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There’s a snowstorm in Chicago that grounds Brad’s flight. He hates flying commercial for a million reasons – no leg room, no weapons, and they don’t even feed you anymore – but mostly he hates how chickenshit they are. He also knows his opinion about what can and can’t be done is biased after Iraq, so he heads for the USO military lounge, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder.
He’s halfway through his first beer when someone sits down next to him, ignoring all the other empty seats in the room.
“Fuck. Should have flown Space A,” he mutters against the mouth of the bottle.
“You say that like you have some faith in the military’s efficiency.”
Brad turns his head, and he knows his eyes have gone wide. “What the fuck? This is a military lounge, and now they let in any pansy-ass civilian?”
Nate smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I know you’re not insinuating I’m no longer a Marine.”
Brad shakes his head, setting the beer on the bar. “What are you doing here? I thought they kept you locked up in DC at the bottom of some bunker where they hide all the great thinkers.”
“The bunkers are for the actual leaders of our democracy.”
“So we’re saving the idiots?” Brad scoffs. “Who came up with that plan? Democrats? Has no one in that liberal dick-suck town ever heard of Darwin?”
“You could just say, ‘Hi, Nate. It’s good to see you,’ you know.”
“First off.” Brad signals the bartender, ordering another beer for himself and whatever Nate’s drinking. “I want you to tell me the last time I called you ‘Nate’.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” Nate’s still smiling, his green eyes bright with amusement.
“Secondly, how do you know it’s nice to see you? Maybe I’ve been thanking my lucky stars that I’ve escaped the annoying and inevitable awkward conversations that come when you meet someone you used to serve with and you realize you don’t actually have a single thing in common.”
“Ouch.” Nate takes a drink of his beer, licking his lips afterward. “Well, you could say…no. Never mind. You’re right. Insults are the only way to go.”
Brad smiles and takes another swallow, his eyes focused on Nate as he does the same. “It’s good to see you, sir.”
“It’s good to see you too.” Nate taps his bottle against Brad’s. “Semper Fi.”
Brad drinks, turning his gaze to the bar, Nate’s image distorted in the smoky glass, by the bottles of liquor. “Where are you headed?”
“Berkeley.” Brad can’t stop his derisive snort, wouldn’t if he could. Nate rolls his eyes, his smile steady and unfaded. “Go on. Unleash your invectives.”
“No. No. Berkeley is a fine choice for a Marine captain to promote his story of the soul-sucking maw of command.”
Nate’s brow furrows. “Is that what you think I do?”
Brad sighs and takes another drink. “I saw what you did over there, sir, and I saw what it did to you, what it cost you. I saw you come home and find a way to live with it.”
“I can do more like this, outside the Corps.”
Brad looks Nate straight in the eye. “I know.”
“But you’re angry at me?”
“Only because Rudy got more mention in your book than I did.”
“Wright’s book was all about you.”
“And you hardly mentioned me.” Brad takes another drink, smile curving his lips. “Now everyone just assumes I was sucking Rolling Stone’s dick to get good press, since you hardly backed him up, leaving out all the shit about how awesome I am.”
Nate ducks his head and laughs out loud, and Brad can’t help but revel in the sound. “I think it’s more likely they just assumed you weren’t sucking my dick.”
“Which means no one credits me with any taste at all.” Brad raises his eyebrows and Nate laughs again.
“But you weren’t sucking my dick.”
“Wasn’t sucking Rolling Stone’s either.” Brad drains his bottle and looks up at the departure screens. “We’re not getting out of here tonight. Suppose I should get a hotel room before they’re all gone.”
“Oh, come on. After ranger graves, airport seats should be the lap of luxury.”
“Ah, but after ranger graves, if I can sleep in a bed, I do.”
Nate watches as the flight status for all planes changes to postponed. “Share a room?”
“Will that go in your next book?”
Nate shakes his head and laughs again. “If it does, I promise not to mention that you snore.”
“I don’t snore.”
“My reading public will believe anything I tell them.” Nate slides off his stool and hands the bartender his credit card before Brad even has a chance.
**
Brad glances at the key card in his hand then at the room in front of him. “Okay, airport seats are looking better and better.”
“It’s just small.”
“A Humvee crammed with five people, their shit and a fuckload of firepower is small, sir. This is miniscule.”
“It has a bed, a shower, and a TV. What more could you ask for?”
“Two beds?”
“I promise not to take advantage of you, Brad.” Nate sets his briefcase down and unbuttons his suit jacket. “I’ll even sleep with one foot on the floor.”
“Just don’t steal the covers.” Brad sets his bag down and sits on the edge of the bed, unlacing his boots.
“I’m going to shower. Are you hungry at all? We could order room service.”
“I doubt their culinary fare will live up to MREs and HumRats, but we’ll give it a try.” Brad watches Nate move into the bathroom area, eyes on Nate’s reflection in one of the mirrors as he unbuttons his shirt and slips it off, hanging it carefully in the small closet.
Brad’s seen Nate naked before – combat sometimes blurs the lines of officer and enlisted – but this is different. This isn’t a war zone, isn’t Pendleton. This is the real world and Nate’s bare chest is tanned, the faintest hint of pale just at his waist. Shaking his head, Brad grabs the room service menu and thumbs through the list of overpriced options. “You haven’t gone all pussy on me, have you? None of that bullshit vegan crap?”
“Just order, Brad.” Nate’s voice is muffled by the bathroom door, nearly drowned out by the sudden thrum of the shower. Brad doesn’t think about what that means – Nate, Brad’s illicit and absolutely forbidden jerk off material, naked and wet in the next room – just pushes buttons until a heavily accented voice answers and calls him sir.
**
Nate comes out in a hotel robe, white terrycloth tied around his waist. Brad lifts the lids off the plates with a flourish. “Breakfast is served.”
“Breakfast?” Nate’s eyebrow goes up as his stomach growls.
“Hardest meal to fuck up.” Brad’s stripped down to his black briefs, his fatigues draped over the back of a ragged looking armchair, his boots aligned perfectly beside it. “Eggs. Pancakes.” There’s no table, just a dresser with the TV and the food tray. Brad takes one of the plates and sits on the bed, leaning back against the pillow. “Dig in. Or do you need me to cut your food for you?”
“That’s right. You’ve been promoted to gunny, haven’t you?”
“Specializing in wiping the asses of young officers when they shit their pants. Yes, sir.”
Nate settles next to Brad on the bed, balancing his plate on his lap. Brad shovels a forkful of eggs into his mouth, trying not to notice, trying not to look as the robe opens slightly, revealing all of Nate’s left leg.
“Oh,” Nate moans around his bite of buttermilk pancakes. Syrup clings to his lips, shining in the light of the silent TV. “’m starving.”
Brad watches Nate’s mouth, watches his tongue snaking out to lick his lips clean. “Good?” His voice drops, thickens as Nate looks at him. Brad clears his throat and bites down on a piece of bacon to cover the silence.
Nate raises his eyebrow again and reaches out, two fingers curving around Brad’s wrist and pulling it in toward him. “Where’s my bacon?”
“You like pancakes.” Brad informs him as Nate uses his teeth to tug the bacon from Brad’s unresisting fingers. Brad licks his lips, his breath catching as Nate takes one of Brad’s fingers in his mouth, sucking grease and salt off of it, his tongue sliding over Brad’s skin.
Nate frees Brad’s finger from his mouth. “I like bacon too.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
“I think you should share.”
“You just had some.”
“True, but you didn’t share it. I had to steal it.”
Brad shakes his head, trying very hard to get past the glitch in his brain that keeps getting stuck on his finger was just in Nate’s mouth. “After stealing my bacon, you have the audacity to sit there and tell me I should share more of it?”
“Yeah. Then I won’t have to steal it.” Nate swallows, his eyes hot. Brad watches him with cautious uncertainty as Nate spears a bit of his pancakes and holds it up to Brad’s mouth.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Brad manages a smirk then licks his lips. “You pussied them all up with butter and syrup.”
Nate brushes the forkful against Brad’s lips, a drop of syrup falling on Brad’s bare chest. “It’s only fair.”
Brad opens his mouth, his teeth white as they close around the fork. Nate makes a noise, barely loud enough to hear as Brad dips his finger in the swirl of melted butter and warm maple syrup on Nate’s plate, then lifts it up to paint Nate’s lips. “You’ve got some syrup on you.”
“Do I?” Nate’s lips are shiny and sticky. “Where?”
“Here.” Brad slides his finger across Nate’s lower lip again.
“You’ve got some too. Here.” Nate’s finger catches the drop of syrup on Brad’s chest and he brings it up to his mouth, sucking it clean. Brad groans and tugs Nate’s hand away, leaning in and licking the slick syrup off Nate’s lips. Nate’s mouth opens and Brad can’t help but slide his tongue in, fucking the sweetness against Nate’s tongue.
“Fuck,” Nate breathes, knocking his plate onto the sheets as he reaches for Brad, tugging him down on top of him as Nate lays back on the bed. “Fuck, yes.”
Brad pins Nate to the bed, hands curving over Nate’s wrists as he angles over him, knee separating Nate’s legs easily. He reaches down with one hand and undoes Nate’s robe, letting it fall open and expose what seems like miles of bare flesh. He can feel syrup against his knee, trickling down into the divot in the mattress, but that’s overridden by the hard press of Nate’s cock against his own, separated by just the thin cotton of Brad’s briefs.
Nate kisses back, though it’s not kissing like Brad’s used to from the women he dates or the whores he fucks. It’s hard and rough and aggressive, it’s like getting his mouth fucked by a Marine, like being reminded who is in command. Brad groans again as Nate shoves them over, turning them so Brad’s sprawled on the bed, warm eggs congealing by his shoulder and syrup caught in the hairs on his legs. Nate works a hand down and tugs Brad’s briefs over his cock, fingertips brushing the slick, damp crown of it as he pushes, gasping hotly as Brad rises up off the bed to help.
“Oh, fuck yes.” Brad’s not sure who says it as their bodies come together. Nate’s cock fits along Brad’s, the wet slit sliding along the ridge as he thrusts down against him. Brad reaches in and closes his hand around both of them, fingers sticky and wet with syrup. Nate shudders against him and finds Brad’s mouth with his again, licking his lips open before kissing him, fucking between his lips once more.
Brad sucks on his tongue, wrapping a leg around the back of Nate’s calves, thrusting up into his hand. Nate shudders above him, on the cusp of an orgasm and whispering Brad’s name along his jaw line against his five o’clock shadow. Brad’s body feels like it’s been stretched tight and he feels the pulse of his orgasm at the base of his dick, aching for release as they grind together.
“Imagined this so many times,” Brad groans, his free hand squeezing the hard flesh of Nate’s ass. “Fucking jacked off to you on me, in me, around me. Fuck.” His nails rake across Nate’s ass and Nate stops moving for what feels like forever, and then the hot rush of his orgasm coats Brad’s hand and dick. Brad can’t say anything else, too lost in the feeling of Nate’s come covering him for three agonizing strokes before Brad’s dick jerks and spills his orgasm between them as well.
Brad counts time in his head. It’s a habit ingrained in him, and there’s no way he can keep from doing it. The fact that neither he nor Nate move for the requisite thirty minutes required by Recon would make him laugh if he had any breath left. When he opens his eyes, Nate’s smiling down at him, that sideways, barely-there, quirk of his lips Brad’s far too familiar with.
“Probably not surprisingly, this wasn’t on my list of things to do while in Chicago.”
Brad chokes back a laugh and thumps his head back on the pillow. He’s covered in food and sweat and come and he feels better than he has in ages. “I’m not featured in Fodors.”
“You should be. You’re quite a sight.” Nate’s smile widens and Brad’s stomach constricts. “I mean, you’re no Wrigley Field or Museum of Science and Industry…”
“But I’m remarkably like the Navy Pier?” Brad smiles when Nate laughs, his head falling forward so that his breath fans over Brad’s skin. His hand is still wrapped around their fading erections, but he can’t quite let go just yet. He slides his other hand up Nate’s back. “We’re going to have to call room service back if you’re still hungry. I don’t think there’s anything edible left.”
Nate’s eyes go wide. “But there was still bacon.”
“I’m afraid we defiled the bacon, sir.”
Nate laughs again, leaning in to kiss Brad slowly. It’s different than before, and Brad’s not sure what any of it means. “Well,” Nate drawls, “I guess that means the next time better be as good as bacon.”
Brad manages to keep his cool, keep his voice even. “Are you implying that this time wasn’t?”
“I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be comparing and contrasting.” Nate eases away slowly, surveying the damage they wrought. “So we’re obviously going to have to do it again.”
“To be thorough.”
“Exactly.” Nate trails a finger down Brad’s chest then nods toward the shower. “I mean, they paid a hell of a lot to train us, right? Seems like we should get some use out of it.”
Brad follows closely behind Nate, off the bed and into the bathroom. “Oorah, sir.”