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Title: D-Tech: The Deal Is Sealed
Author: heartofslash
Fandom: post-Black Hawk Down x pre-Bourne Supremacy
Series: D-Tech / The Long Haul
Pairing: Hoot/Sanderson
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Threesome and more!
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. I have plucked The Russian from his environment of origin because he's so darn purdy and deadly. No harm, no foul.
Summary: Three ex-military mercs walk into a bathhouse...
D-Tech: The Deal Is Sealed
He’s promised to take care of Sanderson and he’s determined to do so, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to throw Jeff on the bed and ravage him thoroughly.
Hoot takes a deep breath to calm down. “There are rules, Kirill,” he says in Croatian. He thinks Kirill will understand. He hopes Kirill will understand. Understand Croatian. Understand Hoot. Understand the rules.
Kirill is at Hoot’s side, solid and radiating something more than mere heat. “Very well,” he replies in the same language. “I will go along with your rules as long as they are not unreasonable.”
Hoot has no clue what Kirill considers reasonable, but he agrees. He has to. The effects of the hand job in the locker room have worn off. He’s harder than steel.
But he can’t make up his mind about what the rules should be.
He doesn’t want Sanderson to fuck Kirill. He doesn’t want Sanderson’s cock anywhere near the Russian. Hoot’s grown somewhat possessive of that particular, and particularly spectacular, body part. He doesn’t want Kirill to fuck Sanderson. Those two rules probably fall under the ‘unreasonable’ category, but he can’t help what he feels.
Hell, he doesn’t even want Kirill to touch Sanderson.
“I want your friend,” Kirill says.
Sanderson can’t understand the words, but from the way he grabs Hoot’s arm, Hoot can tell he knows what Kirill wants.
Hoot growls. He likes growling. It makes him feel more powerful. It has the added benefit of making Sanderson horny. Always a plus.
Sanderson reaches down.
Oh. No.
He drops his towel.
Hoot can hear Kirill gasp.
Sanderson must be getting off on all this attention. His cock isn’t hard enough to be sticking right out yet, but it’s thick and dark and heavy against his toned thigh. It’s as least as big as Hoot’s fully hard cock already, and Kirill is staring at it without any of his usual self-assurance and cool calm.
“Mother of God!” he says, and Hoot understands because it’s one of the few Russian phrases he remembers, and he's had the same reaction to Sanderson's cock on many occasions.
Hoot sincerely hopes he won’t have to watch that cock go into Kirill’s ass. His own cock seems to think it would be a good idea for Hoot to get inside Kirill’s ass, so much so that it lifts the towel, tugging at the tucked-in corner. Hoot’s towel unravels, and he ends up exposed everywhere except his actual cock, which has the towel draped surrender-flag-like over it.
Kirill whips the towel from his hips and grabs his own cock.
Hoot flicks the towel off his cock and holds himself to steady himself.
Sanderson is stroking his fingers up and down absently as he stares at the other two.
It would be embarrassing if they ended up in a circle jerk, after all this. Searingly hot, but juvenile.
Sanderson reaches for Kirill’s cock.
Hoot’s vision goes crooked.
“You have to let him have some part of me,” Kirill taunts. In Croatian, the bastard.
“I want to see this,” Sanderson announces, “in his ass.”
Kirill purrs and arches into Sanderson’s touch.
“What?” Hoot yelps.
“You fit me in your ass easily enough; you can take him.”
“But I want to take you in my ass.” Hoot fears that might provoke an ‘it was your idea to meet in a bathhouse’ comment, but instead Sanderson gives him a feral grin.
“Not possible,” Sanderson says. “Not when I’m fucking <I>him</I>.”
No!
But then Hoot sees the look on Kirill’s face. It’s close to panic. He’s looking at Sanderson’s dick like it’s a firing squad and he’s smoking his last cigarette.
Hoot realises.
Kirill does not bottom.
“Not for anyone,” Kirill is protesting.
“Oh, yes you will,” Sanderson practically coos. “You will for me. You’re going to spread your legs for me.”
Fuck, but Sanderson has the sexiest voice when he’s in seduction mode.
“And you’ll love it, the same way Hoot did the first time I fucked him.”
Hoot doesn’t know <I>why</I> he <I>ever</I> thought Sanderson needed protection.
“And when I fuck you, you’ll be fucking him, so I’ll be fucking the two of you at once.”
He’s positively lethal.
“And your ass is going to look so good with my cock shoved up it…”
Fuck, yeah, it will, even if Hoot won’t be able to get a good look at it because Kirill’s going to be fucking Hoot. And that’s way better than Kirill getting into Sanderson’s ass, because Sanderson’s ass is Hoot’s.
“Okay,” Hoot says.
Kirill still looks stricken.
“Hoot, why don’t you give Kirill a little encouragement from the front.”
Hoot totally surprises himself with his own speed. He’s down and licking the head of Kirill’s cock before his knees even touch the floor.
Kirill is clean. Impeccably clean. And so well rinsed the soap is barely detectable. Just clean, clean cock with a hint of musk, which Hoot only tastes when he wriggles his tongue around the slit, pushing the foreskin back a bit.
Sanderson is behind Kirill, and Hoot knows exactly what it feel like to have Sanderson’s long body pressed up against his side, hard cock digging into his hip, hot breath in his ear, strong hand running down his back, cupping his ass, fingers teasing the crack.
“Good cocksucker, isn’t he?” Sanderson says in a conversational tone. “Good with his tongue.”
Hoot’s not sure how he feels about being discussed as if he’s not in the room. On the one hand, the objectification is really objectionable. But on the other hand, and that would be the hand on Kirill’s hard belly, the one feeling the anxiety and lust roll around in Kirill’s guts, the objectification is fucking hot. He decides to take more of Kirill’s cock in his mouth.
It’s hard to tell precisely what Sanderson is doing, but it’s safe to assume his fingers are at least teasing the opening, because Kirill goes a little bit soft before Hoot sucks him back to fully loaded.
Sanderson asks something in German. Kirill replies. It sounds like a denial. Sanderson presses the point. Kirill answers abruptly and thrusts himself back on Sanderson’s flingers with a groan. His cock pops out of Hoot’s gaping mouth.
“Get on the bed, Hoot,” Sanderson all but orders.
Hoot is relieved to discover that the generous tip he gave the guy at the front desk did, indeed, result in very fresh, clean sheets on the bed. The mattress is hard, but he’s used to that; it’s covered with in vinyl under the clean sheets, which makes good sense; the bed is a bit high, all the better to bend over. But he doesn’t bend over; he lies back with his legs spread.
He’s a bit disconcerted by his unquestioning obedience. He and Sanderson have never been much for power play. That's for McKnight and Grimes. but ever since that dinner with McKnight and Grimes, when McKnight proved just what it means to be in charge, he's been more open to suggestion. And someone has to be in charge. Better Sanderson than Kirill.
It really should be Hoot. He did promise to protect Sanderson. This probably is better, though. Sanderson gets to call all the shots, and Hoot is there for physical back-up if needed. He’s not sure if he’ll be of much use, since his dick is controlling his every move, but he’s sure that if Sanderson appeared to be in any danger, his training would take over and he’d be able to rip Kirill’s head off handily.
Both of Kirill’s heads.
Sanderson has a wicked look on his face. “Spread’em more,” he says as he pushes Hoot’s shins apart and up.
Hot spreads, bends, raises, until his ass is in the air.
“Fucking perfect,” Sanderson purrs, almost under his breath. He strokes along Hoot’s cock, around Hoot’s balls, between balls and asshole. “Lube,” he commands.
Kirill opens a packet of lube and hands it over so Sanderson can spread it around.
Sanderson leans over Hoot. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I won’t let him hurt you.”
Too late for that. Hoot is so beyond caring if it hurts it’s not funny. Sanderson’s finger circling his asshole only makes him want, need, to be fucked, more.
“Wait,” Kirill says. “I want.” He’s got his fingers slicked. Sanderson says he can’t see any reason to deny him, so Kirill climbs up on the bed and kneels between where Hoot’s legs would be if they weren’t hoisted up to his chest, and slides two fingers inside.
They aren’t Sanderson’s fingers. Hoot doesn’t know why that makes a difference, or how two men’s fingers could feel so different. They are skilled fingers, though. Careful and firm and experienced.
Kirill starts to croon in a language Hoot can’t identify. It’s not Croatian, but it’s not Russian; it must be whatever language Kirill grew up speaking. It’s incredibly soothing. Hoot can almost forget he’s flat on his back in a bathhouse about to be fucked by the deadliest man he knows.
Kirill is a study in concentration. He’s moving his fingers deliberately, delving deep, slithering out, twisting, plunging, turning, stroking. Hoot doesn't know if he’s ever been fingerfucked so painstakingly. Sanderson is murmuring his approval, but Kirill isn’t acknowledging the praise. Hoot thinks he should tell him to stop, let Kirill know he really doesn’t need all this prep, but that would spoil the fun.
Sanderson is really getting off on this. He’s watching. Avidly. He whimpers a little when Kirill adds a third finger and starts to separate them, stretching, stretching. Sanderson breathes out a quiet ‘yessss’ and grabs a condom from the bowl.
Hoot has to admit it; it’s hot. Sanderson unrolling the condom over Kirill’s cock. The hitch in Kirill’s fingers as his cock is caressed by fingers and latex. The incomparable sight of Sanderson bending to take Kirill’s nipple between his lips.
Kirill drags his fingers roughly over Hoot’s prostate in response.
Hoot lifts his legs even higher. He wants more of that.
Sanderson wants to move on.
“Spread your legs wide when you fuck him,” he tells Kirill. “I want full access.”
Good idea, Hoot thinks, shifting his hips so Kirill will be able to get inside Hoot with his legs spread. The front of Kirill’s thighs brush the backs of Hoot’s legs at the very top. Kirill guides his cock with one hand and presses in.
Kirill says something in Russian. Hoot doesn’t care what; it was obviously a compliment. Probably something to do with how smoothly he slides inside Hoot.
It’s smooth all right.
Smooth like a well-oiled firing pin.
Sanderson gets behind Kirill and Hoot can see Kirill tense first, then melt. Sanderson has magic fingers. Every once in a while, his lets them flick around to caress Hoot’s balls. Kirill can’t seem to keep his eyes open. Too bad. Their hazel is such a nice contrast to Sanderson’s blue.
Kirill makes a strangled noise when Sanderson starts to push his cock in. Hoot does all he can to distract him. He clenches his ass around Kirill’s cock. He rubs his palms over Kirill’s chest.
“Look at him,” Sanderson says, voice straining with effort.
Kirill’s eyes slide open halfway and he looks down at Hoot.
“Isn’t he beautiful?”
“Yes,” Kirill and Hoot say at the same time.
Kirill cries out and falls across Hoot’s chest, spreading Hoot’s legs even more. Hoot grabs his shoulders and hangs on. Sanderson is breathing hard.
“See, that’s not so bad,” Sanderson says. His voice has a tense, almost maniacal edge to it.
Kirill says an absolutely filthy word in Croatian. He repeats it in English. And probably in German, but that might have been something else. It makes Sanderson laugh.
“You have a beautiful ass.” Sanderson oozes pure fucking sex when he says shit like that.
Hoot braces his arms against the mattress, grips the sides of the bed frame and grunts when Kirill starts to thrust.
“You won’t…” Sanderson pants, “get much noise…out of him… too many people… too much control…”
Kirill grabs Hoot’s shoulders. Hard.
“…too much pride,” Sanderson finishes. He doesn’t say anymore. He’s too busy pounding the hell out of Kirill’s ass. Every thrust drives Kirill into Hoot. Every slam of Kirill’s thighs against his ass makes Hoot grunt. Kirill starts to moan.
The rhythm is syncopated. Like jazz, only sweatier.
Hoot can’t hold on much longer. Sanderson’s weight presses Kirill’s weight onto Hoot, crushing Hoot’s cock against his stomach. The friction is going to kill him. Kirill’s stomach hair is like sandpaper on Hoot’s cock, but Hoot’s cock is leaking so much the whole area is damp, so it’s more like the sandpaper of a cat’s tongue.
Hoot suddenly doesn’t care if they’re in a semi-public place. He just wants to come. He doesn’t care if he has to yell to do it. He’s about to yell that very sentiment when Kirill suddenly pulls out of him.
What the fuck? It’s sort of good, because the pressure was threatening to cramp his legs, but he’s not getting fucked anymore, and that’s just not right.
He looks up in a daze to see Kirill stumbling on his feet. Sanderson pushes him over, bends him at the waist. Kirill’s hands land with a thud on the bed. Sanderson rams back inside.
“Fuck me, Hoot,” Sanderson grunts.
Hoot’s up in a flash.
Sanderson’s ass is flexing every time he shoves into Kirill’s ass. So tight.
Hoot grabs a condom and some lube. Fingers, but only enough to make it safe, spread some lube, loosen Sanderson ups a bit. Cock inside, where Hoot wants to be.
“You come when I fuck you,” Hoot growls.
Sanderson’s legs start to shake.
Kirill thrashes beneath Sanderson. “Yes, Hoot, fuck us!”
Hoot’s fucking them both now. Fucking hard and fast until Sanderson starts to groan non-stop, a couple of tones higher than Kirill’s constant moaning. They’re in perfect harmony, and that’s the last thing Hoot registers before he explodes.
Sanderson follows with a highly uncharacteristic torrent of profanity.
Kirill is left behind.
Hoot pulls out of Sanderson.
Sanderson pulls out of Kirill.
Kirill rolls over onto his back, still hard, and yells, “Fucking Americans!”
Sanderson and Hoot fall on him as one. Sanderson crouches on one side of the bed, Hoot on the other. Sanderson rips off the condom and they both start licking at the same time.
“Fuck!” Kirill swears.
Hoot takes the base, wrapping his lips around the thick column and pulsing his tongue flat against the underside.
Sanderson takes it between his lips. He works the head of Kirill’s cock with the kind of precision you only see in fiercely dedicated soldiers.
Kirill shouts a warning and the Americans break off and back off to watch. Kirill’s cock quiver in the air, and a thick stream of come arc out over his belly.
“Beautiful,” Sanderson gasps.
“Stunning,” Hoot has to agree.
Kirill’s not making words anymore.
After a while, they take clean towels and head for the showers. There’s a medium-size crowd milling about in the hallway by their door. Hoot and Kirill disperse them with a pair of menacing glares. Sanderson is back to looking overwhelmed.
After the shower, they agree to meet in the park by the AIDS memorial to compare lists.
There won’t be any more scenes like this one. There’s no need. They’ve sealed the deal.
There’s just a little taste more, in D-Tech: Aftermath
Back to: Soldier Porn
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