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This is adult material. If you are not of legal age to read adult material, bugger off.
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Title: Repercussions
Author: heartofslash
Fandom/Pairing: BHD, The Long Haul - Hoot/Sanderson, Sanderson/Steele, Hoot/Sanderson/Steele, Grimes/McKnight
Rating: R
Disclaimer: As if.
Thank you: Giant thank-you to mlyn for the gorgeous icon! *points up and beams*
Summary: Yeah, so Hoot walked in on Steele and Sanderson and joined in and then Grimes walked in and saw them all. That's bound to have some repercussions.
Repercussions
Steele
He ate his meal without speaking to anyone, without looking up. He ate everything on the plate without noticing what was on the plate. Didn’t matter much. He was hungry, and mess was always filling, and Lord knows, he needed the calories.
How in the name of Christ had that happened?
He’d received the message from Jeff – coded, as messages from Jeff always were – and gone to the D-Tech office asap. Nice house in a semi-residential, semi-commercial zone, not too far from base. The office itself was plain, straight-forward. Smart. Jeff would do well for himself on the outside.
It was supposed to be a pleasant, innocuous visit, but damn, Jeff looked good. Snug black clothes and his hair starting to grow out. That couch was begging to be taxed. And tax it they had.
Steele might not be as big as Gibson, but he made love much the same way he took any objective. Not exactly with violence of action, but definitely with aggression. That’s the way Jeff was built. He demanded firm handling, if not rough handling. And Steele had handled. He’d taken what he wanted, driving Jeff to an early orgasm, which was never a problem. Jeff had admirable recuperative abilities.
And then.
And then Jeff had licked his scalp and that’s when everything went haywire.
To start with, Jeff’s tongue on his scalp was enough to make Steele beg. Begging was something Steele did not ordinarily condone, let alone do.
But then...
Then Gibson came in. Of everyone in the whole world who could have burst through that door, it had to be Gibson. Smug, insolent, cowboy Gibson.
Of course, Gibson was the most likely person to have walked through the door, next to Grimes.
John Grimes. Now that had been a shock. Jeff had mentioned a secretary, but he hadn’t specified. He hadn’t specifically said, “Oh, by the way, I hired John Grimes to work in my office." And Jeff had definitely not said, "Oh, and Grimes looks even better than he did the last time you ran into him a couple of years ago. In fact, he not only looks better – he looks like fucking sex on legs, and he wears clothes that fit him like the designer was designing so that John Grimes wearing them will give you a hard on even if you are submerged to the neck in freezing water with leeches sucking all your excess blood out of your body.”
No. Jeff had not said that.
So Grimes had been a big surprise.
And not necessarily a good one. It was bad enough to have Gibson join in like that, but to have Grimes watch, if only for a moment…
Gibson joining in had been less of a surprise than you might think. Like it or not, Steele recognized that Gibson was an integral part of Jeff’s life. It was bound to happen sooner or later that the three of them would interact. All at once. And it had not been bad at all. In fact, it had been damn good. Gibson wasn’t his ideal, but he was a fine… Steele was going to think ‘soldier’, but that wasn’t true. Gibson was not a fine soldier. Too many discipline issues. But he was a fine warrior.
As a man, though, Steele could see why Jeff chose him. Bold, adventurous and built like something out of a superhero comic.
And that tongue.
Steele swallowed half his coffee in one gulp.
The combination of Jeff’s tongue and Gibson’s tongue would put him in an early grave. That’s why he’d decided he was never going to do that again.
Too fucking dangerous.
Hoot
He got in the truck and drove. Didn’t think of anything at all for the first while. Just drove. Then he started to think.
Fucking Captain goddamn Mike damn Steele. Fuck!
That had been inexcusable.
He didn’t even like that uptight Bible-thumping son of a bitch. He tolerated Steele’s peripheral presence in his life because for some damn reason Sanderson got off on traditional authority figures, and Steele was about as traditional as they come.
Now he understood. A little. He understood more about pent up sexual energy and unbridled manliness and he could even, in a way, understand Grimes living with McKnight all these years if that’s what fucking regular army officers was always like.
Oh, shit, and then Grimes had walked in. That wasn’t entirely bad, because now Grimes had got an eyeful of what Hoot had to offer. Hoot had no intention of ever actually offering it to Grimes, but it made him feel a little smug to know just how big of an eyeful Grimes had got.
A big, round, pretty greeny-bluey-grey eyeful.
Sanderson had taken it all in stride, like he always did. Steele had recovered from the shock instantly. Then he’d got on the floor. Oh, fuck. Hoot had know all along that Steele would bottom beautifully. The authority junkies always like to get fucked.
Except McKnight. He could not imagine McKnight getting fucked.
Well, maybe if Grimes was the one doing the fucking…
Fuck, he was getting hard thinking about Grimes again, and that was not supposed to happen. He should have to write lines or something. One thousand times – I will not get hard thinking about my secretary. No matter how hot he is.
And his dick was so hard he could probably use it to do the writing.
But Sanderson, he’d been calm then. But was he calm now? You could never tell how much of it was an act with Sanderson. He would act all calm and in control when there was chaos around them, and later he would admit to Hoot that he'd been freaking out, and when Hoot pointed out he hadn't seen anything even remotely resembling freaking out, Sanderson would smile that smile of his and go "heh", and that was that.
So Sanderson had appeared to take everything in stride, but maybe he was freaked out. Hoot couldn't tell. He only knew he hadn’t wanted to be there anymore. He’d needed to get out. Couldn’t face talking about it. He’d known about Steele in an abstract way but now he knew about him in a concrete way. And it made him nervous.
Because if Sanderson could have that kind of intensity with Steele, what did he need Hoot for?
Hoot stopped the truck and was almost surprised to see where he’d driven to. But not really.
Todd Blackburn was sitting on the front porch of the house he rented with Matt Eversmann. Blackburn smiled and got up when Hoot pulled into the drive.
Jesus, Blackburn looked good.
Grimes
He pretended nothing unusual had happened that day. Nope. Nothing odd at all. Got up. Had breakfast. Loosened up with a little yoga. Reread the email Linda had forwarded from McKnight. Got dressed. Went to work. He was driving McKnight’s new pickup, the Ranger he’d bought to replace the Crown Vic after the second trannie crapped out. He checked the messages at work, did a little data entry, arranged a meeting for Sergeant Sanderson, located a supplier for the telephoto lens the sergeant wanted for his new digital camera and went out for supplies. Coffee filters, a higher grade of coffee, paper for the copier, better pens (he hated scratchy notes) and something for Sergeant Gibson to put his boots on when he came in, because Sergeant Gibson liked to take his boots off outside the office, and Grimes didn’t want the nice, reconditioned floor to get damaged.
When he’d arrived back at the office there was no sign at all of anything untoward. Sergeant Gibson’s boots were on the newspaper he’d put outside the door as a temporary measure and the door to the inner office was unlocked.
With three mostly naked men behind it. Two ex-Deltas and an active Ranger captain.
Actually, Steele was due to become a major soon. McKnight had let that slip just before he shipped out. He’d made Grimes promise not to say a word to anyone.
Not a problem. Grimes had been close to struck dumb.
Oh, he’d been able to put on a good show on nonchalance in the face of unchecked sexual uproar. And he’d kept it up to the end of the day, all the way home, and to the end of dinner. He was good at that. He’d learned from years of watching McKnight pretend to be above it all. But he was close to cracking now.
Steele sure did look good for a major. Not that the rank was important. But Grimes wouldn’t have expected something quite so ripped. He was used to McKnight’s solid, blocky torso, sturdy legs, nice meaty ass. Steel had grooves and striations and Grimes hadn’t seen it but he would bet that ass was tight. Hard as Steele. Like his cock. Which had been very nice indeed.
He wasn’t so shocked by the sergeants. He’d figured he would walk in on them sooner or later, so he’d made of point of visualizing them in preparation for the inevitable.
He hadn’t got all the details perfect. Sergeant Gibson’s pecs really were extraordinary. And his legs were surprisingly slender. And Sanderson…
…well, let’s just say you don’t assume proportions like that on anyone unless they’ve already told you that they’re a porn star for a living.
And Sanderson had only been half hard.
This complicated the work relationship somewhat. He did not feel that anything particularly inappropriate had happened. He certainly wasn’t going to complain about sexual harassment. The sergeants’ behaviour toward him had remained professional. But now he had to go to work knowing just how hot his bosses were, especially when they were naked, and especially when they were engaged in carnal acts with Captain Steele.
Most of all, he wished McKnight were home. He missed his Colonel something fierce.
Sanderson
Sanderson stretched out on the couch and inhaled the scent of leather and sex. No amount of cleaning and conditioning would mask the smell of three men’s come. It permeated the room. And Sanderson refused to open a window to air it out.
On top of the come and sweat of three men, Sanderson was sure he could detect the scent of highly aroused Grimes. Maybe Grimes was devoted to his Colonel, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t look and appreciate. Especially guys like Hoot and Mike. Hard bodies, trained and disciplined to a level of sexual competence rarely seen in the average American male.
Elite
Sanderson knew Grimes appreciated eliteness. He did too. Mike was a special kind of elite. He was the tightly-wound type of elite. Exploded like a watch spring. Only bigger. Much bigger.
Not as big as Hoot. Not many were.
Hoot had taken off pretty quick. Sanderson hoped he wasn’t upset. Actually, he had to be a little upset. He’d just fucked the last man he’d ever thought he would get to fuck, and man, he’d loved every second of it. Sanderson could tell.
Mike, well, he’d simply been overwhelmed by the whole thing.
To a man who liked to get fucked good and hard, Hoot was the answer to prayers. He had a drive and stamina that turned any fuck into a major event.
Sanderson knew Mike was probably in mild shock. He was the flip side of Hoot. Just fucked by the last guy he ever thought he’d give it up to.
And, oh, how he’d given it up.
Sanderson realized he was terribly confused. He’d just brought together the two men who meant the most to him in a most intimate way. They’d sparked like dry kindling under a magnifying glass on a hot summer day. But Hoot had taken off in his truck and Mike had refused his offer of dinner – politely, but he’d still refused it – and now Sanderson was left alone to ponder and muddle it through and breathe in all the repercussions.
He hoped they didn’t both hate him.
Steele
It was no big deal. A little sex in the afternoon. Recreation. No one was going to rat out anyone. He trusted Jeff. And he trusted that Jeff would know Hoot well enough not to endanger Steele. He knew damn well that Grimes wouldn’t say a word to anyone. So all was well.
Except it hadn’t been enough, even if at the time it had been far too much.
What was with those two anyway? Hoot and Sanderson had been at it like a couple of teenagers since Mogadishu. Jeff was too old for that sort of fooling around.
What Steele shared with Jeff was different. It wasn’t just hormones and hard cocks. Although it was mostly sex. But they had a connection. They filled a need in each other. Jeff had told him so. No one had ever made him feel so thoroughly sated before.
Steele had assumed the sex with Gibson was good. Pleasurable. Otherwise, why would Sanderson risk his career like that? Now he knew it went beyond mere pleasure. It was fucking fantastic. But it didn’t leave him filled up and content. If left him jittery and hyper-sensitive and wanting more.
Was it like that for Jeff? Did Gibson leave him in a perpetual state of arousal? Did it make him want more, and was that why he’d turned to Steele in the first place?
Couldn’t be. Jeff had to achieve some level of satisfaction from Gibson. It was probably different for everyone. Everyone experienced their own, private Hoot. That was all.
The last time Steele had met up with Jeff they’d shared a hotel room for thirty-six hours. Thirty-six glorious naked hours. Jeff cranked the heat and wouldn’t let either of them wear a stitch except to answer the door for food. They hadn’t even made love for the last half day. They’d just been there, lying on the bed, taking turns with their heads on each other’s chests. Feeling at peace.
Steele doubted Jeff could do that with Gibson. Gibson would be either asleep or horny. Two speeds.
That was unkind. And born of an ugly motion – jealousy. He had no right to be jealous of Gibson. After all, Steele was tolerated by Gibson. How many people would tolerate someone else in their lover’s bed on a regular basis? But then, there were plenty of others in Gibson’s bed. Face it, the man was a first class slut.
But slut or not, he would be justified in being jealous of Steele, and yet he tolerated him and even joined in.
Steele’s place in Jeff’s life was secure, as long as he didn’t try to change his place too much. He really didn’t want to change it. He was a busy man with a demanding career. He didn’t have the time or the inclination for more. He certainly wouldn’t want the demands of the sort of exclusive, long-term relationship Grimes and McKnight probably had after all these years.
My, my, that must be some relationship, he couldn’t help thinking. He imagined going home every night to John Grimes. McKnight must have been exhausted half the time.
McKnight certainly looked exhausted at the moment, and Steele knew it because as he returned to his quarters he walked past an administration building and Colonel Danny McKnight walked right out of the door in front of him.
“Colonel,” Steele saluted.
McKnight looked back at him with bloodshot eyes. “Captain,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Jeff had mentioned that McKnight was deployed overseas. Must have flown in for a meeting. He looked like he might have spent eight hours in the cargo bay of a military aircraft trying to catch some shut-eye.
He would finish his briefings and go home to Grimes.
Grimes who had just walked in on Steele having sex with both his bosses.
Steele could not imagine that sitting well with McKnight.
He felt guilty all of a sudden.
Hoot
“I don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with his hair,” Blackburn said.
"I’m not,” Hoot said defensively.
“You do keep mentioning it,” Eversmann pointed out.
Maybe Hoot did. He was babbling so much he couldn’t tell. Just fucking spilling it all out in no particular order. Blackburn and Eversmann were doing what they always did – listening and holding hands while finishing each other’s sentences like an old married couple.
Hoot had not fucked either of them in over two years. There had been no discussion. The change was not prompted by a traumatic or emotional incident. It had simply, suddenly, seemed wrong. Intrusive.
The action had ended, but the desire was not muted. Hoot still desired both of them, he just didn’t act on it. The desire was inevitable. Blackburn was clearly the prettiest man on the planet and Eversmann was as sexy as he’d ever been and always would be. Big. Built. And with that fucking hand thing that made Hoot want to weep.
“Forget about Red,” Eversmann said. “How do you feel about Captain Steele?”
Hoot didn’t know.
No, he did know. He knew he’d fucked up. Steele was Sanderson’s thing. He shouldn’t have intruded. He was always intruding. Just like now he was here, intruding on Eversmann and Blackburn.
“You don’t intrude,” Blackburn told him. “We love you.”
But Steele didn’t love him. He’d always barely tolerated him. And now he would hate Hoot, and maybe even turn Sanderson against him.
“Not likely,” Eversmann said, ever practical and to the point. “Sanderson needs you. You’re a team. He’s not going to let a little sex get in the way of anything. Besides, Steele is his guy on the side. Steele knows he's not the main attraction."
"He should be. He's that good."
"But he's not available. He's regular army. And I don't see why you're so worried about Sanderson. Sanderson can handle it. Stop thinking like this is high school. Everyone involved is mature enough to mix it up a little without falling apart. Everyone except you, it would seem.”
Hoot was falling apart. All over.
He wanted to blame it on the unrelenting sexual titillation of having John Grimes in the office. Blackburn slapped his arm when he tried to use that excuse, and told him to take a little responsibility for his own reactions. That was fair. Hoot had no right to lust over Grimes like that. Grimes was taken. Not only taken, he’d given himself freely to McKnight. It wasn’t a property issue - it was a matter of interest. Grimes had no interest in Hoot, no matter how much interest Hoot had in Grimes, but Hoot couldn’t help himself. Every time he saw that ass…
And when Hoot had walked in and seen Steele there, naked, with Sanderson trying to hide him, and his cock standing up like that, so perfect, and Sanderson’s obviously just-fucked ass and Steele’s glistening bare scalp, he couldn’t help himself.
“I’m such a fucking slut,” he mumbled into his coffee.
Yes, that was the problem. Always had been. Overactive sex drive and no fucking control. He would, and often did, fuck anything that caught his eye.
“No, you’re not. You don’t fuck us,” Blackburn said.
“Not anymore,” Eversmann added.
That was true. Hoot's restraint was admirable with those two.
“Even though you want to,” Eversmann added, trying to be helpful.
Yes, Hoot did. He wanted to very much. But he wouldn’t. Because… just because.
“So what’s the problem?” Blackburn asked. “Sanderson was having sex, and you joined in. Big deal. You haven’t hurt anyone.”
“Except Sanderson’s feelings,” Eversmann said in a thoughtful tone, “because you drove away without even talking to him. He’s probably worried you’re upset about him having sex with Steele at the office without warning you.”
“He could be upset about that,” Blackburn said. “Or he could be upset that you jumped in without asking.”
“Or maybe he’s worried Steele will think that Sanderson doesn’t respect him.”
“What does respect have to do with it?”
“Everything.”
“You think it cheapened Steele?”
“Or Sanderson...”
“What about Hoot?”
“It’s kind of expected of Hoot, isn’t it? I mean, there’s the slut thing and all.”
Hoot sat dumbly and watched the two of them bat his sexual transgressions back and forth. Would Steele feel used after that? Would Sanderson think Hoot used Steele? Would Sanderson feel used?
Oh, god. He had to get back home and tell Sanderson everything was okay!
Grimes
He lay in the very middle of the bed wearing only a t-shirt and the sheet, which was pulled up to his waist. His cock was hard, and Grimes was going to examine exactly why that was.
It was natural to be sexually aroused after witnessing sex. Some people got off on porn, others listened surreptitiously as their neighbours fucked next door. Some people got off on watching horses mate. Not Grimes. And he hadn’t been watching horses - he’d seen not two but three very attractive, manly, virile men having sex. And he’d not only seen them. He’d opened the door and he’d smelled them, and heard them, and had even felt them in the humidity in the air.
It was natural that he, a healthy homosexual, would be feeling incredibly fucking horny.
No harm done. It wasn’t like cheating. He hadn’t betrayed McKnight in any way. He’d simply seen something sexy and responded naturally. Like that time he’d been watching soccer and the players on the winning team had stripped off their shirts and jumped on each other. McKnight had teased him a bit and made him watch all the replays and then he’d told Grimes to take off his shirt and he’d taken off his own shirt. And jumped on him.
That’s where the similarities with the soccer ended, because none of the soccer players had ended up on his hands and knees in the middle of the living room with a thick cock shoved up his ass. At least not on camera.
The problem was that no one had fucked him after what he’d seen that afternoon. McKnight hadn’t fucked him. McKnight wasn’t there to fuck him. And that was a problem.
He ran his hand over his chest. The hair was growing in. It would be as thick as ever but it wasn’t long enough to be curly yet. It was all pointing down, so far, and was a tiny bit darker than what he remembered, but he imagined it would lighten up a bit if he ever got any sun on him. Grimes was really regretting that McKnight had shaved him right before leaving. McKnight would have really loved watching the progress, and he would have stopped Grimes from scratching in those first few days. Maybe her would have run his fingers all over the stubble, electrifying the skin enough to override the itchiness. He would have rasped his cheek over it, like he did when the hair was growing in on Grimes’ cheeks, and he would have growled against Grimes’ chest.
Next time, he would shave his chest when McKnight came home, not when McKnight was leaving for he didn’t know how long (but it had already been too long.)
Grimes couldn’t help feeling naughty and guilty. In his mind, he kept seeing Sergeant Sanderson’s long thighs and firm ass and his cock, fucking huge against his thigh. Hung did not adequately describe the man. And Hoot, God, Hoot’s chest and his cock hanging out and the flex of his thighs, which Grimes’d had a clear view of because Hoot’s pants had been shoved down to his knees. And Captain Steele.
Never, ever had Grimes even imagined that Captain Steele looked like that without his clothes on.
He tried to imagine what it would feel like to run his hand over that tight, washboard stomach. He flexed his fingers and imagined ridges of muscle under smooth skin. He tried to imagine Hoot’s tongue, pink and wet - and fuck, even his tongue looked strong - licking him. Hoot couldn’t lick Grimes’ scalp because Grimes wasn’t shaved. But he had long hair, which Hoot might like to chew on a bit, because he sure seemed to like to use his mouth.
Maybe he would lick Grimes’ cheek or his forehead.
And Sanderson. That cock. He would drag that cock up the back of Grimes’ thighs, dangle it between his legs, draw it up between his ass cheeks. Prod at him.
Grimes had the sheet shoved down and his hand on his cock. The other hand teased lower down, fingertips a poor substitute for a heavy hard cock.
He spread his legs and tried to picture that huge cock going into him. Steele hovering over him, urging him to lick smooth scalp. Hoot licking his face and his neck.
The imaginary cock between his legs shifted and changed. It grew thicker, blunter. Beercan thick. The abs under his hand smoothed out, the waist grew stouter, the bald head sprouted a wiry, graying Ranger cut. The tongue slipped into his mouth and tasted just like McKnight.
Grimes arched on the bed and moaned into McKnight’s imaginary mouth. McKnight’s imaginary hands went to his hair and tilted his head back even more, so the imaginary McKnight could nibble on his throat and ear. “That’s it,” Grimes imagined McKnight rumbling in his ear. “Be a good boy and think only about me when you’re jerking off.”
“Only you, sir!” Grimes gasped and jerked harder on his cock. Only McKnight.
It didn’t matter how many times he walked in on Hoot and Sanderson. It didn’t matter if Steele, or half the fucking Rangers were in there with them. It didn’t matter that McKnight was half a world away and Grimes was alone in his bed. Grimes couldn’t even jerk off thinking about anyone else and that suited him just fine because when he came, when his aching cock finally exploded, he shot halfway to his chin, splattering on his scratchy chest hair.
“Oh, god, sir,” Grimes breathed out, and let his fingers smear the come around his chest.
Sanderson
Sanderson rolled over on the couch so his face was no longer pressed against the leather. He would have to figure out some way to ask Grimes to find a new brand of leather cleaner, because the smell of that one would forever be branded on his consciousness as the after effect of one of the hottest sexual encounters he would ever experience.
Until this moment, he had been able to keep the actual sexual encounter out of his mind. He'd been able to think about Hoot and Mike and their reactions to the whole thing in a clinical fashion. But now he was thinking about it in a visceral way, and that involved sweat and hard bodies and slick tongues and Sanderson had to get off the couch.
He stood in the middle of the room and shook his limbs, one at a time. Jumped up and down. Shook his head like a dog getting out of the water. He needed to clear his head.
Coffee.
No, not coffee. That would make him think about Grimes. He was having enough trouble thinking about Hoot and Mike without adding Grimes to the mix.
It would have been okay if Grimes hadn't walked in. It was made worse by Grimes knowing. Grimes seeing. Seeing them like that.
The kid's eyes had been huge!
Sanderson smiled and went "heh".
He went upstairs to the apartment he and Hoot were pretty well sharing. There was leftover Chinese food in the fridge, and Sanderson ate it without bothering to heat it up. It was for fuel, not for enjoying. Although it was sort of enjoyable, in a weird, slightly slimy way. He burped and tasted the garlic from the ribs again. At least the food took away the taste of the sex.
The taste of Steele's scalp.
Sanderson took a quick shower and brushed his teeth. He looked in the mirror.
He did not look like the kind of guy who would have the kind of sex he had that afternoon.
He looked like the kind of guy who would get married and have kids. Or the kind of guy who would get a crush on his secretary. An average guy. Average Joe.
He ran his hands through his hair and caught sight of the veins on his forearms.
He was way too buff to be an average Joe. Way too skilled to be an average Joe. Way too hung to be an average Joe.
He was NOT an average Joe. He was above average. He was better than average.
And he deserved to be fucking two elite guys like Hoot and Mike, and he could handle it, and they wouldn't hate him for it because Hoot couldn't have Sanderson unless Hoot accepted Mike, and Mike couldn't fuck Sanderson unless he accepted Hoot, and they would accept each other, even if it was a minor inconvenience, because Sanderson was fucking worth it.
Fucking elite.
And Grimes liked elite.
Fuck, no, he was not going to think about Grimes.
But he'd be willing to bet that Grimes was thinking about him, because no healthy homosexual male could get an eyeful of a cock like Sanderson's and not think about, at least a little.
Not to mention what the sight of naked Steele and half-naked Hoot would have done to the kid.
Goddamn. McKnight was half a world away. Sanderson felt guilty all of a sudden.
Grimes would be home, all alone, horny as fuck.
But thinking about that was only going to make Sanderson think about how Grimes might be taking care of that horniness, and that made Sanderson feel more guilty, so he decided to get some sleep.
Steele
McKnight looked like shit.
"You okay?" he asked. It was a little informal, but they knew each other. They'd served together, trained together. Hell, McKnight's boyfriend had just seen Steele buck naked. But McKnight didn't have to know that.
McKnight rubbed his hand over his face, which only smeared the dirt there more. "Need a shower," he muttered.
No, he needed Grimes. He had a hollow look in his eyes, like things were not good where he'd been. Steele had seen that look plenty. He'd had it in his own eyes a few times.
"You have enough time to go home?" Steele asked quietly.
McKnight looked at him with narrow, red eyes. He swayed a bit. "Twenty, twenty one hours."
"Corporal!" Steele barked out at passing kid.
"Yes, sir!"
Steele tossed his keys to the kid. "Take my car from the officer's parking lot. Give Colonel McKnight a lift home. Put my keys on my desk when you get back."
"Sir?" The kid looked confused.
"Blue Dodge," Steele said and recited the license plate number. "Take this officer home. Can't you see he's in need of a night at home?"
McKnight mumbled something to Steele. Steele ignored it.
Grimes was sitting at home, alone, thinking about all the shit he'd seen that afternoon. What a waste of a perfectly good man. McKnight would know what to do with him, once he got some sleep.
Steele turned toward his quarters. He was still restless, still jumpy. It would be a waste to go to bed, wouldn't it?
He turned on his heel and walked toward the gate. He could grab a cab. He didn't need his car. He needed satisfaction.
Hoot
Hoot crept up the stairs. It was a stupid thing to do, really. If Jeff wanted to hear him, he would. But the house was so quiet he didn't want to disturb anything. He slipped down the hall to the bedroom and pushed the door open.
Jeff was on the bed. Naked. On his stomach.
Possessiveness stole up Hoot's spine, spread down his arms to his fingertips, started to heat the end of his cock. He wanted that ass. That was his. He should be the only one who got to fuck it.
Steele had fucked it that afternoon, and Jeff had come with Steele's cock in his ass. That was unfair.
But then, Hoot had come in Steele's ass. But that was different. Hoot was a slut.
Jeff rolled over.
"You gonna stand there staring at me all night?" he asked.
"I wanna fuck your ass," Hoot replied.
"What if my ass is tired?" Sanderson asked.
"So you fuck my ass," Hoot said.
Slut, Hoot told himself.
Sanderson spread his legs, and the outline of his cock grew past the line of shadow. "Come here," he said.
Obviously, all was forgiven.
Grimes
Grimes moaned and rolled over in bed. Now the sheets would have his come on them. He would have to sleep in the smell of his own come. At least it would get the smell of everyone else's come out of his head.
Except for the smell of McKnight's come. That was what he was missing. The smell of McKnight. McKnight had his own smell. Everyone does. It was manly and warm and what you would want your commanding officer to smell like. And Grimes missed it. It had only been a couple of weeks and he missed it so bad he had an ache in his stomach that wouldn't go away.
It wasn't anything serious. It went away whenever McKnight came home, so he knew it wasn't physiological. It was psychosomatic. It was missing McKnight.
He thought he heard the sound of a motor. Door slam. Fuck. He grabbed a robe from the chair beside the bed. McKnight's robe. It was huge on him, but it was a bathrobe. It didn't matter. He wrapped it around him and went to the top of the stairs in time to see the door open.
Familiar boots on the floor.
Sanderson
Sanderson wondered if Hoot heard the door open downstairs.
Hoot sat up and reached for his shorts.
Too late. Steele was upstairs faster than even Hoot could get dressed.
Steele's head gleamed a bit in the light from the hall.
"I don't believe I was quite finished," Steele said. Hoot stood up and Steele didn't flinch. "With either of you," he added.
Sanderson relaxed stretched out on the bed. "That was just the first two quarters," he said lazily. "Half-time show's over. You ready to get back on the field?" He loved the football shit. It was corny, but it was accurate.
Hoot walked over to Steele and ran his hand over Steele's scalp. He hooked a finger inside Steele's uniform. "Shirts versus skins," he drawled. "Think you can take us both on?"
McKnight
The dark in the car was good. It was best if no one saw him like that. Not stateside. Not where there was peace.
The kid was a careful driver. Either that or he was scared to death that McKnight was going to do something evil to him if he made a wrong move. McKnight knew he probably looked scary. He felt scary. The car was dark.
McKnight thanked the kid. The kid saluted him. Didn't do a thing for him. He pushed the gate open, and then he stumbled on the path but he got to the door and opened it.
He breathed in the smell of home. It was so clean and pure. The doorknob was familiar to his hand, the floor was slightly off level, the exact right amount, like you would expect from a place this old. There was movement at the top of the stairs.
There was an ache in McKnight. It wasn't the bruises, or the dirt, or the exhaustion. It wasn't what had happened the night before in the camp, and it wasn’t the need to return for the briefing, to reorganize the mission, to tell everyone here what was going on there. It wasn't the look on that little kid's face after that bomb went off. It wasn't the sight of that cleared village. It was something that didn't have anything to do with bad things or things that happen. It was something…
His bathrobe. With Grimes in it. That was it. That was what had been hurting. No Grimes.
And it didn't hurt anymore because Grimes was there.
McKnight only had twenty hours before he had to go back, and twenty hours wasn't enough but it was twenty hours of Grimes, so he took it.
End
Next: Shirts vs Skins and Bliss Alert
Back to The Long Haul
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For fun and variety, and maybe a little bit of randomness, pick a quote from the Quote Index
- there’s no telling where it will lead!
If you’re interested in a particular kink, the Guide to the Kink may help you satisfy your urges.
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