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Title: Observation Post
Author: heartofslash
Fandom: Black Hawk Down, Pre-Army of Two
Pairings: Randy/Gary, Grimes/McKnight slightly implied
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Black Hawk Down is not mine. I only wish Grimes was mine. No profit, no foul.
Note: This takes place on the night of perseph2hades Night of the Long Gunner. I am eternally indebted to her for the hours of enjoyment I have sucked out of her Randy/Gary writings. The actual amount of said hours will remain a secret, as I have no desire to reveal the precise depths of my Randy/Gary depravity.
Other Note: This makes sense even if you've never read Night of the Long Gunner or my own work, but a working knowledge of Army of Two gives it a hell of a lot more depth.
Observation Post
Spec. John Grimes lurked in the shadow of the office door. No one ever came here at night, to the administration side of the building. Not unless there was action in the city. On nights like this, when it was quiet, he could stand here calmly, shielded from the rest of the men, have a smoke, be alone with his thoughts, and keep an eye on things.
Things. He only kept an eye on them. He didn’t do things. Not since he’d joined the army.
Well, there had been a couple of incidents. R&R. With civilians. All very safe. Nothing even approaching fucking. More playing than, you know… play. But here, on this base, with these men, he was turned off. Not an overtly sexual being. Barely even a covertly sexual being. He didn’t even get erections any more. Not much. Not often. And they were easily taken care of.
But he still liked to observe.
He wasn’t spying on anyone. He didn’t stalk. He didn’t gape at men and try to imagine himself in a sexually charged situation with them.
That was a laugh; the whole hangar constituted a sexually charged situation.
The hangar was an exceptionally good observation post. There were plenty of chances to observe hard, naked bodies. Especially now that they were teamed up with the Deltas. Those Deltas, they didn’t have much in the way of modesty. Of course, when you train that hard and look that good, there’s no need to be modest.
Some of the younger Rangers were a bit self-conscious about their physiques. Eighteen might be old enough to join the army and become a soldier, but it isn’t mature enough for fully-developed pecs and truly impressive thighs. Not unless the Ranger in question had done a lot of PT in high school. There were a few of those. But most of them, when you stripped off the kevlar and the gear and the uniforms, were kids.
Grimes wasn’t interested in kids.
He wasn’t particularly interested in any of the Deltas either. They were a little too hard for his taste. And they would never appreciate someone like him anyway. They wouldn’t want anyone to serve them. They would want to grapple for control. Fight every inch of the way.
Now, watching the struggle, that interested Grimes. He didn’t have to be picturing himself in on the action to enjoy it.
If Grimes were to picture himself in a situation with someone, and he wasn’t admitting even to himself that he would want to do such a thing, but say, just say he wanted to… it would more likely be with an officer. The big, strapping kids were fine male specimens, but they didn’t have any authority. The Deltas were in-charge kind of guys, with loads of confidence and power, but they were all sergeants.
Grimes liked officers. They were used to giving orders, and having their orders obeyed. They would appreciate a good, discreet, uniquely skilled serviceman such as Grimes. But not he bureaucratic kind of officers. Not the ones who never saw any action. He liked the officers who were still in contact with the enlisted men. The officers who took part in the battles, who joined in PT and mingled without needing to put up barriers, who had earned their rank through hard work and natural authority.
Not too many of those left. But that’s what Grimes liked. He wasn’t looking for it. He wasn’t setting his sights on anyone. That would be foolish. So he was observing.
Randy Shugart. Now there was a Delta worth observing. Smart, sly, skilled and sexy as hell. Didn’t need to depend on big muscles and an overdeveloped sense of his own masculinity to get himself out of a tight spot. Elite. Very nice. Grimes liked looking at him. Liked the way his eyes took in everything, and how he thought carefully before speaking, acted with certainty without having to think when necessary.
And Gary Gordon. His counterpart. Funny how that euphemism rolls off the tongue. Partners in special ops, and more. So intense. So… and very pleasant to observe as well. Grimes had tried to find a bad angle, but Gordon simply looked good no matter what.
There was Shugart, slipping down the hall and out into the night.
Grimes counted to one hundred and twenty.
Sure enough, there went Gordon, down the same hallway.
That was predictable.
It would have been mildly amusing to Grimes, that they thought they were so fucking smart and that nobody would notice this thing between them, this thing that Grimes couldn’t quite understand but he knew it was bigger than the both of them and damn, it was overpowering. It would have been funny, but he could smell it in the air, and feel it creeping into his bones. He could almost picture them outside, up against the wall, pushing and trying to be quiet while they fell apart and into each other.
And he wondered if he would ever in his life get to taste something like that for himself.
“Is there a problem, Specialist?”
Grimes jolted to alertness and turned around. He hadn’t even heard Lt. Colonel McKnight’s approach. Normally he was not this sloppy. Must be the heat of the desert and the closeness of all these men and the stress of the situation. He straightened his shirt and stamped out his cigarette.
“No problem at all, sir. Just enjoying the peace of the night while it lasts.”
McKnight’s eyes glittered at him in the semi-darkness. McKnight looked as if he was going to step toward Grimes, move closer to him. But then the eyes squinted and McKnight gave him one of those smiles, close-mouthed and tense.
“Get some sleep, Specialist. You never know what tomorrow will bring.”
Grimes nodded, feeling shaky for some reason. He should rehydrate, get a bite to eat. He hadn’t been eating enough since they got here. He didn’t like the desert. It made him want to shed his clothes, bare himself to the world. That was dangerous.
McKnight stalked off into the darkness of the hangar.
That was close. Grimes’d almost been caught.
Been caught at what? Caught being aware of something no one else was aware of? Where was the crime in that?
Then he heard a low, desperate moan. A moan that could only be the sound of someone reaching a painfully necessary orgasm. It made Grimes tingle at the base of his cock.
Fuck, he hoped this mission would be over soon.
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