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Nate's back scrapes the wall hard. Brad has rough and utter possession of his mouth, and when he slides their cocks together just right, it feels so fucking good, even through two layers of cammies, that Nate can't stop the wanton, craven noise that escapes him to echo through the room.

"If you can't keep quiet, sir, I'll have to gag you," Brad says. His short hair is furrowed in the path of Nate's clawing fingers, and at that pronouncement, Nate tightens his nails into Brad's scalp even further.

His dick jerks, and he feels a blurt of pre-come escape to seep into his briefs.

Brad feels that jerk, and he looks Nate square in the face for a moment, a dangerous, dark predator of a man. The only thing in Nate's life that makes him want to beg.

The tension holds for a few seconds, and then Brad is shoving Nate around to face the wall. He has to brace with both hands to keep from hitting it face first. Brad gives him absolutely no quarter, yanking his trousers open viciously and thrusting his hand inside to rub at Nate's briefs-covered cock.

"You're so messy, sir," Brad growls in his ear. "Getting your panties all wet for me with how bad you want it." He presses in hard, massaging Nate's sticky, wet dick through his underwear until it chafes roughly, just the right side of wrong. Nate moans again.

"Uh-uh," Brad warns, squeezing punishingly hard and then releasing the painful pressure. "Told you to keep quiet, sir. Can't have the men finding us like this."

His free hand leaves its grip on Nate's hip and whips the watch cap off Nate's head.

“Open up,” Brad commands, and makes him do just that, squeezing the hinges of Nate’s jaw until his mouth opens involuntarily.

Brad stuffs the scratchy, filthy beanie into his mouth, deep and rough and oh shit, Nate’s not sure his knees can keep him upright through this. He tries a groan, and it comes out muffled around his mouthful of fabric.

“That’s it, sir,” Brad whispers. “Now you can make all the noise you want, and no one’ll hear you to come looking.” He shoves Nate’s trousers down and takes his briefs with them, exposing his ass.

Nate hears the sound of the slap an instant before he feels the sting of Brad’s hand landing hard and gripping onto his right cheek. He grunts into his makeshift gag.

“That is one gorgeous fucking cherry lieutenant ass,” Brad says. He doesn’t sound appreciative, exactly. More like someone evaluating prize livestock. It makes Nate’s cock twitch again.

“If my dick wasn’t a festering, MOPP-induced cesspit right now, I’d fuck the snot out of you, sir.”

Nate prods his ass back against Brad’s rough hand, wanting Brad up inside him anyway, filthy and naked, no lube, no condom. Wanting like nothing else to have Brad take him, bare and fast and fierce, to stuff him full and use him and fill him up with come.

God, Brad makes him so depraved.

Brad’s taken his hands off Nate—come back!—to undo his own trousers and in just a few seconds, he’s shoved right back up along Nate’s body, slipping his dick into the crack of Nate’s ass and getting one hand around Nate’s balls to squeeze.

Nate whimpers pitifully around the cap in his mouth, shoving back and forth, seeking sensation wherever he can get it as Brad takes total command over him.

“Yeah, get yourself off if you can, sir,” Brad says. He spits noisily into one hand and works the saliva between Nate’s cheeks to ease the slide of his cock. Nate presses back into him over and over as Brad finds a rhythm, shoving and grunting and finally, oh fucking finally, starting to jerk Nate off with glorious, burning friction.

Brad is panting in his ear and thrusting fast against him, and Nate feels wild and debased, and it’s all so fucking good he wants to scream. He tries to, and the way the sound is deadened by the beanie in his mouth only makes him more crazed for it.

Brad’s thrusting goes erratic, and he chokes Fucking– Nate! and comes all over Nate’s ass and lower back. It’s that—Brad marking him sticky, slick, and warm—that sends Nate over the edge with a muffled howl and a trembling in his whole body. His arms collapse, and he falls against the wall, Brad falling right behind, pressing him there, holding him up while they both pant desperately for breath.

Brad recovers first, and reaches around to gently pull the spit-soaked watch cap from Nate’s mouth, massaging his stiff jaw a little with his other hand.

“You OK, Nate?” he asks, all intent, quiet concern.

Nate hums affirmatively, still not quite up to words.

“Good,” Brad says. “That what you wanted?”

Nate hums again. Hell yes, it was.

Brad kisses his neck, a warm, long presence at Nate’s back.

“You kinky sonofabitch,” he says admiringly. “When I asked what you wanted to do tonight, I really didn’t think Role play some humiliation-style fucking in the Baghdad cigarette factory was going to be your answer.”

Nate’s brain is coming back online, so he’s able to sort of answer, “M’old uniform was good, huh?”

Brad chuckles and lays his cheek on Nate’s shoulder. “Ever resourceful, that’s my Nate.”

My Nate. That sounds nice. Nate smiles, still muzzy in his happy afterglow. “Bedtime now, I think,” he manages.

Brad kisses his neck again and moves away toward the bathroom, saying, “You stay right there. You’re a mess of spit and sweat and come, and I’m not letting you into any bed I have to share in such a state.”

“M’rines make do,” Nate calls after him drowsily.

And then Brad’s back to wipe him down with a warm towel and strip him and roll him into bed before turning out the light and joining him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever look at my watch cap the same way,” Brad laments. “You’ve defiled the noble uniform of the United States Marine Corps.”

Nate rolls toward Brad, warmth-seeking and already heading toward sleep. “‘M the one got defiled,” he yawns. “And now watch caps’ll remind you of me.”

“That they will. Thank you in advance for all the ill-timed hard-ons yet to come on future deployments,” Brad says with a smile in his voice. He likes to mock Nate’s tendency to fall asleep after good sex. Says it’s the only time he can get one up on Nate’s overactive, overeducated, overachieving brain.

“Welcome,” Nate says.

“Go to sleep,” Brad answers.

Nate does just that, and Brad’s murmurs about not needing a watch cap to remind him of the best thing in his life follow Nate into his dreams.