|
Title: From Foot to Brow
Author: heartofslash
Fandom/Pairing: BHD, Hoot/Sanderson
Rating: Oh, I don’t think I’d write Hoot/Sanderson having sex without going all out for NC-17, would I?
Warnings: Ummmmm… too much talking between bouts of sex, but hey, they’re not 18 year olds. Ingestion of fluids. Hand porn. Oh, yeah, a little bit of… spanking!
Disclaimer: Hoot and Sanderson are composite characters, so this is obviously false and just for FUN. I intend no violation of copyright. I only violate the hot, hypothetical men.
Beta: Cayce P.
Note: This fic consolidates most of my BHD fics. This happens after “Howl”, which happened after “According to Plan”, and it comes way before the “D-Tech” fics, but also references Diversion/Recon and the The Pretty/Lucky/Pretty Lucky trilogy. Phew!
Summary: You are the truth from foot to brow…
From Foot to Brow
“Hey, Hoot.”
“Yeah?”
“You still got that thing going with Eversmann and Blackburn?”
“What thing? There’s no thing.”
“There was a thing.”
“Yeah. Well. The thing was…”
Sanderson wished he could see Hoot’s face, but it was too dark in the tent. “Was?”
“Does it bother you?” Hoot asked.
“Not if it’s not a thing.”
“But what if it was?”
“I thought you said it isn’t?”
“I don’t know.” Hoot sounded befuddled.
“Sorry I brought it up.”
“That’s okay, Jeff. You had every right to.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Actually, you do.”
“Not if it’s a was.”
“But what if it isn’t?”
“Isn’t what?”
“I don’t know.”
Sanderson briefly considered asking ‘who’s on first?’ Just to lighten the mood.
He didn’t want to get into this kind of shit. What happened by the fire had been so good, so fucking ideal, he didn’t want to spoil it. He’d only meant to be curious, but he’d turned out to be annoying. Damn.
To be honest, the idea of serious, upright Matt Eversmann being corrupted by Hoot was a total turn-on. The two of them side-by-side, eye-to-eye, even fully clothed with empty hands visible, would be a breathtaking sight.
And the idea of the kid, the pretty kid with that beautiful mouth, with just about anyone was enough to get Sanderson hard.
But the idea of Blackburn sandwiched between Hoot and Eversmann was enough to make his come boil.
He didn’t know many details. He knew there had been a couple of visits to the medical tent and a trip to the Fort Benning medical facility after they returned to the States. He knew about Hoot and Eversmann sneaking off together back in Africa. Ten minutes here, twenty minutes there. But he’d never outright asked about it. That would be rude.
Sanderson tried to imagine what it would be like for Blackburn, wounded and immobile and the object of Hoot’s intense attention. He tried to imagine a straight-ahead, noble young guy like Eversmann having his strict, morally upright universe turned upside-down by Hoot and his voracious never-resting mouth.
Those poor kids. They probably still didn’t know what’d hit them.
Eversmann would cope. He might even try to keep Hoot in line.
But Blackburn would be in fucking love.
“I think he’s in love,” Hoot said.
“Mmm?” Sanderson asked.
“Blackburn.”
Sanderson had figured.
“I don’t want to mess things up for them.”
“Huh?”
“The kid’s hurt bad. Matt can help him heal. It would be selfish to come between them.”
“Whoa. What? Who’s in love?” Sanderson felt a bit dizzy.
“Eversmann,” Hoot said, as if it were obvious.
“What about Blackburn?”
“He’s just a kid. What does he know about love?”
“What about you?”
“Me? I’m not in love,” Hoot said. “I just have a thing for them. Both of them. Matt’s got this hand thing…”
Hand thing?
“He likes getting his hands done.” Hoot sounded wistful. “It’s fucking hot.”
What the hell was getting your hands done? Sanderson wanted to know.
“And Blackburn is pretty,” Hoot sighed dramatically. “I like the pretty. But it’s just a thing, you know. Nothing permanent.”
Hoot liked the pretty. Figured.
“So, it’s over,” Sanderson guessed.
“Oh.” Hoot let the open vowel hand in the air for a bit. “I don’t know about that. I might want to visit’em every now and then.”
Sanderson kind of figured that, too.
“Is that a problem?” Hoot asked.
They were back to this again.
“No,” Sanderson said truthfully. “I think…” He didn’t know if he should say what he really thought. He didn’t have the right to an opinion if the was going to be that shallow.
“You’d want to watch, if you could,” Hoot said smugly.
“Shut up,” Sanderson replied. Hoot always thought he knew everything.
“Hell, I’d invite you to join in, Jeff, but I think anything more than three might be Matt’s breaking point.”
Sanderson refused to even consider four. It would make his balls hurt too much.
But he still wanted to know what getting your hands done entailed.
“Not like you’ve been pining all by your lonesome,” Hoot remarked.
Sanderson really wished it wasn’t so dark.
“You and Steele,” Hoot said.
Sanderson was suddenly grateful for the lack of illumination.
Steele was an issue. Soft point. Blind spot. Sanderson’s weakness.
“Hardly a blushing virgin, are you?” Hoot said in a pouty tone.
Was Hoot… was Hoot jealous?
He had no right to be. Not if he was dallying with, or rather had dallied and was open to future dallying with, not one but two hot young Rangers. Who was Hoot to deny Sanderson his grouchy, seasoned captain?
“I saw,” Hoot pouted further.
“Saw what?”
“At the stadium.”
Sanderson had been sure no one had seen.
“You,” Hoot said. “Steele.”
“Fuck, Hoot. You watched?”
Hoot let out a low laugh. “Couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”
Sanderson wished he had.
“At first I couldn’t see what you would want with a stuck up, regular army prick like Steele. But then I saw him bend under you.
Yeah, um… Steele was… pliable, Sanderson thought.
“He’s fucking sexy when he’s like that,” Hoot observed. Perfectly accurately.
Oh, yes, Sanderson thought. Steele was one sexy goddamn bottom.
“I wanted to lick his scalp,” Hoot added.
Lick his scalp.
Sanderson let the words roll around in his brain for a few seconds before they headed straight to his cock.
“You ever lick his scalp?” Hoot asked.
Sanderson couldn’t answer the question. He was too wrapped up remembering Mike Steele’s smooth, hot scalp under his fingertips. He’d kissed it – no, rubbed his lips against it – but he’d never actually licked it.
“You should have,” Hoot said, being a know-it-all again.
“Fuck off,” was all Sanderson could think to say.
Hoot laughed out loud. “Sensitive, aren’t we?”
They stayed on their own sides of the sleeping bag, as much as that was possible, so their backs were touching but not pressing, facing opposite sides of the tent and listening to a medium sized mammal sniff at the remains of the campfire.
Sanderson pushed down the sleeping bag. It was getting hot in there, and while the air in the tent wasn’t cold, it was refreshing.
“So.”
“Did you fuck him?”
“What the fuck is ‘getting your hands done’?”
They were both sitting up now.
“You first,” Hoot insisted.
“Why?”
“Because I really want to know. Did you ever fuck Steele?”
“Did you fuck Eversmann?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Sanderson blinked. Hoot had never fucked Eversmann?
“You fucked Captain Steele?” Hoot asked, his disbelief clear in his voice, and from the fact that he’d used the captain’s rank, something Hoot rarely did.
Sanderson cleared his throat and adjusted his briefs, which were trying to strangle him from the balls up. He didn’t even know why he’d put them back on. Habit, he supposed.
“Yeah,” he said, “I fucked him. And I’d fuck him again.”
Hoot whistled low. “So would I.”
“You can’t fuck him again. You’ve never fucked Steele,” Sanderson pointed out.
“No, but I would.”
“Really? I thought you hated him.”
“Only when he’s on duty.”
Come to think of it, Steele had only let Sanderson fuck him that one time after they got back, when they both had leave. The stadium had been strictly hands. The supply depot as well. The thing in the latrine had involved mouths as well, but no fucking.
“But you didn’t lick his scalp?”
“No,” Sanderson snapped, sincerely wishing he had. “Whose scalp did you lick?”
“Blackburn’s.”
It figured. “Did you fuck him?”
“Hell, no! He’s got internal injuries.”
Good point. “And you’ve never fucked Eversmann?”
“No opportunity,” Hoot sighed. “Plenty of motive, though.
Sanderson could hear the smirk in the dark.
“You suck him off?”
Hoot groaned. “Mostly hand jobs, but yeah, one time I got down on my fucking knees and everything. He’s got a great cock.”
Sanderson didn’t know if that should make him jealous or envious.
“Not as…”
“What?” Sanderson wanted to know.
“Big.”
“Big as what?”
“You.”
“Does size really matter?” Sanderson asked semi-rhetorically.
“It didn’t used to,” Hoot admitted.
Sanderson didn’t speak. Breathe. Or even think.
Until that night you fucked me in the trailer, he waited for Hoot to add.
“I’ve been thinking about you fucking me again,” Hoot said instead. Which was as good, or even better. “Ever since. Even when I was blowing Eversmann.”
“That’s harsh, man.”
“Only fair. He was thinking about Blackburn.”
Sanderson tried to wrap his head around that one.
“Funny thing is, I got so… I was ‘caveman’ about it. That’s what Matt said. All possessive and shit. But you can’t be possessive if you’re not the only other person. You know?”
True. And it’s not as if Hoot could beat the crap out of Blackburn for dividing Eversmann’s attentions, what with the internal injuries and all.
Hoot should at least resent him, but he probably couldn’t bring himself to do even that because, as Hoot has pointed out, Hoot liked the pretty. And Blackburn was about as pretty as a man can get in uniform.
“Are you going to stop analyzing shit and fuck me, or what?” Hoot asked.
Sanderson didn’t have to think long. He lifted his hand and ran it down Hoot’s back, and worked his fingers under Hoot’s boxers. Hmmm. Habit. You don’t sleep in the nude ever when you’re used to sleeping with a hundred other guys. Hoot turned to face him and shoved himself up a bit so Sanderson’s hand would cover more of his ass. Their chests touched.
“What’s ‘getting your hand done’?” Sanderson had to ask.
Hoot was sucking the peak of Sanderson’s left bicep. “Mmm? It’s an Eversmann thing,” he mumbled, and continued to raise a purple mark on the thick muscle.
An Eversmann thing. What the hell did that mean? It was tall? It was all-American? It was idealistic and earnest to the point of delirium?
“Okay, but what is it? Can you do it to me?”
“Why limit me, Jeff? Why ever limit anything? You are the truth from foot to brow / Now what else would you like to know?”
“Is that more Rumi?”
“You bet your ass,” Hoot said as he nibbled the inside of Sanderson’s elbow.
Sanderson momentarily forgot abut Eversmann and the hand thing. Hoot was licking everywhere, Sanderson’s arm and shoulder and neck and nipple, making him crazy, making him want to fuck Hoot. Just like Hoot wanted him to want.
“Damn, you’re good,” Sanderson muttered half under his breath.
Hoot licked a stripe up the center of Sanderson’s chest. “No, I’m bad,” he said. “That’s why I’m so popular.
Sanderson couldn’t not think about Hoot’s popularity, and since that meant thinking about Blackburn and Eversmann, it made Sanderson want more details.
Details are like candy. Can’t stop at one. They add variety. Flavor. Once you’ve devoured one, you want another. They get you hyped up, high, but then the sugar wears off… you need more.
“The hand thing, Hoot.”
“One track fucking mind,” Hoot growled.
Sanderson had had enough. He wasn’t an impatient man, ordinarily, but Hoot was teasing him. He slapped Hoot’s ass sharply.
Hoot laughed. “You attempting to apply force, Sergeant?”
Sanderson rubbed his palm over the warmest part of Hoot’s ass, right where he’d slapped him. “A little gentle persuasion,” he explained.
“That don’t work on the likes of me,” Hoot drawled.
Sanderson slapped Hoot’s ass. Hard.
Hoot pushed his hips forward to brush his cock against Sanderson’s cock.
Sanderson slapped again. And again. Really hard.
Hoot roared and grabbed Sanderson’s slapping hand.
It was hot. It had already been made hot by the slaps. Hoot’s mouth set it on fire. Hoot sucked a couple of fingers into his mouth, but his tongue went past his lips to probe at the space between fingers, where they met Sanderson’s hand.
Nice finger thing.
Hoot stopped sucking and started licked between fingers full time.
Fucking nice finger thing.
Hoot stuck out his whole tongue and licked across Sanderson’s entire palm.
Oh. That hand thing, Sanderson thought in a daze.
Sanderson brought his other hand up to Hoot’s mouth so he could put the wet fingers of the first hand in Hoot’s ass.
The hand thing got faster. Wetter. Better. Fucking better.
Something rubbery was rolled onto Sanderson’s cock at the same time his briefs were shoved all the way down. Something cool and slick was squirted on him.
Sanderson got Hoot on his hands and knees, and his cock in Hoot’s asshole, before he discovered the flaw in that plan; the tent was not made to contain that level of rambunctious activity on the part of two guys that big.
Sanderson convinced Hoot to lie flat. He stretched out on Hoot’s back, cock mostly inside Hoot, but not all that deeply, because Hoot’s ass was in the way.
Hoot didn’t have a small, pert little ass like Sanderson imagined Blackburn to have. And he didn’t have a compact, neat ass like the one he imagined was beneath Eversmann’s fatigues. It wasn’t as rock hard as Steele’s ass either. Hoot’s ass was round and full, and pressing his groin against it made Sanderson need to come so bad his teeth chattered, even if he couldn’t get his cock all the way in.
He couldn’t keep his hand in Hoot’s mouth and get leverage at the same time. Sacrifices would have to be made. His fingers twitched wetly in the air before they grasped Hoot’s shoulder.
“Oh, yeah,” Hoot groaned. “Fuck me hard.”
Was there any other way to fuck Hoot?
Sanderson thrust in and out of Hoot’s ass like it was his life’s only purpose. This was as close to perfect as sex ever got, so it was a shame it couldn’t last longer.
Sanderson howled when he came.
Hoot howled when Sanderson came.
Hoot rolled over fast and shoved Sanderson’s hand between his legs. “More hand thing,” he announced.
Sanderson moved his hand on Hoot’s cock until Hoot arched his back and shot all over it.
The hand thing started again, with Hoot slurping his own come off Sanderson’s hand.
Fuck. So that was why the kid had looked so sad when they loaded him on the plane for home. And that was why Eversmann had become so weird those last couple of days in the Mog, not letting anyone get alone with Hoot.
Hoot finished lapping the last bits of come off Sanderson’s thumb. “Not my thing,” he said. “It’s hot, and I like it, but really it’s Matt’s thing.”
Sanderson didn’t mind sharing.
“It’s a fucking great thing,” he said.
“Yeah, but it’s not the only thing.” Hoot wrapped his long legs around Sanderson’s long legs and pressed their foreheads together. They shared breath for a while.
“Jefferson?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re the only person I’ve ever recited poetry to.”
Sanderson’s heart skipped a beat.
After they leave the army, Hoot and Sanderson start their own security company. You can read about the early days of D-Tech starting with D-Tech: Consolidated, or you can start with a particularly yummy D-Tech assignment in D-Tech: The Russian.
Back to: Soldier Porn
|
|
