AN: For a request on Tumblr for some captain on captain action. There will be one, perhaps two more chapters, this will be a shorter smutty story :)

Warnings: Dom/sub dynamics, humiliation, all that good stuff

OOO

It started simply. Innocently.

"Captain Simcoe is waiting for you inside, Captain Wakefield," the young sentry posted outside the home he was staying in told him as he walked up the steps. "I told him you would not be returning for some time, but he insisted."

"It's fine," he murmured and went in through the front door to hear the sound of Captain Simcoe's unmistakable voice and laugh, exactly how he remembered it from when they wore the same color coats. From before this ridiculous feud between him and Hewlett left the entire garrison in disorder.

Captain Wakefield was not fond of disorder. And now the embodiment of it was sitting at his table.

Simcoe was sitting at the dining table with the elder couple of the house. A discussion about fighting Indians with the master of the house, a veteran of the Seven Years War, was in full swing. Simcoe saw him in the foyer but continued his conversation, not paying any heed to Wakefield until he was done, making him wait. Simcoe no longer wore a wig and his copper hair was more full and wavy than he would have ever imagined, his green jacket he thought suited him better, and he, as usual, looked as if he owned the room. John Simcoe had not changed since Wakefield had last served with him last and he had not expected him to.

"Captain Simcoe," he finally interrupted and stepped forward into the room, making his presence known. "Shall we speak somewhere privately?"

Simcoe smiled and wiped his mouth with a napkin and placed it onto the table. "Captain Wakefield, how nice it is to see you."

"You as well, sir."

They settled in a small room that served as both Wakefield's office and bedroom. It was big enough to fit a proper desk Wakefield removed his jacket and sat behind his desk piled with papers and files. He offered Simcoe a seat, but instead he stood, looking out the window.

"What is it you want here, Captain Simcoe," Wakefield asked him pensively, shifting in his seat. "What can I do for you, sir."

Not answering, Simcoe kept looking out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. "So our dear Hewlett has left us."

"Yes. Yes, he has."

"And now you are in charge?"

"I am."

Simcoe looked over his shoulder at Wakefield and smiled. "That must please you, Bertram."

Wakefield shifted nervously again and cleared his throat. "Not, particularly. It's been a difficult situation, I won't lie. It's not something—"

"I understand," Simcoe said in his soft voice, cutting him off as he walked over and sat on the edge of the desk in front of Wakefield. "You never really wanted to be put in this position. Never expected to be left with such a complicated situation to manage. Do you remember, God, it would be almost two years ago now, when Joyce put us both on that patrol? What happened?"

Wakefield nodded.

"Don't look so cross, Bertram," Simcoe chuckled. "My point is, Bertram, I know what kind of man you are. You are uncomfortable being in charge. The responsibility of being decisive weighs heavy on you."

Wakefield did not answer. Already nervous, his anxiety was hiking up in pitch moment by moment, he was boiling with indignation now as well which was only being aggravated by the intimidating air of Simcoe, of his close proximity—but mostly from his being completely right about him.

"What I want, is to help. To help you, to help all of Setauket, really," Simcoe continued and leaned forward, placing a firm hand on Wakefield's shoulder. "We have the same goal, you and I. To eradicate the rebel threat and protect loyal citizens, of course."

Wakefield nodded slowly and gave Simcoe a thin smile. "I'm relieved to hear it, after the—difficulties between you and the Major."

Simcoe went on to assure him that he had nothing against his old garrison and his old comrades. He was still a British officer he explained, and with Hewlett's disgraceful exit, that all the internal strife between the rangers and the regulars would be but a memory. Wakefield's ability to concentrate on what he was saying drifted away under the overwhelming feeling from the pressure of Simcoe's strong hand squeezing his shoulder.

"You've done a fine job in a chaotic situation, given the circumstances Hewlett put you into." He heard Simcoe's praise through his internal embarrassment and anger, which sounded surprisingly genuine, breaking him out of his reverie. With a hard squeeze Simcoe said, "I'm here to help you, to draw out the poison that has taken root in this town."

Wakefield swallowed hard. "I appreciate that, Captain," he said and leaned out of Simcoe's grasp, reaching for a folder he did not need and brought it forward and opened it, pretending to be looking for something pertinent. "Your—command experience—is of course an asset."

"No worries, Bertram, we shall fill out all the necessary paperwork." Simcoe leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest. He looked at Wakefield who was trying to avert his eyes and busy himself with a dossier and added, "If you will you let me help you, that is."

"I think that would probably, be best," Wakefield said almost without thinking the entire situation through. If he really trusted the man he once witnessed have a lapse of total madness right before his eyes. Would he really help him, like he promised? Perhaps this was a sign from above, a helpful hand being extended. It hardly mattered however because before he realized it, it was already done.

Simcoe smiled, pleased. "You need me to?"

"—Yes."

"Ask me then," Simcoe insisted, his intense stare still upon him. Wakefield thought maybe he was joking but when he looked up from his papers the other captain's face was without humor.

Wakefield hesitated. "What?"

"Ask me for my help."

"I—I don't—"

"Ask me," he repeated firmly, "for my help. Captain Wakefield."

"Will you, will you please help me, Captain Simcoe," he uncomfortably managed out. This pleased Simcoe and Wakefield thought of the look of pleasure a devil when finally securing that signature for some poor bastard's soul.

Simcoe placed his hands on each of the arm rests of Wakefield's chair and leaned forward. Wakefield's heart was pounding in his chest. And then, almost as if he was going to kiss him, Simcoe instead brought his lips so close to Wakefield's cheek he could feel his hot breath, he said, "Yes. I will take care of everything, Captain Wakefield."