rebellions had put up a bigger fight than others. The Order of the Templars, he recalled smugly, was one of those that went down kicking and shouting. It amazed him how many individuals he had known belonged to this Order – a cult that he now likened to group of schoolchildren squabbling over a matter that was above them.
He’d discovered the Order of the Templars through a lieutenant colonel. No secrets were to be kept from the king and King Washington was thusly regaled with tales of an underground order that sought to create some sort of perfect world. He’d dismissed them as a small group of radicals, but then the brand “Templar” began springing up all over. Veterans of the British army, distinguished politicians, prominent scholars –Templars. The Order of the Templars had even gnawed its way into his own Continental Army. They were like parasites that took root and pretended to fight against their British brothers, but it was all a play, their loyalty was elsewhere.
Clearly this was a matter that required more attention.
As the king began to hack off the Order’s appendages, he’d learned that the Templars were governed by an individual named Haytham Kenway, a man whom he did not know well, and his second-in-command Charles Lee, a man who the king knew... much better.
It had shocked him to hear that his major-general had essentially been a snitch, unfaithful and undermining his orders for reasons that were now clear. Initially Washington had been disbelieving. He may not know Charles Lee as intimately as he thought, but his former major-general was not involved in some cult’s working. Then he’d felt betrayed. Years of reading about Charles’s hatred of him and wondering if there was something he could have done to better facilitate their relationship, and it all came down to the fact that Washington had accidentally gotten in the way of strengthening their Order. He had trusted Charles. Charles was dignified, powerful, intelligent – and his loyalties belonged to someone else.
King Washington realized that he hated Charles Lee.
The American Templars would be eradicated and Charles would realize that he had followed the wrong side.
When King Washington finally tracked down Haytham Kenway, the stubborn man had revealed nothing. He would not list other members of the Order and he would not say where Charles Lee was. The king had found him to be very posh, and furthermore he had the gall to criticize the king even when death stared him in the face. King Washington refused to respect him and thus he killed him with a raise of his staff. The king had long become accustomed to how quickly and suddenly men died, but with Haytham Kenway the feeling was fresh again. Feeling disgusted, he had ordered his men to set fire to the building. And so Haytham Kenway had burned out of history beneath smoking lumber.
The Order fell to Charles, then. Whatever was left of the Order; he didn’t leave Charles with much left to lead. The dockmasters were told to watch for him but Charles didn’t even attempt to leave the country. He was finally sighted in New York and detained until the king arrived. Once there, King Washington was presented with the delightful gift of a bound Charles Lee. The man looked like he had been to hell and back, so exhausted and ragged that King Washington felt pity spark in his chest. Still, there was no sweeter sight than his former general tied to a chair, leering at him and knowing that he had lost.
(Well, or so the king had thought at the time – he’d since seen much sweeter sights.)
He could have killed him. Should have, perhaps, that was debatable at the time. Charles Lee with all of his determination and his bright blue eyes made King Washington feel... human. Most likely Charles did not remember how they’d first met under Braddock and served for a short time period together during the French and Indian War. Washington did; he remembered how eager Charles had been and how capable he was and Washington listened to every stray word he said. When Charles came back from England to serve in the Continental Army, Washington remembered it all over again. They’d fought together and Washington learned that Charles was a quiet man of bottomless secrets: he someone who would run a man through the throat with a bayonet and then after the battle Washington would catch him smiling as he played with his Pomeranian.
And now that he’d hit the bottom of what he’d thought to be infinite, King Washington realized that he didn’t hate Charles Lee. He didn’t hate him; he wanted him. He knew as soon as he saw Charles that he wasn’t going to kill him. Charles Lee was his spoil of war: something that had eluded him for some long and now King Washington was free to take him as he pleased. He’d turned the man inside-out and here he was, glowering with determination and his blue eyes piercing. Charles Lee was a misguided man, King Washington thought. He had been wooed into fighting for this Order and the king had to admire how fiercely he stood at the head of it, teeth gritted, face pinched into a snarl, so ready to die for these beliefs and the orders of a dead man.
And so King Washington had spared him. He could be useful, he told his generals, not that they would ever disagree with him. Charles Lee was a magnificent general and a respected politician. Capturing him would bring security from those who followed Charles’s rants. Had his generals not been so deaf and blind, they would have seen right through his excuses and straight to his greed.
No one denied the king of what he wanted. Not even Charles Lee.
King Washington had taken him home like a lost dog and Charles had taken to his new master very quickly. He tried to resist at first, always jerking away from the king’s influence and demanding to know what fate had befallen “Master Kenway.” His devotion was grating and it brought the king great satisfaction to tell Charles that his grand master had been reduced to ash. After that, Charles’s resistance waned. He was tolerant, then complacent, and finally embraced his new role with appreciated enthusiasm.
Charles’s blue eyes doting and as the sole subject of his dedication, the king decided that despite his excuses, there were exactly two things he wanted with Charles Lee.
The first was a pet.
(The man had made a fool of him. It was quite fitting that he returned the favor. There was a part of him that was fiendishly delighted to see the once-proud man at the end of a leash. He’d pull as hard as he wanted and Charles would stumble as he tried to heel. His pet craved attention, but was never allowed to take.
“Don’t you dare touch yourself,” the king snarled as he caught sight of Charles’s free hand between his legs, desperately rubbing. He jerked the man’s leash for the sake of emphasis and a whine died in Charles’s throat but his hand obediently lifted, massaging against the king’s thigh. King Washington grunted, allowing the leash to slack.
He’d found something else that Charles was extremely capable at. A bit too capable for never having done this before, the king noted absentmindedly. He spurned away jealousy with the knowledge that no matter whom Charles had belonged to before, the man and his mouth were now all his. Charles’s eyes were half-lidded in pleasure and his breaths were coming out in noisy pants. One hand was curled around the base of the king’s member and he sucked dutifully, never disturbed by the guards walking past.
“Swallow it, Charles,” he said in a low voice. His hand holding the bundled leash lunged out, grabbing Charles’s black hair and yanking him forward, forcing himself down his throat. “Swallow it all.”
Charles moaned in compliance, his jaw stretching to accommodate the king’s length but he didn’t protest. With an animalistic groan, the king’s hips snapped forward against Charles’s lips and the former general moaned again, rutting against the air as he did indeed swallow it all. As the king’s hips stilled and his breathing steadied, he released the other man’s hair. Charles let the king’s flaccid member slip from his mouth and his bright blue gaze skirted up to King Washington’s face.
“Greedy,” King Washington purred, reaching down to catch Charles’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Charles’s brows pinched together in concern at the disapproval, but he leaned into the touch, both of his hands on the king’s knees. “You will not finish until I command. Do not look away.”
Charles grinned and wasted no time in freeing his erection, never looking away from the king’s face. King Washington released his chin, easing back in the throne. Charles ran a hand along his sensitive shaft, giving an unabashed moan and rolling his hips. His knees parted wider and with a glance downwards the king noted smugly how aroused his pet was just from being able to pleasure his master. As his hand quickened, Charles’s gaze slipped, his eyes focused on nothing. King Washington growled immediately, pulled on the leash. Charles’s breath hitched but he corrected his mistake, his eyes snapping open as he watched the king with reverence.
Satisfied, the king jerked his head towards him. “Come now, Charles.”
The man did so obediently, as he did all things. He came with a gasp, keening into the king’s legs and spilling himself into his hand.
“Clean yourself up,” the king told him, his voice always sharp and commanding.
“Yes, sir,” Charles murmured, having recovered his voice. He rested his cheek on the king’s lap, gazing up in sleepy contentment at the king as he licked his palm clean like a languid cat. He sighed as the king reached down to course a hand through his hair.
“Good boy,” King Washington said and Charles positively beamed at the praise.)
The second was a lover.
(The lines between pet and lover were thin, but the king tried to pretend they weren’t. He had trained Charles to act like a man when it was required: a charming, lovesick man who was still very underneath King Washington’s thumb. Typically it made the king feel secure to know that Charles was doing everything just to please him; the man didn’t care about his own pleasure, lest his pleasure please the king. But on occasion that feeling sickened him. This wasn’t the Charles Lee, the man that had ridden eagerly in the French and Indian War and had hollered commands at foot soldiers during the Revolutionary War and had died tied to a chair in New York. This was his Charles Lee, the one that loved him.
“You love me,” the king would murmur as his thumb circled the former general’s cheek. He never asked; despite the fact that he now trusted Charles to say what he wanted to hear, he still always told Charles that he loved him. Sometimes he didn’t want to give Charles the chance to be honest.
“Yes,” Charles breathed as he stared up at him with an adoring expression King Washington had never as a major-general seen on the man’s face.
“To whom does your allegiance belong?” the king would sometimes press.
“You, sir.” His voice was so soft, so sure of himself. He paused, probably just remembering that he wasn’t permitted to call the king “sir” when they were together like this. The king loved him enough to let it pass. “Only you.”
Then King Washington cupped Charles’s cheek and lean in to kiss him gently. Charles sighed and his eyelids fluttered and he kissed the king back softly and patiently like a lover should. His hands gripped clumps of the king’s robes and the king would feel himself becoming just Washington again. The king was always torn by discomfort and how good satisfying his Achilles heel felt.
To the public Charles would be his pet. No one would know how he acted out hungry boyhood fantasies with his blue-eyed general, not even Charles.
And on those nights he would require Charles to be a lover. He required him to sprawl on his back and part his thighs and call him George as he pressed one, two, three fingers inside of him. Charles had been taught that this was not the time to moan to the high heavens and ride against his fingers and plead for his master to use him. He would sigh and grip the blankets and the king would try to forget that that too was an act. When he entered him Charles would wrap his legs around his waist and the king would make love to him like they were in the frontier.
When Charles came, it was with a gasp and a choked “George!” and his shuddering body quickly brought the king to completion.
Afterwards Charles would twist eagerly beneath him, searching the king’s face for approval and any indication that he wished for Charles to become aroused again. The king would snort and roll Charles onto his side so that he couldn’t see his doting face.
“You did well,” he would say in a husky voice and Charles would shiver at the praise.)
And the king found that Charles satisfied both of his desires very, very well.
Heel [1/?]
Comments and suggestions are adored! This first part is mostly backstory, apologies in advance!
No one denied the king. Men reshaped themselves to follow his word. No inch of the land was beyond his influence and no lord was too powerful to resist his command. Not that anyone had a bad word to say about him – and those who did knew better than to speak it. Former enemies united to be brothers under his reign and everywhere he went he was revered, adored, praised for bringing together the colonies. He was so charismatic, so capable, far superior to King James. Even the uneducated who knew little about his military record or his political policies would always call him wonderful, positively wonderful, even if they hadn’t had a clue why.
Some still fell through the cracks, or were simply too stupid to follow the herd. Rebellions had whipped up around the country when King Washington crowned himself, but upon actually meeting the king, they found themselves quickly appeased. Now and then there were reports of discontented men that would rant in the streets or throw stones at the king’s soldiers. The king had become bored of dealing with these rabble-rousers personally and thus they were always shot or run through with bayonets where they stood. The townspeople always had to step around the corpse, leaving it to be collected by an embarrassed family.
Certain rebellions had put up a bigger fight than others. The Order of the Templars, he recalled smugly, was one of those that went down kicking and shouting. It amazed him how many individuals he had known belonged to this Order – a cult that he now likened to group of schoolchildren squabbling over a matter that was above them.
He’d discovered the Order of the Templars through a lieutenant colonel. No secrets were to be kept from the king and King Washington was thusly regaled with tales of an underground order that sought to create some sort of perfect world. He’d dismissed them as a small group of radicals, but then the brand “Templar” began springing up all over. Veterans of the British army, distinguished politicians, prominent scholars –Templars. The Order of the Templars had even gnawed its way into his own Continental Army. They were like parasites that took root and pretended to fight against their British brothers, but it was all a play, their loyalty was elsewhere.
Clearly this was a matter that required more attention.
As the king began to hack off the Order’s appendages, he’d learned that the Templars were governed by an individual named Haytham Kenway, a man whom he did not know well, and his second-in-command Charles Lee, a man who the king knew... much better.
It had shocked him to hear that his major-general had essentially been a snitch, unfaithful and undermining his orders for reasons that were now clear. Initially Washington had been disbelieving. He may not know Charles Lee as intimately as he thought, but his former major-general was not involved in some cult’s working. Then he’d felt betrayed. Years of reading about Charles’s hatred of him and wondering if there was something he could have done to better facilitate their relationship, and it all came down to the fact that Washington had accidentally gotten in the way of strengthening their Order. He had trusted Charles. Charles was dignified, powerful, intelligent – and his loyalties belonged to someone else.
King Washington realized that he hated Charles Lee.
The American Templars would be eradicated and Charles would realize that he had followed the wrong side.
When King Washington finally tracked down Haytham Kenway, the stubborn man had revealed nothing. He would not list other members of the Order and he would not say where Charles Lee was. The king had found him to be very posh, and furthermore he had the gall to criticize the king even when death stared him in the face. King Washington refused to respect him and thus he killed him with a raise of his staff. The king had long become accustomed to how quickly and suddenly men died, but with Haytham Kenway the feeling was fresh again. Feeling disgusted, he had ordered his men to set fire to the building. And so Haytham Kenway had burned out of history beneath smoking lumber.
The Order fell to Charles, then. Whatever was left of the Order; he didn’t leave Charles with much left to lead. The dockmasters were told to watch for him but Charles didn’t even attempt to leave the country. He was finally sighted in New York and detained until the king arrived. Once there, King Washington was presented with the delightful gift of a bound Charles Lee. The man looked like he had been to hell and back, so exhausted and ragged that King Washington felt pity spark in his chest. Still, there was no sweeter sight than his former general tied to a chair, leering at him and knowing that he had lost.
(Well, or so the king had thought at the time – he’d since seen much sweeter sights.)
He could have killed him. Should have, perhaps, that was debatable at the time. Charles Lee with all of his determination and his bright blue eyes made King Washington feel... human. Most likely Charles did not remember how they’d first met under Braddock and served for a short time period together during the French and Indian War. Washington did; he remembered how eager Charles had been and how capable he was and Washington listened to every stray word he said. When Charles came back from England to serve in the Continental Army, Washington remembered it all over again. They’d fought together and Washington learned that Charles was a quiet man of bottomless secrets: he someone who would run a man through the throat with a bayonet and then after the battle Washington would catch him smiling as he played with his Pomeranian.
And now that he’d hit the bottom of what he’d thought to be infinite, King Washington realized that he didn’t hate Charles Lee. He didn’t hate him; he wanted him. He knew as soon as he saw Charles that he wasn’t going to kill him. Charles Lee was his spoil of war: something that had eluded him for some long and now King Washington was free to take him as he pleased. He’d turned the man inside-out and here he was, glowering with determination and his blue eyes piercing. Charles Lee was a misguided man, King Washington thought. He had been wooed into fighting for this Order and the king had to admire how fiercely he stood at the head of it, teeth gritted, face pinched into a snarl, so ready to die for these beliefs and the orders of a dead man.
And so King Washington had spared him. He could be useful, he told his generals, not that they would ever disagree with him. Charles Lee was a magnificent general and a respected politician. Capturing him would bring security from those who followed Charles’s rants. Had his generals not been so deaf and blind, they would have seen right through his excuses and straight to his greed.
No one denied the king of what he wanted. Not even Charles Lee.
King Washington had taken him home like a lost dog and Charles had taken to his new master very quickly. He tried to resist at first, always jerking away from the king’s influence and demanding to know what fate had befallen “Master Kenway.” His devotion was grating and it brought the king great satisfaction to tell Charles that his grand master had been reduced to ash. After that, Charles’s resistance waned. He was tolerant, then complacent, and finally embraced his new role with appreciated enthusiasm.
Charles’s blue eyes doting and as the sole subject of his dedication, the king decided that despite his excuses, there were exactly two things he wanted with Charles Lee.
The first was a pet.
(The man had made a fool of him. It was quite fitting that he returned the favor. There was a part of him that was fiendishly delighted to see the once-proud man at the end of a leash. He’d pull as hard as he wanted and Charles would stumble as he tried to heel. His pet craved attention, but was never allowed to take.
“Don’t you dare touch yourself,” the king snarled as he caught sight of Charles’s free hand between his legs, desperately rubbing. He jerked the man’s leash for the sake of emphasis and a whine died in Charles’s throat but his hand obediently lifted, massaging against the king’s thigh. King Washington grunted, allowing the leash to slack.
He’d found something else that Charles was extremely capable at. A bit too capable for never having done this before, the king noted absentmindedly. He spurned away jealousy with the knowledge that no matter whom Charles had belonged to before, the man and his mouth were now all his. Charles’s eyes were half-lidded in pleasure and his breaths were coming out in noisy pants. One hand was curled around the base of the king’s member and he sucked dutifully, never disturbed by the guards walking past.
“Swallow it, Charles,” he said in a low voice. His hand holding the bundled leash lunged out, grabbing Charles’s black hair and yanking him forward, forcing himself down his throat. “Swallow it all.”
Charles moaned in compliance, his jaw stretching to accommodate the king’s length but he didn’t protest. With an animalistic groan, the king’s hips snapped forward against Charles’s lips and the former general moaned again, rutting against the air as he did indeed swallow it all. As the king’s hips stilled and his breathing steadied, he released the other man’s hair. Charles let the king’s flaccid member slip from his mouth and his bright blue gaze skirted up to King Washington’s face.
“Greedy,” King Washington purred, reaching down to catch Charles’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Charles’s brows pinched together in concern at the disapproval, but he leaned into the touch, both of his hands on the king’s knees. “You will not finish until I command. Do not look away.”
Charles grinned and wasted no time in freeing his erection, never looking away from the king’s face. King Washington released his chin, easing back in the throne. Charles ran a hand along his sensitive shaft, giving an unabashed moan and rolling his hips. His knees parted wider and with a glance downwards the king noted smugly how aroused his pet was just from being able to pleasure his master. As his hand quickened, Charles’s gaze slipped, his eyes focused on nothing. King Washington growled immediately, pulled on the leash. Charles’s breath hitched but he corrected his mistake, his eyes snapping open as he watched the king with reverence.
Satisfied, the king jerked his head towards him. “Come now, Charles.”
The man did so obediently, as he did all things. He came with a gasp, keening into the king’s legs and spilling himself into his hand.
“Clean yourself up,” the king told him, his voice always sharp and commanding.
“Yes, sir,” Charles murmured, having recovered his voice. He rested his cheek on the king’s lap, gazing up in sleepy contentment at the king as he licked his palm clean like a languid cat. He sighed as the king reached down to course a hand through his hair.
“Good boy,” King Washington said and Charles positively beamed at the praise.)
The second was a lover.
(The lines between pet and lover were thin, but the king tried to pretend they weren’t. He had trained Charles to act like a man when it was required: a charming, lovesick man who was still very underneath King Washington’s thumb. Typically it made the king feel secure to know that Charles was doing everything just to please him; the man didn’t care about his own pleasure, lest his pleasure please the king. But on occasion that feeling sickened him. This wasn’t the Charles Lee, the man that had ridden eagerly in the French and Indian War and had hollered commands at foot soldiers during the Revolutionary War and had died tied to a chair in New York. This was his Charles Lee, the one that loved him.
“You love me,” the king would murmur as his thumb circled the former general’s cheek. He never asked; despite the fact that he now trusted Charles to say what he wanted to hear, he still always told Charles that he loved him. Sometimes he didn’t want to give Charles the chance to be honest.
“Yes,” Charles breathed as he stared up at him with an adoring expression King Washington had never as a major-general seen on the man’s face.
“To whom does your allegiance belong?” the king would sometimes press.
“You, sir.” His voice was so soft, so sure of himself. He paused, probably just remembering that he wasn’t permitted to call the king “sir” when they were together like this. The king loved him enough to let it pass. “Only you.”
Then King Washington cupped Charles’s cheek and lean in to kiss him gently. Charles sighed and his eyelids fluttered and he kissed the king back softly and patiently like a lover should. His hands gripped clumps of the king’s robes and the king would feel himself becoming just Washington again. The king was always torn by discomfort and how good satisfying his Achilles heel felt.
To the public Charles would be his pet. No one would know how he acted out hungry boyhood fantasies with his blue-eyed general, not even Charles.
And on those nights he would require Charles to be a lover. He required him to sprawl on his back and part his thighs and call him George as he pressed one, two, three fingers inside of him. Charles had been taught that this was not the time to moan to the high heavens and ride against his fingers and plead for his master to use him. He would sigh and grip the blankets and the king would try to forget that that too was an act. When he entered him Charles would wrap his legs around his waist and the king would make love to him like they were in the frontier.
When Charles came, it was with a gasp and a choked “George!” and his shuddering body quickly brought the king to completion.
Afterwards Charles would twist eagerly beneath him, searching the king’s face for approval and any indication that he wished for Charles to become aroused again. The king would snort and roll Charles onto his side so that he couldn’t see his doting face.
“You did well,” he would say in a husky voice and Charles would shiver at the praise.)
And the king found that Charles satisfied both of his desires very, very well.