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Title: Consolidated
Author: heartofslash
Fandoms: Black Hawk Down D-Tech and Army of Two, with mentions of The Pirate Way and the Boondock Saints.
Rating: R
Note - this is a repost, so yes, you might have read it. I'm just trying to keep all the details sorted out in my head and this will help.
Disclaimer: Hoot and Sanderson were composites, hence there’s no way they could ever open their own business, so this is obviously fiction, based loosely on some movies I enjoyed. Grimes is a composite too. All references to other fandoms are not meant to piss anyone off or make any profit, I’m just having a giggle.
Note: This consolidates almost all the fandoms in which I often write (except Star Wars and LOTR, because it’s not a crackfic.) And I’ve already established that Albert Laurent was the guy Hoot knocked out in the alley in the original D-Tech. I don’t know why I’m experiencing this anal compulsion to tie up loose ends, but look on the bright side – when anal is involved, good things almost always happen.
Summary: Hoot and Sanderson have just left the army and are setting up their business, so it takes place in 1998, in a house owned by one newly-civilianized Jefferson Sanderson, not too far from Fort Benning, … and is totally dedicated to lionflame, because she rocks my world and she wrote a Hoot/Garrison to die for.
The Long Haul: Consolidated
The first thing Hoot notices is the coffee can hidden discreetly behind the stately wooden armchair on the veranda. So. Sanderson expects him to do his smoking outside. He can go along with that. It adds to the professional atmosphere.
The veranda has been painted and the broken railing mended. The ripped screening has been replaced. The hall is painted a soothing taupe, and the door to the waiting room bears a simple black and red sign.
D-Tech Security.
He likes it.
Hoot walks through the waiting room with its plain chairs and small desk, to the inner office. Sanderson has his feet on the desk. He’s reading the paper.
Hoot sits in the chair obviously meant for the client. He approves of the furniture, solid and dark, as well as its arrangement. The back of the desk chair is to the wall, but it’s not in the corner or close to a window, and from it Sanderson has a clear view of the entire room, including both exits and the alcove lined with shelves containing office and other supplies.
“How was Cuba?” Sanderson asks without looking up.
“Good,” Hoot says. “I did the thing with the guy and he’s happy.”
Sanderson peers over the top of the paper. “Squared away?”
“All clear.”
Sanderson looks relieved.
“Place looks great. You fix the roof?”
“Yesterday. I’m picking up a two year old truck tomorrow. Got a great price because there’s a bit of a dent in the driver’s side quarterpanel, but don’t worry, the axle’s fine. Just looks intimidating.”
Hoot nods. He’s not entirely happy about a dented vehicle, but they are on a budget. And a little extra intimidation never hurts.
“Any other news?”
Sanderson rustles the paper as he folds it. “You remember a navy guy, James Norrington, we met him up in Maine on that training thing, then the thing on the west coast?”
Hoot thinks a bit. Norrington. West coast. He gets a sudden image of a dilapidated fishing boat and a girl with machine gun. “Yeah, navy guy. Dark hair, hated smoking, stick up his ass.”
“That’s the one,” Sanderson confirms.
“Huge dick,” Hoot adds. Just because he can.
Sanderson gets up abruptly. “Really?” he says. He’s trying to sound casual about it, but it’s easy to tell he’s interested.
“Some of us went for a swim after. While you and Griz were climbing that stupid monument.”
“It wasn’t a stupid monument; it was a temple to the sun god!”
“Whatever,” Hoot says. Sanderson has always refused to tell him just what happened on that monument, and why it was almost two whole days before he and Griz got back to base camp.
Sanderson pours a cup of coffee from the pot on the warming pad beside the alarm panel. “So,” he says as he stirs in the sugar. “You and Norrington?”
Hoot laughs. He can never keep up this kind of teasing. “Not in a million years. Don’t think that guy even likes guys. Sorry to disappoint; I only caught the briefest glimpse. It’s a doozy, though.”
Sanderson chuckles. “He did carry himself like he’s hung.”
“Did?” Hoot asks, interior alarm bells going off.
“He’s gone.”
Dead? Shit. Norrington was uptight, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t likeable.
“Missing.” Sanderson grimaces, at the idea of a colleague, stick up his ass or not, going missing or at the horribleness of the coffee, Hoot can’t tell.
Missing’s better than dead.
“Vanished into thin air. Or sea. In the Bermuda Triangle,” Sanderson says. “He was delivering the ransom for his boss’s kid. Poof. Him and the money, gone.”
“You think he…?”
“Norrington? Naw. He’d never take the money and run. Too damn honest. The boat sank. Or he’s been snatched by someone.”
Damn. Private security could be a risky business. “That all in the paper?” Hoot asks.
“Not a word. Smecker told me about it.”
Smecker? “When the hell did you see Smecker?”
“Had to go to Washington couple days back to do some paperwork. Pension and shit.”
Early retirement was a bitch. It was one reason they had to be careful with expenses, buy a used truck, have their office in this house. Hoot accepts a cup of coffee and tries out the couch. Not bad. Nicely worn brown leather but not ratty. Solid frame. He wonders if it’s solid enough to withstand a couple of horny ex-Deltas.
Sanderson picked it out; it must be.
“So, how is Special Agent Smecker?” he asks before sipping his coffee.
Oh, it was the coffee that made Sanderson grimace. Definitely. It’s truly awful. Hoot wants to spit it out, but the carpet is new. He swallows.
“Secretive. As usual. I don’t know about that guy. He’s hiding something.”
“Well, I don’t want to know what,” Hoot says firmly. “Do not fuck with the FBI, man. We might need them one day.”
Sanderson agrees. And he dumps the remainder of his coffee into a potted plant.
“Hey, what did that plant ever do to you?” Hoot jokes. He puts his coffee cup on the windowsill.
The phone rings and Sanderson answers it. A few terse sentences and he hangs up. “Interview in half an hour,” he says. “We need someone to manage the office. Answer the phone. Handle communications. Paperwork.”
“We can’t afford that,” Hoot says.
“We have to. It’ll be cool. He’s willing to work part time to start. Just be thankful we don’t have to pay any rent on this house.”
Hoot’s been wondering about that for months. “How did you come to own the house, anyway?” He had known that Sanderson was married, very briefly, back when he’d just finished training, but he hadn’t known about the house until they started seriously discussing the idea of setting up shop together. “Is your ex, like, our silent partner.”
“You think I’m crazy?” Sanderson asks. “Last I heard, she was living in an ashram in Northern California, imitating the Earth Goddess or something. She’s way out of the picture.”
“So, how’d you end up with the house?”
“It was too much hassle to sell it when we split up. We didn’t want to break the mortgage. So I bought her out after Malloy… he left me some dough. It was an insurance policy. We’d signed up for them one night when we were drunk. I had no idea he’d kept up the payments until after.”
Wow. Sanderson had never told Hoot. Or probably anyone.
“It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to get my name alone on the mortgage. I finished paying it off a couple of years ago. So there’s nothing to worry about.”
Cool. So long as he doesn’t have to deal with Sanderson’s exes.
“We have less than half an hour.” And there’s Sanderson in his face. On his lap. “What do you say we test drive the couch?”
“I was thinking something along those lines.” Hoot doesn’t find the taste of the coffee nearly so bad when he's sucking it off Sanderson’s tongue. He can taste the sweet under the bitter. It might taste that good because of the moans Sanderson is making. It has been almost three weeks. Hoot grabs Sanderson’s hips and grinds their hard cocks together.
“Fuck, I missed you,” Sanderson breathes in his ear. “I was worried you were going to visit Eversmann and Blackburn and then you wouldn’t come back.”
Hoot shifts his ass forward so he can get more contact with Sanderson. From cock to chest, they press together. “I went to see them. Nothing happened. They’re in…” he tilts up and gasps from the pressure. “They’re in fucking love or something. I didn’t want to intrude.”
Sanderson fumbles with Hoot’s belt. “Good, good,” he mutters. Probably doesn’t even know he said it. “Give me your cock,” he urges.
Who is Hoot to argue with that? He wriggles his pants down and sees red when Sanderson sucks him in and hollows his cheeks. “Jesus, Jeff, you starved or something?” he grunts.
Sanderson mumbles around Hoot’s cock. Doesn’t matter what he’s saying. The mumbling vibrates around the head and sends a shockwave down the shaft into Hoot’s balls.
“Fuck, yes,” Hoot groans.
“No time for a proper fuck,” Sanderson says against Hoot’s belly and then he’s back sitting on Hoot’s lap, but he’s got his cock out and he’s lining it up with Hoot’s. “Three weeks with only my hand,” he groans.
Hoot tries to be cool about this. “What, you didn’t go see Steele?” he teases.
“Out of town,” Sanderson wails as Hoot’s hands close around both cocks.
Hoot’s using a two-fisted grip because he’s big and Sanderson’s bigger and he wants the cocks pressed together from root to tip. It’s good. So good, he’s sure he’s going to come first. He knows it, because his vision is starting to blur and Sanderson hasn’t even started to… God, yes, Sanderson has started to move his hips in time with Hoot’s hands. His hands are on Hoot’s shoulders so he can control his movements, and he’s humping Hoot while Hoot’s jerking them both off.
“Now now now!” Sanderson grinds.
Now is right. Hoot’s coming. Now. Coming hard. And feeling Sanderson come too. It’s been too fucking long. Hoot’s whole pelvis is tilting up, fucking against Sanderson’s. He’s completely lost control and it’s a great feeling.
Sanderson falls over him with a rumbling moan, but not without grabbing a couple of napkins from beside the coffeemaker and wiping up the come first, or at least most of it, because they’ve got an interview in about ten minutes.
“Damn,” Hoot says. Just damn.
Sanderson hauls himself off the couch and straightens his clothes. Hoot sprawls for a bit, wishing they’d had time to fuck, but more than happy that they’d had time to do what they did.
Just as well. With that kind of urgency, it would have been the shortest fuck on record. They’ll have time to do it properly later. He has to pull himself together and look intimidating. He gets up and sits in the client chair. The leather of the couch is a bit too warm. And sticky. Not all the come got on the napkins. But somehow it didn’t go all over his clothes, and he’d like to keep them clean, at least until the interview is over.
He gets his breath under control and his heart rate down and tries to get the dopey, just-orgasmed look off his face. He thinks about work. They have to start building up a client base, earning a reputation. Networking, meetings, security conventions, calling a lifetime of contacts and job leads. This office is the base of operations, not a fucking playground. Although they have an apartment upstairs and they’ll certainly be playing around whenever the opportunity presents itself.
The knock on the door is firm but polite. A respectable five minutes early.
“Come in,” Sanderson says from his place behind the desk.
And in walks Specialist John Grimes.
Hoot blinks. “Grimes?” he says.
He’s taller. No, he can’t be taller. Adults don’t get taller. He must only seem taller. Because Hoot’s sitting on the chair, still a bit too shaky to stand? No, Grimes looks taller because he's more fit. His shoulders are squared, he’s got great muscle tone all over, his waist is… Jesus, when the hell did Grimes get a waist that trim? And those hips. Fuck.
“Good afternoon, Sergeant… Mr. Sanderson. Uh…”
Grimes looks down at Hoot.
“Just Hoot,” Hoot says.
“Okay,” Grimes replies. “Hoot.”
His hair is longer. Why wouldn’t it be? But when Hoot had known him before…of course, Hoot barely knew him so he can’t be one hundred percent sure, but didn’t Grimes have a Ranger cut like all the others?
But that was a long time ago, and Grimes, obviously, is not in the army anymore. His hair is down to his collar. And he’s got a bit of a beard. It suits him. It suits him frighteningly well.
But that’s not what’s really different. What’s really different is that Grimes looks… comfortable. No, confident.
“Well, Specialist,” Sanderson begins.
Grimes shakes his head and makes a tsk tsk noise.
“Oh, yeah,” Sanderson says. “What do you prefer? John? Grimes?”
“I’m fine with Grimes. Grimesy, if you like,” Grimes shrugs.
No, Hoot was right the first time. He is comfortable. Which is what makes him more confident. And hotter. So hot. Damn, he wishes he’d had time for more with Sanderson. All this horniness is fucking with his judgment. Not that, objectively, Grimes isn’t hot. He is. Undeniably. But Hoot can normally look at other men without automatically thinking about sex. Even men as hot as Grimes is.
And Grimes is hot. When the fuck did that happen?
Sanderson smiles in that friendly way he has or putting people at ease. “Okay. Grimes. Would you like a seat?”
Grimes glances at the couch and Hoot is sure he can see his nose crinkle just a bit.
“I’ll stand, thanks,” Grimes says.
Smart boy. That couch is probably swarming with Delta pheremones. They’d get all over those nice black pants and crisp blue button-up shirt. Jesus, Grimes looks good in nice black pants and a crisp blue button-up shirt.
Hoot might have to take a large gulp of that horrendous coffee to shock his brain into professional mode.
“I’ve been talking with your former employers. They all seem quite impressed by your organization and communication skills, and your upgrading in computers is certainly impressive.”
“Thank you. I’ve taken some useful courses over the last few years.”
“The estate you settled was quite an undertaking.”
“Yes, it was. And it was very interesting and rewarding. I was sorry when it was done, but I wouldn’t have been very good at it if I couldn’t get through it all.” Grimes smiles in a self-deprecating way, and his hair falls over his eye and Hoot doesn’t even care what the job was or what Grimes can do; all he knows is he wants to be Grimes’ boss.
“Can you handle the accounting?”
“You’ll still need an accountant, but I can do all the day-to-day bookkeeping. I took a couple of courses and handled all the books for the McCartle estate. If there’s a specific program you’d like me to use, I’m confident I can pick it up quickly.”
When was Grimes ever this competent? He was a company clerk. Company clerks don’t have to be competent, they just have to not be fighters.
Except Grimes had been a fighter. Sanderson had told Hoot all about him; he’d been fierce, once he got going.
“Right,” Sanderson said. “Ms. McKnight mentioned that when I phoned her.”
McKnight?
Hoot’s trying to follow all this, but the position of office manager or secretary or whatever Grimes is supposed to be applying for, is news to Hoot, and he certainly had no idea that John fucking Grimes was going to apply for it, and he had no idea that Grimes was in town, or that he’d done any upgrading, or that he looked so fucking hot in snug black trousers with his mostly straight but with a slight wave auburn-ish hair and his so tempting bit of a beard and those hips, jesus fuck, how had he hidden those hips in nothing but an army uniform?
McKnight???
“And how is the Colonel?” Sanderson is using his casual voice, but his back is straight and tensed.
Grimes looks from Sanderson to Hoot and back again. “Colonel?” he asks politely.
“Come on, Grimes. You didn’t think I’d interview anyone for a position this sensitive without doing a thorough background check, did you?”
Grimes shifts from one foot to the other. He’s nervous. Not so comfortable anymore. And it looks even better on him than his previous ease. “He seems fine. I see him around.”
Sanderson shakes his head. “Never offer any more intel than you’ve been asked for, Grimes. You say, ‘He seems fine,’ and I say ‘When did you see him last?’ You say ‘I think it was a few nights ago at Miss McKnight’s.’ If I ask why you were at Miss McKnight’s, you mumble something about her inviting you over for dinner, but say it like she really invited you over to spend the night. Then I’ll draw my own conclusions of the nature of your relationship with the sister, and not suspect for an instant that you’ve been living with the Colonel for five years, almost ever since you left the army.”
Colonel McKnight, as in Colonel Danny McKnight???
Grimes clears his throat.
“Don’t worry,” Sanderson says. “I’m not going to tell on your boyfriend. Not unless you decide to insult me by pretending he’s not your boyfriend.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you, Sergeant. I just… it’s not something I…”
Hoot wants to put his arms around Grimes and make him feel better. Poor kid’s trembling.
Sanderson gets up, and Grimes jumps a bit.
“First, stop calling me that. Call me Jeff. Second, I don’t give a rat’s ass who you fuck, but I’ll need you to sign a confidentiality agreement and you can’t discuss any cases with Colonel McKnight. But you can tell him who you’re working for, if he asks. Third, can you start right away. I mean, right after he ships out day after tomorrow.”
Grimes nods.
What the fuck?
“Could you give us a moment, please, Grimes?”
“Sure thing.”
Grimes is out the door in a flash, and Hoot is left gaping at Sanderson.
“What the fuck?” Hoot finally says.
“One – he has the skills we need to keep the office running smoothly. Computers, bookkeeping, good phone manner, ability to organize and prioritize. Two – his experience in the army. He knows the lingo, he’s seen action, he won’t be afraid of anything we throw at him. Three – he’s discreet. You would not believe how hard I had to dig to find any solid proof about him and Danny McKnight. The army has no fucking clue. Not even Steele could confirm it when I did my research. He strongly suspected, because he saw them together a couple of times, but he had no proof, you know?”
“I thought Steele was out of town.”
“He is. I talked to him on a secure line. Four – Grimes has been handling McKnight for the last five years, so he’ll be able to deal with us, no problem. He’s not afraid of a little testosterone.”
“That’s a lot of assets,” Hoot observes.
“But not the most important one.”
Hoot half-hopes the most important asset has something to do with the way those black pants hug Grimes’ ass, because it’s really a very nice ass.
“We hire Grimes and our office will have the best coffee in town.”
Oh, yeah. Hoot’s stomach does a little gurgle. The bad coffee isn’t sitting in it all that well. It wants something smooth and rich.
“Okay,” Hoot says.
“But you can’t have him,” Sanderson warns.
“Huh?”
“I saw the way you were looking at him, Hoot. Forget it. You can’t touch him. He’s our office manager. Strictly business.”
That makes sense. Trust and honor and professional relationships and all that. Crap.
“Besides, McKnight would kill you.”
Yeah, right, Hoot thinks. Like McKnight could hurt Hoot.
“With his bare hands,” Sanderson adds.
Hoot thinks it over.
Sanderson’s right. McKnight would kill him. And why not? Grimes would be worth killing for, if he fucks anywhere near as good as he looks right now.
Grimes is back in the office, and Hoot is determined to look at him in a strictly professional, totally business-like way.
Until Grimes offers to make some coffee right away, and he has to bend down to get a filter from the cupboard, and Hoot watches the pants tighten around his ass.
Sanderson elbows Hoot hard in the ribs.
The coffee is fantastic. They talk about this and that. Grimes is relaxed and confident again. He says he’ll see them in three days and is at the door.
Grimes turns just before he leaves. “And by the way, Danny is excellent.”
Sanderson grins. “Good to hear it, Grimes.”
Grimes nods and is gone.
“Poor kid. No telling how long McKnight’ll be gone,” Sanderson sighs.
“Where’s he going?”
“Couldn’t find out for sure. I don’t think even Grimes knows. I suspect Liberia.”
“Shit.”
“He’ll be back though. Doesn’t matter how heavy the action is. McKnight’ll be back.”
“How do you know?”
“Shit, Hoot. If you had that waiting for you, wouldn’t you be back no matter what?”
Ah hah! It’s not just Hoot!
“Jefferson,” Hoot asks, “am I mistaken, or did you just hire us a pretty secretary with gorgeous eyes and a great ass?”
Sanderson shrugs. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you’re starting a new business?”
Hoot figures the real reason Sanderson hired Grimes is so Hoot will be in a perpetual state of arousal.
Hoot knows just what to do to resolve his current state of arousal. That’ll have to do for now.
Sanderson’s fingers dig into the smooth leather on top of the couch as Hoot slides into his slick ass. Sanderson thought of everything when he set up the office. There are condoms and lube stashed in two separate locations. And the couch is more than up to the task of holding up two horny ex-Deltas. It doesn’t even creak when Hoot starts fucking Sanderson hard and fierce.
Hoot has one knee on the couch, and the other foot on the floor for leverage, and Sanderson is kneeling on the couch with his belly and hard cock smacking against the back. His ass is tight and hot and all the things Hoot loves about Sanderson’s ass, and he’s rocking back to meet Hoot’s thrusts.
This is better than any fucking they’ve ever done before, because for once they don’t have to worry at all about anyone walking in on them and getting them fired. They’ve got their own business now, and though it might be hard to concentrate on the business instead of on fucking, he knows that once they settle in, get into a routine, get used to Grimes being around, they’ll only be having sex once or twice a day. There will be plenty of time to get the work done. After all, they’ve trained. They’re the best in the world.
Sanderson is certainly the best in the world at what he’s doing, which is getting fucked in the ass in a outstandingly rough fashion by a horny ex-Delta. He’s moaning and telling Hoot to give it to him harder, when there is no harder. Any harder and Hoot’ll be on the other side of the couch.
Maybe that jerking off wasn’t such a good idea after all. They’ve both got a little too much stamina.
Or maybe something special is called for. After all, it’s their first fuck in their new office.
He reaches around to grab Sanderson’s cock and flips them over, so Sanderson is sitting in his lap, facing out, grinding his ass down on Hoot’s cock. Even for Hoot, that’s not easy. Sanderson is heavy. Solid. Fucking built like the badass soldier he is.
Sanderson arches. Hoot’s too big to sit on all of a sudden like that. Sanderson writhes a bit and hooks his ankles around Hoot’s calves and leans so his back flattens against Hoot’s chest and his head is tilted so far back he must be looking at the ceiling. Hoot fists Sanderson’s cock steadily.
He cups one hand under Sanderson’s balls and squeezes lightly, enjoying the way Sanderson’s insides ripple around his cock. He sinks his teeth into Sanderson’s shoulder. Hoot loves the way Sanderson’s ass clenches when he’s bitten. It’s almost enough. Almost perfect.
Hands settle on his thighs, under Sanderson’s thighs, and Sanderson starts to lift himself up and let his weight drop on Hoot’s cock.
Okay. That’s it. Perfection achieved. No amount of fortitude or training or biofuckingfeedback can hold back this orgasm. Hoot lets himself go, but not without speeding his hand on Sanderson’s cock. Multitasking is part of an ex-Delta’s skillset. The contractions of Sanderson’s ass around his cock are almost painful, but Hoot can take it. He keeps milking that beautiful cock until there’s nothing left but heavy breathing and a few twitches.
“Welcome to D-Tech,” he drawls.
Sanderson lets out a short, harsh bark of a laugh, which quickly turns into a groan. “I think,” he pants, “I think I’m going to like it here.”
Hoot laughs and that makes Sanderson moan. He really should take his cock out of Sanderson’s ass , but he doesn’t have the energy right now.
Sanderson pulls off him slowly.
“Jesus, Hoot. I wanted to fuck you on the couch for our first time.”
Hoot closes his eyes and smiles. “Give me a little time to recover. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
They’re free men now. They’ve got all the time in the world.
End.
Next: Plenty Pretty
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