A/N: This is a heavily experimental fic that focuses on the darker side of Chris in his drunken state, and how Piers tries to deal with it the more overbearing it becomes. Incredibly dark themes (Chris can be an ass) that vastly differentiate from my normal fics, so you may want to turn back if that bothers you. Undecided when exactly this takes place, I also have no idea where the hell my muse for this came from. O_o Believe it or not this started off more lighthearted, but then it turned into… Erm, this. I think we can blame drunk!Chris for making an unexpected appearance that sent everything downhill (in which case I had to revamp a few parts at the beginning by the time I finished to make it fit). :c Let me know if anyone wants me to lengthen this into a two shot/series.


It was almost odd being there after hours.

Where normally there were heated bodies pumping themselves in a rhythm suited to mold their masses into strengthened muscle, there was instead an empty room; dark, quiet. The mission Alpha had recently returned from earlier that day hadn't gone as planned; in simple terms, it was a dead end. A failure. The frustration that ensued was more than enough to keep the S.O.U. Captain on his feet and far from even considering any form of sleep. So he stayed, the B.S.A.A. had their own gym for workouts and training, which to say given the current need for a stress relief, had been perfect.

Chris made his way around the room, occasionally stopping at a few of the machines to warm up before he inevitably found himself near the back where he set the chosen amount of weight and laid himself down on the bench, hands reaching up to grip over the bar above. Even for a man with his build, he pushed it, stretching himself past his own high limits and it was precisely what he needed.

"It wasn't your fault," A familiar voice insisted from the side, nearly startling him into losing his hold. The younger man had a way of getting around without being noticed; as quiet as a shadow, as invisible as a freshly cleaned pane of glass. It was part of his job, however. To see without being seen.

"Not now, Piers." He was stern, the last thing he needed was to go back over the day's events.

"Things like this happen, they don't always go as planned. But you already know that." Stubborn, ever since the day he'd met him.

Chris sighed, jaw tensed. He refrained from replying, arm muscles overworking themselves as they pumped the weight above him, then back down. He'd lost count of how many times he'd done it, but frankly the amount wasn't the point; not that day. He planned on working himself until his body gave way from the exhaustion, he needed the shove and he needed to clear his head. The shots he had earlier from the booze he stashed away hidden in his office hadn't done the trick, only left him more on edge.

"We'll find a way to fix it."

Chris could have sworn he felt a tooth crack from how hard he was biting down.

"Captain, you need to stop."

And do what? Talk? That was the last thing he was interested in. Chris kept up his movements, body sleeked over with a sheen of sweat that matted the fabric of his clothing against his skin. His limbs were on fire but it wasn't enough.

"Are you even listening?"

The resulting slam of the bar back on its rack would have jostled any normal person into staggering back from the surprise as the Captain sat up, eyes digging holes into the sniper who stood firm, unfazed by the intensity rolling off the older man in heated waves.

"Go home, Piers. I don't want to hear it."

"Not until you have, Captain."

Both of them kept their ground, Chris clearly allowing anger and frustration to take a toll while Piers held a much calmer demeanor. To say the ace wasn't any less agitated over the situation would be a lie; the mission had them all on edge, but it hit the Captain specifically rather hard.

Chris sneered before he lowered himself back onto the bench. "I'm not done yet. If you want to stay then fine, but don't talk."

Thankfully for the next few minutes that went by, it had appeared as though the younger man had actually chose to listen, that was until he'd felt a shift in pressure and a body seating itself over top of him, perfectly bubbled ass tight against his groin. He grunted at the contact.

"Piers-"

"I wasn't talking."

The sniper could feel the heat emanating from the other man, enough to match the ferocity of his voice. Deft hands sought out the bottom of his Captain's shirt, pushing it inch by inch up over the sweat glossed skin. The body below seemed to tense itself further, but stubbornly, Chris did his best to ignore him. It did nothing to stop his ATL, instead it acted almost as an encouragement.

Piers let his fingers dance across the ripples of muscle, tracing the surface of the meaty torso under him with almost ticklish soft caresses that descended toward the belt and paused to fumble with it as he rotated his hips, grinding his ass over the shielded bulge that grew under the friction and combined tension the Captain was building over himself with every lift of the bar. The rise of his chest each time Chris inhaled became more frequent under the duress of trying to pay as little attention as possible to the actions of the other man. He was gradually making it more and more difficult.

Piers unhooked the buckle and stood up from his seated position so he could gain a more clear access to the zipper, which he made sure to lower slowly so as to emphasize the sound of the teeth parting themselves, putting him one step closer to the growing length hidden under the confines. He slid downward, reseating himself this time on the Captain's legs so he could fumble his fingers into the opening, grasping a hold over the thick cock to pull it free.

Hazel eyes flickered up in search of brown, but the other man stubbornly avoided his gaze. Well, one was just as equally stubborn as the other. Piers stroked nimble fingers across the length, giving it a single sharp tug before he bent himself forward to lick the tip. It was slow going at first, his tongue drew small circles that led down to the underside of the head, causing the Captain to shift slightly.

Chris swallowed, choking down any sounds that wanted to break free from his throat as the ace took him deeper into his mouth, slick walls pinching inward to tighten the sensation around his length as that greedy tongue flicked itself across the sensitive organ to further heighten the feeling. A hand wrapped firmly around the base, pumping in light strokes once the younger man started to bob his head.

The Captain was having trouble keeping his sense of concentration, arms wanting to give way so that he could focus more on thrusting himself deeper into those parted lips where that warm, welcoming tongue traced the bulging veins across the thickening girth. He breathed heavily through flaring nostrils, eyes fluttering themselves shut with his mouth closed tight, trying harder now to keep himself quiet.

The hand at his base adjusted itself lower, slipping through the folds of clothing to grasp around his scrotum with a soft squeeze as that perfectly formed mouth lowered itself until he felt every inch enveloped in saliva coated walls.

Damn him. Chris slammed the bar down in its proper place and sat up, one hand immediately grabbing a hold over the back of the ace's head, fingers tightening almost painfully around short strands of brown as he forced the movements over his cock. He yanked at the soft locks gripped between his digits to pull that mouth toward his tip, only to shove it back down over the span of his length while he simultaneously thrusted himself forward, effectively gagging the younger man as he face fucked him. A low growl emanated from the depths of the Captain's throat at the feeling, but he was relentless.

Piers had brought it on himself.

Chris held him against his base, cock twitching as it rested in the back of his throat. The younger man had moved his hands to clasp at muscular hips in an attempt to regain some form of control so he could come up for air, but the hand over the back of his head held him firmly. His nostrils were plugged air tight against the skin above the groin where he couldn't breathe, skin tone changing to a lighter hue at the lack of oxygen and invading force stuffed down his throat.

Just as spots started to dot along his vision, so close to passing out that Piers thought he would suffocate, the hand at the base of his skull pulled him back with a shove that had him falling to the side of the bench on the floor, coughing and sputtering as his lungs greedily hungered for air.

"Get undressed." It was a command wrapped in the familiar tone Chris would use when giving orders as Captain. Piers rubbed at his throat with one hand as he attempted to steady his breathing, staring momentarily up at the other man who watched him impatiently before he started to tug at his jacket, slipping the fabric free from his shoulders where he tossed it aside. Satisfied that he obeyed, Chris began pulling at his own clothing until they were both nude.

The Captain repositioned himself, his back against the bar he'd spent so much time lifting as he motioned for the ace to come closer. Still a bit lightheaded, Piers did as instructed and threw one leg over the bench, facing away from the other man as he lowered himself into a crouch, pucker exposed for the Captain's thick girth. One hand was placed at the side of the bench, gripping along the padded surface to steady himself as the other arm was raised over and behind Chris' head to clutch the bar the older man leaned against, if only for leverage.

"You might not like this, Piers." Chris warned as he pumped a hand over the length of his own penis, lining up the tip with the tightened hole that hovered just above.

"I wouldn't be here if I couldn't handle it." If Chris needed a hard stress relieving fuck, Piers would endure no matter what the consequences were. Anything to help his Captain.

"Your call," Chris didn't offer a second chance before he grabbed the ace by the hip with his free hand and forced him down onto his shaft, impaling the young sniper over his length without preparation. The ensuing scream bounced off the walls in an echo that reflected back at them as Piers threw his head behind him, eyes squeezed tight with an open mouth that cried at the abuse. He knew it would happen, knew it would hurt. But he did it, not for his own aching body, but for his Captain.

Chris grunted at the tightening around his cock, the muscles tore themselves to give him passage into that dark channel where red seeped out to cover his organ in blood. With his other hand now unoccupied, it repositioned itself over the opposite hip in a bruising grip that he used to lift the lean body upwards over the scale of his cock until the head threatened to slip free. He paused there, listening to the quiet whimpers of the man in his arms before pulling him back down, cramming himself into the twitching orifice.

Chris was angry and he was drunk. He was also pumped out on adrenaline. None of them were a good combination, and the beautiful screams from his young protege did nothing to sway the feelings as his ass muscles clenched around the invading girth in a reflexive attempt to force it out.

"I'm not doing all the work for you, Piers. Start moving," The hiss in his ear hardly sounded like the Captain he knew; in a way, it wasn't. The man was always dangerously aggressive after drinking, he'd already found that out the hard way once before. He'd hoped it would have been different that time. The frustration from their failure only intensified the feeling, making him much less susceptible to pleas or mercy. There would be no loving touches, no soft kisses. Just hard, brutal fucking, all so he could get off just to throw the ace aside like some sort of rag doll until he cleared his head. Piers hated when he got that way, hated what the drink did to him. But he never turned his back when his Captain was in need, even if the costs were high.

Piers inhaled unsteadily, rasping at the unwanted feeling settling inside the walls of his anus. A shudder crept down his spine as he braced himself, tensing his arms to slowly lift his body off the cock with another pained whimper. He curled his lip inward to tug it between his teeth before he lowered himself back down, feeling the tear in his opening with every movement.

"You'll have to do better than that," The voice was back in his ear, the scent of booze flowing outward with it to waft through the air. "I've heard you scream like a whore before, now you can ride like one." It wasn't his Captain, it wasn't his Captain, it wasn't, wasn't-

"Move!"

Piers yelped as a hand grasped a tightening hold over his scrotum and painfully twisted, threatening to damage him. It hurt, almost on par with the tear in his ass. The combination had him openly sobbing in his Captain's lap.

He could do this - all he had to do was give one night. One night to calm Chris down until he snapped out of it and returned to normal. One night, then he could forget about everything and move on.

For Chris.

Hesitantly at first, he raised himself back off the twitching member before thrusting back down with an outcry.

Chris, Chris, Chris...

Why did he have to do that? Why did it have to be this way?

He moved again, impaling himself repetitively over the throbbing shaft until he heard the older man groaning somewhere between his own wails. He wanted it to be over with, wanted things back to normal. But they weren't, and wishing never did a damn thing.

"Good boy," Chris cooed in his ear through grunts, as though talking to some animal. Was that what he was now? He almost felt like it. The hand at his sac finally released its hold, and barely a moment later he found himself being lifted off the Captain's lap and thrown once again down onto the floor. He groaned, body curling in on itself as Chris stood up and shuffled off somewhere nearby.

Piers wasn't sure how long it was before he was hoisted off the floor by a hand tugging through his hair, but just as the world began to stabilize itself, he found himself bent forward over the bar, eyes fluttering at the sight of the bench below. He heard movement from behind and prepared himself for the worst, but a cooling sensation winding over his skin had his eyes seeking out whatever it was.

It looked like some sort of resistance tube the Captain was tying over him, binding his arm down against his leg to keep him in that position, bent over the end of the bar that pressed uncomfortably at his stomach. The opposite arm and leg were restrained in the same fashion, leaving the ace rather unnerved at the exposure. He couldn't move, the angle prevented very little of that and he couldn't slip free; the tubes were much too tight against his flesh that he had almost no wiggle room.

Piers felt hands at his ass, kneading the cheeks with enough pressure to bruise. The air flow against his pucker made him shiver, the broken ring still tender after the abuse.

"You had a chance to walk away," The tone was taunting now as Chris drew a hand back to slap one of the bubbled mounds. Instantly it stung at the contact, the tint already shifting to a light red. He switched sides, a second smack landed on the opposite cheek. The sounds that his actions elicited from the young ace made him smile; soldier or not, he was still a boy in many ways.

"Nothing to say, Piers?" Chris didn't care if he was the one who told him to be quiet to begin with. He reached for those brown locks again to pull the sniper's head back, searching his pained features.

Piers blinked, eyes watery. "Captain, please... We can just leave, we can go home and-"

"I don't think so."

"Captain-"

Chris released his hold, allowing his head to drop. "Stop."

But Piers was insistent now, "You've had a lot to drink, you should try laying down. Maybe tomorrow you'll-" There was a tearing of fabric somewhere in the background, behind him where he couldn't see.

"Shut up," Piers had heard. Chris needed to make up his damn mind, first he told him to be quiet, then he wanted him to talk and now it was back to square one.

"Cap-mmf!" A hand reached around him, stuffing a balled up piece of one of their shirts into his open mouth and held it there until his own scarf was woven over his lips to seal it in, successfully muffling his noises.

"You never did learn proper discipline, soldier."

Piers felt something brush back against his ass, nudging at his entrance. He closed his eyes, head dipped forward as the cock slick with his own blood slipped itself back inside, once more spreading open his torn walls. There was a muffle against the fabric as he felt balls press against his cheeks, fully enveloped inside so deep he'd swear there was a visible outline of the dick on his stomach.

Chris pulled himself out and with no hesitation rammed back in, setting a bruising pace that had skin slapping against skin. His movements were quick and rough, anything but pleasant to the ace each time the thick cock forced its way into his bowels. The Captain was in it for his own pleasure, fighting for his own release with little to no concern given toward Piers, who couldn't contain the tears that formed at the corners of his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. He despised the feeling, it made him seem weak when he was anything but. Even a soldier has his limits, however... And Piers wasn't sure which was worse; the pain itself, or that it was his beloved Captain who caused it.

At least he wouldn't remember. This far gone in his drinking stage, Chris never remembered.

To his surprise, the next thrust brushed up against something that had his body tingling, a pleasure he didn't think he could feel stirred inside him, enough for his limp cock to spring to life at the sensation. Piers groaned against the gag, feeling the meaty length inside him pass over it a second time.

It still hurt, his ass had been carelessly shredded, but each thrust against his prostate had pleasure mingling with the pain. He was openly moaning now from the combination, muffled by the fabric of his scarf as Chris plowed into him. Each movement had his body swaying against the bar with every push, drool leaking out from around the edges of the gag to drip onto the bench below. He hated how abused he was, hated how humiliated he felt. What he hated most was how some part of him was starting to enjoy the cruelty being forced onto him.

The cock inside him twitched as Chris groaned behind him, a few more pumps had the Captain filling the tight pucker with sticky fluids that spurted over his insides. Chris drove his dick in until it was dry, then pulled out completely. Piers shuddered at the feeling, gasping behind the gag the moment a hand reached around to his own aching length. "I thought you weren't enjoying this," Chris whispered to his ear as he gave a rough pump that had Piers thrusting into his fist, wanton cries muffled.

Chris smiled, satisfied with the sight. "That close already?" The heavy breaths and desperation confirmed it as he quickened his strokes over the weeping cock that brought him closer, closer- dwindling at the edge. "You haven't earned that yet." Chris removed his hold, leaving the sniper to whimper disappointingly with muffled pleas that urged him to continue. The footsteps told him just how unlikely that was, and the Captain came back into his view long enough to gather up his clothes.

Wait. His jumbled mind tried to gather itself enough to focus, You can't be serious! He had to force his nerves to try and calm themselves, attempting to convince himself that Chris wasn't just going to leave him there, exposed as he was, his body aching for more than he should have ever allowed.

"We have all night. I'll be back sometime after the next hour."

A wave of panic sunk itself back in. No, no, nonono- Captain, don't!

"But one last thing," He dipped back out of sight. Piers tugged at the bindings, arms trying to free themselves to no avail. But then something was wrapped around his groin, pressing down over the skin in a tight, make-shift cock ring.

"Don't go anywhere, Piers."

After that, he was left with the sound of receding footsteps, the creak of a door as it opened, then the ensuing click as it shut and left him alone. Piers groaned, never having felt so helpless and humiliated in his life. He struggled, still unable to slip himself free from the restraints. He needed to get out, to get away. He couldn't stay there, couldn't face Chris again that night. Not after... After...

He should have never stayed, never been so insistent when he already knew what it could lead to. But Piers thought he could do it; he thought he could convince Chris to willingly do something in his drunken state.

Piers had never been so wrong.