Stories, The Scions

The Scions – 9

“What the fuck are you doing, John?”

Hartmann had driven himself home to his apartment after dropping Carol and Holmes off, and now stood freshly showered in his bathroom, a towel wrapped around his middle as he stared at himself through a wet mirror, water dripping down his shoulders.

The taste of Carol’s tongue still tormented his memory, as did the caress of her hair, and the soft curve of her breast under his hand. But, despite all of the maneuvers he had carefully deployed to get them to that point, he was beginning to doubt himself.

Carol wasn’t a slut, and he wasn’t aiming for a one night stand. Aside from the overwhelming lust that had seized hold of him, he didn’t have the first idea what his end goal was. He was pushing ahead blindly and risking his entire career, all for the cleaning lady. Had he totally lost his mind?

He wished that he could take Carol fully under his power, dress her in something feminine and tease her without restraint. He would never reveal how entranced he was by her, but he would certainly wrap her around himself until she grew to adore and worship him. He would teach her how to express herself more vividly.

What Hartmann couldn’t explain was the strange hollowness in the center of his chest.

For years, the master sergeant had been hailed as a hero, and had done everything in his power to become one on the battlefield. What he had always kept secret was the terror he had felt the first time when his commanding officer had been killed in action, and it was his duty to take charge while enemy bullets rained down around them. The responsibility of the soldiers’ lives being place in his hands had weighed heavily on him, leading him to overcompensate with the heroics, and in the end he was certain that his success had been due to dumb luck.

But then it happened again, and again. He was praised repeatedly for his leadership skills and tactical abilities, and he permanently buried every doubt he had ever had.

Until now.

But second guesses were not a luxury he could afford, and Carol, despite all that she was, had still stolen his glory. Whatever uncertainties he experienced were sure to fade as he continued to push forward toward his goal. He needed to claim her to regain control of the Suit by proxy, and that mattered more than anything.

Hartmann pulled on a pair of baggy pajama pants then flopped shirtless onto his couch, grabbing a gaming controller and loading a first-person-shooter to pass the time. It was oddly a relief to be in his apartment alone, without the crowd of friends or a random hookup. As he played, he half imagined that Carol’s weight was pressing into his side, as if she was sitting on the couch quietly enjoying the moment with him, and it killed his ability to aim or react in the game. Still, he didn’t mind; the sensation was a pleasant one that covered his arm in goosebumps.

He found himself looking forward to the following day, and the continuation of his illicit relationship with the cleaning lady. It was by far the most exciting endeavor he had ever undertaken outside of the Suit.

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