Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7188839.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      Revolution_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Miles_Matheson/Bass_Monroe, Charlie_Matheson/Miles_Matheson, Charlie
      Matheson/Miles_Matheson/Bass_Monroe, Charlie_Matheson/Bass_Monroe
  Character:
      Charlie_Matheson, Miles_Matheson, Bass_Monroe
  Additional Tags:
      mood:_taboo, incest_warning, underage_squick, power_games, 60_Moods_of
      Summer
  Collections:
      60_Moods_of_Summer
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-06-13 Completed: 2016-07-15 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 10963
****** And nothing but the truth ******
by JaqofSpades
Summary
     “Charlie is more Charlie than ever,” Bass wrote, and Miles can’t tell
     if he’s reading between the lines, or embroidering desperately to fit
     his fantasies. The ones he hasn’t dared share with Bass yet, but
     knows he will. Soon.
Notes
     This started life as a Kink Your Revolution fill, but it took on new
     life once I structured it around the 60 Moods of Summer prompts,
     Forbidden, Bare, Russian Roulette, Sunshine, Strawberries, Sparring,
     Lust, Abandon and Our Truth. But it's still pretty kinky, playing
     with the attraction of the taboo, and so be warned for underage AND
     incest squick, and two not-so-vaguely predatory Generals.
***** Forbidden *****
He’s been longing for home for months, but in the end, it’s a stray line in an
otherwise boring letter that pulls him away from the front.
“Charlie is more Charlie than ever,” Bass wrote, and Miles can’t tell if he’s
reading between the lines, or embroidering desperately to fit his fantasies. 
The ones he hasn’t dared share with Bass yet, but knows he will.  Soon.
Because she’s sixteen years old. Just sixteen, as they’re always reminding each
other. The apple of her Daddy’s eye, and her Mother’s worst nightmare.  She’s a
crack shot, and an accomplished swordswoman, and will head up her own unit of
the Militia one day. A Matheson from toes of her scuffed boots to the tips of
her long, blonde mane, she is more wild than she is tame, and as predatory as
any big cat.
Charlie Matheson gets what she wants, exactly how she wants it.  And she’s
always loved Bass, and made sure the whole world knew it, and hardly anyone
would bat an eyelid if the President chose to secure his line by marrying the
General’s pretty little niece.
But their citizens don’t know that President and his Commanding General keep
connecting rooms but rarely ever use both beds.  They don’t know that Miles
conquered half the continent as a lover’s gift, and Bass chooses to rule only
because he promised Miles he would.
Only a select few know about the girls they share, and how lately, all those
sweet young whores have been a particularly variety of sunkissed blonde.  How
Miles tells them not to speak, and to face the wall.
Because they’re close.  So, so close to falling, and no one knows just how
taboo this May to December love affair has the potential to be.
Except Charlie.  Charlie knows.  Charlie had bowed her head, and thought about
it, brilliant eyes hidden under the fall of multihued hair.  Chewed on her lip,
then looked up.
“I think I knew, already.  I think – I’m glad you love each other.  I’m glad
you have each other like that.  I just- I wanted … and I thought Bass…”
Bass had fallen to his knees in front of the couch and lifted her chin to look
into his eyes.  “We love you, Charlie.  We’ve loved you since the day we were
born,” he’d vowed.  “If things were different …”
Miles knows he should have left it there, but when Charlie scrunched up her
face, her teenage pride obviously hurt, he’d blundered ahead anyway.
“You’re only a child, Charlie.  We’re trying to remember that.”
He knows he’s been snared when she tilts her head and roasts him with the full
effect of knowing blue eyes.
“Don’t you mean, Bass is trying to remember that?”
But he’s never lied to Charlie and he doesn’t intend to start now.  He meets
her stare with a shrug she can decode however she likes.
Two days later he’d left for the front and discovered she interpreted it
exactly right. They say their farewells in the privacy of his study, and she’s
breathing hard by the time he finishes kissing Bass goodbye.
When she leans up to place her lips against his cheek, he hugs her close and
breathes her in.  Then her lips open against his skin and she’s trailing them
down, down … to catch the corner of his mouth, tasting and probing with a quick
flick of her tongue.
Can she taste Bass, he wonders, or is it his own flavour she’s looking for? 
The combination?  His cock stirs at the thought, and he sets her away from him
before his perversion makes itself known.
She’s too young.  His niece.  Even in their tinpot empire, it’s totally
forbidden.
If only Mathesons could bring themselves to care about such things.
***** Bare *****
“What did you mean about Charlie?”
Bass throws his head back against the sofa and groans.  “Fuck, Miles.  Our
little talk didn’t seem to slow her down any.  If anything, she’s turned things
up a notch.” 
His mouth waters as he remembers that goodbye kiss, and all the conclusions
that could be drawn from her continued attempts at seducing Bass.  But they
still haven’t talked about the dilemma Charlie poses for them, and maybe this
is his chance.  He tiptoes.
“Your basic Matheson stupid?”
His lover’s throaty chuckle goes straight to his cock.  “Nope. More like your
basic Matheson genius.  She’s running a fucking campaign.”  Bass shoots him a
sideways glance, then throws back a gulp of whiskey.  “It’s making me all sorts
of stupid.”
Miles puts his own glass on the coffee table and sits sideways to run his hand
through Bass’ close-cropped curls.    “Yeah? How stupid?’ 
Bass grabs his other hand and pulls it to the increasingly impressive bulge in
the front of his pants. He groans as Miles strokes him to full hardness, then
confesses.  “That stupid.  And then some.”
He wants to ask, but he wants to get Bass out of his uniform more, fingers
unbuckling and then pulling at the wide military belt as Bass attacks his top
half, jacket buttons and then the shirt underneath, pressing hot kisses to
every freshly exposed patch of skin.
Then the clock on the mantle strikes ten o’clock, and Bass’ cock lengthens with
every chime.  Miles laughs, and is about to pull him out of his boxers to
reacquaint himself with the way his lover tastes, when Bass blurts: “She’ll
come in to say goodnight, soon.”
Odd segue, Miles thinks, until Charlie floats into the room.
She pounces on him in a cloud of something white and filmy.  “Uncle Miles! 
You’re back!” 
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
Because she’s been coming to say goodnight since she was knee-high, but that
was in flannel pajamas and something thick and warm, not a long, floaty robe
that is open above a night dress so fine he can see the pink bumps on
deliciously pouting nipples. He stretches up to tug the robe closed, only to be
captured in the circle of her arms, breasts crushed against his chest as she
crawls into his lap, twitching her ass about to find a comfortable spot.
Bass has closed his fingers about her ankle, and maybe he’s trying to help,
trying to get her off him, but whatever he’s doing seems to be making her
fucking purr.  She’s rubbing against him like a cat, too, raking her fingers
through his chest hair, raining kisses on his neck. 
“We missed you so much,” she mumbles, and Miles tries not to blink too hard at
‘we’.  Tries not to notice how Bass is stroking her back now, soft, teasing
touches that come with a fraction of an inch of sliding down over her ass.
Her joy in seeing him was innocent, he tells himself, and he needs to handle
this delicately, even as the heat of her body scorches him through the
deliciously thin cotton.  Even as her breasts bounce in front of his face as
she lifts her hands to mess up his hair, tugging at the short strands.
“This?  It was a birthday present from President Foster – the finest cotton
from Georgia, remember?” she smiles so sunnily that he can pretend he doesn’t
see the mischief sparking in her eyes. “You like?”
Maybe she doesn’t realise that being her uncle doesn’t make him immune to her. 
Maybe she can’t feel him hardening underneath her ass every time she squirms. 
Maybe –
She shifts, knees splaying a little, and that’s all it takes to settle his cock
somewhere so warm and wet it registers through the fine wool of his uniform
pants.
His pulse spikes and his brain drops into his balls as the realisation hits. 
She’s bare.  She’s completely bare underneath the nightdress and he needs, he
needs --  he bucks upwards, failing in his bid to dislodge her.  (Burying
himself deeper, uniform or no.)
Charlie’s moan is long and carnal, a hungry sound utterly drenched with need.
She shudders around him, and his brain flicks through an increasingly
pornographic reel of all the things that could happen next: this girl,
stretched out naked across both of them, transparent excuse for a nightgown
discarded on the floor.  Paddling her sweet ass for daring to walk in on them,
while Bass pushes that tempting red mouth down over his cock.  Pulling her into
back into his lap, this time with nothing between them so that Bass could
worship her ass with fingers and tongue and cock as Miles surrendered to the
grip of her ridiculously tight pussy.
Virgin pussy, something inside him howled.  Mine.
His cock pulses with the fury of it, the need to spend inside of her, to bury
his seed deep.  She responds with a wail, and he realises she’s grinding hard,
taking the pleasure he hadn’t yet decided to give.  Bass is watching them,
unashamedly working his cock, and Miles is going to fucking burst if he doesn’t
…
“Get out.”
His voice nearly cracks under the strain, and she ignores him at first, head
thrown back, biting at her lip as her orgasm approaches.  Panic bites down hard
– watching her come just might be his undoing – so he lifts her off him, hands
gripping her ass convulsively.  Maybe his fingers slide a little in the
moisture between her thighs, and maybe the pad of his thumb grazes over her
pouting clit in passing, but so be it. He still lifts her away, and stumbles
towards the door to hold it open for her.
Her blue eyes take a few long seconds to regain focus, but slide from
Mediterranean blue to icechips soon after. “Sorry, Uncle Miles. I didn’t mean
to interrupt. Welcome home.” 
It’s far from the apology it purports to be, he knows.  The defiance flaring in
her eyes warns him to expect the body blow, and when it comes, it’s just as
vicious as he fears.
“Guess I’ve gotten too used to Uncle Bass’ version of good night.”  
***** Russian Roulette *****
They fence for a while, discussing Georgia’s supply chain problems, the chaos
fomenting on the Plains, the talk of a rebellion in Texas.  But they both know
it is mere prevarication, the empty chambers clicking ominously in a round of
conversational roulette.
But fuck conversation.  Miles ambles over to the sideboard to find his favorite
bottle of whiskey, and comes back with his gun.  “How long?” he demands,
tapping it in the centre of Bass' ridiculously unlined forehead.
Bass sits completely still, lest the cold circle of metal drift anywhere else. 
They’d agreed, once, that this would be how it ended if things went south – a
clean shot to the head by the aggrieved party.  There was nothing that could
make them want to see the other in pain.
Except this, maybe.
“Were you planning it all along?  That old chestnut - send the schmuck off to
war and fuck the girl while he’s gone?  The teenager you’ve known since she was
a baby?  My Charlie?”  His voice shakes, even if his hand doesn’t, jealousy and
hypocrisy curdling together on his tongue.
Bass knows it, too. He won’t give even him the courtesy of being truly scared -
careful, yes, wary, but too much understanding lurks in that blue gaze for real
deference.
“Go on, then.  Shoot.  If that’s what you really want,” Bass grits out.  One
hand comes up to close around Miles’ gun hand, pushing it harder into his
forehead.  “Or since you’ve obviously don’t trust me anymore, why not shoot me
right in the heart?”
Miles doesn’t have the strength to resist as Bass pushes his hand down,
retargeting the gun on his chest.  Killshot, yes, but a messy one.  The heart
might stop instantaneously, but the brain could be slower to catch up.  Could
register the shot, remark on the pain.  Grieve.
Watching Bass die would kill Miles quicker than it would Bass, he has to
accept.  He does trust him, that’s the kicker, enough to know that if Bass did
fuck Charlie, he’d tried not to.  Or …
“Why’d you do it?”
Bass leans up into the gun, letting go of the cold steel to run his hands up
and down Miles’ arms, then letting his fingers rake down the long muscles of
his lover’s back.  “You know why, Miles.  She’s like an oncoming train, heading
for the bridge in the dark. Sooner or later, we were gonna crash.  I just …
slowed her down some.”
“How, exactly?”
Bass bites his lip and Miles doesn’t miss the long, slow blink as he savours
the thought.
“She needed to let off steam.   I showed her a few things that could help, is
all.”
“I’m guessing you’re not talking fresh air and exercise.”
“Well, I did take her on a picnic.  But it probably wasn’t the fresh air that
got her to sleep that night,” Bass confesses, abandoning all pretence of
regret. 
Miles can’t help but adore that sensual grin, skirting his thumb over that full
bottom lip, then letting it wander to the lushness inside.  Bass latches on
with a groan, sucking hard, and the gun travels further south, stroking the
rapidly swelling contours of his errant cock.
“What did you do to her, Bass?”
“I told her stories, Miles.  Stories of us.  And she--”
“Stories of when we were kids, or the war stories?  She shouldn’t have to hear
that stuff.”
“We weren’t talking about the battles, Miles.  Except I did tell her about
South Bend.  How we were so fucking horny afterwards we dismissed the whole
platoon and fucked for three days straight.  And New Orleans.  That girl who
crept into our room and begged us to liberate her asshole as well as her
pussy.  Charlie loved that one.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph.   You told her dirty stories.  About us. But that’s
all?”
“I may have helped her put them into context a little.  Why certain things can
be fun.  What pussy tastes like.  How you like to be sucked.”
He doesn't have to use his imagination to know exactly how that went.  A little
show-and-tell, given Charlie's demonstration this afternoon.  Bass would spin
filthy fairytales in that velvet rasp voice, and Charlie would help herself to
an orgasm or six.  Maybe.
“But you didn’t fuck her?”
“No, Miles.  I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Relief forces air back into his lungs with all the impact of a punch.  But Bass
isn’t finished.
“I told her that we had an agreement – nobody on the side.  You want to know
what she said to that?”
All Miles can do is nod.
“She’ll be in the middle, thank you very much.”
***** Sunshine & Strawberries *****
Breakfast is an ordeal of mythic proportions, even before word of the General’s
return makes its way out into the city.  Neville and Faber are the first to
arrive, and Miles is still trying to fend them off when Bass rolls in, half-
buttoned shirt showing off the row of bitemarks along his collarbone. 
He’s all sleepy-eyed and satisfied, and when their eyes meet, Miles knows he’s
not the only one replaying every detail of their long, torrid night together.  
The lovesick fool actually blushes, the betraying wash of pink reminding him of
how Bass had looked flushed with arousal, cock rigid against his belly, tied to
the four corners of the big Presidential bed.  He is suddenly grateful to be
sitting down, even if he does choke on a careless gulp of coffee.
Neville and Faber don’t even notice, so agog are they at the chain of bruises
decorating the President’s neck.  It’s the highlight of his morning, the way
those the two unctuous bureaucrats jump when he catches them exchanging
scandalised looks. 
“Is that all then?  The President and I have some more catching up to do,” he
drawls, trying not to smirk at their quickly concealed outrage.  In the way
“don’t ask, don’t tell” had once ruled the US Marines, the President and the
General have made it clear casual homophobia can kill a career in the Monroe
Republic.  Bass likes to call it payback, but it has a practical purpose too,
not having to worry about the rumours inevitably seeping from Independence
Hall.
This thing with Charlie, though.  There’s no way they’ll be able to make that
fly.
And just like that, he’s right back to drowning in the flood of memories.
By the time Bass had finished confessing his sins, Miles had been half-mad with
lust, one hand locked around Bass’ throat, the other white-knuckled on the butt
of his gun.  He’d never known he could be so creative with his weapon, using it
to nudge open the buttons on Bass’ uniform trousers, then shove Bass’ underwear
down to hook under his rampant cock.  It had looked obscene, jutting from that
frame of military blue, and Miles had nearly come just from watching it quiver
and pulse as Bass fought the urge to give into panic.
Patience, of course, is the mark of every good interrogator, and Miles prides
himself on being better than most.
He’d let his eyes drive home just how naked and vulnerable Bass was, then
almost idly dragged the barrel of his gun up and down the length of Bass’
cock.  Nudged at the damp little slit, smearing precome over the shiny black of
the barrel, then sliding it underneath.
“I should blow your balls off,” he remembers saying, and “shame it isn’t a
shotgun.”
For a minute, he thought Bass might have stopped breathing, until that
gloriously muscled chest vibrated with a breath so long and laboured that he
found himself relaxing the grip on Bass’ throat.  Something more than their
usual games, for sure, but he hadn’t actually been trying to kill the guy. 
Just scare him a little.
And that’s very familiar territory indeed, the source of some of his most
erotic memories.  But they’d crossed the rubicon in that moment, the stakes so
much higher as Bass launched into a flood of new confessions about how he would
watch Charlie in her bath and had been unable to hide how much she aroused
him.  How he’d let her see him once, relieving the ache.
Miles had reached for the lube.  “Anything more you want to tell me, Bass?”
The silken rasp gave way to garbled apologies and fervent promises as Miles
ostentatiously slicked the barrel of the gun.  Bass was keening, pushing his
hips high in demand, trying to open himself up with dry fingers in his need to
be fucked.  Miles pushed his hands away, and circled the hungry little hole
once, twice, ignoring its desperate flare until more confessions tumbled out.
“She begged me to, Miles.  I tried not to, but … she tastes like sunshine!”
Miles angled the barrel just enough to tease Bass with the sensation of
penetration – but didn’t let himself follow through.  “Keep going.”
“I was so hard, Miles, after remembering all those things.  Seeing how they
affected her – God.  She was rubbing her thighs together, practically chewing
her lip bloody.  We both needed to deal with that, and I knew if I stayed … so
I went down to the creek for a minute. Five at the most – three quick jerks was
all I fucking needed, you know?  But when I came back …”  his voice had faded
away, lost in memory.
“She offered me a strawberry, Miles.  I didn’t even think--”
He’d taken it straight from her fingers, he’d explained, the juice running over
his chin as he bit down.  It wasn’t until he licked his lips that the unique
tang had registered, and the possibility of restraint vanished.  He’d grabbed
her fingers and licked every inch of her hand chasing her addictive flavour. 
Licked his way up her arm and pushed up her t-shirt to suck and bite on her
nipples until they were the same dark red as the fruit she’d offered him.  Slid
his hand under her skirt, knowing he’d find her bare.
“I wonder if you taste like strawberries down here?” he’d asked, and she’d laid
back and spread her knees wide in invitation. 
“Please,” she’d begged, and he couldn’t ignore her desperation, any more than
he could her sweet, pink sex, still flushed and dripping from dragging that
strawberry back and forth across her swollen clit until she came.
Bass had practically begged Miles to understand.  He’d never been able to say
no to her, he’d pleaded, grinding down in a bid to push the barrel deeper into
his ass. Miles knew that, Bass moaned.
He had.  He always had, Miles had to acknowledge.  Bass was ruthless in battle,
shrewd in the war room, as slippery as the next born politician, but he loved
hard.  Was helpless before it, in fact, willing to do anything to keep his
loved ones happy. 
And in this case, that had included succumbing to the sexuality of a girl who
was barely more than a child. No matter what Charlie thought on the matter, it
was wrong, Miles knows.  Immoral, and probably illegal, if anyone cared to cite
the President of the Republic for flouting his own laws.  A full twelve hours
later, he’s staring down the table at Bass, thinking he should be disgusted. 
He should have backed away in horror.
But all he can think is ‘at least she’s not his niece’. 
Because he had made Bass tell him how she’d tangled her hands in his hair, and
filled the little glade with frenzied curses she wasn’t supposed to know.  How
she’d rubbed that sweet cunt all over his face, and bucked under his tongue,
screaming.  How she’d come over and over again, begging him to put her out of
her misery.  To fuck her, goddammit.
And all Miles can do is growl with lust when he remembers Bass throwing his
head back and forth, mewling, sobbing out the rest of the story. 
“Please, Miles, please,” he’d moaned, sounding so wrecked that Miles couldn’t
help himself, twisting his wrist to make Bass’ whole body fly off the sofa in
one long arch.  A taste of Bass’ own medicine, since he couldn’t retreat from
there, not with the delicious sounds that had spilled from his lips. 
Not with Bass telling him how he’d resisted her, how she’d demanded his cock
and he’d denied her, again and again, making her come three, maybe four times,
fucking her with his tongue, but refusing to take her virginity.
“I told her I couldn’t!  Not without you!”
He hadn’t been able to help himself after that, easing the gun from Bass’
grasping channel more quickly than was probably safe, yanking his fly open with
his other hand.  He’d grabbed Bass beneath the knees and hauled his ass higher,
slamming balls deep in one long stroke, already losing it as Bass folded like a
deckchair.  Fucked him furiously, through the shower of cum all over his chest,
his hips jerking and shuddering for long minutes after his cock had emptied
stream after stream into Bass’ shuddering body.
Nothing could compare to this, he remembers thinking.  No matter how sweet she
tastes – I’ve got Bass.  We can wait.
He’d fallen asleep satisfied with that, hopeful.  But it takes just two minutes
over breakfast to puncture his balloon.
Because the next person through the door is his precious niece, immaculately
turned out in Militia Cadet blue.  She sidles to his end of the table, and
promptly crawls into his lap, ignoring the stuffed shirts in the room.
“Uncle Bass promised to spar with me this morning,” she coos, one hand toying
with the buttons on his chest.  “Will you join us? Maybe I’m ready to take you
both at once.”  
There’s a shocked exclamation somewhere that doesn’t even rate a glance, and at
the other end of the table Bass chokes on his bacon as Charlie looks at them
both in turn, her hot gaze challenging them to acknowledge the innuendo.  It
doesn’t matter what he says, though.  His cock has already told her exactly
what she wants to know, and he’d hazard a guess Bass is equally hard.  They
should lock themselves in their suite and fuck this madness out.
But this could be the closest he’ll get to fresh air and sunshine this week, so
let the sparring commence.
***** Sparring *****
Cadet Matheson has her glorious hair coiled neatly at the back of her head, her
feet constantly on the move, and her jaw set with determination.  She’s all
business as she weaves and parries with her sword, meeting every attack with
lightning sharp reactions and pure Matheson focus.   Just as well Bass has
taught her to never look away from an opponent – Miles wouldn’t want to insult
Charlie with just how gobsmacked he is.
Bass knows, of course, beaming at him over her head as Charlie fights her way
out of the corner even after being wrong footed.  Several of his letters had
mentioned they’d been sparring regularly, but Miles isn’t even sure there are
words for this.  The girl is a phenomenon – not as good as Miles yet, and
probably not as good as Bass, but she is sixteen.  Untried in battle. Not even
finished her training as a militia cadet.
She was ready, Baker had said, and now Miles knows exactly what he meant.  Not
just ready to join up, one more green recruit like vaguely useful putty ready
to be shaped.  She ready to lead.  To truly serve.  To command.   
Fuck the promises he’d made Ben and Rachel: there were younger kids getting
blown to pieces out there already, none of them as magnificent or deadly as
Charlie.  It would be a crime to stop her from taking the brand. It’s not just
that she’s good with a sword - and gun, and knife, even a crossbow, now that he
thinks about it -  but that she’s smart.  Not booksmart, like Ben and Rachel
and even Bass, but a logistical thinker.  Adapts faster and better than anyone
he’s ever seen, just like –
Him, Miles has to admit.  She’s a general, just like him, and no matter what
promises he made to her crazy mother and doting Dad, no matter what he said to
Bass last night, they can’t wrap her up in cotton wool for good.  She’ll go
crazy, just like he does if he has to spend too long out of the field.
She’s 17 in a month and he’s the goddamn general and she’s simply the best damn
recruit he’s ever seen, so that’s that.  Baker will guard her with his life and
teach her everything she needs to know, and probably learn a few things too. 
He and Bass will cope.
And then she’ll come back, and she’ll be of age, and she’ll have a real choice
to make.  A career in their Militia, or a life in their arms.  Maybe even a
chance at both.
Either way, one thing was certain.
They were done sparring over whether or not Charlie was ready to be a soldier.
She already was. Anything else – even the idea of her as the Republic’s
teenaged First Lady – seemed indefensible in comparison.
Charlie’s pained shout drags his attention back to the bout, sword in hand
ready to slaughter the idiot who dared hurt her.  He finds Bass has pulled her
backwards into his chest, her sword and both of her hands manacled behind her
in one of his fists. Charlie twists and writhes and mutters curses in a dogged
bid to escape, her body an arch of pure frustration as Bass neutralises her
completely, pinching her throat in the bend of his elbow. Her blue eyes are
flinty as she cedes the win, and drops her sword to the ground.
Miles kicks it away, then steps in close to deliver his lecture.
“First lesson of combat – don’t be reliant on your weapon,” he growls, staring
down into her well-schooled face.  Good.  Don’t let ‘em see you submit. 
“Second lesson: be the weapon.”  He tries not to grin as Bass flexes his arm
around her throat to drive the point home.  Her hands start to claw at her
throat, and Miles wants to step forward and rip off Bass’ arm, but he knows she
needs to learn the lesson – and Bass is only capable of mere seconds of this
anyway.
He keeps it up a moment longer than Miles expects – always full of surprises –
and Charlie gulps in air fervently when the pressure lifts.  She’d abandoned
her jacket over the back of a chair early in the bout, and the standard issue
t-shirt underneath is soaked with sweat and clinging to her hot skin.   They
were supposed cool and easy to move in, Miles stares, but not alluring.  Never
alluring, he grinds his teeth, but it doesn’t matter – the arch of her back
throws her tempting breasts almost into his face, and those delicious mounds
still swell above the neckline with every deep breath, and neither he nor Bass
can drag their gaze away from the sight.  And then she takes note of their rapt
gaze, awareness shuddering across her skin, her need to escape instantly
forgotten. 
She sags back into Bass, and Miles finds himself following her forward, unable
to relinquish the heat of her, just inches away, or the mesmerising reactions
of her body.  He drinks in the flush working its way up the side of her neck,
his fascination bringing his mouth unexpectedly close to her skin, hot breath
bathing that glorious flush, her reaction so immediate and visible that he
can’t help but do it again, and again.  She arches up frantically when he moves
his hot breath over that enticing cleavage, and starts to squirm when he
focuses on one, fast-peaking nipple at a time, so close that all he’d have to
do would be purse his lips to be touching her.  Violating her, he reminds
himself, but it’s a weak protest when she’s squirming with arousal, twisting
and straining in a bid to reach his lips, little whimpers escaping from her
mouth.
“Fuck.  Miles …” Bass groans, begging, and just like Bass could never say no to
Charlie, Miles knows exactly where to find his Achilles heel.  Right there,
huge blue eyes aching with the need to pleasure her, cock undoubtedly as hard
is his.  The arm locked around her neck his slipped down, hovering over her
chest now, but he asks, and waits.  That type of obedience deserves a reward,
surely? And Charlie?  Isn’t she just begging to give it?
Miles nods, and Bass slides his arm lower, dragging it slowly over those
recalcitrant nipples, abrading them with the most casual of touches,
maddeningly slow, back and forth, back and forth.  Charlie undulates with its
passage, her head falling back onto Bass’ shoulder, her gaze shuttering as
sensuality swallows her whole, but still managing to stay fixed on him.
I want, those eyes say.  Uncle Miles, I need.  Touch me.
His conscience struggles to make one last objection – she’s one of your
soldiers, now! – but it’s too late.  He’s slamming shut the cage of their
bodies, his hips locking tight to hers, his hands reaching round to tangle in
Bass’ curls.  He brings their mouths together, a long, wet kiss over her head,
and feels her hips buck into his, her hands raking down his back as he and Bass
kiss, and kiss, and kiss.
“You like that, little slut?” Miles murmurs when his tongue is his own again. 
Charlie nods, frantic, and the growl in his throat promises something
dangerous.  His hands fall to her hips, and slide into the gap between pants
and shirt as Bass bites kisses into her neck, savage and hungry.  They both
are, crushing her between them as their cocks swell in counterpoint against her
belly and back, desperate to be united once more in the welcome of her body.
They’re filth, Miles agonises.  She’s a child, and they’ve known her since
babyhood, and he doesn’t have any faith in himself to stop this from happening,
so he might as well use their fucking depravity to teach her a thing or two. 
Prepare her for the other types of filth she’ll encounter out there.
“What if we were your enemies, and we caught you bathing or something?  There’s
two of us, and we’re bigger and stronger than you.  How are you going escape?”
Her jagged laugh is edged with something raw. “Assuming I want to escape you.”
“You’re a gorgeous young girl, alone, and we’re the scariest bastards you’ve
ever met.  Odds are, we’re gonna want something you don’t want to give,” he
cautions, tugging crudely at her uniform to make his point.  “Maybe we’re just
looking for ten minutes of fun.  Or maybe we’re meaner than that.”  He grips
the curve of her waist with cruel fingers, and fills his mind with vile things
designed to make his cock less interested in proceedings.
It doesn’t work. 
Visions of pushing her to the ground and taking what he wants should sicken
him, but the rich stink of her arousal is too heady to ignore.  “We’ll strip
you naked.  Fuck you till you’re sore.  Come all over your pretty tits,” he
chokes out, desperate for her to stop him.
“Right here?” she asks, and he wants that to be horror, goddammit, but it’s
not.  It’s not, and she’s quivering between them, squirming and panting, and …
Bass has his hand down the back of her pants.  Fingerfucking her.
“No!  Not here,” Miles growls, reaching down to yank Bass’ hands away.  Almost 
hyperventilating at the smell that rises from those mischievous digits, and the
challenge in Bass’ eyes as he runs a sex-drenched fingertip across Miles’ lower
lip, daring him not to chase the slippery trail with his tongue.
Charlie watches them both avidly, biting her lip when Miles finally succumbs,
sucking his lip into his mouth to savour every last molecule, eyes slamming
shut at the onslaught of sensual flavour. “Please, Uncle Miles,” she begs, the
naked forcing black eyes open to focus on her once more.
“If I was a good man, you calling me that would put a stop to this madness
right there,” he hisses, the torment in his voice hidden from no one.   “But
fuck do I love hearing you say it.  Begging me.”
He presses closer, crushing her between them, burying his face in her hair,
forehead inclined into Bass.  “But we’re not doing this here.  Parading our
fucking sins for the whole world to see.  In this room, you’re one of my
fucking soldiers.  So here’s what’s going to happen.”
It takes an old-fashioned knee to the nuts, a break fall and a particularly
vicious leg sweep to achieve it in the end, but she does manage to fight her
way clear of them both.   Not easily, and no one’s kidding themselves she could
have done it for real, but it’s a start, Miles has to admit.  He shakes her
hand, congratulates her, and vows she’ll be able to do it for real before she
leaves with Baker.
“So?”
It’s easier to meet her eyes, this time.  Soldier to soldier.
“You’re good enough to ship out with Baker’s crew next week.  What we do
between now and then – well, that’s up to you.”
Miles catches Bass’ astonishment out of the corner of his eye, so gobsmacked it
makes him wince. Sorry, brother.  Should probably have run that one by you
first.  Especially after all that talk last night.  But I didn’t know, then. 
Didn’t know who she was, or who she could be. 
Now, though …
“If you still want this … come to us tonight.”
***** Lust *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
They watch each other through every bite of dinner, prime beef and roast
vegetables no match for the things simmering under the surface.  Lust, yes, and
plenty of it, but that’s not the only thing propelling them down this dark
path.  It’s not even the most interesting one.
Miles has long been suspicious of Charlie’s attachment to them, wondering if
her preference for the company of two aging warlords over pretty much anyone
else was symptomatic of something the adults in her life had managed to fuck
up.  They’d done their best to introduce her to anyone even vaguely interesting
passing through Philadelphia – artists and scientists and historians and actors
and musicians – and pulled strings to ensure she had a social circle of
officer’s kids around her own age to get to know.
As far as Miles knew, there had only been one other person Charlie had ever
gone out of her way to spend time with, a bounty hunter who the girl had
idolised from the get go.  Miles couldn’t blame her – Nora Clayton had been
good with a sword, amazing with dynamite, and incredible in the sack – but if
he ever saw her again, he’d put a bullet in her himself.  Charlie had taken it
hard when Nora had been unmasked as a Rebel, her fury masking genuine hurt.
She’d insisted on commanding the firing squad, so there had been nothing to it
but to organise Nora’s escape.  He couldn’t let Charlie do that to herself.  
She would have offered her first real friend a blindfold with a perfectly level
voice, and counted out the last seconds of Nora’s life without flinching. 
Snapped fire, her own weapon levelled with the others, and forced herself to
watch the woman fall.  He’s absolutely sure of that, and it was one of the
first things that made him wonder.
He’d dismissed it as wishful thinking until this afternoon.  An attempt at
rationalising an out-of-control attraction to the last person he should ever be
attracted to.  But watching her fight, seeing her stubborn chin tilt at every
challenge and bite down hard, it’s becoming increasingly obvious.  Their souls
are alike – lions roaming in a world of domestic cats.  Too fierce and warlike
for the rest of the world, more likely inspire dread and awe rather than the
admiration she so richly deserved.  A perfect fit, he thinks fiercely.
Perhaps it’s a convenient logic to justify a pair of old men claiming a
gorgeous young woman for their own, but it calls to him nonetheless.  She’s not
the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, won’t even be the most beautiful
they’ve had in their bed, but no one has ever fired his blood the way she
does.  Just sitting across the table from her, watching her ignore her food to
listen to Neville’s report from the Plains, her tongue almost as sharp as her
mind when she questions the slimy little prick on several dubious assumptions. 
Then abandoning business altogether to lose herself in the sensual pleasure of
dessert, eyes closing as she savours the mouthful of hot apple pie.  Bass leans
forward to whisper in her ear, and the officers invited to share their table
have to look away as the General’s niece practically crawls into the
President’s lap to respond.
“Charlie,” Miles growls, every bit the disapproving uncle, even as his left
hand buries itself deep in the warm cave they’ve created.  His fingers stroke
Bass’ burgeoning cock as his knuckles nudge insistently at her clit, watching,
watching as she bites her lip and starts to breathe harder.  Then he stops.
“Get off,” he snaps, an order from General Matheson, and she snaps her
response, that automatic “Yes, Sir!” even as she glowers at him through lust-
clouded eyes, and threatens to make him pay.
Bass coughs and reaches for his water glass, taking a long swig to help regain
his straight face.  “Gentlemen, Mrs Neville, Mrs Faber – the General and I have
another pile of reports to go over tonight, so you’ll excuse us for retiring
early.  Goodnight.”
Dismissed, their dinner companions evaporate, leaving the three of them sitting
at the table, Charlie still in Bass’ lap.
“Reports, huh?”
“Funnily enough, I’m feeling pretty tired,” Bass husks, groaning as Charlie
takes advantage of their solitude to drag her lips along the line of his jaw. 
“The paperwork could probably wait until tomorrow.”
“Better head for bed, then.  What about you, Charlie? Early night?”  The
pretence, he tells himself, is for the staff clearing the table.  Most are
decent, clean-living people – no point rubbing it in their faces. The fact that
it makes him twice as horny to play the fond uncle while he aches to fuck the
girl is a mere side-benefit.
“Think I might borrow a book from your library.  Think you’ll have something in
there for me?”
“Think we might manage that,” he growls back and … now.  This needs to start
now.  “Give me a couple of hours. I’ll have a look for you after my bath.”
Her bright blue eyes darken to a hazy storm, and Miles feels the need to howl. 
She knows their secret.
Had Bass told her during their picnic, or one of those nights he watched her
take her own bath?  She’d always admired the blue-tiled room that lay between
their bedrooms, and pouted over the fact that no one but Miles or Bass was
allowed in there.  Had he simply caved to the pressure to explain why, or had
it been something altogether more seductive – an invitation?  A promise?  Miles
can practically hear Bass whispering, feel his breath playing over her ear as
he details all the ways they would welcome her into their pit of debauchery,
warm water and wide benches, whiskey an arm’s length away and lube even closer.
Maybe she’d be shy at first, sitting on the top step while they lolled below,
watching how pink she flushes in the heat, admiring the sharp  jut of nipples
just waiting to be sucked, waiting to nudge those pressed-close knees wide
enough to let them feast.
“Uh, I wouldn’t want to interrupt…”
Time to cut the pretence.
“Yeah.  You would.  And we’d want you to.  Wouldn’t we, Bass?”
The President looks like a naughty schoolboy when he blushes and simply nods.
 Miles stands up abruptly and tells the girls clearing the table to thank the
cook.  “And let Marshall know that I don’t want to be disturbed in the
morning.”  He knows they’ll decode that as meaning leave Bass the hell alone as
well.  There will be no prying eyes tonight or tomorrow.
He plans to make the most of it.
*
Bass follows him upstairs, and they’re so goddamn horny they don’t even make it
as far as their usual slow wind-down in the library.  They’re halfway up the
stairs when Bass confesses he’d told her about the things they do in their
bathroom, and Miles has to grab his hand and bring it to his straining cock. 
“I figured.”
“Fuck.  You’re hard as iron,” Bass hisses, and pushes him up against the wall
at the top of the stairs.  He almost forgets, kissing Bass, that there’s anyone
else in the world – it’s always been that way, his mouth so wet and hungry that
Miles wants to drown in him, everything else suddenly lesser, unimportant. 
Bass could kiss him like this on the middle of a battlefield, and he’d drop his
weapon and just kiss back, dazzled by the naked want that vibrates between
them.
Would he forget Charlie?  Could he?
“Is this for me, or for her?” Bass murmurs in the same moment, and Miles is too
lust drunk to even consider whether the truth is safe.
“Both.  I was wondering what you told her.  What you said we’d do – how we’d
fuck her.”
Bass laughs into his mouth, scraping his teeth over Miles’ stubbled jaw. 
“Didn’t say anything like that.  Just said we like to take our bath together
sometimes.  How I like to hold the towel for you as well.”
“Did you get down on your knees and lick her dry, too?”
Bass groans at the memory.  “No.  All I did was hold a fucking towel and try
not look.  But--”
“You wanted to?”
“I wanted you with me.  So we could dry her off together.  God, imagine --”
“Yeah, no.  Fucking in the corridor probably isn’t a good idea,” Miles groans,
pushing Bass towards the double doors to their suite.  “Tell me in the bath. 
Better still – show me.”
“Should we wait for Charlie?”
“Do you want to?”
Bass pauses, clearly torn.  He’s fallen for the girl, Miles knows that.  But
they’ve been each other’s entire world since they were eight years old.  And
had been refining the art of driving each other crazy since they were –
fifteen, probably.  Maybe even before then.  He remembers –
“No.  One last time.  Just us.”
“You’re that sure she’ll come?” 
“Miles. It wasn’t just that she begged me to fuck her.  She said I could
pretend, if I wanted to.  That you were there too.  Said she always did. Said
she --”
“What?”
Bass looks up and down the hallway, then quickly tears open the buttons
constricting Miles’ achingly hard cock.  He palms it slowly, then wraps his
fist tight as he licks a burning path to Miles’ ear.  “She wants to watch us
fuck.”
His restraint snaps, hips bucking up, desperate for more heat, more friction. 
They’re just a few steps away from their rooms, but he needs Bass to suck him,
now.  Fuck, he wants to bend him over, right there in the hall, and make him
scream so hard that everyone comes running to see just how owned he is.  And
then he’ll spread himself wide so Bass can own him right back.
“Please, Miles,” Bass begs in his ear, ripping himself away on a long moan.
 The deathgrip on his hand tows Miles past the soldier standing guard at the
entrance to their suite, through the library, past their study, and into the
Presidential bedroom beyond. 
This will be the bed Charlie shares with Bass one day, Miles knows in his
bones.  He waits for jealousy to kick in, but it never comes.  They’ll share
his bed too, he’s sure of that.  And the bathroom, and the library, and every
part of their lives. They’ll need some renovations, perhaps, so that Charlie
can have a room of her own, and few more close by for once the children come. 
He can see the future stretching out before them, and it makes perfect sense
like nothing has before, but first, first … he’s going to focus on the here and
now.  The man on his back in this big, ridiculously fancy bed, moaning under
his mouth every time lips find skin.  Shaking at the most fleeting touch,
vibrating with the need to be his. 
“Bass,” he soothes, and the President arches his hips high, begging to be
penetrated. “Bass,” he mumbles as he uses his tongue to trace the line of
muscle veering down towards that thick, pink cock, and “Bass,” his entire body
groans when his mouth is too full to speak.  He sucks until Bass is fucking his
face relentlessly, his garbled curses and hot little moans so familiar that
Miles knows exactly when to stop teasing his sensitive rim, and up the stakes
with the press of his cock.  By the time Miles starts to pound, Bass is coming
helplessly, long spurts of cum shooting up between them to decorate their
bellies and chests and even their faces.
They’re making their way towards the bath, sticky with saliva and cum, when the
knock comes.   
Chapter End Notes
     This cliffhanger wasn't even intentional - the chapter as it was
     simply got too long. I promise the next chapter is hot on the heels
     of this one ... anyone not in my timezone will probably get them both
     at once!
***** Abandon *****
“Come in,” Bass welcomes, at the same time Miles snaps “Enter!”
Charlie opens the door and stops short at the sight of them, eyes huge as she
takes in their nakedness, the love bites purpling all over their bodies, their
flaccid, well-used cocks.  “God – sorry.  I’ll come back later.”
One look at them, and she changes her mind?  Or maybe that had happened even
before she made it to their suite – he’d been expecting that sheer white
nightgown, Miles realises, or something even more enticing, but she’s still in
the same dress and heels from dinner.  She hadn’t even bothered to change.
Disappointment stabs him deep, but then he hears the ragged breath she drags
in.  Looks at her face.
She’s chewing on her thumb, unable to look away, gaze so hungry that his poor,
exhausted cock manages to twitch in response.  Fuck.  He’s pretty sure that’s
not what indecision looks like. She’s a little overwhelmed, perhaps, but
there’s nothing about her face that’s saying no. Maybe, hope flares, she just
couldn’t wait.
“Stay.  If you want to,” he rasps, cursing himself for being unable to keep the
raw lust out of his voice.  This had to be her choice.
Bass actually manages a smile that veers into a smirk when her eyes fix on his
cock.  “We were just about to settle into the bath.  Wait for you in comfort.”
Neither of them miss her unsteady breath at that thought, and Miles wants to
cheer when her stubborn little chin tilts up.  Good girl, he thinks as she
walks further into the room, stopping a mere arms-length away.  Brave girl.
“So does this mean you’ll finally let me in there?” Charlie sasses, and if her
voice isn’t completely steady, they’re too busy watching her fingers playing
with the hem of her dress to call her on it. She bites her lip and then lets
her gaze wander over their fast-responding bodies, as if drawing strength from
the evidence of their desire. Then she lifts the scrap of silk high over her
head and lets it pool on the ground at their feet.
He been so fucking wrong, Miles discovers.   She hadn’t come straight from
dinner because she’s not wearing a stitch of underwear, and that sweet little
nest of brown curls is so slick and fragrant she had to have stopped off
somewhere along the way.   It’s all he can do not to lunge at her, to fall on
his knees and hunt down every last drop of the orgasm she’s clearly helped
herself to in their absence.
But she’s already walking away, tight little ass swaying like a wet dream as
she leads them towards the bath in nothing but a pair of strappy high heels. 
“Fuck,” Bass breathes, and Miles can only moan his agreement. 
She’s sitting on a stool unbuckling her shoes by the time they make it through
the door, Miles locking it behind him to ensure their privacy.   They won’t be
fucking her in here, he tells himself sternly.  She deserves a bed for her
first time.  But …
Bass drops to one knee to help with the little straps, but his shoulders
inevitably nudge their way in between her knees.  Miles witnesses the exact
moment a puff of hot breath plays over her wet pussy, Charlie’s entire body
shuddering as she drops her head back in wanton surrender.
His possessive growl makes all three of them jump.
“Get those fucking shoes off and get over here,” Miles grits out as he steps
down into the bath, plunging deep into the central pool.
Bass raises an eyebrow at the flash of temper but does as he’s told.  Just as
well he’s so fucking obedient, Miles fumes, groping desperately for the calm he
usually finds in this place.  The last thing he wants is to be jealous of Bass,
but every spiteful thing in him is chorusing how he’s already tasted her, he’s
already made her come, and surely this one, this time … he turns his back to
them, sure the ugly jealousy is stamped on his face.  He only starts to breathe
again when the splash of Bass plunging in is followed by a quiet groan of
delight as Charlie steps down into the warm water.
She only stops for a moment on that first step, and doesn’t position herself
demurely on the edge with her knees just begging to be eased apart, the way she
did in his fantasy.  Their girl is no untouchable doll on display high a
window.  She’s Charlie Matheson, so she follows them straight into the deep,
diving, then surfacing directly behind him in a swirl of long, wet hair and
water-sluiced skin.
“Uncle Miles?” she asks, fingertips skirting over his shoulders as if unsure of
where to land. 
He turns, and holds her away from him.  “What are you here for, Charlie?”
She flushes, then tips her chin up and brings one hand up to tangle in the wiry
curls on his chest.  “You,” she confesses.  “And Bass.  Together.  And – with
me,” she says, halting but sure.
“You sure you know what that means?  It’s not just Charlie gets to play first
lady, you know.  It’s you chaining yourself to two old men.  Who like to do
freaky shit to each other and will want to do freaky shit with you.”
“I’m not sure what that entails exactly, but if you’re asking do I want to have
sex with you – have sex with both of you, the answer is yes,” she stresses.
“Yes, please, in fact.”
The dark part of him thrills to just how intuitive she is; she might not know
the difference between a Dom and a Sub yet, but she’s slid almost instinctively
into their lifelong game.  The protective part of him, however, is screaming at
her to get out now, while she still can.
“Both of us, huh? You think you’re going to play the voyeur while I fuck him
and then one of us will beg to help you get you off? Or do you think maybe
we’ll take turns?  Not how it works, kid,” he sneers, desperate to make the
point.  “You’re gonna have my cock in your pussy and Bass in your ass, and
that’s before we bring any of our toys into play.”
There’s shock in her eyes, but not enough.  Time for an even more unpalatable
truth. “Then there’ll be the days where we just want each other, and if you’re
lucky, I’ll let you suck his cock while I fuck him.  Maybe he’ll turn you over
and fuck you, or maybe he’ll just shoot all over those pretty tits because he
loves my cock so much,” Miles snarls.
Then he makes the mistake of glancing at Bass.
His lover has slumped down to the first ledge, and is watching him with
undisguised shock, obviously disturbed at just how vicious he’s become with
their beloved Charlie.  His cock, though – his cock is standing at full mast,
swollen balls visible just below the lapping water, and his entire, impressive
length rearing above.  His finely cut helmet is shiny with precome, and one
hand is grasping his base, as if willing it not to explode.
“Isn’t that right, Bass?” he grits, ready to beat his chest and bellow
“mine!!!”
“Yeah, Miles.  I do.  I do love your cock,” Bass pants.  “But Charlie –“
“She’s got to learn how things are going to be. Make an informed fucking
decision.”
Bass can’t help but snort at the double entendre, but his face gentles
quickly.  “Like either of us would force her to do anything she didn’t want to
do.  Like she isn’t your whole fucking world, just like she is mine.”
Miles scoffs and is about to launch back into his tirade when Charlie
interrupts him.
“So teach me, then.”
“What?”
“How things are going to be.  What to do.”  She slides her hand down through
the fur on his chest to trace the lines of his abs before colliding shyly with
his now achingly hard cock. Her fingers are clumsy at first, exploring for a
moment before Charlie her fist around him in a close approximation of Bass’
grip on himself.  “What I’ll need to know.”
Miles bucks into her fist and groans when she loosens a little to let him slide
through.  “That’s better with lube.”
“What’s that?”
Miles swipes his fingers between her legs and brings the sticky concoction up
to her face.  “An attempt to reproduce this.  Never tastes as good, though,” he
says, grinning at the way her stroke stutters as he licks his fingers clean.
“Does that mean you’re done?”
“What?”
“Your little lecture?”
He stares at her, dumbstruck, then laughs.  “Take no prisoners, huh?  Okay
then. Full surrender.  Name your terms.”
She licks her lips and suddenly his joking surrender isn’t quite as funny. 
She’s probably never heard of some of the darker games they like to play, but
he’s got a sneaking suspicion little Charlie is a natural Dom.  He holds his
breath and waits to see what she has to say.
“Go sit down next to Bass.”
His cock jerks in her hand at the snap in the order, making her eyes widen with
surprise.  Miles swallows the tortured curse – she has no idea what she’s doing
to him – and does as he’s told.  Bass shoots a panicked glance at Miles and
tightens the stranglehold on his cock, clearly edging on desperate, and Miles
wonders if he should say something, or just wait for the next order.   Then he
realises she probably doesn’t know how much fun it could be to punish him, and
that he’s going to have to guide her.
An uncle’s duty, perhaps.
“He told you what happened, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“He said he couldn’t … fuck me. Because he belonged to you,  That you had to …”
“Give my permission.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s how it works between some people.  Bass likes to give me power
over him.”
“And it’s not just … in the bedroom?  It’s all the time.  Even with … other
people?”
Bass knows he’s not being spoken to, but interrupts anyway.  “It’s how our
relationship works, Charlie.  It’s just a part of how we love each other – a
gift we give each other.”
Miles wants to purr at the words, but can’t ignore the lesson that has dropped
into his lap.  “I’ll have to punish him for that, later.  He should have asked
permission.  Maybe I’ll make him suck my cock until his knees hurt.  Or maybe
…” he pauses, wondering if he should go there yet.  Maybe he should ease into
it. Or keep her out of it altogether.  
“Maybe what?”
“You could do it.  Slide over his cock until he’s begging for you.  Or tie him
to the bed and fuck him with your riding crop.”
She blinks at that and he knows he’s punctured one more hole in her innocence. 
Too bad he’s done hating himself for it.
“What about you?”
“Huh?”
“Who punishes you?”
He can’t mobilise any sound at all after that, and Charlie’s smirk tells him
she knows just how hard she’s hit the jackpot.  She glides closer until she’s
got one knee on the ledge in the tiny gap between them, and the other searching
for footing between Bass’ legs.
“Careful.  He’s about a blow a gasket,” Miles advises, glad of the chance to
think about something – anything – other than handing Charlie power over them
both.
“Looks painful,” she offers, and drifts a shy hand over the line of Bass’ hip.
“Can I --?”
Miles tries not to let his disappointment show, but Charlie has been able to
read his tells since she was a little kid.
“Uh – Bass needs to be punished.  And I’m going to do it,” she pronounces
hurriedly.
Bass looks up into her face as if he’s blinded by the sun.  “Yes, mistress. 
Anything you say,” he says fervently, then has to swallow a string of curses
when she drops herself in squarely in his lap. She immediately pushes herself
backwards, sliding over Bass’ straining cock with a wet squelch that sets
Miles’ own cock to throbbing.
She’d been listening, alright, he exults as he watches Bass bite down on his
lip to keep from crying out as his purple tip disappears into her folds, then
reappears, then disappears again.  He loses his ability to string words
together by her third pass, and when she scratches her fingernails down his
chest, scoring over his flat, male nipples, he loses it completely, hips
bucking with his need to be inside her.
Miles can’t have that.
“Don’t give him what he wants, Charlie.  Back and forth.  That’s it.  Good
girl.  He wants you so bad.”
His instructions drag Charlie out of her sensual stupor.  She glares at him,
and draws herself up, indignant.  “Fuck off, Uncle Miles.  In fact-“
She slides sideways, her sudden absence making Bass cry out in frustration. 
“Suck him.  Until he comes in your mouth.”
Miles has never bowed his head to anyone.  If you’d asked, he would said he
just didn’t have it in him.  Even when he lets Bass take control – he’s the one
in charge.
Until now. 
He prostrates himself over Bass, licking and sucking and sliding one hand
behind to fondle his balls, his own arousal skyrocketing at the feel of the
thick column in his mouth, the musky taste of the approaching orgasm.  The
sight of her, curled under Bass’ arm, her gaze hot and avid as she watches
Miles suck cock so enthusiastically.   When Bass comes, he swallows as much as
he can, then chases down the overflow dribbling from one corner of his lips
with an appreciative tongue.
When Charlie gasps at the sight, he winks.  “Thank you, mistress.”
She recovers quickly, considering him with a cool eye that would do her credit
on the battlefield, then slides herself on top of Bass, head under his chin and
backside nestling into his abdomen, legs tucked neatly between his.
“Keep going. By the time you’ve made me come, Bass might be ready to fuck me.” 
Hell to the no, he remembers thinking, but it’s probably less possessive
bullshit and more his agonised cock talking, because she’s lifting he knees up
and over Bass’, spreading herself wide and the juxtaposition of sweet pink cunt
and well-loved cock might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
 Bass groans whenever he breathes near his over-sensitive cock, but by the time
Miles has teased Charlie’s clit into a swollen gem and traced every inch of her
fluttering folds with his tongue, he’s able to slide a little lower each time,
a stray lick over the head of his cock here, a sly stripe up its length there.
They’re all begging by the time Miles loses his patience and clamps his arms
under Charlie’s butt, holding her tight to his mouth as he fucks her with sharp
thrusts of his tongue.  She surrenders to her climax with a full-body shudder
and a fluttery, broken wail, Miles groaning into her sex and sucking furiously
as she floods his mouth.   Bass can have his strawberries, he exults.  For
Miles, she’s the sweet tang of spring water, and the sharp bite of command, and
sweetest, hottest, most golden rays of summertime sunshine.
“Please, Miles!” she gasps before her eyes roll back, and he’s her fucking
slave, so far gone that he’s quivering with anticipation as he lifts her up to
lower her down on Bass’ cock.  They try for gradual but gravity – and her
arousal - conspire against them, Charlie pushing their hands away to impale
herself in one long exhalation of astonished delight.  
Her eyes fly open and there, in those blue depths, he can see their future, and
their truth.  It doesn’t matter who she is, or who he is.  It doesn’t matter
who is inside her, and who isn’t.  Her pleasure is his pleasure is Bass’
pleasure and as she rocks, gently, full of awe, he kisses her, their souls
tangling together as intimately as their tongues.  
And just like that, without a single finger on his cock, he comes, jerking and
shaking his way towards an abandon he’s never felt before.  Hers to command. 
His to adore.  Theirs to rule.
Finally free.
***** Our Truth *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
He wakes, warm and satisfied.  The truth of them singing in his blood, pounded
into his bones.  Charlie sleeps between them, as she promised she would, and
Bass’ feet tangle with his to complete their circle.
Today, he thinks, and smiles.
General Matheson the second had been a week late in returning from Georgia, the
negotiations to demilitarise the border turning into trade talks, and then what
sounded a lot like a hen party.  “Whiskey and strippers,” Charlie had grinned,
and Miles knew Kelly Foster well enough to believe the tale.
“Pretty?” he’d asked, and Charlie’s bright grin had testified to the fact.  One
day, they’ll have some fun with that, but right now …
Coffee, and toast.  Charlie insists she doesn’t need anyone to help her, but he
took Foster up on her offer of a stylist anyway, and he’s not ready for the
girl to find them in bed.  There will be plenty of years for outrageous gossip
yet.
Their eldest child, conveniently enough, looks just like Rachel, and the second
one is a towhead the image of Charlie.  Sooner or later, one of their babies
will be suspiciously dark, and the old rumours about him and Bass will be
eclipsed by the scandal.  Charlie has resisted for years, preferring to run the
Militia while Bass and Miles split the affairs of state between them, but they
have the family to think about now.
Better waltz down that aisle before she has to waddle, Miles had pointed out,
and she’d swatted him over the head with Danny’s stuffed sword, before plonking
Cynthia in his arms as she stalked out.  Two hours of sparring later had left
Bass breathing hard, Miles viciously horny, and Charlie ready to set a date.
Today.
An official First Lady for the Monroe Republic.  Her name, no longer just
his.   Their lover, who refused to wear white, but would allow the hairdresser
to weave baby’s breath into a corona of hair atop her dress blues.
He grins, thinking of her face when he unveils their wedding gift.  Her
stationery, the seal, a new flag.  The same old insignia that had honoured
their bond from the start.
Matheson-Monroe. The continent’s newest Republic.  At peace with all its
neighbours and the Rebels to boot.
Our legacy, Miles thinks.  Our family.
Our truth.
Chapter End Notes
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