There was something utterly delicious about witnessing North’s haughty foundation crumble beneath his very feet. That is the price of misjudging me, he wanted to say, but instead he sneered, finding the mere idea of this grunt underestimating to be too insulting to dignify with words. And to think, he once was subjected to the whims of the imp pinned so properly beneath him. The thought might have made him scoff were he not consumed by his anger. He should have been relieved, proud that he was finally going to receive his long awaited and deserved recompense, yet he could not revel in his success while the mutt under him kept yapping.
In truth, the Major’s refusal to submit like he damn well should have did little more than provoke the hottest of the fires growing in the Colonel’s abdomen. He desired more than anything in that moment to punish the irreverence in the hound that refused to heed his master, lust fueling the hunger in every roll of his hips, craving just a little more tantalizing, sweet friction. In spite of himself, in spite of feeling in his bones that North was going to enjoy this, the way the Major pushed back, grinded against him, taunted him, filled the Colonel with deep, undeniable want.
A want for power.
A want for control.
A want to fuck some reverence into the Major who refused to obey.
A harsh snarl ripped through his throat as he tore his hand away from the painful pinch of nails digging into his flesh. Oh this little bastard. He pulled back, just far enough to protect his hand from another attack. Infuriated and insulted, Alejandro snatched North’s left arm, pinning it tightly against the Major’s upper back. A warning. Likely the final one. He was not afraid of literally breaking his dog in. “You must enjoy making me angry, Sigurd.” It was a rhetorical observation, though he was certain he would receive a response regardless. “Is that it? Do you want to be punished?”
That nearly made him laugh. Every word, every sneer, every hiss of defiance lend more to the idea. Or perhaps Alejandro merely wished to speak the thought into existence, if only to see if the Major would bark back against the idea. Oh, he expected it, but all the same a wry smile tugged on his lips. “You know, I think I have you figured out now, Sigurd.” The Major was almost painfully easy to understand. Arrogant. Annoying. Foolish. But so, so plain and straightforward enough to pick apart. The simplicity made him really laugh, cold and mocking from the depths of his chest.
“Did you think I didn’t notice how you looked at me in the academy? Do you think I’m not on to you? That I don’t see through everything you say? I know a needy bitch when I see one.” He growled, painfully twisting the Major’s pinned arm to emphasize his words, and, of course, because watching the other infected squirm amused him, no, aroused him to no end. He wanted to make the loathsome twit pressed on his desk as uncomfortable as possible for his own pleasure.
The torment had only begun.
“If you wanted my attention so badly, all you needed to do was beg.” He chuckled darkly, a smirk pulling at his lips with each taunting word. “Your training has been lax as of late, mutt, but I know exactly what you need.” He hissed, stepping back far enough to bring his open palm down heavily on North’s ass. “You-” He slapped the other side. “Filthy-” The other. “Little-” Again. “Whore.”