It's simple, nothing he hasn't done a thousand times. Almost like breathing, now. He had been in the theater, and he understood how to get an audience to believe when they wanted to. He was also an expert at slight-of-hand and thievery, and the one principle that wove through them all was the art of misdirection.
And if misdirection was an art, Newkirk was bloody Michelangelo.
If anyone in camp were to be asked about his way with women, they would tell you how women adored him. Able to charm any bird, never at a loss for a pretty girl, kissed more lips than Germany had ships. It was a reputation that he cultivated carefully, slipping the subject of his conquests into conversations to the point where the guards were coming to him for pointers! It amused him, and kept him from being shot.
Newkirk had two secrets. One was that while he never turned down a chance to sleep with a pretty girl, he also wouldn't turn down a chance to sleep with a handsome bloke. While most guys complained how complicated women were and the hoops you had to jump through to get them into your bed, Newkirk found them to be the easiest. It helped that they found him fairly good looking and loved his accent.
Getting a guy into your bed was far and away the more difficult prospect. You had to gauge his attention towards you. Was he looking you over or was he just looking at you? Did that arm thrown over your shoulder mean he wanted to feel you under him or was he just being friendly? Trying to figure out which was which was nerve racking. If you misread the signs, you might get a beating or worse. If word got out, even people you had counted on as friends could turn their backs on you. There was a war on, and only warrior men were considered suitable. No one wanted a poofters army.
Newkirk knew it was rubbish. He fought the Germans just as hard as any man. The fact that he liked a set of strong arms around him and stubble-burn on his thighs now and again didn't mean he wouldn't give the Krauts what they deserved. He liked a man to take charge of him sometimes, someone who was smart and brave and who wouldn't treat him differently. Someone like Colonel Hogan.
Which was Newkirk's other secret.
He almost didn't find out. By unspoken rule, there was a place off one of the tunnels that men would go. They had started to dig, but discovered the ground was far too unstable, so it became the Tunnel to Nowhere. Set off of the main tunnel, it was unlit and used mainly for storage of large crates. You could fit about three guys towards the back and no one passing through the main tunnel would even see them. You could still hear things, though; the scratch and rustle of clothing, soft, wet sounds, tiny gasps. Everyone knew about it, even if they never spoke about it. They were a camp of men, and men had needs. While you might enter through the gates promising yourself it was your own hand or nothing, after a year or two most men found that any mouth would do.
Newkirk spent some time on his knees in that short tunnel, putting his experiences from his youth to good use. He wasn't the only one, and you had to learn how to turn on your heel fast if you were able to make out more than one shadow in the space behind the crates. He gave as good as he got as well, his fingers gripping well muscled shoulders for balance as he pushed down a hot throat. He made a game of it sometimes, trying to see how much noise he could get out of his mates before they remembered they should be quiet. He tried not to determine who was who, but he could tell sometimes. He normally avoided going down to the short tunnel unless he could spot Carter, LeBeau and Kinch up top. Hogan was trickier as he was often holed up in his office or engaging Klink, and so it was by pure accident that Newkirk found himself on his knees, a swollen cock being fed to him, when he caught a whiff of the familiar aftershave.
Although it was very dark, his head snapped up and he heard a hiss as his teeth rasped sensitive flesh. He almost mumbled an apology when a gentle but a firm hand rested in his hair. Normally he didn't like anyone touching him anywhere on his head, but the fingers slid along his scalp, carding smoothly through his fine hair, and Newkirk found he rather liked it. It was perilously close to being petted, but if this was Hogan, he would be happy to endure. Newkirk let his hands slide up muscular thighs as he opened his throat, letting his tongue do some distracting things to the underside while he explored the hem of the other man's jacket. Reaching slightly higher his fingers felt the worn leather of a bomber jacket and he only kept from grinning because his mouth was busy.
It was very quiet in the tunnels, so Newkirk risked a quiet hum, which made Hogan's hips snap involuntarily, shoving his cock deeper. True to his nature, Hogan pulled back, not wanting to hurt him. Newkirk gave a small whimper. He loved this about his "gov'nah", and he wasn't ashamed to admit he carried a soft spot for Hogan. Knowing he could give the man some pleasure made Newkirk grasp Hogan's ass and pull it towards him, stifling his gag reflex and taking Hogan to the root. A soft groan and a full body shiver was his reward. One hand still caressed Newkirk's head, but the other clasped his shoulder for support. Newkirk could tell Hogan was close, could feel his cock jump and swell as he swallowed, his head moving slightly back and then bobbing forward.
Feeling Hogan's legs shake as his breathing became heavier had Newkirk harder than he had ever become since he started doing this. He fumbled open his trousers, feeling the cold, damp kiss of tunnel air on his hot member. He wrapped a hand around himself and pumped a few times, hoping to catch up to the other man. He bobbed his head in time with his own hand until the fingers on his head started pushing him away, trying to warn him. Normally Newkirk would finish a guy off by hand, or let him do it himself, but to his surprise, he fought to keep his mouth locked on. He wanted to taste, wanted Hogan's come in his mouth. He sucked and felt the fingers on his shoulder dig in, felt his mouth flooded with salty warmth. He could hear the hitching of breath above him as he worked his throat to swallow, hanging on and holding the other man up as his cock pulsed.
All too soon it was over and Newkirk could breathe again as the wet cock left his mouth, his jaw now aching. He swiped a hand over his face, wiping at his lips and the line of wetness that leaked from the side. He still had one hand gripping his own hard cock as he listened to clothing rustle and a zipper being pulled as Hogan put himself back together. Head bowed, Newkirk waited for Hogan to step around him and leave, planning to take care of his hard-on as soon as the other man left. Or maybe someone else would come in and he could---
Two large, male hands suddenly grasped the sides of his face and titled his head up just before a pair of lips awkwardly found his own. Newkirk made a startled noise in his throat and his hand flailed for leverage to keep from falling backwards. His eyes opened wide in shock, but could see nothing in the blackness. Off balance in more ways than one, he found a shoulder and gripped the jacket material, his back beginning to arch. This was not how things were done! There was no snogging in the Tunnel to Nowhere, everyone knew that! He opened his mouth to protest, only to find Hogan's tongue had been waiting for this opportunity and took full advantage. The hands at his temples tilted him just so as soft lips sealed over his own.
Wet, wet, warm and wet...Newkirk's mind was exploding with sensation. He drew a shaky breath through his nose as Hogan explored his mouth, trying desperately not to moan. Truth be told, this was the first time in his life he had been snogged by another man. His previous sex romps with blokes had been just that; quick couplings that were more about getting each other off and not getting caught. None of his male partners had ever tried to kiss him before, and he wasn't sure he would have let them. This, however, was the oral equivalent of sex, and Newkirk was now appreciating why all the girls in the underground were more than happy to meet with Colonel Hogan, danger be damned. While no slouch himself, he had to give it to him, Hogan could kiss!
When Hogan's insistent tongue finally pulled back, Newkirk found his lips softly caressed by Hogan's. The man's teeth gently tugged on his bottom lip before sucking on it, then more kisses were scattered over his swelling lips. Before he could catch his breath, Hogan's tongue dove back in, a strong, slick column of flesh that penetrated his mouth, making Newkirk shiver. He had completely lost track of his surroundings and had no idea if he was still upright or flat on his back. His head was swimming and a soft whimper escaped his control. Suddenly he could feel and hear the heavy breaths coming from Hogan, and then the pressure was gone from the sides of his face as cold air rushed to replace the warmth that had built under those hands. Newkirk blinked, and realized he heard retreating footsteps.
Somewhat disoriented, he shook his head to clear it, taking in a gulp of air. He licked his lips, noting the faint taste of coffee that could only have come from Hogan. His cock was still in his grasp, hard and aching, and he suddenly wanted to come before someone else came into the short tunnel. It would feel too much like sharing Hogan, and his fist pumped roughly over his sensitive skin as he relived the feeling of Hogan grabbing him. The thought of being squeezed and manhandled by the Colonel was all it took to send him over the edge, breaths harsh as he panted through his orgasm.
If he wasn't kneeling in the cold dirt of the tunnel, Newkirk would have curled up and gone to sleep. Once his breathing was under control, he rose on shaky legs, tucked himself back in and straightened his uniform. He fished his cap out of his back pocket and stuffed it on his head, slipping out of the short tunnel and into the main one without being spotted. He headed straight up into the barracks and out the door without anyone stopping him to talk, desperate for a cigarette. His hands shook as he lit up, cursing the fact that the night had turned cold while he had been underground, glad that he had an excuse for his trembling limbs. He had gone through three cigarettes before LeBeau found him and dragged his arse inside. His toes were numb, but his nerves were calmer.
Thankfully, Hogan spent the evening in his office because Newkirk wasn't sure if he could look the man in the face. He had no idea if Hogan knew who it was who had been sucking him off in the tunnel, and in the following days Hogan's behavior gave him no sign that the man had any suspicions about who it was. Newkirk made sure he acted normal, but his thoughts would scatter at odd times. Plunging his hands into warm, soap-slick water made him think of that kiss as he scrubbed the dirt of the tunnel out of the knees of his trousers. The tang of salt on his eggs in the morning made him remember how the other man tasted. Newkirk found himself watching Hogan's hands as he outlined their next mission, wondering idly what they would feel like moving across his skin.