Say it Sweetly

Title: Say it Sweetly
Author: Kaid
Pairing: Church/Grif
Rating: Hard, hard, hard R for language.
Warnings: A little bit of rough treatment.
Summary: Grif thinks he owns the canyon, that he can do whatever he wants wherever he wants. Church finds that unacceptable.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Oh shut up. It’s not like you can do anything about it.” Church grinned wickedly and tilted the rifle in his hands, tsking at the shoddy maintenance of the weapon. “Man, you really are the lazy one, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you,” Grif spat, shaking with anger under the barrel of his own gun. Caught napping by the moody Blue Spartan, the orange marine could do nothing but seethe in total, utter shame.

“Listen to the mouth on this one,” chuckled Church, emptying out the rifle bullets over the packed red soil of the canyon. The cases rolled to the edge of the shaded path and fell, trickling, to the ground twelve feet below. “Fine. I’ll give it back as long as you don’t try to hit me with it.”

“No promises,” Grif snarled, then easily caught the weapon as it was tossed to him. The Red immediately turned on his heel and stalked away, hackles raised and unheard curses tumbling from behind his helmet.

“Hey, Red guy,” Church called. Grif kept walking, stoically ignoring the annoying Blue bastard. “Don’t let me catch you out here again. I won’t be so easy on you, next time,”

“Whatever, asshole.” Grif turned a corner and slipped from sight.

* * *

“What – what the fuck is this?!” Grif squawked as he awoke, eyes scanning the cave frantically and meeting only darkness. His helmet was off, his rifle was gone, and he couldn’t see anything past his outstretched hands.

“I told you not to let me catch you again, Red.” Church’s voice echoed off the cavernous interior, swirling around the distraught marine and masking his location.

“You god damned fucking son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing?”

“Playing with you,” came the hiss, right next to Grif’s ear. He let out a yell, but an armored hand came crashing over his mouth and he was yanked backwards into the moonlight and wrestled to the ground. The orange-clad Spartan bucked and kicked, but even with the suit he was no match for the overbearing weight of the bigger man.

“I told you, you stupid Red. But here you are. Damn, I guess you really wanted to see what I was going to do this time, didn’t you?”

“Get the fuck off me,” Grif tried to scream, but the enemy male was so heavy it was hard to breathe, let alone shout. Church used his hips and elbows to shove and push the shorter man until he was stretched on his back beneath him, holding his captive’s arms high and pinning his legs with his thighs. Grif cussed and squirmed through the switch of positions, and took the opportunity to growl and spit at the visor now hovering over his face.

“What are you fucking doing? What is this? Where’s my helmet, what the fuck did you do with my gun and GOD, why are you just fucking *staring* at me like that, you freak?”

The armored Spartan didn’t make a sound. The seconds ticked by, the grip on Grif’s wrists as unrelenting as the silence emanating from his captor. Grif thrashed and screamed some more, but the Blue didn’t move, and he didn’t speak.

“What do you want?” Grif finally asked, sounding more meek and out of breath than he wanted. The soldier tilted his head, and for the first time the orange marine was acutely aware of how frightening and ominous the MJOLNIR suits really were. The man reminded him of a raptor: predatory, arrogant, and completely enthralled by his prey. The silence stretched on.

“Make your offer.” Grif blinked as what he thought sounded like a purr rolled from the crouching Blue.

“Cigarettes,” he said, immediately. Church shook his head.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Oh. Well, that’s all I’ve got.” Grif gave a half shrug from his constrictive position. “So let me up.”

“That’s not all you’ve got.”

The Red felt fear dance up his spine. He pretended that he didn’t hear the suggestive tone in the Blue’s voice.

“Uh, actually it is, guy. There’s nothing else I have that you would want. You already stole my gun, and if anything *I* want my *helmet* back, jerk off.”

Church laughed. “Ah, well - if you want up and want your shit back, you’ve got to do *something* for me, Red. I can’t let you get off scott free after repeatedly being such a dumbass. No, you deserve a little punishment. A little…humiliation.” The Blue savored the word. The bottom of Grif’s stomach dropped out. “I’d ask you to make another offer, but…” he paused and squeezed the Red’s wrists a little tighter. “…you’re either too stupid or too chicken for that game.”

Grif sputtered angrily, but Church pressed on. “So I want to see what kind of talents you’ve got.” He leaned close, transferred the man’s wrists to one hand, and used the other to trace a line from Grif’s jaw to his lips. The orange soldier froze in terror. “I want to see how well you can use that filthy fucking mouth of yours.”

“Oh HELL no you sick cunt!” Grif tried to flail, but the Blue was so god damned strong he couldn’t shake him loose. “Get the fuck off me before I-”

“Before you what? Kick and scream and cry until I let you go?” Church scoffed. “Don’t be such a pussy.” He threw his weight against the enemy Spartan, showing him just how much strength he was holding back. Grif choked. “I could do this all fucking day.”

“I bet you could,” Grif wheezed nastily.

“Besides, I only want to know how good of an actor you are.” The innocence with which he said the words was so false Grif actually felt sick. “Just repeat after me, bitch. Real easy, right?”

“Yeah. Whatever. Just go.”

“I want to touch your cock.”

Grif closed his eyes and swallowed thickly, somehow knowing this is what the evil shit had in mind. Never before had he felt so vulnerable. The bastard could see every single one of his facial expressions, each unfiltered emotion as it played across his face. He couldn’t see it, but something told him the Blue was smiling, smiling, smiling behind the heavy gold screen.

“I-” his throat closed up on him. He gave a short cough and tried to continue. “I-”

“C’mon, you scared of a few words, Red?”

“Iwannatouchyercok.”

“Speak up, can’t hear you.”

“I said ‘I want. To touch. Your cock’.” Grif paled. Hearing himself say it did something funny to his stomach.

“That was pathetic. So dead, so automatic. I want you to *convince* me. Try again. Mean it.”

The captured Spartan took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I . . . I . . .” Church pressed close, so close the shorter man could *taste* his anticipation. “I fucking hate you.”

The slap was light, but it still sent a shock through his body.

“Hmn, I’m pretty sure that’s not what you were supposed to say. Again.”

“I want to touch your cock!” he screamed up into Church’s face, desperation lancing through the words.

“Ooo, very Good, Red. So demanding and needy. Okay, I’ll believe that. And I suppose I should reward you for a job well done.”

The Spartan pulled back, lifting the weight off of his enemy’s chest and allowing him to get good, deep breaths. Grif glowered beneath him, his eyes betraying just how violated, angry and intimidated he was.

“Alright, next. You ready, sugar?” Bared teeth flashed white in the moonlight. Church took that as a yes. “I want to suck you off.”

“Burn in hell!”

This slap was harder, but it was his pride that felt the brunt of the blow. Church was *pissed*.

“I’m going to make this *very* clear for you, Red , since you don’t seem to be getting it,” he leaned back in, so close that he could see Grif’s breath bloom over his visor. “You have been captured by the enemy. You are under his control. He is telling you that he will let you go, alive, uninjured and armed, back to your base where you can pretend this never happened to you, and no one will question it. All you have to do, the ONLY fucking thing you have to do, is convince him that you are the dirty slut he thinks you are.”

In his fury, Church took his free hand and ripped off his own helmet, tossing it out of the way. Grif stared, stunned and cowed, as the cobalt Spartan’s face came into view. And fuck it, the stronger marine was *not* as ugly as he hoped he would be. The enemy soldier leveled soft, pink lips at his ear, brushing them unabashedly against the shell as he spoke. If Grif could really get away with biting him, he would have tried. But he knew better. The orange Spartan was stubborn, not a moron.

“Now say it, Red. Say you want to suck this dick.” He bit own on the ear next to his mouth.

“I want to suck you off,” Grif’s voice shook uncontrollably, though if it was from fear or shock or something else, he couldn’t tell. Either way, it made the words vulnerable and, to his shame, pleading. Begging. The Blue pulled away from Grif’s ear, just far enough so the pinned man could see a pleased smile curl on the pale face.

“Keep talking. Tell me what you want to do to my cock when it’s in your mouth.” And at that, he kissed the bare patch of throat under Grif’s jaw, teeth gently scraping, tongue swirling thick and hot over the sensitive, exposed skin.

The orange-clad Spartan freaked, trying again to get away, this time from the tender attention that was being pushed on his neck. It was weird, it was wrong, and it wasn’t fair. Fuck, it wasn’t fair that he was actually getting breathless and warm under the nipping, sucking mouth of another man. Church slammed him down, subduing his struggles with a harsh bite and a shift in his weight, forcing him to stay still and feel what was happening to his body.

“C’mon, Red. You wanna go home, you’ve gotta open your mouth. Tell me.”

Grif went limp, staring up at the bright beads of stars strung in the sky. “I. . . ” he started, wracking his brain for what to say. “I want to . . .” he had to stop to swallow. Church felt the motion, heard how honestly difficult he was making this for his captive, so he lessened his bites to slow, lavish licks and kisses.

Grif immediately felt the encouragement and tried not to focus on how the passionate approach to humiliating him was turning out to feel so ridiculously good. “I want to pull it b-between my lips, feel it stretch-” he cut himself off, tossing his head to the side as an embarrassed blush blossomed over his cheeks. Did he really just fucking say that?

“Keep going,” Church whispered, nibbling on the orange marine’s earlobe. Grif closed his eyes tightly and let the words flow. The Blue wanted a slut? He’d give him a slut.

“I want to feel its weight, rub the slit with my tongue and taste the heat. I bet you taste so good. . .” the cobalt man shivered against him and began sucking hard on his skin. “…sweet and salty when you start leaking. And I’d lick it up, lick it off my lips when you pull back just far enough to rub the head over my mouth.”

Grif felt drunk, like his head was stuffed full of cotton. His legs and arms were numb and heavy, but he swore he felt the bigger Spartan slowly thrust against him.

“That’s right, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Like my fat cock filling your mouth. Tell me what you’ll do when I fuck your throat so hard I bust. Tell me.”

“I’ll swallow it.”

“Every drop.”

“Every drop,” whimpered Grif. Church moved up to pull the sedate prisoner’s bottom lip between his teeth.

“Good slut.”

And then the bastard was kissing him. To his horror, Grif responded greedily, twining his tongue around the other Spartan’s as it was pushed into his mouth. After a few bruising moments, Church yanked back just far enough so that their lips brushed when he spoke.

“I want you to fuck me,” he bit the Red’s bottom lip. “Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Grif moaned.

The chunk of rock wall above their heads exploded, the boom of a shotgun echoing in the canyon. Grif thought he heard Simmons scream ‘Get away from him!’ but his ears were ringing and his head was spinning so hard he couldn’t tell. It took less than two seconds for the Blue to haul himself to his feet, snatch his helmet, and disappear into the darkness of the caves.

Grif gasped for breath in the cold night air, heart thumping solidly against his throat. Simmons trotted over and knelt beside his unmoving form, Sarge’s shotgun smoking in his hands.

“What was he doing to you?” Simmons growled, debating on whether he should pursue the Blue or return with Grif to the base. His teammate turned dilated eyes in his direction, lips kiss-bitten and bruised, and blinked. He slowly sat up, noticing that his helmet and gun were in a pile at the base of the cliff wall.

“Nothing,” he lied, grabbing his helmet and swiftly shoving it on. “He caught me sleeping. I think…” he paused, glancing over his shoulder at dark recess of the cave. “I think he was going to teach me a lesson.” He shuddered, hoping the other Red took it as a sign of revulsion.

Simmons grumbled and helped Grif to his feet. They walked back to base, Simmons lecturing him about how he shouldn’t be so careless.

Careless? Yeah, he supposed he was a little careless. A little reckless. A little lazy.

But boy, that cluster of rocks by Blue base sure looked like an excellent spot to take a nap.