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His body lay like dead weight on the thin mattress. Every muscle ached, his thighs burned, his arms were numb. Countless scrapes sent a dull, throbbing pain pulsing through him, and with every movement he could feel the bruises covering his skin. The day had taken everything out of Cope. He’d crawled through mud with his comrades, run for miles through the forest, hauled himself over taut ropes and plunged into dirty water. He was utterly spent, his body begging for sleep, his eyelids fallen shut—and yet, sleep refused to come.
His mind kept drifting back to what had happened on the „stairway to heaven“.
Sergeant Sullivan had had it in for him since the day he’d arrived. He’d mocked him, pushed him, and then made him squad leader just to watch him fail. Sullivan knew his secret and wanted to break him down—Cope was sure of it.
And yet, there’d been that one moment today that had confused him so deeply it wouldn’t let him sleep. His shoelace had gotten caught between two wooden beams halfway up the “stairway to heaven”. He’d been stuck between rungs, unable to move up or down. Desperate, Cope had been forced to shout out—loudly, in front of the entire company—that he was stuck. In his mind, he’d already seen himself falling from the tall wooden structure in some frantic attempt to free himself.
But to his complete surprise, Sergeant Sullivan had started climbing toward him. Smooth and effortless, like a predator, he’d scaled the vertical ladder. The entire platoon watched in breathless silence. Cope had braced himself for the worst—for Sullivan to yank him down or give him a brutal shove.
But something entirely different happened. Suddenly he’d felt Sullivan’s hand on his ankle. Felt the man’s fingers slowly undoing his shoe, pulling it off without a word and tossing it down. Hot and cold waves washed through Cope’s body—what was happening?
It got even stranger. The sergeant climbed onto the same rung, so close Cope held his breath. Frozen, he watched as Sullivan gently wrapped his hand around his calf, guiding his leg back over the beam. The care—almost tenderness—of the gesture had left Cope speechless. In a daze, he’d climbed back down under the watchful eyes of the whole platoon, side by side with the sergeant who, at least in that moment, had seemed to protect him.
“If there are no faggots in my marine corps—then why are you still here?” Sullivan had hissed the words dangerously soft, steel-blue eyes locked on him.
So he knew.
The meaning had hit Cope like a brick. And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of that strange, almost gentle moment. He remembered with painful clarity the way Sullivan’s hand had closed around his ankle. The firm, steady pressure of his fingers on his calf as he lifted his leg back over the beam. That touch had been so careful, so tender, so out of place in that situation.
Why had the sergeant done it? To test him? To unsettle him? To humiliate him? Cope slowly rolled onto his side, groaning in pain softly. He breathed in, indulging himself in this memory. He’d liked that touch more than he dared to admit. He pictured Sullivan, felt the man’s physical presence close to him again. Those steel-blue eyes. Heat spread through him, a pleasant tingle ran down his neck.
You’re out of your damn mind, he thought by himself.
“Scribe!”
Cope dropped his rag and weapon, jumping to his feet. Sullivan stood at the open office door, motioning him to follow before disappearing inside. Heart pounding, Cope hurried after him. The sergeant sat at his desk, flipping through documents. Cope stood stiffly near the door, staring straight ahead, trying to ignore his aching body.
“I want you to make the weekly duty schedule. No exceptions, no favors. Understood, Recruit?” Without looking up, Sullivan held out a clipboard. Cope couldn’t help noticing the well trained muscle strands on the sergeant’s exposed forearm. Heat rushed up inside him.
“Sir, yes sir!” Cope snapped up the clipboard and forced himself to look straight ahead.
“And show it to me afterward. If I see anything irregular, I'll kick your ass. Dismissed.” Sullivan shot him a sharp, warning glance.
“Sir, yes sir!” Cope pivoted and marched out.
Cut it out, you’re making a fool of yourself, he scolded himself.
--- Oh come on, I like him too. He's hot. His inner voice had plopped down beside him, elbowing him playfully.
Don’t make this harder.
--- Why not? A little crush won’t kill you.
Yes, it will! He’s already on to me. If he notices me staring at him, I’m done.
--- What do you think his lips feel like…?
Stop it.
--- His hands on your hips… his tongue on your skin…
Shut up! I have to focus!
Without meaning to, Cope smacked the table with his palm.
“You okay?” His buddy Ray gave him a confused look.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. Just gotta finish this damn schedule quickly,” he muttered, scribbling names and times as fast as he could.
“Sir, this recruit has completed his task, sir!” Cope stood rigidly in the office, every muscle tight, breath shallow.
“Show me.” Sullivan still didn’t look up from his paperwork.
With a sudden jerk, the young recruit extended his hand, holding out the list to the sergeant. The man grasped it blindly, taking the clipboard—and in that brief moment, his fingers brushed against the recruit’s hand. Cope’s heart skipped a beat. The touch lasted only a fraction of a second, yet he felt with vivid clarity the fingers gliding over his skin, sensing the warmth emanating from them. A pleasant shiver ran down his spine.
Sullivan scanned the schedule without showing a hint of emotion, eyes flicking over the names and dates, jaw muscles tensing and relaxing as he read. A bead of sweat rolled down Cope’s back.
“All right. Dismissed.” Sullivan handed the clipboard back. Cope snatched it and hurried to leave.
Get the hell out of here.
Pale moonlight spilled through the windows. He shuffled slowly through the dark barrack, his flashlight beam cutting through the silence. A few comrades snored softly, others didn’t make a sound. Most were neatly tucked under their blankets; a few sprawled out, arms and legs dangling. Cope grinned. Anything to keep his mind entertained and awake was welcome right now. It was ironic - now that sleep was forbidden on night watch, he could have dozed off standing. Short nights and long, brutal days were taking their toll.
Minutes crawled by.
Eventually, he sat down on his equipment crate at the foot of his bunk, leaning back against the metal frame. He exhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a second. Suddenly he heard the heavy thud of approaching boots. Cope jolted upright, grabbed for his flashlight. Sullivan was already standing in the dark room.
“Cope!” he hissed sharply—quiet enough not to wake the others, but firm enough to freeze the air. Cope rushed over, spine straight, eyes forward.
“Did I just see you sitting down?” Sullivan’s whisper carried a dangerous weight. Moonlight lit half his face, making his blue eyes look even colder.
“Sir, no—I mean… yes, sir,” Cope stammered, swallowing hard.
“A little more self-control, Cope. Is that how you protect your comrades?”
“Sir, I’m sorry, I—”
“Shut up.” Sullivan’s gaze cut through him.
Cope fell silent, eyes squeezed shut.
Fuck.
The sergeant began to circle him like a predator sizing up its prey. The soft squeak of his boots echoed in the stillness. He stopped right behind Cope.
Cold sweat broke out on the recruit’s forehead.
“I hope I don’t have to explain how important it is to look out for each other. To protect and to help.” To Cope’s surprise, Sullivan’s voice had lost some of its edge. He could feel the man’s presence behind him, close - and tried to force the thought away.
“Even a Marine has moments of weakness sometimes. That's when it's essential to have a comrade there to catch you. To keep you safe.”
The sergeant's warm breath brushed against Cope's neck. The fine hairs on his skin immediately stood on end. He felt pleasantly light-headed. Out of nowhere, strong, warm hands rested on his hips.
Oh God.
“Can you catch someone, Cope?” The sergeant's voice was right next to his ear, rough and deep. He was so close that he could smell him—a mixture of sweat, cologne, and the typical smell of army shirts. Cope tried to calm down, breathe evenly, not to faint. His heart was pounding wildly against his chest.
Suddenly, he felt them. Soft, warm lips tenderly touching the sensitive skin on his neck. Heat flooded his body, his stomach did somersaults. Cope exhaled shakily, his eyes closing.
Shit. Oh shit...that feels so good...
“Hm? Can you do that?”
Hands slowly slid up his sides, ran over his ribs and the sparse abdominal muscles there, and back down again as if in slow motion. Sullivan calmly kissed Cope's neck, slowly and carefully dabbing his lips again and again on the spot behind Cope's ear, along the side of his neck and the hairline. He made soft, wet sounds as he did so. The young recruit didn't stand a chance.
He tilted his neck to the side to give the older man more space. Slowly, he sank back until his upper back made contact with Sullivan's chest. Immediately, a pleasant warmth enveloped him.
The sergeant carefully ran the tip of his tongue over the smooth skin, leaving a small wet trail. He closed his lips. Sucked lightly. A pleasant sigh escaped Cope's throat, and a tingling sensation shot to his groin.
“I...I don't know...Sir...” Cope was no longer capable of a clear thought. Everything inside him tingled, one warm wave after another washing over him. The feeling of Sullivan's soft lips on his neck was more beautiful than anything he had ever felt before. So many times he had imagined what it would be like to feel them...
Sullivan's hands applied light pressure to Cope's hips, slowly turning him toward him. The recruit kept his eyes downcast and swallowed hard. Unsure what expression he would find on the sergeant's face, he slowly dragged his gaze up to his counterpart's eyes.
Steel blue.
Beautiful.
A gentle smile played around Sullivan's lips.
Help. I surrender.
“Right now... right now I need someone to catch me... sir...” Cope's voice was hoarse. His lust-filled gaze slid from the sergeant's eyes to his lips. Everything in his brain shut down. Resolutely, he pressed his lips to the other man's, letting himself sink against him. Strong arms closed around his slender body, holding him securely.
He felt gentle pressure on his lips—Sullivan kissed him back. Their lips gently enclosed each other, intertwined, nudged each other. Carefully, the older man pushed the tip of his tongue between the recruit's lips, entering his mouth.
Cope was overwhelmed by his feelings.
He was being held. Warmed. Protected. Loved.
By a man he looked up to. Whom he admired. Who was incredibly beautiful.
Cope wrapped his arms around the sergeant, feeling the strong muscles under his shirt. The blood rushed in his ears. Their tongues played with each other, Sullivan boldly gaining the upper hand in this game again and again. Cope let out a lustful gasp. His erection was now pressing clearly against his pants.
Suddenly, a bright light exploded, and a deafening noise reached his ears.
“WAKE UP, YOU SLACKERS, GET OUT AND LINE UP!” Sergeant McKinnon ran down the center aisle, banging two metal lids together. Cope was startled awake, briefly disoriented. Everyone around him jumped hastily out of bed. He was still sitting on his equipment box.
“COPE! WERE YOU SLEEPING ON GUARD DUTY?!”
He jumped up, suddenly wide awake.
“Sir, no sir!” he shouted loudly. His heart was beating in his throat.
“YOU CAN TELL THAT TO YOUR GRANDMOTHER! GO, RUN THREE LAPS AROUND THE PREMISES, MOVE YOUR ASS NOW!”
“Sir, yes sir!” He immediately rushed off, cut the corner, and collided with someone. Cope staggered. Two hands grabbed him by the shoulders and held him.
“A little more self-control, Cope!” Light blue eyes locked onto him.
Cope stared at Sullivan in disbelief. What did he just say?
“Sir, yes sir!”
“Get going!” the sergeant ordered with a nod.
Cope nodded and ran off. Sullivan watched him go with a smirk.