It was just supposed to be a summer fling. An admittedly strange summer fling, because most casual hookups don’t come with ropes and gags and pet names. But still just a summer fling, because Kris Letang isn’t the kind of guy that wants a relationship. At least...he wasn’t that kind of guy. Now he’s not so sure.

“Inigo.” The young man took a measured breath. “Yes.” “You do realize what it will entail.” Another breath. “Yes.” “Nevertheless, let me remind you. Unless I release you to fulfill your civic duties and filial obligations, then—from the first evening bells till well after the sun rises in the morning—you’ll be mine and mine alone. I will own you. Your mouth, your groin, your delicate hole, your pleasure and your pain—all will be mine to indulge, to do with as I please. So I will ask again. Are you sure?” Inigo’s muscles flexed. “Yes.” He shivered again. “Master.”

Whenever Soap messes up on a mission he needs to repent, he needs to be punished. It’s been like that ever since he started Military. He’s made a habit out of finding himself the biggest, meanest Doms he can find, so when he meets Ghost he thinks he’s hit the jackpot. Little does he know that Ghost is the softest Dom — a pleasure Dom at that — so when something inevitably goes wrong and Soap begs for a punishment, for a hard, degrading fuck, he’s only met with softness.

“Geralt, it’s not what it looks like.” “Really?” he asked. He clenched his jaw before offering a sharp, mirthless smile. “Because it looks like you got caught fucking the mayor’s wife, and now I’m not getting paid!” “Well,” he laughed nervously, looking anywhere but up. “When you put it that way.” In which Jaskier suggests a chastity device to prove himself a worthy travel companion, and of course, gives Geralt the key.

“No one told me what prayers to recite,” Johnny forces out, trying to summon the well of anger that usually burns within him when he enters the church. “‘Spose they’re not used to trussin’ up somethin’ that can talk back.” Father Simon says nothing, his footsteps echoing out on the stone; growing louder as he approaches. “I can baa for ya if that’d make it more familiar,” he spits, some remnant of himself flaring and he strains his arms, struggling in vain against the ropes binding his wrists. He follows the hem of his robe as he circles him; his keen eyes heavy as they study the sigils on his skin until he finally comes to a stop behind him. He’s not even to see his death. Johnny curses himself as only now does grief come at being denied a final look into his eyes. Even now, you can’t help but chase sin.

Soap took a deep breath to try to steady his nerves, "Ah, are you conscious or unconscious?" "Let's say unconscious, new arrival so no sensory or sleep deprivation as of yet. What is the first step?" He hadn't moved, arms crossed against his chest and eyes not giving away a damn thing. "Securement." He was confident in that answer at least. "Alright, Soap. Secure me." With that, Ghost stood his full height, dropping his arms at his sides. Fuck. This was going to be more difficult than he thought. It felt incredibly wrong to stand here and imagine how he would tie up his superior. •OR• Soap is forced into a simulated interrogation with his Lieutenant and the information he learns about him isn't what he expected.