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August 1991,
the Persian Gulf
The next
morning, Vadim woke with a blazing headache, not much different
from when he'd fallen asleep. A case of dehydration, exhaustion,
and, of course, a sun that had hated him all his life. Lying
in the stuffy semi-dark, the only sound the electric fan,
slightly creaking when it swayed from side to side. At least
being the camp bogeyman kept the well-wishers away. The backslapping,
the childish Oo-rah, and whatever else mercs and soldiers
did to confirm their brotherhood.
I got
him out because I owed him, he thought. Not for orders. Not
for any sense of decency. No brotherhood for him, fuck that.
Vadim
stood, swaying slightly, feeling his stomach tight and empty,
weak still, but, he thought with a vague sense of irony, he'd
live. He dug for a fresh shirt, fresh trousers, socks, groaned
while rubbing his skull, then glanced at the watch. Not a
Russian make. No more Volkovs. He thought in English, these
days. Sometimes it shifted into Russian, and back within the
same thought. Ragtag pile of words. No longer any language.
Didn't matter.
Couldn't
stand being alone anymore, needed to get out. The sun was
sinking, still didn't seem to have lost any of its vicious
power, and Vadim stood in the entrance to his tin can and
thought, fuck it, whatever he did, both was bad. Outside,
sun, and his head already hurt, inside - darkness. Potential
for. Fear.
He saw
mercs stalling, pausing, looking at him. Camp bogeyman. He
might be a bitch, but at least he was the scariest motherfucking
bitch they'd ever seen. So much bitch, in fact, that nobody
had a taste for taking him on these days. He snorted, settled
his face into the usual mask, lodged every muscle in place,
didn't even sneer at them. Fuck them.
And fuck
him, too. Jean must have spotted him, probably lying
in wait, only to jump him when he felt like shit, anyway.
Vadim decided he still needed some food and headed towards
the mess tent. There was always a bite, somewhere. He wasn't
choosy, really.
"Hey,
Krasnorada."
Vadim
paused, not turning. Let Jean run around him like the barking
dog he was. "Yes?"
"Payslip."
Jean actually had a bundle of them in his hand. Did the rounds
to hand them to his team. Vadim had thought he'd get it from
somebody else. Hadn't even enquired about it.
He took
it, ripped it open, cast a glance. Numbers didn't compute.
That money. That was actually in his account? As in,
real money, real, black numbers? "Shit."
"Seems
you are worth that much", said Jean, calm, as he usually
was. Vadim expected a snide remark after this, but Jean kept
his mouth shut.
Vadim
folded the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. Money. He'd
never earned that much money. Exchanged it for roubles several
times, the sum made even less sense now.
"I'd
blow my first proper pay", said Jean. "Heard it's
custom."
"Not
sure I can drink that much."
Jean
grinned. "You're on R&R soon. Where are you headed?
Still Thailand?"
He'd
mentioned it. A destination he'd heard about while working
on Jean's team. Hadn't booked anything, felt almost nauseous
at the prospect he could just walk out here and go on holiday.
Passport. Travel. Board a plane without orders, with a destination
he'd chosen. The world suddenly was a huge place without order
or purpose. Felt something well up and realised it was fear.
"I guess. Thailand."
Jean
looked at him, far too inquisitive for Vadim's taste. Did
he try to be friendly. Or just friendlier than the rest of
the camp? And why the fuck? Why should he care.
"Dan's
off for R&R, too." Pause. Waited. Vadim gave him
a sideways look. "Did you think about anything I told
you?"
Vadim
inhaled. "Like?"
Jean
glanced around, but of course there were witnesses. The rumour
mill only waiting for the newest story. "Book your time
off, the flights, the hotel, and whatever wellness treatment
you want. But I would try to not go alone, if you get my meaning,
Vadim Petrovich." Jean grinned, but it was a mask. Jean
didn't have a single friendly bone in his body when it came
to him. No more. He'd fucked that up, but couldn't care. It
remained on the outside, like everything else. The headache
was worse than that. "Guess you deserved it, didn't you."
"If
you say so, comrade team leader." Vadim gave him a nod,
indicating he was hungry and wanted to eat, not stand here,
with the low sun stinging his eyes. But a thought lodged in
his brain like a piece of metal in a clockwork. Not alone.
Thailand. Dan. He could, for once, afford it. And he owed
Dan. Money. Guilt. Duty. Blowing that paycheck on Dan sounded
like a great idea. If Dan allowed him to.
After
eating and, most importantly, drinking, he made a few phone
calls. Amazed that he held credit, that people were willing
to reserve and book things just because he gave them numbers.
*
* * * * * *
After
a day spent with a lingering hangover and too many briefings
from too many sides, Dan had slept through the afternoon instead
of having the intended little nap. When he finally woke, it
was late at night. His stomach rumbled, his throat was dry,
and the water in the plastic bottle beside his bunk was empty
- he must have drunk it throughout his sleep without noticing.
His wrist beneath the plaster cast itched like hell, and he
cursed the heat in that place. Yawning, Dan pulled on his
shorts and searched for the flip-flops, just about bothering
to slip his arms into a parka. It got cold at night, but he
couldn't be arsed to get dressed properly.
Getting
out of the hut and onto his search for food, water and something
- anything to keep his mind off the itch, he pondered for
a moment if he should see if Vadim was awake. Stood still,
looking at the Russkie's hut, and did nothing. He couldn't
face it yet, too complicated, and for once he didn't have
the energy for it all.
Making
his way to the mess bar instead, at least they'd provide packets
of peanuts, crisps, shit coffee and bottled water. If he was
lucky he'd snatch one of the elusive bags of pork scratchings.
Good old British fare.
He was
rubbing his eyes when he opened the door, stepping into the
brightly lit place to the sound of voices and the clack of
pool balls.
It was
mainly Jean's crew. Pascal was practically lying across the
table, trying to reach the white ball that was in an awkward
position, and might be shot by a left-hander. He lay splayed
across the table, while three more guys were having a drink,
and Jean stood close. Playing idly with his cue, holding it
in the middle and letting it whirr around his hands like in
a stupid action movie. He looked up as the door opened and
grinned, stopping to play around, then slapped Pascal's ass
hard. "Ten-HUT. The hero has risen."
Pascal
ruined the shot, shooting up and glaring at Jean. "What
the fuck?"
"Thought
you didn't want to be all bent over when the Master Faggot
is around, huh?"
"Fucking
French git." Dan called over, grinning. The parka hung
open over his shorts, showing off a strip of body from throat
to waistband, sunburnt skin and pale scars, his very own mixture
of texture. "Take no notice, Pascal." Trotting over
to the pool table, Dan raised his brows and rolled his eyes.
"The bastard's only so cocky since he can boast he 'rescued'
Mad Dog." Snorting, "as if I needed rescuing, could
have done it easily on my own. Now, the Yank babies, that
was a different matter
" He winked, hell, they
all knew, and most of all him, that without Jean and most
of all Vadim, they would have been fucked. Including himself.
Pascal
gave a somewhat cautious grin, he was one of the ones who
were uncomfortable to have Dan very close, keeping a friendly
distance. Jean, of course, was a different matter. He swaggered
right over to Dan and handed him his own alcohol free beer,
straight from the freezer, condense water running down its
neck. "Hey, grumpy, relax." Pulling Dan into a bear
hug and murmuring into his ear: "You want to talk, I'm
free. Too tired to win that game."
Dan winced
at that hug, his ribs were giving him hell, but he sure as
fuck didn't complain. He just grinned as an answer, then downed
half of the beer in one go. Didn't taste too bad, that alcohol
free stuff, could get used to it if he had to. "I'm fucking
starving. Got anything edible flying around? I'm not choosy.
Ran out of water, too."
Jean
grinned, moving back. "Hang on." He looked at Pascal.
"Amuse our guest a bit, Pascal, while I get him some
grub."
The other
Frenchman didn't like that idea, visibly. "Ah, shit,
I'll get it." Giving Jean a dark glance for it, then
put down the cue and left. Jean huffed laughter. "You
alright? Nobody kissed you awake, huh?"
"Holy
fuck, Pascal," Dan called after him, "you're not
even my fucking type!" Shaking his head he muttered something
under his breath. Something about blokes and cocks and arses
and showers and bodies and the fact that he wasn't going to
jump just about anybody's bones, simply because they
were male.
"Guess
you got some sleep in alright after the briefings, eh, mate?"
Dan grinned at Jean once he had caught himself.
"Just
a nap, then people thought grabbing me and carrying me out
for a small victory party would be good." Jean's eyes
were bloodshot. "Had to tell the story a dozen times."
"Guess
I was lucky, then, was only briefed for what felt like twelve
fucking hours today." Dan grimaced. "Managed to
get some shut-eye, just woke up, hungry, thirsty, bored. The
usual shit." But the way Dan shot a glance at Jean was
everything but 'usual'. Hidden from anyone else, and Jean
grinned as an answer.
"Seems
the Russkie's asleep," Dan continued, "or at least
ensconced in his hut. Wonder what he's planning, he looked
funny at me today."
"I
have a couple guesses. After all, we spent some quality time
together on the mission."
"Ain't
you lucky." Dan drawled in a fake American accent before
polishing off the last of the cold beer. "And what would
that be?"
Jean
walked over to the vending machine close by, rummaged in his
pockets for a coin, pushed it in, selected Coke, and waited
for the machine to oblige him. Then pushed against it with
hips and arms, making the bulk tremble, and the can fall.
Dan was
watching, with far too much interest, especially when Jean
bent down, gathered the can, before turning towards him. "My
guess? He'll try something new."
"What,
being 'nice' for a change?" Dan laughed, but it all went
far too deep, and despite the humour, he didn't want to pursue
the subject. He felt still raw inside, every word, spoken
on the roof, remained etched into his memory, and the bullet
stashed safely in his wallet.
Jean
whistled. "You never know." Opened the can, drank
it seemingly without swallowing, just down, then tossed the
can into the trash. Wiping his lips to hide his smirk.
"Anyway,
enough about the Russkie. What about the food? To be honest,
I wouldn't mind sitting down." Dan pointed at his bare
feet in the flip flops. "Or do you want me to start whinging
on about old age, creaking bones, and war-weary blisters?"
Pascal
returned with a full plate of stuff, and water, and offered
it to Dan, who had to push the empty beer bottle into Jean's
hands. "There. Didn't know what you wanted. Hope that
does it." He pulled back almost immediately, towards
the others at the bar.
"Cheers,
mate, that's great." Dan stuck the water under his arm
and balanced the plate in the right hand. His left useless,
the plaster cast was a bugger.
"Guess
I could use a fag." Jean fished in his shirt pocket for
cigarettes, brought out a lighter, too and nodded to Dan.
"Let's go outside." He grinned to Pascal. "Rematch
is tomorrow."
"Sure
thing", said Pascal, waving, then turning to talk to
one of the guys.
"Right,
then," Dan turned to walk out of the mess, waiting for
Jean to hold the door open, "since I haven't got a fucking
clue what happened all day today, thanks to that lovely CO
and all of his cronies, anything interesting going on in camp?
"By
'interesting' you probably mean what happened to your Vadya,
yes?" Jean allowed the door to close behind them, then
lit his cigarette, glancing at Dan with those water blue eyes.
"Tell me if I'm wrong."
Dan pulled
in a deep breath, pondered all his optional answers, and ended
up expelling the air with a resigned shrug. "Aye, you're
right." Gesturing with his chin to Jean's hut. "but
not completely. I'd also like to know what your day was like.
Hardly saw you since we made it back. I assume you got your
debriefing straight away?"
"Yeah.
Basically in the running jeep." Jean grinned, making
the red spot flare up in the dark. "Well, I told my story,
and Vadim told his, leaving out all the stuff we talked about,
of course. Then I had a bite to eat, but Vadim went straight
to bed. I don't think he was coherent at that point."
He opened the door to his hut. "Come. Have a seat."
"Aye,
but that was yesterday." Dan stepped inside, glad
to be able to put the plate down on a rickety 'table', dropping
the water bottle. "I was together with him last night,
talking." Sitting down, rather gingerly, Dan stretched
out his legs, favouring the right side. The left a cacophony
of reds, blues, greens, yellows and purples. "Did you
see him today?"
Jean
nodded. "Yeah, I did." He sat down on the bed, reached
for a water bottle and had another drink. "He's different.
Nicer. Shit. Like he's making some effort for once, to get
people to not hate him. Trying to be nice. You know. Talking.
Saying hello and thanks."
Dan had
started to tuck into the food, a mix of sandwiches and leftovers
of cold meat and chicken. He smiled, more to himself than
Jean. "Told you so. He's not an ogre." Paused, while
chewing, "well, he doesn't have to be."
Washing
the mouthful of food down with some water, he reached out
to pluck the cigarette from between Jean's lips. "I wonder
what to do now." Taking a drag before handing it back
and then making himself comfortable as best as he could on
the bed, plate balancing on his knees. "Seems I'm staying
here for the time being, and they want to send me off to R&R.
Wouldn't be surprised if I wasn't the only one. Heard anything
for yourself?"
Jean
nodded. "He's going out on R&R, too. I'm heading
for Paris. Offer still stands, you know. Spend some time in
a nice country. I'll translate for you, because most French
people's English is worth shit."
"No
need," Dan grinned, chewing, "I speak some French,
too, and I bet after a week or two I'd be fine." Shaking
his head, though, "thanks for the offer, mate, but you
should go and visit your lady on your own. I'll see what I'll
do with my time, maybe fly back to New Zealand. I bought a
farm there, bloody dilapidated and was cheap as dirt, but
fantastic views, and an old orchard. Fancy it as the place
I'll retired to. Bought it only last year and haven't been
back since."
"Sounds
like paradise." Jean grinned. "You going to repair
it yourself? Or hire people?"
"Hire,
I guess. The plan is to work in this business until I'm knackered,
save all my money, then have the place redone." Polishing
off the plate, Dan rubbed his stomach with a fake burp. "Better,
I was starving." He tried to scratch one of the largest
bruises on his ribs, but only winced. "Goddammit, it
itches everywhere!"
Jean
grinned and reached for the sun lotion. "I can offer
this." Raising the bottle. "Or scratch you. If you
fancy." Turning to face Dan. "You are aware that
Vadim knows what we're doing
and he's pretty jealous.
Told me in no unclear terms he's going to fight for you."
"But
why does he feel the need to fight you for me?" Peeling
himself out of the parka, it was awkward for Dan with the
bruised left side, and Jean reached out with one hand to help
a little, off-handed, almost, without thinking about it. "You've
got your lady, we're just fooling around, and we're mates."
Dan stopped, looked at Jean, "aren't we?" Dropping
the garment to the floor.
"We're
friends, Dan. That's it. All the other stuff, whatever. No
ring from me, anytime soon, so don't worry." Jean nodded
at the bed. "Get comfortable."
Dan lay
down on his front, right arm pillowing his head. "Vadim
that's an entirely different kettle of fish. We talked,
last night. He knows I love him, always have, and I tried
to explain why I hated him, but he also knows that he can't
just walk back into my life. The stunts he pulled were too
much."
"Well,
we talked on the way and what he said was 'Stay away from
him'. Vadim doesn't get the whole friendship thing, huh? It's
all or nothing for him." Jean shook his head, warming
some of the lotion in his hand.
"I
don't know if he ever had a friend, don't think so, but could
be wrong." Not that Dan knew of anyone.
Jean
placed the slick hands on Dan's back, touch firm, but far
lighter on the bruises, just working to moisturize the dried
out skin. Lazy, gentle touches, up to the shoulders, working
half a massage into it, working with thumbs and fingertips,
not palms, without strength. "I guess he's been thinking
about that. Probably still is. Just the way he looks."
"Thinking
about what? You? Me? I told him I've changed, my life has
changed, every fucking thing has changed since he came back,
except for the fact I'm still a stupid fuck and love him.
Despite everything." Dan looked up, flicking the flip
flops off his feet, while Jean squirted more lotion into his
hand. "He won't touch anyone again, ever. I vouch for
that. But I won't stop what I'm doing. If I get the chance,
I'll have sex. I have eleven years of monogamy to make up
for."
"What
do you mean he won't touch anybody?" Jean kept his voice
level, as if asking just for curiosity.
"I
meant the shit he pulled with the guy whose name tag he dropped
on you. Threatening my friends. He was desperate, and yeah,
before you say anything, I know I'm making excuses again."
Dan closed his eyes for a moment, just giving himself over
to the touches. Now and then a faint moan at a particularly
tense muscle that relaxed under the careful massage.
"Ah,
yes. That. Poor bastard."
Jean
slid down to Dan's lower back, using a bit more force, but
still mainly caring for the skin and less about the muscle.
"You'd be fucking stupid if you didn't make the most
of it. Life's short. Love is one thing, but that doesn't mean
tying yourself down."
"No,
but if it really hurt the person you love, what would you
do?" Glancing up one-eyed, Dan stretched under the touches
like a cat. "What if your lady found out about someone
else and she got really hurt. What would you do? Would you
stop seeing the other person?"
Jean
arrived at the shorts. "Lift your ass." He took
the shorts and pulled them off, discarded them to the side.
Then regarded Dan's ass - far more muscular than Solange's,
but still a sight to behold. "Well." Placing his
slicked up hands on Dan's ass, massaging it as well, somewhat
bemused by the effect it had on him. "She doesn't find
out. If she did, I'd lie low for a while and then go on. I
think people are free
if you stick together because
you're in love, great, and no other person can take
that away. If the other person can take it away, it means
that you're in love with somebody new."
Dan sighed
with pleasure at touch and care, involuntarily opening his
legs. Those hands were too damn good. "I don't think
it's quite that straightforward. It's not necessarily about
someone new, but about something comfortable and good, like
this here
," Dan paused, "something that isn't
about love but about fun. And if that hurt? What then?"
"The
way I see it, you're not back together. And that means you
can do whatever you like. Including screw around with half
the Legion, Delta, and whatever Baby Jarhead that doesn't
climb the tree fast enough."
"Well,
yeah, that's right, and even if we were
" Dan couldn't
help but grin at the mental image of shagging himself through
several countries' worth of regiments. A mental image that
had a certain effect on his lower anatomy.
Jean
took some more lotion and rubbed it into the back of Dan's
thighs, including the insides, feeling how Dan opened his
legs. That usually meant that Solange was ready for it. Rubbing
the lotion in, he stopped from the crack, didn't touch the
dam or the balls. Wouldn't have minded, though. Wondered what
a man's
a proper man's ass would be like. "Well,
might be selfishness talking." He continued with Dan's
lower legs. At this rate, he'd use the rest of the bottle,
easily.
"Hmmmm,"
Dan almost purred, "does that mean you are hedging a
kind of interest in me still?" He grinned lopsidedly,
peering up, but unable to see Jean.
"'Kind
of interest' is a nice way of putting that. A very special
kind of interest", Jean murmured close to Dan's ear.
"Why?"
"I
can only say, if you keep up that kind of massage, I'm going
to be anybody's."
"Better
keep you in my hut then, can't have you walking around in
that state, now, can I?" Down to the legs and the feet.
Sex was a distinct possibility. "You got a glorious ass
there, Dan. Turn over so I fix your front."
"What
if I rather you fixed my back?" Dan wasn't quite sure
where this was going, just that he was too relaxed to turn
over. Jean's hands on his body, working his arse, was exactly
what felt right after the shit of the past weeks.
"Then
I'd give you an extra special treatment right now." Jean
paused, then squirted more lotion into his hands, and worked
up the legs again. Different, this time. Clearly designed
to arouse interest, touches changing from firm gripping, kneading,
to the teasing sliding of splayed fingers inside Dan's legs.
Spending time on the knees.
Dan spread
the fingers of his right hand underneath his face, lying comfortably,
eyes falling shut in increments, the longer Jean was touching.
Plastered left hand stretched out over his head, the itch
beginning to fade into the background. He didn't know what
to think, other than not-thinking, and simply enjoying to
be alive. No tension, nothing but his aching body, relaxing
under the awfully skilled hands. Dan sighed with the comfort
of it all, smiled, his legs opening further to accommodate
those clever fingers. What was he going to do and where was
this going to go? Didn't matter, no thinking and no deep emotions.
This wasn't a matter of life and death, not even of gut-wrenching
desire and heart-felt love and lust. This was Jean, his mate,
and his inimitable ability to make Dan simply feel good.
Jean
slid up to work on the thighs, marvelled at the strength,
all the hard muscle, not a bone under his fingers. All firm
flesh and dark skin, with hair, not the carefully epilated
and lasered texture that Solange sported, not her trim, slim
legs that were almost as narrow in the upper leg as the lower
leg. Dan was clearly very male indeed, yet opened his legs
like she would do, and Jean caught himself grinning as his
fingers moved up to Dan's ass, just as firm and strong, nicely
rounded. Thumbs slipping into the crack, hands massaging both
cheeks. "Hope you don't mind if I wake you up in a few
minutes
" he murmured.
"Mmmmm
" Dan mumbled, "depends on why you'd want
to wake me." Still smiling, it was too good, floating
in a cloud of tranquillity. Damn, that man had the knack,
and for a moment Dan envied that lady of his, for going to
marry those hands. And lips. He sighed once more, stretching
his body slowly. Moved his arse into the hands, completely
relaxed, not a shred of tension in his body.
"Okay,
that's it", murmured Jean, giving a near-silent laugh.
"I should lock the door. Don't run away, mon cher."
The French sounded affected, slightly mocking, when Jean got
up and locked the door.
"Hm?"
Dan mumbled, couldn't be bothered to open his eyes. "Whassup?"
"Nothing.
Relax." In an afterthought, Jean switched on the radio.
Just for any stragglers of his crew to potentially check on
him. He glanced over at Dan, a picture for the Gods. Solange's
many photographers would lick all their ten fingers to get
Dan in that position, with that expression on his face. And
get their camp little cocks up. The line of shoulder, the
waist curving with muscle. Well, he knew the score, and slipped
out of his usual wifebeater and shorts, cast them aside, then
opened the locker. Solange smiled at him. Miss you, baby,
he thought, and fished for the pack of condoms.
Dan was
stretching his legs, all the way from hip to toe, feeling
every muscle contract, tense and relax. Taking a slow, deep
breath, he cracked one eye open. "Hey, Frenchie
"
murmured while grinning lazily, "what takes you so long?"
He wanted those hands back and the bliss of just letting go.
He could, because nothing bad would happen. Not with Jean.
He just knew it.
"Nothing
much." Jean returned, slyly slipped the pack under the
bed, within reach, and straddled Dan's thighs, squirting more
lotion into his hands. The white stuff made him think of something
else, and he grinned again, returning to work on Dan's ass.
Right thumb sliding between the cheeks, down to the dam, teasing,
mainly, and touching Dan's balls, as if by accident. "Ooops,
sorry."
Dan jumped
at the touch, in the abso-fucking-lutely best way possible.
"Fucking liar." He murmured and grinned, lifting
his arse half an inch off the bed and into those hands that
made him quietly moan with pleasure. "But I don't mind
another 'accident'." His whole body moved gently while
he chuckled, creating friction of his cock against the bed
sheet.
Jean
whistled. "Now, how should I interpret that, Mad Dog?
Like this?" He slid more of his hand between Dan's legs,
teasing his balls, rubbing and pulling them slightly, while
his free hand kept massaging Dan's ass.
"That's
not a bad interpretation." Dan's low voice was
getting breathless, yet that grin never left his face. Smug,
like the cat that got the milk. Not bothering to suppress
any sounds, he moaned softly, moving his hips in fractions,
to keep up the delicious pressure on his cock.
"Damn,
here I am, trying to make you relax, darling, and what happens,
you get all squirmy."
Dan chuckled,
stretched out his left arm, before relaxing even further into
hands and feeling. "No one ever called me 'darling'."
He rubbed his face against his arm, barely murmuring the last
words, "trust you to be the first one."
Jean
shook his head, grinning. Seemed the Russian didn't even know
how to do that part right. But mentioning Vadim would likely
not have a great effect right now. "I just believe in
good manners in bed, that's all." He grinned, enjoying
the sight of Dan squirming, slowly, few things that were as
sexy as Dan wanting, sensuous, relaxed. His left moved to
the crack again, thumb rubbing the hole, but without pressure,
circling it. He could do that for hours to Solange unless
she was crying with need.
Dan's
body was shifting, with slow, unrushed movements of his hips,
enjoying hand, fingers, and most of all thumb, right there.
He could feel his heart beat, the blood course through his
body; a body that reacted to stimulation in more subtle ways
than he'd thought he was capable of. Alive and breathing,
once more jumped off the grim reaper's scythe, and it felt
fucking good. "Damn good bed manners you have."
Murmured, breathing through parted lips. "I envy your
wife to be." His lips curved into a smile while he let
out a sound of utter contentment.
Jean
grinned, leaned in, decided it was worth checking whether
Dan liked this, too, and opened his mouth and bit tenderly
into the muscle, breathing through his nostrils, noticeably
for Dan. Then moved his head, biting again, a bit down, a
bit harder, while his thumb kept the pressure up, not breaching,
just stretching, skirting the edge, never enough to actually
slip in. "Yes, she could have found a worse lover, I
suppose." Jean grinned. "But your ass is better
than mine, clearly."
Dan shuddered
with every bite, drawing in hissed breaths, letting them out
in long, pleasured moans. "Better?" He moved his
hips in slow, undulating motions, completely shameless and
with relaxed abandon. "Not from my perspective."
Jean
placed another bite, harder, moving his jaw as he made Dan
feel more of his teeth, enjoying how Dan moved, and the way
his voice changed. "'course not, you're attached to yours."
Jean grinned, then changed the angle of his thumb and breached
the muscle, again only stretching, not pushing further than
half the first digit. "You turn me on, you know that?"
"Shit."
Dan breathed out, couldn't control his body that jerked at
the minimal breaching, and the pushed back, involuntarily
seeking more of the thumb. Hazy memories behind his closed
eyes, of cave and fire, heat and skin, and of fingers that
had turned into a fist, consuming him inside and out. "Seems
," his voice turned rough with an entirely new
shade of need, "I'm turned on by you, too."
"Of
course you are", murmured Jean gently, half-joking. "Not
that you have much of a chance against my devastating charms."
Moving against Dan, slipping the thumb further in, granting
the unspoken request for more. Hooked the thumb and slid against
the wall, pretty sure he'd soon find what he was looking for.
"That good, sweetheart?"
"Oh
fuck," Dan laughed under his breath, while moving with
and against the digit, "must you call me sweetheart?"
Didn't mind, just chuckled again, whatever Jean said, nothing
diminished the desire, nor touched the lust. Especially not
since that long thumb was moving so damned clever inside of
him, it made him buck and want to take hold of his cock, to
jerk himself off.
Jean
laughed. "Just checked whether you were still listening."
Unfair, yes, but then, keeping things light and playful was
exactly what he was planning.
"Wouldn't
mind
," Dan gasped when that thumb touched places
inside, he knew all too well, "
ah
,"
momentarily losing the ability to form words, "
some more."
"And
just checking whether you like the same stuff." Jean
eased up, grinning, pulled the thumb towards the hand and
out, not without circling the hole again. More lotion, just
to time things right, and the stuff was still cool when he
brought index and middle finger in, again, circling, playful,
as if he had all the time in the world and was just fooling
around. Leaning closer, he noticed two small scars on the
outside, old and pale, and frowned. Flicking them across the
place he'd found earlier, he opened the fingers against Dan's
muscles and rubbed both sides of it.
The sounds
Dan let out made no sense and had no meaning. Pushing himself
up, a little on his knees, unabashedly lifting his arse and
stretching it towards those fingers. Inside his body, movement.
Hand, no threat. This meant, no danger. And fuck, but the
stimulation was just like something he only remembered hazily,
and only once. When he had lost himself completely, then found
again. "Yeah ..." Long drawn out moan, his body
spoke his consent, didn't need any words.
Hot.
It was damned hot to see and hear this, different, but good,
and Jean licked his lips, a touch nervous. That now, that
was pretty damn gay, too. Of course he'd wondered, and Dan
was sexy, but it was a step up from what they'd done, and
Vadim would likely rip his head off if he knew. Well, he likely
suspected it anyway. And there was a slightly nasty thought
for a moment that had to do with Vadim, and revenge, but Jean
shook his head. Fuck that. Nowhere near what Vadim thought,
and frankly, it didn't matter right now. Just about making
Dan feel good, and take his own pressure off, too. The position
was just right as well, he preferred ass, Solange, of course,
but even before her. He reached towards the pack, found a
condom and tore it open with his free hand and teeth.
Dan was
too far gone to hear anything, concentrating on the fingers
inside of him, fucking himself in slow, smooth motions, and
moaning. He still hadn't touched his cock, up on his knees
now, and with his left hand useless, he couldn't stroke and
support himself at the same time. Hard and weeping, almost
flat against his stomach, he didn't want to cum yet, lost
in the drawn-out lust.
One-handed,
Jean fumbled around with the condom, oddly remembered the
worst situations he'd had to deal with that basic protection,
jungles, deserts, stoned out of his mind, drunk, absolutely,
or sharing some dark-eyed whore in a nameless place in the
dead and rotting heart of Africa. He'd stopped smoking because
that was barter for pussy. Or ass, as it were. Pulling it
down, then shifting his weight. Removing the fingers, causing
Dan to groan, getting himself to the entrance that should
easily accommodate him now.
Dan murmured
something unintelligible, but he could hardly reach backwards
to slap Jean's fingers into the position. Eyes still closed,
he protested when the Frenchie shifted. "Hey
"
mumbled.
Jean
was about to enter, slow, lips open, both hands on Dan's body,
pulling him closer, trying to ease himself in.
"Hey!"
Dan's eyes suddenly opened, tensing from one second to the
next. Clenching his muscle, but he was trapped, could hardly
crane his head enough to catch a glimpse of Jean. Kneeling
behind him. Between his legs. About to
"What the
fuck are you doing?" Torn between immediate tension and
the lingering mellow lust.
Jean
pulled back, something alarmed him at the back of his mind,
but couldn't place it. The sudden tension more that of a straight
guy than that of somebody who flaunted being gay and, he had
assumed, enjoyed getting fucked. "Not
okay?"
He asked, feeling strange that Dan could object. "You
don't like it?"
Shit.
What to answer. Dan's mind was in no way functioning as normal,
his cock still hard and the lust still there, and he did 'like'
it, yes. With one man. Never anyone else. And with that man
only with suffocation and brutality and
"Don't
know." Truth, as crazy as it sounded. Didn't know right
now. Did he like it? Didn't he? Or was he just one fucked-up
old guy who was too damned hung up on some shit from the past.
"Don't know." Repeated. Half-cocked permission,
curiosity even. A lie, yet none. He knew, yet didn't.
Shit.
What did Dan do with that hulking Russian, with his
other conquests, baby jarheads and other guys? Jean just couldn't
believe that he, as the straight guy in this, would teach
a gay guy how to take cock. The thought was hilarious, but
Jean only felt a mild, somewhat shocked tenderness well up.
Very much like Solange's "please don't hurt me, non?"
that had gone straight to his heart even drunk and stoned
and half delirious with freedom on that fateful night in Montmatre.
"'s okay", he murmured, grinning despite the weird
situation and the condom hanging off his cock. Instead brought
his slicked hand forward and took Dan's cock, stroking him.
"You're still fucked up from that mission, probably hurting
in all the wrong places." Giving Dan a ready-made excuse.
"Aye
" Dan closed his eyes once more, willing his head
to fall back onto his hand, making his body relax. That hand
on his cock was damn good, but hell, those fingers up his
arse had been better. Both together, that's what he'd wanted.
He drew in a shaky breath, concentrating on his body and its
reactions. "Is just that I don't let myself get fucked."
Adding, "usually."
The scars.
The answer. Something. Somebody. Had torn him. Anal trauma.
That was
the solution, and Jean felt his face grow
cold. Paled. Cursed himself for not having drawn the right
conclusion before. Still. Dan had liked it. Shit. Oh shit.
Pushing for something that must freak Dan out. Hell, he'd
be freaked out alright if anything - anybody - had done that
to him. Dan would suck him off, eagerly. Wasn't like he'd
lose anything if he did the decent thing, overplay it, make
a joke, to put Dan at ease and make him come with a few fingers
up his ass and pumping him. "What do I know about gay
stuff anyway", muttered Jean, light-hearted.
"Pretty
much, actually
," Dan breathed out, "for a
straight guy." Concentrating with that hand on his cock
turned out to be difficult.
Jean
knew. He knew who would be capable to do that - and that gave
the desperate hatred between Vadim and Dan a completely new
edge. How fucking stupid to kind of get those two back together,
even giving the Russian bastard hints. Dan had plenty of good
reasons to hate him. "Fingers alright, though?"
"Aye."
Dan's hips were moving again, in sync with the strokes, and
he suddenly found it all so incredibly absurd. He was forty-two
years old, and the shit happened eleven years ago. The world
had changed in the meantime, and so had he. "You just
threw me." This was too precious to let the past be a
hindrance. Kabul, eleven years ago, a night of pain, terror
and blood, held no sway over him anymore. It was long over.
"Yeah,
was
assuming too much." Shit. Jean entered Dan
with his fingers again, rewarded with a gasp and a more enthusiastic
movement of those hips. Nearly apologetic for this whole seduction
thing not having gone completely to plan, not just one thing
after the other, natural and nice, one logical step after
the other.
"I
didn't mean 'no'." Dan murmured, "I'm sure you know
what you're doing, what with your lady-love
"
"I'd
think so." Jean smiled, wasn't quite sure he wanted to
go ahead, despite what his body said, then thought, fuck it,
he could always pull back in case Dan didn't like it. He was
hardly Vadim, not brutal, not a fucking rapist, and he sure
as fuck wouldn't injure Dan. "Can I try?"
"What
do you think my body is telling you." Dan brought out,
had to focus hard on each word. His cock and Jean's hand slick
with precum, and once those fingers were back inside his body,
he couldn't stop moving towards them, making irrepressible
noises. "Holy shit!" Dan exclaimed when Jean managed
to hit a spot just right while stroking with the perfect
pressure and speed. "All that's missing
,"
groaned, "is a cock
," drawing in a shuddering
breath, Dan's cock jumped at the mental image, "to suck."
The memory
of one of the whores he'd shared flashed across Jean's brain,
bent over, him deep inside her ass, another Legionnaire stuffing
her face with cock, and the bitch loved every minute of it.
And Jean had loved the way she had squirmed, and seeing his
comrade fuck her face. Not a very straight thought. "Oh
fuck", he murmured. "Don't think Pascal would oblige
us, eh? Even though he has a good size."
"Pascal
" Dan forced each word out with a moan, "is
worried
to be in the same
room
with me."
Jean
grinned, pulling his fingers back. Horny enough to try again,
shifting, then entering Dan slowly, gently, proper angle,
allowing Dan to move back against him, groaning deeply.
Almost
the same as the fingers. This time there were no dark thoughts,
no greed, and no need to exorcise any demons. Dan easily fell
into Jean's rhythm, able to accept the intrusion. Slow, steady
and he could feel his body accommodating the cock, the muscle
yielding with barely any pain. "Not
bad,"
he exhaled.
Not bad.
Yeah right, Jean thought. Like hell was not cold, heaven was
not close. One thing to fuck a girl, or one who'd be a girl,
soon, more girlish than most girls, another to fuck a man.
Dan was completely different. For once, the power in the motions.
Not a body he could direct, steer, goad into following him,
but quite powerful enough to have his own mind, starting from
the strength with which Dan held him there, to the play of
muscles on his back, and the sounds. No endearing girly squeals,
nope. Instead low, male sounds. "Yeah
not
bad." Moving slowly, tilting his hips to hit Dan right,
teasing him with minute movements that made him sweat.
"Ah
yeah
shit
" Incoherent sounds and
senseless words, Dan's lips parted, eyes shut, just breathing.
Letting his body take over, giving full reign like he'd never
done before - not without the violence and the choking. His
own rhythm in sync with Jean's, but pushing back and urging
the other's body to increase the pace. Muscles tensing, relaxing
again, like whipcords running along his back, up to his shoulder
and back down again, ass cheeks clenching, powerful thighs
spurring the movements.
Dan was
demanding it, oddly powerful, nothing like the frantic 'please
fuck me' he was used to, and Jean struggled for control, every
now and then throwing the rhythm to change something. Twisting
his hips, laughing breathlessly as he realized how good they
worked together, going faster when Dan demanded that, and
slower when he felt he was getting there too fast. "Easy
does it", he murmured, touching Dan more slowly, more
intense. Taking his hand away to run it across Dan's sweaty,
scarred stomach, feeling him tense there, goddamned deadly
bastard, cocky, courageous, gentle, smart, funny, trustworthy,
and how fucking sexy in all that.
Easy,
fast, slow, whatever. Dan didn't care, cared only about the
hand on his cock and the
yes, the cock inside his body.
Not Vadim, not his Russkie, the only man who would ever get
him to take it up the arse, but
a friend. Fun, easy-going,
and it was all suddenly so bloody simple. Dan was getting
further and higher and wasn't going to be holding on much
longer, yet that hand wouldn't speed up and the man didn't
either. "If you don't
make me come soon
"
he forced out, managed to get the words together in his befuddled
brain, "I'll fizzle out. Am not fucking thirty anymore."
Groaning with frustration and entirely too much need.
Jean
nodded silently, speeding up, his hand found Dan's cock again,
and thrust harder, faster, feeling his own pressure mount
- decided to let it go, hoping to drive Dan over the edge
first. Pulled every trick in the book, harsh strokes on Dan's
cock while his thrusts just remained this side of intense,
gritting his teeth.
Jean's
technique was rewarded soon, when Dan's movements became more
erratic, simultaneously more forceful, and all the power in
his body seemed to be contained in his middle. Turning his
head to muffle the cry, he came against his belly and chest,
convulsing involuntarily, taking Jean with him and over the
edge.
Jean
cursed as it hit him, thrusting deep and with force, that
searing moment that went on for too short, but instead of
collapsing on top of Dan he forced himself to pull back and
out. He had only enough coordination left to pluck the used
condom off without spilling the stuff all over the place,
tossing it into an empty Styrofoam cup near the bed, while
Dan crashed down, lying flat on his stomach once more. Jean
stretched out, half lying on top of Dan, shifting to not lie
on the bruises. "What a nice way to
say
good you're alive", he murmured.
"Mmmmm."
Dan mumbled, a slow grin spreading across his face, while
his eyes remained closed. Still breathless, he slightly shifted
his weight. He'd done hell to his bruised ribs, but heck,
it was worth it. "Interesting massage technique you have."
Peering one-eyed, grinning.
Jean
grinned, running a hand down Dan's flank. "Yeah. There
I was, unsuspecting straight guy, and then you get me to massage
you, only to
finalise my corruption."
"I
think you're talking bullshit, Frenchie." Dan winked,
stretched slowly, deliberately, with a wince at the rare ache
deep inside. This wasn't what he usually did - but when he
did it, it was damn good.
Jean
laughed and yawned, which was quite an accomplishment. "Fuck,
I made it through the Legion straight, and then comes Mad
Dog." Reaching out to turn the radio down.
"Why,
had any opportunities in the Legion?" Leering, Dan ever
so carefully started to move, he had to change his position
and get his limbs to function again. Sooner or later it was
time to leave Jean's hut anyway.
Jean
shifted, rolling over on his side. "Of course not. All
straight, and hormones and closeness are not a problem, at
all." He grinned. "What do you think?"
"I
think that I rather like the mental image of a whole 'straight'
orgy in the Legion. All buff bastards, one arse more muscular
than the other." Flashing a toothy grin, Dan made it
to sit on the bed, hand on Jean's hip, stroking the smooth
flesh without thinking.
Jean
laughed. "Thanks
that gives my happy memories
a new dimension. I'll show you some photos if you want. Just
come down to Paris, and I show you more 'muscular arses' than
you could shake a stick at."
Dan laughed,
"Short of me trying to twist and bend down, which is
going to be awkward and painful, what about you coming up
and doing your speciality?" He pointed at his lips with
a toothy grin.
Jean
got up into sitting position, legs dangling over the edge
now, but kissing again, stroking Dan's face and chest, suppressing
a grin every now and then, the kind of pleasantly exhausted
tender grin that showed Jean's world was just fine, thanks
very much.
Dan's
was, too, and when he left the hut an hour later, he was humming
to himself, when he stopped to look at Vadim's hut for a long
time, smiling. He fell asleep within seconds that night.
*
* * * * * *
Lunchtime
the next day, Dan was ambling across the US base, heading
towards the gates of the compound. He'd just finished his
latest briefing. Taking his time, he grinned to himself, in
high spirits despite the boring meeting. The bruised ribs
freshly strapped up, his sore leg and side reminding him of
every single one of his forty-two years, but the strangely
pleasant ache in his arse reminded him of something else entirely.
He was whistling crookedly to himself, left arm dangling,
grubby-white plaster cast scrawled all over with signatures
and silly doodles, right hand in his trouser pockets. Customary
shade over his eyes, he nodded a greeting and grinned good
humouredly here and there to guys he'd never seen before.
Seemed he had turned into something of a celebrity amongst
the Yanks. Saving comrades' lives seemed to have a mellowing
effect on those guys, not a one had mentioned the word 'faggot'.
Not yet anyway.
He stopped
when he first noticed a shadow, then the bulk of a man come
into the centre of his vision. Lifting his head, Dan flashed
an easy-going grin at the guy. Didn't know the man, but recognised
the insignia right away. Delta. US Special Forces. Army. Fairly
tall and dark and strangely reminding him of himself. Ten
years or so ago.
"You're
the one who jumped." The Yank drawled.
Dan nodded,
shrugged.
"You
crashed with the kids."
Dan flashed
a toothy grin.
"You're
the faggot."
Dan huffed
with a short stab of dry laughter. "Aye." Raising
his brows above the shades. "And you?"
"I'm
the opportunist." The Yank pushed his chewing gum from
one side to the other. Tongue darting out from between his
lips.
Dan smirked,
baring his teeth. "In that case, I'm 'waste not want
not'."
The Delta
nodded, pulled a pair of polarised shades out of his tunic
pocket, and slipped them on. "Name's Hooch."
Dan nodded
in acknowledgment. "Dan."
"I
know."
"You
would."
"Am
off duty at 1600 hrs." The Yank gestured with his chin
towards the vehicle area. Rows of bloody big trucks and armoured
personnel carriers.
"Aye."
Dan nodded. He had a temporary pass for the US camp, and no
more briefings scheduled in the afternoon. That would do just
nicely.
Hooch
nodded, tipped his temple with one finger and Dan flashed
one last grin before he continued on his way, whistling loudly.
The deal
was done.
*
* * * * * *
1600
hrs, on the spot, Dan was sauntering through the gates of
the American camp. Once again whistling to himself, this time
with anticipation. Seemed he was getting himself a nice little
harem in this godforsaken place. Who would have known. The
Gulf, a gay bloke's wet dream.
Chuckling
to himself, Dan nodded to a couple of jarheads, and he just
about dodged the attempt at buddy-slapping his bruised left
shoulder. "Hey, careful, this old guy's knackered."
They laughed, and once again Dan marvelled at the youth of
those kids. Babies, no more, just like Chris.
Shit,
Chris Johnson, he hadn't managed to find out how the chopper
crew was doing. He had to risk being late for his 'rendezvous'.
Picking up speed, he made it to the admin block, finding an
Officer who was able to give him the latest stats. Johnson
had been flown back home once he was stable enough, and all
they knew was that the kid was going to make it. Martinez
and Jackson were doing well, with the pilot in a military
hospital, and Gary still in camp, taking it easy with the
concussion, waiting for some well deserved R&R back home.
Dan smiled with satisfaction, thanked the man, who was about
to express his gratitude once more. Cut short with a nod and
a "cheers" from Dan, before he hurried back to the
vehicle park.
Damn,
1615 hrs, he was late, and if he was unlucky, his chance for
a quick stint of mutual wanking had come and gone. Still,
he was in a damn good mood, humming to himself, as he passed
through the rows of trucks, personnel carriers, and light
armoured vehicles.
The sudden
sound of metal being beaten, once, caught his attention. He'd
counted on the Delta guy finding him, rather than vice versa,
and wasn't disappointed. The flash of polarised shades glinted
in the sun, then a movement, right where a row of armoured
personnel carriers was parked. Dan made it to the second to
last one, furthest away from the hustle of the camp, before
he dodged a fist in a split second, which just about missed
him. Probably deliberately.
"You're
good." The Delta drawled, chewing gum while peeling out
of the shadow. "And late."
Dan shrugged,
didn't attempt to defend himself. "Aye. Old but good."
His eyes
followed the movement of the Yank's chin, indicating the open
door at the back of an M113.
"Like
wine?"
Dan followed
the Delta, who climbed into the vehicle. "Cheese, rather."
Pulling himself inside with his good hand, he was sore, but
managed.
The door
slammed shut behind him and he found himself in the gloom,
watching the other sit down on the metal floor, in front of
the jump seat.
Dan glanced
to the side, made out the five seats along the side he'd known
would be there, and sat on one of them, facing Hooch. Making
himself comfortable, legs braced apart, desert boots firmly
planted.
Two men
sitting opposite to each other, both wearing shades, both
dark haired, both deeply tanned. One of them chewing gum noisily
and dressed in US fatigues, the other in t-shirt and shorts,
made from cut-off old BDUs, plaster-cast left hand and a slow
grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Regarding each other,
checking the opponent while guarding their territory.
Dan broke
the silence first. "How much of an opportunist are you?"
"Depends
on what you offer."
"Not
my arse."
"Mine
neither."
Dan grinned,
lifted his injured hand. "Jerking only one handed."
Hooch
nodded, flashed a grin in return. "What else?"
"I
suck cock."
The Delta's
eyebrows raised beneath the shades. "OK."
"OK?"
"I
do, too."
"Good,
but 69's out. Whole left side's knackered." Dan gave
a short laugh. Lying on his side or kneeling, or in any other
strenuous position and one-handed giving head? Wasn't worth
it. Far too acrobatic, anyway.
Hooch
nodded, shifted the gum from one side to the other. "OK."
He went from the floor onto his knees, moving purposefully
closer to Dan. "Show me."
Dan's
grin grew and he shrugged one-sided. "Sure." Deftly
opening waist cord and button with one hand, he fumbled a
moment with the zipper, then lifted his arse off the metal
seat to pull the shirt up with his hand and let the shorts
drop down to his ankles. He had to stay bent in the troop
carrier, too tall, so he sat back down and opened his legs
as wide as the shorts around his ankles allowed. "Passing
inspection?" No underwear, as usual, and his already
interested cock nestled in dark curls above smooth-shaved
flesh.
The Delta
said nothing for a moment, presented with not only the cock
but a mess of scars. He hooked a finger beneath his shades
to push them on top of his forehead. His eyes almost as dark
as Dan's, the two men odd mirrors of each other, just a decade
apart.
"Shrapnel?"
"Aye,"
Dan grinned, amused at both the lack of reaction and the acute
perception. "Suicide bomb, Afghanistan."
Hooch
nodded, shuffled closer until he knelt between Dan's legs.
His callused hand cupped heavy flesh in a strong grip, weighing
the goods. "Shaved nuts. Convenient." He commented
while he let Dan pluck the shades off his forehead, placing
them safely to the side, where they were joined by Dan's own.
Hooch's head lowered, studying Dan's cock without touching,
watching it harden and grow beneath his gaze.
Dan was
intently staring down at the head. It felt a bit surreal,
but his body seemed to take it in stride, reacting to that
weird-ass Delta with interest.
"Good
dick." Hooch took hold of Dan's cock at last, pulled
the foreskin back, studied the crown. "Never had an uncut
one."
Dan chuckled,
but the touch made him gasp, wanting more within split seconds,
impatient. "Get on with it, mate."
Hooch
looked up at the demand, dark eyes meeting in the gloom, and
both men understood that moment how much akin they were to
the other. He silently nodded and spat out the gum before
sucking in Dan's cock, most of the way.
Pulling
in his breath with a hiss, Dan let his head drop forward,
watching the Delta. His face, lips, cheeks hollowing, head
moving, the whole damned skilled technique, and most of all
the mind-blowing sight of his cock vanishing down the man's
throat, to reappear with a strong hand wrapped around its
base. Stroking, before sucking down again.
Gripping
the edge of the metal seat with his good hand, Dan didn't
utter a word, except for nonsensical, suppressed sounds and
his ever increasing, harsh breathing. The sight was intoxicating,
the man a complete stranger sans few words and gestures, kneeling
between his legs. The Delta was giving head like a pro. One
thing Special Forces across the world seemed to have in common:
they never did anything half-way.
Despite
trying his best to hold back and savour the sensations, Dan
felt his abs tighten when the Delta took his balls into a
firm grip, simultaneously rolling, kneading, the other hand
stroking. Those goddamned clever lips and throat of his, with
just the perfect light scrape of teeth, drawing his cock into
the tight and wet heat with a strong suction.
"Shit!"
Dan forced out between clenched teeth as his hips involuntarily
lifted off the bench, pushing towards the mouth that came
down onto his cock in one last, hard, near punishing move,
allowing Dan's cum to spurt down the back of Hooch's throat.
Dan's whole body shuddered in the moment of ecstasy, all muscles
standing out in hard ropes beneath his skin.
"You
swallowed
" Dan managed to gasp out when
he came down from the high, while his cock was licked clean
in one long sweep of tongue and lips. The Delta's hand still
closed around the softening flesh.
"Figured
you're clean." Hooch drawled, "like me." Flashing
a grin. Unspoken the underlying understanding they were both
professional military men, and neither of them would be so
stupid to get themselves killed by their cock.
"Aye."
Dan looked at the man, faces at the same height, when Hooch
drew up, straightened, and sat on his heels.
"Want
to fuck my throat?"
Hooch
raised one brow and one corner of his lips. The lopsided grin
told Dan the answer to an offer no man could refuse.
"That's
a 'yes', then." Dan flashed a grin, gesturing for the
other to stand up, which he did, taking hold of a metal rail
along the roof of the vehicle. Hooch had to stoop as well.
One-handed
fumbling with the Delta's fatigue trousers, Dan's efforts
were quickly aided by the Yank, helping with the unfamiliar
buckle, then pushing camo and briefs down. The cock that sprung
free right in front of Dan's eyes was nicely sized, cut, of
course, and he grinned in appreciation.
"Don't
know why you Yanks chop bits off your cocks, but never mind."
He didn't
wait for an answer, let alone expect one, rolled his neck,
flexed his shoulders a moment and took a breath, relaxing
his throat muscles before he placed his good hand on the Delta's
arse, pushing him forward and between his lips. Dan lifted
his eyes once, met by a gaze from equally dark eyes and the
silent understanding that he was ready and perfectly prepared
to take that cock like a good soldier. And taking he did.
Encouraging
Hooch to use the strength of his hips, while guiding the man
with his hand on buttocks and hip, allowing the Yank to let
lose and fuck his throat, while Dan concentrated on relaxing
and adding suction and tightness as much as he could.
He'd
have never thought he'd enjoy this no-nonsense raw power so
much, the abandon of strangers. The sounds the Delta made,
as suppressed and restraint as his own had been. The near-brutal
force behind the thrusts and the sudden erratic snap of those
lean hips. Dan knew the guy was close and he pushed his head
forward, took the cock as far down as he could without gagging,
accepted - demanded, and let his hand slip between Hooch's
legs, applying harsh pressure.
Hooch
came less than a second later, his head thrown back and his
whole body taut and arched. Silent except for mindless groans
and thrusts, completely out of sync, while Dan swallowed.
For the same reasons of fucked-up logic as the Delta had done.
He let
the man calm down for a moment, before pulling back with a
light slap on one of those smooth and muscular cheeks. Wiping
his lips, Dan looked up with a broad grin. "Not bad for
an afternoon's entertainment."
"Yeah."
Hooch drawled, still gathering his breath, before he appeared
as cool and collected as he had before. "Had fucking
blue balls."
Dan grinned,
pursed his lips with a clucking sound. "Leave the army,
join the Mercs and fuck what you like."
Hooch
shook his head while pulling briefs and trousers up, working
on t-shirt and belt. "The job's good."
"Bet
it is." Dan stood up with a wince, his left side was
aching, but hell it had been worth it. "I loved mine."
He felt he had stretched the extent of possible after-sex
conversation to the limits. Working silently on his own shorts,
pulling them up.
"Two
days same time?" Hooch suddenly asked.
"Not
sure if they'll still let me in, mate."
Hooch
flashed a grin, fishing for a chewing gum. "They will.
Delta requires briefing, too."
Dan raised
his brows while closing the shorts, fiddling with the waist
string. "Do you?"
"Yeah,
like I said, buddy, I'm the opportunist."
"And
you don't miss an opportunity."
"Fucking
correct."
Dan grinned,
picked up his shades and slipped them on. Moving towards the
exit hatch, which Hooch pushed open. He looked around, but
the area was still deserted, so he scrambled out of the M113.
Turning his head before walking off. "Two days, 1600
hrs. And keep that thought."
He was
whistling all the way back into camp.
*
* * * * * *
Vadim
rapped his knuckles on Dan's metal door. Scrubbed up a little,
shaved, clean clothes, not too obvious, and he was fucked,
because Dan would still see he'd made an effort. Had struggled
what to wear, whether he should just cancel the thing and
go alone. Felt stupid with the manila envelope in his hand.
Feared Jean would be inside, he'd interrupt something there,
and felt a stab of nauseous fear at the thought. Not Jean.
Not him. Anybody else, but not fucking Jean.
Inside,
Dan looked up, surprised, didn't expect anyone to come along
at that time. Barely 1800 hours, the guys would still be at
work. He was naked, just about to jump under the showers,
the plastic bag for his plaster on the chair. "Aye?"
Didn't
have a god to ask for mercy or barter with. Instead, Vadim
rapped again. "Dan?" Not Lapushka, not Teamleader
McFadyen. Just Dan. "Have ... a word?"
Vadim.
Dan stood still for a moment, warring between relishing the
voice and a strange sensation of dread.
Vadim.
"Just
a sec!" He called out, snatched the towel he'd been about
to wrap around his hips and did exactly that. Wearing nothing
else except for the obligatory pair of flip flops as he opened
the door.
"Come
in." He smiled, couldn't help it. Oh shit, since when
had he turned into Pavlov's dog, either snarling, biting or
tail wagging and tongue lapping, depending on what his Russkie
was set for him to feel?
"Haven't
seen you since the night we came back." Waiting for Vadim
to step inside. Dan noticed everything. The clothes, the smell
of freshly showered skin, the hair and eyes and skin ... again
just skin
like an LP stuck on repeat.
"How
are you?"
I'm fucking
scared. I'm so fucking scared, thought Vadim, and looked away.
"Getting better. Got ... too much sun, is all."
Saw Dan's toes and shins, the beginnings of the scars on one
leg. Forced to look up. Remembered that English meant that
no real answer was expected. How are you was answered with
I'm fine, thank you, how are you. "I mean, I'm good.
You?"
Closing
the door behind them, Dan tilted his head, regarding Vadim
from head to toe. Looking, truly looking, without hatred and
without emotions threatening to drown or suffocate him. Just
looking and seeing a man he hardly knew. His voice softened
without being aware of it. "I'm fine, really am. Just
the bruises and stuff." He shrugged lopsidedly. "You
wanted to talk to me?" Indicating the bed, the only place
to sit down.
"Yes."
Vadim looked at the bed, knew he didn't want to smell Dan,
didn't want to imagine him lying there. Made a step towards
the bed. Didn't want to sit down. "I ... just ..."
Hard, fucking hard, worse than pulling a bullet out of a mess
of blood and splintered bone. "Have a look at this, and
... let me know what you think." Adopting the pattern
of the doctor, the easy, noncommittal, but heartfelt way to
present evidence - or anything else. His case. Offering the
envelope to Dan, who took it with a quizzical look on his
face. "All booked, paid, if you ... want to. No ... pressure.
Nothing. Just ... R&R."
"R&R?"
Dan stood for a moment, staring uncomprehendingly at Vadim,
expecting further explanations. When none of them came forth,
he sat down on the bed. Indicating the chair when Vadim remained
standing. "Just put the plastic bag to the side, it's
for the plaster."
Vadim
took the plastic and sat down, slowly enough to look reluctant.
At least not the bed. He just knew that given half a chance
- no, no chance at all, he'd still try to get more. And that
was not an option. Dan didn't belong to him anymore, whatever
the feeling, whatever the history. We can try and be friends,
thought Vadim, knowing he was clutching at straws. Just spend
time together - just be like we were, bantering, silent, comfortable.
It was the comfort he missed most, feeling at ease in somebody's
presence when his own presence was often unbearable and sometimes
pure horror.
Opening
the envelope's flap, Dan shook out a stack of colourful brochures.
Blue skies, sea, sun and palm trees immediately caught his
attention. Beach, sand and ever more sun. "What the fuck?"
Murmured under his breath, he stared at the brochures in disbelief
when one word jumped at him. Thailand. "Oh my
."
Breathed out, he began to smile, somewhat bewildered.
Vadim
noticed his own tension, shoulders and chest stiff, stomach
a knot of tightness. Looked good, but he feared the 'no thanks'.
Feared the mockery that this was exactly the place some others
of Jean's crew used to unwind.
Dan was
leafing through the letters of confirmation, then flicking
through the colourful pages. 'R&R' was not the proper
term for this luxury: two bungalows, all inclusive, right
at the beach, and the flight was in three days. Leisure and
beauty treatments, food, drink and sports. Not that he could
do the latter, and he chuckled at the idea of frequenting
a beauty farm. Yet it all came back in a flash: the way Vadim
had liked to be shaved smooth, and how he had loved the water,
back in the Hamam. Water and steam, the laughter, the tenderness,
the
Lapushka. Dan felt a long-drawn pain in
his chest, but when he finally looked up, his smile had grown.
Two bungalows, two. There really was no pressure and he had
time, at last. They had time.
"Two
weeks in Thailand? You're blowing your first pay check, aye?"
His dark eyes gleamed in the half-dusk, catching the filtered
light. "It looks fantastic. Better than anything I would
have come up with."
Not my
idea, thought Vadim, but was strangely proud. The place had
sold him in an instant. "Might ... help you carry your
luggage." He tried a smile, wasn't sure it looked natural,
felt relief that washed everything else away. "Took liberty
to tell them you're not ... vegetarian."
Dan scrutinised
the smile, before catching the words. He suddenly laughed.
Easy to remember the light hearted moments, he just had to
cling to them. "I sure as hell am not. 'Vegetarian: ancient
word for lousy hunter'." He winked.
Vadim
gave a laugh and shook his head. It hadn't occurred to him
that people could be that, vegetarian, and he had to check
a dictionary when they had asked.
"Did
you also tell them that I take two desserts, at least?"
Dan grinned, joking. Yet unable to shake off one thought:
Vadim, I don't know you anymore. The man sitting there felt
like a stranger. But hell, he was going to get to know that
man. Nothing would keep him from it, and the bullet was a
promise |