Because of The Brave - lanyon Josh - Страница 29
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But then Vic had known he had a problem from the time he was fifteen. He was eighteen now. Oh, he liked girls okay. But not the way his friends did. In fact, he felt a little queasy listening to the stuff his friends talked about wanting to do to chicks. Vic liked to jack off in front of the mirror in his bedroom at home – position himself so he couldn’t see his face, just watch his hand moving on his dick, watch his dick thicken and lengthen, and pretend it was someone else’s hand and someone else’s dick.
And then he’d met Midshipman Fourth Class Sean Kennedy and figured out whose hand he wanted – and whose dick. Because it turned out that Kennedy had the same problem.
“I’m not chickening out,” Sean said evenly. “You won your bet.”
Yep. He’d won his bet – and if they got caught, they were both out. Finished. Washed up. And goddamn if it didn’t feel worth the risk standing there in the creepy darkness of the crypt beneath the chapel, Sean’s eyes gleaming as they watched him. Not trusting himself to speak, hands shaking a little, Vic unzipped his uniform trousers.
Sean’s shadowy figure dropped to its knees before him and Sean’s mouth –lips so soft and tongue so hot and wet – closed around Vic’s cock.
Vic groaned. He couldn’t help it. But the sound reverberated off the marble floors and stone walls like old John Paul Jones had just noticed what was going on.
Sean disgorged him, spat out, “Shut the fuck up!”
“Sorry.”
“I’m not bilging out two years from graduation. Copy that?”
“Copy that. Shut up and suck me.”
He felt the huff of Sean’s laugh against his groin. “Bastard.”
And then, to his abject relief, that marvel of a mouth closed around him again. Vic closed his eyes and concentrated on that wondrous wet tongue licking and lapping at the head of his dick. Vic shifted, stepped further apart to give
Sean better access. Sean’s mouth closed around him and he began to suck in earnest. So good. So humblingly good that fierce draw following the slow, reluctant repel, hard and soft, wet and hot.
Vic opened his eyes. It gave him a sense of power too; staring down at Sean’s bent head, the dull gleam of his chestnut hair, the dark crescents of his eye lashes, and his mouth…
Oh, that mouth.
His gaze fell on one of the four giant bronze dolphins that braced the marble sarcophagus. The dolphin seemed to be sticking its tongue out at him. In the eerie blue light from above Vic could just make out the name “Ranger” carved in the marble floor above the “John” in John Paul Jones. All seven of the ships Jones had commanded were listed there.
Two things eventually occurred to Vic: never again was he going to be satisfied with a girl blowing him – and Sean had done this before.
In fact, Sean gave head like a he did it for a living. Like a professional whore. It made Vic angry and it made him crazy for more because it was so good. ‘Good’ being a feeble word for the best goddamned thing in the world.
That beautiful sucking pull, that wet slide…a sweet tension was building, building with every synchronized pulse of heart and dick, building…
Oh yeah, and there it was, rolling through his nerves and muscles…bones and blood and every cell in his body…picking up weight and energy like a tidal wave surging up and then crashing down in wave after wave of shuddering sensation that sent sparks shooting behind his eyes.
Vic slumped against the black and white marble column. His legs were shaking so hard he wasn’t sure he could stay on his feet. “Christ.” His whisper seemed to echo in every corner of the crypt.
Sean was kneeling at his feet, breathing hard like he’d run a marathon, and Vic suddenly wanted to do it to him. Not just to taste him – although he did, to his shame, want to taste Sean’s cock – but to give him that. That…rush.
But that hadn’t been the bargain.
Anyway, Sean was pushing to his feet. Vic straightened, groped for his handkerchief and wiped himself off. He was astonished to see Sean unzip his pants and mop his own groin and genitals.
“You came watching me?”
Sean laughed a little unsteadily, nodded.
And because he was weirdly moved and excited by that, Vic said arrogantly, “Yeah, I have that affect on a lot of people.”
“Making plebes pee their pants isn’t the same thing, asshole.” But Sean was chuckling, and something about him, about that husky laugh in the intimate gloom and the scent of him – sex and soap and an aftershave that was too old for him – Vic grabbed him, nearly knocking him down, and kissed him.
Caught off guard, Sean’s mouth opened right up. Probably intending to protest, but Vic’s mouth covered his. Sean’s lips were warm and tasted of salty-sweet. A taste that was just a little too close to tears. Vic kissed him harder and kept kissing him until he recollected that officers and gentlemen did not kiss other officers and gentlemen.
At the same time, Sean pushed him away. .“Down boy.”
“You know you like it,” Vic said aggressively.
And to his astonishment, Sean flicked him a funny look. “Yeah. I do.”
When they finally went up through the chapel Sean pointed at the one of the stained glass windows facing the altar. Sir Galahad with his sword raised. “Hey,” he whispered. “Notice a resemblance around the jaw?”
To put him in his place, Vic said, “No way. You’ve got a mouth like a girl.”
This seemed to hit Sean’s funny bone – he always had a weird sense of humor. “Not me, asshole. I was kind of thinking he looks like you.”
Present day, 0100, Bagram Air Base, Afghanistan
Afghanistan in November was a cold day in hell.
At one o’clock in the morning the Chinook was spinning up on the tarmac, the craft shaking like a giant living, breathing bird. Warm exhaust gusted into Vic’s face as he climbed aboard after combat controller Tech Sergeant Bill O’Riley and Specialist Paul Matturo.
This was Vic’s handpicked rescue team. In addition to his mini quick reaction force, the Chinook helicopter was manned by five crew members including the pilot Major Kate Cheyney. Every one on this mission – code name operation Blue Dolphin – was a combat-seasoned veteran.
They buckled in and the chopper rose, whirling them off toward the snowcapped mountains.
They had a hundred and fifty mile flight to the rendezvous point. Everyone had their job and settled down to it, planning what to do when they hit the ground. The basic plan was to land, set up a perimeter, extract the Navy SEAL, and bug out.
Vic put on headphones and listened in on the radio chatter between Bagram and the battle zone. Well-armed, well-outfitted al Qaeda mountain fighters were well entrenched around their target. In other words, business as usual.
“So what the hell is this SEAL doing out here on his lonesome?” O’Riley asked, when Vic finally put the headphones aside.
“He was part of a recon team looking for Akhtar Shah Omar.”
Akhtar Shah Omar was a Taliban leader in the Kunar province whose so-called Mountain Devil fighters had been delivering heavy casualties to the marines operating in eastern Afghanistan.
“Someone should have told them Omar’s on the other side of the valley.”
Vic nodded curtly. It was obvious they didn’t have the full story yet, but that was par for the course. What he had been able to learn was that Sean had been leading a four man team. The three other SEALs had been killed after an extended firefight when their position had been discovered by mujahadeen militia. Sean had managed to survive and keep moving and was now within range of the landing zone, although there was no telling what kind of shape he was in.
“By now everybody in the fucking province, including Osama Bin Laden, will be looking for him. And they’re going to be waiting for us,” O’Riley said.
Vic looked from his weathered face to the dark, intense face of Matturo. “Yep. The Taliban knows we always come back for our own. If they can, they’ll lay a trap for us, but we’re coming in fast and we’ve still got the advantage of darkness.”
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