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Title: Lucky
Author: Haleth
Fandom/Pairing: Black Hawk Down, Hoot/Eversmann
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Has absolutely nothing to do with the real life men the book and movie were based on. Nada. Nothing. All fake. Totally, utterly and completely made up stuff.
Dedication/Summary: For Elvelethril has posted an amazing picspam of Hoot at the Bakara Market featuring a mysterious rash on his neck.
Lucky
Hoot had gone out on his own. Again. Amazing. He did that all the time. No concept of official procedure or safety in numbers. Crazy fuck.
Eversmann hovered by the hangar doors, waiting for Hoot to return. Waiting to see that Hoot was safe. Again. Foolish boy.
He had no right. Hoot didn’t even know he existed. Hoot was Delta. Eversmann was a Ranger, barely second in command of his chalk. A kid, by comparison.
There. The Black Hawk swooped down. Hoot was picked up, returned to base, safe. Eversmann could go to his cot and sleep now.
“Sarn’t, a word.”
Steele. Fuck. “Yes, sir.”
“Sergeant Eversmann, there seems to be some kind of a dispute going on in your chalk. It appears there may have been an uneven distribution of rations.”
Eversmann looked over to see Neilson and Twombly squabbling over something. The magazines. Oh, yeah. “Sir, I wasn’t aware it was still going on. I’ll handle it.”
“You do that. Any idea what might have prompted this? Specifically?”
Eversmann fought the urge to laugh. Gee, Captain, we’re a bunch of healthy, aggressive young men in the middle of the desert, sequestered in a hangar with enough testosterone to float an aircraft carrier and not enough skin mags and/or privacy to relieve tensions. Try that for starters. “No, sir. Maybe, sir. I believe there was a question of dividing an extra ration of, uh, chocolate. Perhaps.”
“Your chalk is a man short. I’ve sent for a replacement. Should arrive in a few days. That’ll solve any disputes about the extra ration. That’ll be all, Sarn’t.”
Fuck. Eversmann glared in the direction of Neilson and Twombly. If those two couldn’t stop squabbling… it was cutting into his Hoot-pondering time.
“Evenin’, Sergeant.”
Hoot. Speak of the fucking devil.
“Evening.” Eversmann stared at Hoot’s hand on his shoulder.
“Might I have a word?”
Why not? Everyone else was.
Hoot’s hand didn’t move. It stayed on Eversmann’s shoulder and steered him out of the hangar doorway, away from the light, behind a stack of crates, near some sandbags. To a private little corner.
“You’ve been waiting at this door after every mission of mine.”
Eversmann’s jaw dropped. No way. How could Hoot have noticed that?
On sober second thought… Hoot noticed everything. That was his job.
“I’m willing to believe it’s a fantastic coincidence, but I can’t help thinking there’s some reason for it. Some reason that involves me.”
Eversmann gaped. This could not be happening. It was fish out of water time. In there, in the hangar, in front of his friends, his co-workers his comrades in arms, in there he never gaped. He was calm and stoic and thoughtful and… and… Hoot’s hand was rubbing his upper arm. Squeezing the bicep.
“I don’t really believe in coincidence,” Hoot said, barely above a whisper.
Eversmann tried to step away, but his back was against the wall. He tried to straighten his spine, pull him to his full height. Which did little good, since Hoot was just as tall. He flexed his muscles, a show of strength. That did no good at all. The only result was the jumping of a muscle in Hoot’s jaw. Which made Eversmann want to bite it.
“Well, what do you believe in, Sergeant Gibson?” It sounded strange. Hardly anyone ever called him that. He’d even heard general Garrison call him Hoot one time.
Hoot’s eyes narrowed. “Fate.”
Fate. Shit.
“Luck.”
“Luck?”
“I believe in luck. You believe in luck, Sergeant Eversmann?”
If you consider it lucky to find yourself behind some sandbags, in the near dark, with a man who makes your cock so hard you fear you might fall over. Yeah. He believed in luck.
“I think I’m lucky.”
“Oh, do you…” Eversmann willed his feet to walk away before he said or did anything to get himself into serious trouble.
“Damn lucky.”
Now. Feet. Go!
“You know why I’m lucky?”
“Because… I dunno. You keep going out on suicide missions but you always come back to base alive?”
“Noooo,” Hoot drawled. “Because the man I like seems to like me back. Just as much. Maybe even more.”
Blank. Eversmann drew a complete and utter blank.
Which was just as well, because Hoot leaned in and kissed him. On the mouth. Hoot’s mouth on his mouth. If he’d been thinking any thoughts at all at the time, his brain would have seriously overloaded. As it was, the zooming electrical currents zipped along his nerves system threatening to short-circuit the whole system.
Hoot pulled back and frowned. “Am I not lucky?”
Eversmann blinked. Better than blanking out. “I think you are.”
“Good.”
Eversmann had never, ever kissed anyone as tall as him before. Not with tongue, anyway. He’d never put his arms around someone with shoulders that fucking big. And he’d never wrapped his hand around a cock that big either.
He found himself huffing and grunting into Hoot’s neck as the other man brought him off with his hand. He tried to stay quiet but it wasn’t just the relief of one erection. It was weeks of erections, culminating in one (embarrassingly copious) orgasmic release all over Hoot’s hand.
And then Hoot licked every drop of it off his own hand.
Eversmann turned his full attention to Hoot’s cock so he could return the favour. Long and thick and, fuck, so responsive. Hoot pulled Eversmann’s head back onto his shoulder and rocked his hips, fucked his cock in Eversmann’s hand. He was quieter. Older. Probably was more experienced at hiding his orgasms from prying ears.
Eversmann figured he was supposed to lick Hoot’s come off his hand, but Hoot grabbed it before he got the chance. And licked. Shit.
That was just too sexy for words. Eversmann moaned and licked along with him, hoping to speed things up, get it over with so he wouldn’t get too hard again, too soon. They ended up kissing over the tips of Eversmann’s cleaned-up fingers.
Too late. But it was okay. This erection wasn’t nearly so insistent. In fact, it felt good. Comfortable. He imagined he might be spending a good deal of time with it, so he might as well get used to it.
“See? Lucky,” Hoot grinned. He lifted his clean hand to the side of his neck.
The skin was worn raw. Eversmann hadn’t shaved in a few days. He felt terrible.
“Sorry about that.”
Hoot patted the reddened skin. “Souvenir,” he whispered. “Good luck charm. Some guys carry a lucky rabbit’s foot.”
“And you carry… lucky beard burn?”
Hoot grinned, wide, dimples shining through days of beard. “Only when I’m lucky.”
End
Hoot gets lucky again in Pretty Lucky.
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