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Always Mine	By : TerraZeal Category: M through R > Revolution Views: 1175 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Revolution, Miles, Monroe, or any other characters associated with Revolution and I make no money or profit from writing this story. I also do not own the channel that plays the TV show. If I did, I wouldn't be writing

Chapter List
- 1-Always Mine
- 1
AN: As for the plural use of deity, I imagine both Monroe and Miles to be atheists and can even imagine them sitting around playing video games like D&D and World of Warcraft, so that is why I had them use the plural. Figuring since they don't believe in a real god, they might use expressions from old games they played as children. I do not own Miles, Monroe, Revolution, the Resistance, the Republics, the houses, the weapons, or any characters that might be mentioned in this story. I also do not make any money from this story and it is not for profit. If I did somehow own Revolution, I doubt I would be writing fanfiction, but here is the all-important disclaimer. I also forgot to mention that I do not own the channel on which this TV show airs, if that is somehow not clear to the readers.

Always Mine

Miles Matheson, commanding general of the Monroe Militia, stood at Monroe's sink, candles flickering in their sconces, making Miles wish he had real lights again. The candles flickered and the light danced around the general's face, bathing his tired eyes in combinations of light and darkness. He was washing the fresh blood from his hands. He had just finished torturing information out of a young girl, whom Monroe thought to be a rebel.

Bass was becoming paranoid. Perhaps too paranoid. Paranoid, possessive, and neurotic. Monroe would kill or torture any man or woman who dared look at Miles with anything resembling lust. Miles knew that, but he didn't, couldn't, say anything. Bass would listen, as he always did, to Miles.

Miles was probably the only one in the entire Militia who could get the man to listen to him. Bass wouldn't do anything about it, though. He would point out reasons, make excuses, lies...anything to stop Miles from accusing him. Bass hated when Miles accused him of things, when Miles was angry with him.

The water in the sink was now flowing down the drain, staining the sink redder than it had been. The only things stained with more blood were he and Bass's hands. Miles stood in front of the mirror, the 'medicine' cabinet, and looked at his own reflection, flickering candles constantly shadowing half of his face. Perhaps the dark side of me is who I really am. A murderer. A torturer. An efficient one, a hated one, a loved one. Miles smiled at his flickering reflection, a savage expression.

A slamming door jolted him out of his reverie. Miles let his savage, manic smile drop as Monroe opened the bathroom door, gazing at Miles quizzically.

“Miles? You've been in there for quite some time...I thought perhaps you might be ill...” Monroe's face actually showed true concern.

Miles quickly dried his hands, attempting to brush aside the fact that they still felt covered in sticky, dried blood. Blood and other things. Torture wasn't just blood. He remembered spinal fluid and bone marrow. The knife sawing her perfectly. Enough so that she couldn't pass out due to all the blood to the brain, but so that she would feel excruciating pain. Miles was so very good at torture.

“I'm...fine. Just washing up. The girl...proved to be more stubborn than I thought. I couldn't get anything out of her. I had to...end it, I'm afraid.” He stared at Monroe, hoping for at least an expression of pity. Monroe just sighed, a candle near his face guttered and went out, obscuring his face in blackness.

How appropriate. We all fall into darkness eventually. Oh, Bass. I wish I could save you. For now, I just want you.

“Perhaps later, then. We have rebels in reserve. That nest you rooted out on your last mission...a job well done, General Matheson.”

Miles frowned. How many times must he tell his best friend not to be so formal? “You know better than that, Bass. To you, I'm just Miles.”

Miles stepped toward Monroe, struck a match and re-lit the candle near Monroe's face, once again casting light upon the commander's handsome, boyish face.

A true smile lit Monroe's face. “Thank you, Miles. MY Miles.” He walked up to his general, put his hands on his shoulders and pulled him into a kiss. Miles felt Monroe's smooth tongue slide gently in between his welcoming lips. “Always my Miles. Right? Always.”

Miles shouldn't have liked it. Shouldn't have enjoyed the pull of Monroe's body. They were best friends. They were tyrant and general. Yet...they were also lovers, despite everything. Miles loved Bass, as much as he tried not to. The tight, jet black commander's uniform Monroe wore...god, it made Miles ache and Monroe knew it. He knew how Miles loved his tight clothing.

“Yes. Always, Bass. Always.” Tears threatened Miles. He knew what he would have to do, eventually. But just this once. This once, he could be with his Bass. He could bask in the true love they had once shared. Perhaps still did, but now it was twisted, at least to Miles. It felt wrong, because he felt wrong.

Bass slipped a hand into the band of Miles' jeans, hands slowly opening the buttons and tracing the zipper down, and squeezed his cock gently, causing Miles to groan.

“Bed, Bass. Not here. Too hard...” Miles grunted again as Bass squeezed even harder.

“I want it hard. What other way is there?” Monroe's glittering smile looked savage. Savage, sexy, and...wonderful. Dark and savage in the flickering candles. Darkness and light. Oh god, Bass. Miles clenched his hands around Monroe's shoulders and wrapped his legs around the other man's waist.

“You want it hard, Commander? You got it.” Miles shoved Bass to the hard bathroom floor, narrowly missing the edge of their large tub in which they had shared many a wonderful moment. Bass grunted, but only a bit of it was in pain. Miles could see his lover's erection, straining to be free of the tight pants the commander wore.

The general slid a hand down Monroe's pants, stroking his taut erection slightly. Bass was gasping. “Miles...dammit Miles! I command you! Remove my pants.”

Miles laughed. Of all the commands he'd received from his “commander”, these were the ones he loved best.

“As you wish, Commander.” Miles stripped Bass of his clothing, slowly, teasing. He could hear Bass panting as he slowly unbuttoned his black shirt first, each time a button came undone, Miles would slide his tongue down Monroe's chest, tasting and feeling his beloved. Once he had got the shirt off, he slid it slowly and gently around his lover's torso.

“Fuck you, Miles! You asshole!” Monroe was getting frustrated with the time Miles was taking.

“I intend to fuck you, Bass, not the other way around.” Miles laughed and started on Monroe's pants. They were harder, in more ways than one. His erection made the pants far tighter than they usually were.

Miles forced a hand under the band of Monroe's pants, found his cock and gently squeezed, causing another groan from Monroe. Miles found the zipper eventually and managed to force it over Monroe's wonderful, full cock. He slid the pants off. Monroe wasn't wearing underpants, of course.

Miles pinned him to the cold tiles of the bathroom floor once he had teased his clothing off. Bass may be in control of the entire militia, but Miles was in control in the bedroom...or where ever they decided to enjoy themselves.

Bass's eyes were glittering with lust and his panting was causing Miles's to want to free himself from his pants as soon as possible. He did so, tossing the clothing quickly to the side. He pressed Bass against the tiles, shoving his tongue as far as he could get it down the other man's throat. Bass reciprocated with equal enthusiasm.

“Over, Bass. I want inside you. Now.” Miles growled, letting some of the commanding general come through.

He was the only one who could talk to Bass like that and live. Anyone else would have been immediately executed. Bass was only too happy to agree. The commander of the Monroe Republic forcefully kissed Miles once more before eagerly, perhaps too eagerly, turning so Miles could be inside him.

Neither ever bothered with lubricant. It was hard to find, even for the Republic, after the blackout. Miles had his own version of lubricant. He stroked a hand down Monroe's back, slid down the man himself. Miles massaged the taut, lean muscles of Monroe's ass, then leaned over, flicking his tongue out, causing the commander to writhe beneath him in undeniable pleasure.

Miles let his tongue do the lubricating before finally pulling himself up and thrusting himself inside his beloved commander, friend, and lover. Monroe let out a gasp of pain and pleasure.

“Dear God, Miles!” Bass scrabbled at the tiles, aching to touch himself, to bring himself some relief. Miles shook his head.

“Not so fast, my naughty commander. Not until I say so!” Miles pinned Bass's hands to the tile, not allowing him the option of touching himself.

The general continued to thrust in and out of his beloved commander. Bass was groaning and gasping.

“Miles, please! Please, Miles!” Bass's gasps were causing electric thrills to run through Miles's body.

“As you command.” Miles thrust one last time inside his commander, his seed flowing inside and sliding down the man's ass. Miles gasped in pleasure. Bass. Oh gods, Bass. He couldn't, wouldn't, go through with it, no matter how far Bass went. He loved him too much. Speaking of love, he had to help Bass.

Miles roughly grabbed Bass and shoved him against the wall, his head banging into it, probably drawing blood. It didn't matter. They both liked it rough. The candle went out again, leaving only one in the entire bathroom. They were both bathed in the very thin light from the single candle. Darkness.

“Do you want release, Commander? Do you want me to help you?” Miles taunted.

“Miles, dammit!”

Miles smiled and went down on his beloved Bass. The man's cock was slick and smooth in Miles's mouth. Miles flicked it with his tongue several times before taking it all in. Bass was average sized, much like Miles, so it wasn't incredibly difficult. Miles used his tongue to play with Monroe's sack. The man's testicles tasted delightful, like the rest of him.

Bass was gasping. He couldn't help it. “Miles, dammit! Stop playing around!”

Miles bit down slightly, feeling his teeth meet his lover's hard cock. He slid his mouth down the man's cock, his teeth and tongue doing the work Bass demanded. A shudder, and a gasp let Miles know he'd done well. The salty taste of his beloved filled his mouth. Miles swallowed, savoring the taste of his Bass. He gave Bass one last lick before standing, pulling the commander with him.

Shakily, they both managed to make it to their large bed before collapsing on it. Their clothing lay forgotten on the now-messy bathroom tiles. The bed was a canopy bed, covered in expensive silk blankets. Bass always had to have the best. The best for both of them.

Miles knew they weren't fooling anyone. Even a low-ranking officer could see the way Monroe looked at Miles. Looked at him as if he was the only reason for living. As if Miles were a lifeline that Bass could only cling to. Miles had heard the jokes, too.

Miles has been stabbing Monroe with his sword for years, and he's not dead yet. I don't know why everyone thinks Miles is so frightening and deadly!

Miles had had the soldier who had said that executed. He wouldn't tolerate people making fun of what he and Monroe had. Perhaps he was just as bad as Monroe. Worse, because he knew what he was, he knew the difference between right and wrong and he knew he was wrong but kept doing what he was doing anyway.

“Miles?” Monroe's voice trembled slightly.

“My love?” Miles nuzzled Bass slightly, trying to forget just for the moment that the man was a tyrant.

“You'll never leave me, will you? If you did, I would go insane. Without you. You're my life, Miles. Everything I do, I do for you. I always have.” Bass sounded plaintive, almost begging. The sconces above the head of the bed highlighted his pained eyes, almost in tears.

Miles didn't answer for a few moments. Everything I do, I do for you. You've killed thousands for me, Bass? The thought almost made Miles sick, but he said nothing. Not now. Not now! He would deal with his thoughts later. For now, Bass was all that mattered.

“I'll never leave you, Bass. Never. I love you. Now and forever. You're mine, Bass. Always mine.”

Miles wrapped his arms around the torso of his beloved, his friend, his brother-in-arms and tried not to think of what he was going to have to do. As he had said, Bass was his. Always his. It would be his job to put an end to the tyranny. His and no one else's. He wouldn't let anyone else kill Bass. Bass belonged to him, even in death.

Miles pulled Bass into his arms, squeezing the other man tightly and repeated his previous words, looking into Monroe's eyes, the eyes of a lover, a friend, a murderer, a tyrant.

“I love you, Bass. I love you. You're mine. You're mine. Forever. Always, and you always will be, mine.”
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Always Mine