Have a short porny fill for Charles/Washington. I want fics about those two, but there is nothing and that is sad.
Charles doesn’t know why Washington comes to him for this. He just appears from time to time, especially when the day has been particularly difficult. He doesn’t ask for anything, but he doesn’t have to. Charles knows why he’s here.
For him, the thrill comes from how easily he could end the man’s life and yet how beautifully he submits to him. One day, when the timing is best for the Order, he will allow himself to squeeze every last breath out of Washington. He hopes the general’s most faithful followers will find his desecrated body, Washington having died an unseemly death, as far from a battlefield as possible.
But today is not that day.
Washington can never quite meet his eyes. Charles’ doesn’t mind: let the man wallow in his self-disgust if he feels the need to. It makes it easier to push him to the ground. He straddles Washington’s waist, making sure his weight pins him down, and gives him what he came for.
At first, he lets his fingers barely brush the skin. He enjoys watching the anticipation growing in his victim, his chest rising faster as he waits for a heavier touch. He then wraps his hands gently around the neck, the touch gentle enough to be mistaken for a lover’s. Washington tenses under him, torn between what he wants and what he should do, which is to push away the man who never really hid his hatred from him, even if the self-centered idiot doesn’t really understand the cause of his animosity. Charles knows Washington thinks he’s the one using Charles’ dislike of him to fulfill his sick desires. As if he would ever let himself be manipulated like this, even more so by Washington of all people.
When his hands have caressed Washington’s neck long enough for him to know the general is seconds away from either leaving or begging, he tightens his hold, slowly but with force, letting each digit dig into soft flesh. He makes sure his thumbs are well positioned to block any passing of air and stays steady against Washington’s instinctive attempts to dislodge him. He always struggles at first. Charles can hear the gasps dying as all air leaves him. When mind and body catches up to the situation, he calms down. It begins by an act of will and turns into necessity. Charles watches the euphoria the choking causes in Washington wipe away all the shame that he felt barely moments ago.
Washington is hard against his lower back. Charles grinds against him, knowing much more contact than this won’t be needed. Washington always arrives more than ready for pleasure, like he’s been waiting for too long before breaking and coming back to him. He continues the movement until he can see how close Washington is to the edge. At once, he tightens his fingers just a bit more, only as much as he believes he can without causing lasting damage, and frees him a second later. The first inspiration, deep and uneven, concurs with his orgasm, leaving Charles unable to tell if the body trembling under him is shaking in pleasure or pain. Similarly, the gasps he emits as he tries to get as much air as possible could also be moans or pleas.
The sight of Washington this defenceless and at his mercy hasn’t left him unaffected, and now that the general has gotten what he came for, it’s time for him to pay his due. Charles rises and stares at Washington until the man can compose himself somewhat. When dizziness seemingly left him, he kneels in front of Charles and unlaces his breeches. They never bothered with foreplay: tonight isn’t any different. Washington takes him in his mouth up to the root. Charles grabs his head and keeps him there until he’s once again gasping for air. He pushes out and starts fucking his mouth, uncaring of his enemy’s comfort. In this, Washington never opposes him anyway.
When he’s too close to the end, Charles tangles his hand in Washington’s hair and roughly pushes him away. He takes himself in hand and gives himself a few strokes, enough to reach completion all over Washington.
They would get along so much better if Washington always looked like he does now. Wet streaks covering his face and saliva running down his mouth, nobody could ignore what the man was doing a few seconds before. He’s still on his knees, his own breeches stained, but what really complete the tableau are Charles’ hands imprinted on his throat. Washington can wash away all other signs of their clandestine encounters, but this will still be there in a few days, undisputable proof that he submitted to someone else. He’ll absently rub the marks through his clothing when they see each others tomorrow. Charles will catch the gesture and give him such a smile that he will blush, the respected general, and will have to deal with mystified subordinates. Charles will leave him to this, and will wait until Washington breaks again. It’s only a question of time.
Charles Lee/George Washington, erotic asphyxiation
Charles doesn’t know why Washington comes to him for this. He just appears from time to time, especially when the day has been particularly difficult. He doesn’t ask for anything, but he doesn’t have to. Charles knows why he’s here.
For him, the thrill comes from how easily he could end the man’s life and yet how beautifully he submits to him. One day, when the timing is best for the Order, he will allow himself to squeeze every last breath out of Washington. He hopes the general’s most faithful followers will find his desecrated body, Washington having died an unseemly death, as far from a battlefield as possible.
But today is not that day.
Washington can never quite meet his eyes. Charles’ doesn’t mind: let the man wallow in his self-disgust if he feels the need to. It makes it easier to push him to the ground. He straddles Washington’s waist, making sure his weight pins him down, and gives him what he came for.
At first, he lets his fingers barely brush the skin. He enjoys watching the anticipation growing in his victim, his chest rising faster as he waits for a heavier touch. He then wraps his hands gently around the neck, the touch gentle enough to be mistaken for a lover’s. Washington tenses under him, torn between what he wants and what he should do, which is to push away the man who never really hid his hatred from him, even if the self-centered idiot doesn’t really understand the cause of his animosity. Charles knows Washington thinks he’s the one using Charles’ dislike of him to fulfill his sick desires. As if he would ever let himself be manipulated like this, even more so by Washington of all people.
When his hands have caressed Washington’s neck long enough for him to know the general is seconds away from either leaving or begging, he tightens his hold, slowly but with force, letting each digit dig into soft flesh. He makes sure his thumbs are well positioned to block any passing of air and stays steady against Washington’s instinctive attempts to dislodge him. He always struggles at first. Charles can hear the gasps dying as all air leaves him. When mind and body catches up to the situation, he calms down. It begins by an act of will and turns into necessity. Charles watches the euphoria the choking causes in Washington wipe away all the shame that he felt barely moments ago.
Washington is hard against his lower back. Charles grinds against him, knowing much more contact than this won’t be needed. Washington always arrives more than ready for pleasure, like he’s been waiting for too long before breaking and coming back to him. He continues the movement until he can see how close Washington is to the edge. At once, he tightens his fingers just a bit more, only as much as he believes he can without causing lasting damage, and frees him a second later. The first inspiration, deep and uneven, concurs with his orgasm, leaving Charles unable to tell if the body trembling under him is shaking in pleasure or pain. Similarly, the gasps he emits as he tries to get as much air as possible could also be moans or pleas.
The sight of Washington this defenceless and at his mercy hasn’t left him unaffected, and now that the general has gotten what he came for, it’s time for him to pay his due. Charles rises and stares at Washington until the man can compose himself somewhat. When dizziness seemingly left him, he kneels in front of Charles and unlaces his breeches. They never bothered with foreplay: tonight isn’t any different. Washington takes him in his mouth up to the root. Charles grabs his head and keeps him there until he’s once again gasping for air. He pushes out and starts fucking his mouth, uncaring of his enemy’s comfort. In this, Washington never opposes him anyway.
When he’s too close to the end, Charles tangles his hand in Washington’s hair and roughly pushes him away. He takes himself in hand and gives himself a few strokes, enough to reach completion all over Washington.
They would get along so much better if Washington always looked like he does now. Wet streaks covering his face and saliva running down his mouth, nobody could ignore what the man was doing a few seconds before. He’s still on his knees, his own breeches stained, but what really complete the tableau are Charles’ hands imprinted on his throat. Washington can wash away all other signs of their clandestine encounters, but this will still be there in a few days, undisputable proof that he submitted to someone else. He’ll absently rub the marks through his clothing when they see each others tomorrow. Charles will catch the gesture and give him such a smile that he will blush, the respected general, and will have to deal with mystified subordinates. Charles will leave him to this, and will wait until Washington breaks again. It’s only a question of time.