| |
Nate stared at the handheld shaving mirror. He'd packed it so deep inside his kit this was the first opportunity he'd had to dig it out since they'd crossed into country. Forget the blood and gore and human entrails he'd calmly stepped over the last few weeks, his hands shook now as he took in the stranger staring back.
Something was wrong.
The skinny stranger had hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes, bright green and made only brighter by the grime covering his face. Nate wrinkled his forehead and watched with curiosity to see if the reflection would do so as well, shocked at the wrongness of it all when it did.
He bared his teeth, stark against the sun-burnt skin—his sun-burnt skin and stared in fascination at the scars and scabs and scratches that covered his face. His fingers found each one, identifying the blotches with the incessant itching he felt when he let himself think about it. It seemed impossible to reconcile the reflection with the self-image he held in his head. How could he be this man?
Nate sat down hard on the crates being used as tables and put the mirror down. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to attract attention of his marines as they undressed around him, so he thumbed through the notebook that he'd tossed to the side. The line for the jerry-rigged shower Lilley and Jacks had created from a gravity-fed pump was growing longer; the laughing and jokes from his men were growing in volume, everyone letting loose a little as if this water formed a kind of baptism, one that promised to return them to human beings.
Nate caught a glimpse of Brad under the shower, face up into the spray, and stared. Hard and lean. Sun-burnt and chapped. Brad's evolution had happened as well; Nate could acknowledge that now looking at the difference in skin tone between Brad's face and his chest. But it had happened in increments so slow he hadn't noticed it all.
"They found RPGs two hundred meters up in the ditch," Nate said, his hand barely grazing Brad's arm as he leaned in the Humvee window. Always with their faces inches apart, always living in the same space. Even in the desert—or maybe because of its wide open spaces, the small area behind the berms that they occupied was so confined in comparison.
It was not even touching in the beginning. Just the close contact that Nate allowed himself to stem the loneliness of command. He hadn't expected Brad to notice. A foolish thought in retrospect, given their MOS.
Not only had Brad noticed, he'd started to anticipate situations so that before long, Nate was so accustomed to Brad's nearness that anything less felt like a giant hole in his being. The nearness didn't have to be physical either. When they were apart, Nate was still connected to him via radio, Brad's clear voice always grounding him in the moment.
"Sir, your leadership is the only thing I have complete confidence in," Brad said, crouched behind the Humvee wheel, head bent so that his voice wouldn't carry.
Mutual respect. Mutual needs. Words Nate never could have spoken to convey his growing despair in the company's leadership translated into long silences that Brad seemed to understand. Things Brad couldn't say, pain on his face that he couldn't communicate as he tried to deal with the civilian casualties lessened in those silences as well.
So many minutes spent standing wordlessly, staring out into the distance. It was the only thing Nate could remember about how their relationship had started.
Crowded around the hood of a Humvee, Nate gave his briefing to his men. "Everyone's favorite mission: movement to contact."
Distances covered, shoulder's bumping, fingers touching over MSR lines. Somewhere between Ar Rifa and Al Hayy the near contact had become actual contact, always disguised as accidental but increasing in frequency until like slow foreplay, Nate had found Brad jerking off one night and didn't immediately turn away.
By the time Nate recognized the telltale movements of Brad's arm, he was too close, too visible to back away undetected. The minute crunching of sand under his boots was all Brad needed to hear. His hand stilled and he looked up; his eye piercing the darkness.
"Sir."
"Sorry, Brad," Nate said. He tried to keep his voice steady, nonchalant, like he'd just come across anyone else in the platoon, but still, his voice betrayed him near the end. "I'll come back later."
"No need, sir. I'll be a second."
Frozen in position, Nate couldn't have found the will to move if a squadron of tanks had pulled up with them in their sights. He watched Brad continue slowly. It was too dark and there was too much clothing to see Brad's cock but the expression on his face was enough. Brad had thrown his head back a little, exposing his neck, his mouth hanging open as the speed of his hand increased. The seconds turned into minutes. Letting out a growl, Brad looked at him and snapped out his hand, grabbing Nate's wrist. With his other hand he continued jerking off, holding him, staring at him.
Nate felt his own erection growing, felt the heat pooling under his MOPP suit that trapped it in and intensified everything. His skin prickled, unable to breathe, his feet were glued to the ground, unable to go any closer. The grip on his arm tightened as Brad pushed on, faster and harder until he finally heaved forward, the movement swallowing his grunt of relief as he finished in his own hands.
They stood there, their only connection, the grip on Nate's arm. Part of Nate realized he was going to have bruises tomorrow.
Another part of him thrilled at the thought.
"Thanks," Brad said as he finally dropped Nate's arm and pulled his suspenders back into place.
Nate trembled a little, the reason he had for finding Brad in the first place, long gone. "Anytime," he said.
The situation repeated itself through various permutations; different nights, different locations. Always the same desert. Nate found new and better reasons for seeking out Brad after the sunset—reasons he was sure he never actually communicated. Brad wasn't always jerking off; sometimes he was cleaning his rifle, sometimes he was sleeping. But they still ended up at the edge of camp, Brad with his hands in his pants, the other gripping Nate's arm.
"You know what I miss?" Brad said one night when they were lying down in the sand, looking up at the stars. For once, Brad seemed to be in a talkative mood. "Showers. First thing in the morning showers, when you're still drowsy and walking around with a fucking hard on and you can blast the water nice and hot. Then you climb in and lather your dick up with soap and fuck your hand hard and fast. And you don't have to worry about what you sound like, or even making a fucking mess. The water just washes away everything."
Nate groaned, picturing the scene all too easily. The idea of being clean, of being safe, of having privacy to do whatever the fuck you wanted...
"I'd like to have a shower with you,“ Brad continued, pretty much derailing any further thoughts on Nate's part. “I'd pin you up against the wall, then get down and suck you off hard. Sloppy. Taking you in deep until I fucking gagged. Then I'd spread your legs, lick your balls, your ass, get my fingers in there to fuck you while you fucked my mouth—"
Nate couldn't resist anymore. He shoved his shaking hand down his pants, squeezing his dick as Brad continued. He was already so hard, so ready for Brad to keep going—
"—and after you came down my throat, I'd turn you around. Make you lean against the wall, bending you over so I could fuck your ass. And I'd pound into you over and over, fucking your tight little hole—"
Nate came in his pants, hard. Messily. Stars shooting behind his eyelids, until he was boneless and empty.
"Imagine what I could do if I could actually touch you..." Brad whispered after awhile.
But they didn't touch. It was too much, too dangerous, too incriminating. They were careful not to cross the line they'd drawn. At least not until the night of the ambush.
"You got out. You got out of your fucking truck," Brad said, silhouetted by the fire from artillery laying down vengeance. "If the enemy hadn't killed you, you could have been shot by one of us."
Nate shrugged, not to dismiss Brad's concerns, they were the same ones he'd had earlier, but because there was nothing else to say. He'd done what he'd had to. So had Brad and Pappy and every last one of them. By some miracle everyone had survived.
Stale adrenaline cooled in his veins, making him jittery. Bravo Three had just gotten un-stuck from the bridge and now the battalion was back in the staging area where they'd begun this great goat-fuck.
Grabbing his arm, Brad pulled Nate into the shadows. Dawn was slowly creeping across the horizon, time for sanctuary found in darkness was running out, but the shadows and chaos gave them some privacy between the trucks. Pressed together, they clawed at each other, desperate and fast, worming their hands into each other's pants, jerking off just to prove they were still alive.
With Brad's thick cock in his hands, Nate didn't know if he had come from just grabbing it, or if Brad's awkward pulls on his own had been enough. It didn't matter. They stood panting, leaning against each other, holding on long after they had finished, for reasons neither of them understood.
After that, Nate couldn't remember how Brad had gone from fulfilling his needs to becoming one of them.
"What's wrong?" Brad asked, coming up beside him.
Nate jumped out his reverie and noticed that darkness had fallen once again. Linearity of time was something Nate no longer understood. Between the long stretches of boredom, the intensity of battle, the exhaustion and saturation, time seemed to always move by leaps and bounds, dragging, then speeding up, then jumping forward without explanation.
He looked around and saw that they were alone now in this area of the warehouse. He could hear the platoon in the offices above, yelling and joking as they settled down for the night, ablutions completed a long time ago.
Nate looked at Brad's clean face, slightly more normal now than the one he'd become accustomed to but still gaunt and calm. Nate's eyes dropped lower, taking in Brad's shirtless chest; at the twenty pounds he'd lost since coming here and wondered what the hell they were going to do now. He had no clue if there was any room in his life for a clean and healthy Brad in between his sheets.
He shook his head. He could hardly remember what it felt like to sleep on a mattress, let alone the skills required to have normal sex. Usually there was dinner first, he thought vaguely, and conversation that didn't involve swearing.
"I just don't recognize myself anymore," Nate said when he realized the silence had dragged on and Brad probably expected a response.
"Because you're filthy, sir," Brad said with a slow drawl, reaching forward to grab the hem of Nate's t-shirt. Lifting it over his head, Nate sat there, still trying to find a way out of his head. He let Brad undress him, not really absorbing the feel of Brad's efficient hands divesting him of his filthy pants as well.
"Not quite how I pictured our shower, sir," Brad said with a smirk, maneuvering Nate towards the pump. The cold nighttime air blew through the broken windows, making him shiver.
It was only when he was standing in front of the hose, with a second to brace himself before being blasted with water that Nate came fully awake.
"Holyfuck!" Nate cursed, nearly jumping out of his skin. The water was like a million icy daggers beating on his skin.
"Good morning, sir," Brad said helpfully as he turned the water off and tossed Nate a bar of well-used soap.
"You're a bastard," Nate said, teeth chattering, but without much energy behind it. Forcing himself past the cold, Nate lathered up, then gave Brad a quick nod to turn on the pump again so he could rinse. It was impossibly cold, every square inch of his skin screaming under the assault and not the shower Brad had promised him at all. Still, he couldn't deny the clean smell of soap, the feeling of washing away some of the grime, the tingling of his skin no longer covered by charcoaled-lined plastic.
It made him risk soaping up again and braving another rinse because it felt like nothing else ever had.
Catching the damp towel from Brad when he was done, Nate dried himself off, wrapped it around his waist and sat down. Brad came over and worked his way between Nate's legs, bunching up the towel to get closer.
Nate gave him a tired smile. Goosebumps covered his flesh and though he felt like a new man, he couldn't deny the fact that inside his brain was still the same. "How do we do this now, Brad? Fucked up and crazy got us here, but we'll be back in the real world soon. How do we integrate the two?"
Brad looked over his face, maybe studying the differences as Nate had earlier, maybe just trying to come up with an answer. His solution, though, like everything else about him, didn't involve many words. He just lowered his face, bringing his lips down on Nate's, and kissed him until they couldn't breathe.
"Seems to me, sir," Brad said as they broke apart, "that there's plenty of fucked up and crazy in the real world as well. I say we just play it by ear and see."
Before Nate could answer, Brad trailed his hands under Nate's towel, fondling his cock. There was something new about Brad's movements, something relishing and slow. As if they had all the time in the world and Brad intended to make good on his promise from before. Maybe not under a warm shower, but at least the intention behind it. It made something ache with Nate.
Needing something to grab hold of and reaching for the edge of the table, Nate blindly pushed stuff out of the way. A crash on the floor made them halt, Nate looking down at the broken mirror on the ground.
"Seven years of bad luck?" Brad whispered with a wicked grin.
"Nah," Nate said, shaking his head, wrapping his legs around Brad's hips to bring him closer, already taking the omen for what it was.
Maybe the mirror hadn't lied; maybe his reflection had been true. If that were the case, there was no going back now, and he realized that he didn't even want to. If life had changed, he had too. Maybe his new configuration allowed for the possibility of an equally changed Brad to exist within it as well.
As Brad parted Nate's lip with his tongue, as he grabbed the side of Nate's face with the hand that wasn't on Nate's dick and kissed him again, Nate realized nothing was wrong with who he was.
In fact, everything was starting to be right for the first time.
|
|