by brooklinegirl (witchbaby)
A long, hot night and Zeke has a lot on his mind.
He didnít like the new base of operations. He hadnít liked the firebase, not hardly, but he didnít like Tan Son Nhut more. Not logical, but true anyway. They were safer here, it was easier here, they had normal (kind of normal) places to go back to after being out in the bush. It wasnít so utterly tense here at all times. Kind of like being in your own protected little city.
But he didnít like it.
The lack of tension somehow made him more tense. If that made any sense. Out there, the base somehow being a part of the bush, on constant guard. . .that he could do. That he was used to. The tension became natural and he could roll his shoulders under it, carry it easily. No problem.
Here, though. Here, there were problems.
Wild, being a quick trip away from downtown Saigon. Women, here on the base, interacting with the guys. Guys who hadnít seen a round-eyed woman in god knew how long. And so many people coming and going, always new, different platoons, different commanding officers, MPs everywhere. Going back to regular army standards wasnít easy after being out there. At Ladybird, they were part of the field. Ever and always, on guard, at ready, and regulations did little but slow you down.
The kid had learned that, pretty damn fast. Fought it a little; kept trying to play by the book. But heíd learned. You start seeing death up close, seeing all that you thought you knew fall right to pieces. . .you learned, or you died. The LT had learned. Zeke had had his doubts at the outset, but however stubborn the kid was (still was, even after all this time. Always making up for that baby face. Reminding you that he was every inch a lieutenant and donít you forget it), he knew when to follow Zekeís lead, when to listen and not argue.
He was still a kid, though.
That in itself made Zeke a bit more nervous than this city-feel of Tan Son Nhut did. Being here, so many people around, put some space between the guys in the platoon. They werenít so closely tied as before. Other people, coming and going and butting in and causing problems and somehow, the new base seemed too big. Too much territory. Too much space between them, and he found himself seeking Myron out, just to make sure he was doing okay.
Not that the LT couldnít take care of himself. He could. It was just that sometimes. . . sometimes, heíd get caught up in little things. The weight of command. All the rules, good and bad, that he was supposed to follow. That heritage left to him by his father, trying to match up, or maybe not even that. Maybe just find his own way, in his own time, and entirely unsure how to do that.
They didnít talk as much anymore. Goldman had always been his superior officer, always in charge, but back at firebase LB, at least they would talk. Talk about the platoon, regularly; Myron knowing that Zeke could see things that he couldnít. The little things, the important things, that helped them keep tabs on the guys and their mental states. Myron was the lieutenant, with a capital L. In charge. They got that, the guys did, after a time, and that was okay with them. They wanted him out there, with them. They had learned to trust him. To respect him. Zeke, though. Zeke was their god. The never fallible, always steady, he-who-knows-all-things Sarge. One of the guys, sure, but more than that. He was their guide, their level to live up to, their buddy, their chaplain, their older brother. Their Sarge.
So, he knew the guys, better than Myron ever could. And when the platoon came back into base, sooner or later he and Myron would wander off. Talk. Talk about what went on, a bit. Kind of an unwinding, talk leading easily from discussion of the platoon, to other stuff.
Zeke looked down at the shot in his hand. Studied it for a moment, caught up in his thoughts, before finally downing it and placing the glass carefully on the bar.
Myron didnít know it, but Zeke studied him almost as muchómaybe more thanóhe did the guys in the platoon.
Zeke shook his head, and gestured to the bartender for another shot.
So where was the LT tonight? Lately, Zekeíd had to chase him down to get him alone. But even then, it was easy to talk. Almost like it had been when it had been just them, just the platoon, back at Ladybird. A few sentences and Zeke could almost see the tension melting out of Myronís shoulders. . .at least, as much as it ever did. The LT carried too much, too often. No doubt that he could do it, that he was handling it, but he needed an outlet. The talking helped. But they didnít get to talk alone much. Always being interrupted. By Devlin. By McKay. McKay seemed to be around way too much for Zekeís taste. Lately, he couldnít really tell if the cocky pilotís presence annoyed Myron, still. Strangely, Myronís altercations with McKay seemed to help him, too, somehow. Like the talking. Gave him an outlet, of sorts. Maybe.
Zeke drank the shot and nodded at the bartender, headed toward the door. He grinned at a few of the guys, shook his head at the offers to join them, and slipped out into the night. He wanted to be alone, for a bit. Well, what he really wanted was to talk to Myron, but it looked like the LT wasnít going to show tonight.
He was probably with that girl reporter. Devlin. Zeke smiled, heading vaguely towards his hooch, but not ready to settle down just yet. Myron sure could pick Ďem. First that Nikki bitch, leading him on, and Myron willingly following. The kid was smart, but not when it came to love, unh-unh. Didnít know a damn thing when it came to love. Easy enough to be blind, but you get your heart broken over and over again and still keep going back for more, till she finally dumps you on your ass good and proper?
Not smart, kid.
And now he wouldnít even talk about it. At first, Zeke would cautiously approach the subject, testing the waters. But no way. As far as the LT was concerned, Nikki didnít even exist in this world. She was gone and forgotten, well and truly forgotten, and had never meant very much anyway. A fling. Yep, nothing but a fling and what was her name again?
All right, LT. Zeke backed down, seeing how Myronís soul flashed through his eyes, hurting for sure. But Zeke let it go. That boy wore his heart on his sleeve, all right. No hiding it, and Zeke wasnít about to take advantage of the uncontrolled openness. Myron wanted to forget her? So did Zeke. Wished Myron were right, that it was true that sheíd never existed, so she could never have fucked with him and broken his heart.
But she had, and Myron was hurt and that probably had a whole lot to do with his falling into this ridiculous affair with Devlin. When that girl couldnít see anything but her career, could never see Myron, not for real. She wouldnít know the "truth" she was so blindly seeking if she fell over it. Zeke wasnít too worried. There wasnít a whole lot to this girl, and Myron would see that eventually.
Hopefully before the girl dragged him into more trouble than she already had. Devlin was playing way too many sides in her little search for the truth, and none of them very well. Zeke had watched her set up trouble between Myron and that pilot, McKay. Lucky thing those two were pretty damn good lieutenants, managed to work together real well in spite of her games. Zekeíd also watched her maneuverings threaten to distract Myron from his command. Came close a few times, but Myron was a good soldier. A good commanding officer. Heíd always managed to set her aside, so far, when it was necessary.
But it was the tension between Myron and McKay that really got to Zeke. Obviously, as his thoughts kept spiraling back to it. Had him worried. Lot of sparks flying between the two lieutenants, even now that they had an uneasy truce. Shouldnít bother Zeke. Wasnít really much of his affair to begin with. Officer stuff, and if he were smart, heíd just stay out of it.
Then again, if he were smart, he never would have fallen for the LT to begin with.
His grin to the darkness was slightly mocking and he shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his fatigues as he meandered through the base. He should head back to his hooch. Settle down, try to curb in how his mind wandered by curbing in his body. He started circling back, slow, taking his time. It was still pretty early on the base. A lot of the guys were still off drinking, if they didnít have to go out tomorrow, or sleeping if they did. Not a whole lot of bodies wandering about and the base was quiet, all the noise muted, background noise.
Turning the corner towards where his hooch was, Zeke saw the glow of a cigarette before he saw the still form sitting on the steps out in front. Knew it was Myron before he could rightly make him out. He slowed down, padded silently closer, and paused for a moment, watching him smoke in the dark. The tip of the cigarette glowed orange as Myron took another drag, then leaned back on his elbows, stretching his legs out in front of him. Blew the smoke slowly up to the stars.
Zeke didnít quite know why, but he enjoyed watching Myron like this, in an unguarded moment. Heíd built enough walls around himself to know how hard it was to let them all down. Watching Myron, being just Myron (not the LT, not General Goldmanís army brat, not a ladiesí man), now that was interesting. Kind of compelling. Not something he was used to seeing. Myron let those carefully built walls down rarely.
That was something Zeke knew about, real well.
Zeke let a few moments slide by, watching, just watching, before he shook his head at his own distraction, and strolled over to join him in front of the hooch. Myron looked up when he saw him heading his way, lifted an eyebrow and gave him a grin. Took one last drag off of his cigarette, sat up and threw it away.
"How you doiní, LT? You waitiní on me?" Zekeís voice was smooth and quiet in the night as he settled himself easily on the step next to Myron.
"Just killing time, Zeke. Killing time and avoiding reports." He gave Zeke that smile, the one that was there to hide a whole lot going unsaid. Shook another cigarette out and lit it. The LT was smoking too much again.
Zeke breathed in the scent of the newly lit cigarette. He didnít smoke himself, but almost everybody else here did. Heíd been around smokers long enough for the tickle of smoke in his lungs to feel almost good. Contact nicotine fix, maybe. Shook his head, annoyed at himself for liking the taste of the smoke.
Myron was watching the dark again. Had something on his mind, for sure.
"Whereís your lady-friend tonight, LT? Thought youíd be with her, when I didnít see you over at the bar." Zeke watched Myronís expression close, sure heíd see. . .yep, there it was, that flicker of hurt. Myron played it close to the vest, but not close enough.
"Alex had some function to go to. Chasing down some story. We decided. . .well, itís better if Iím not at these things. Those damn dignitaries and politicians. . ." He glanced over as he took another drag, gave Zeke that sideways (hurt) smile. " I just canít seem to keep my mouth shut around them. Canít let it go."
That small smile that seemed to be bordering on a laugh crossed Zekeís face again. "I hear that." He liked it when the LT stood up in the face of Alexís quests for truth. "Maybe there are some things we shouldnít let go."
Myron nodded several times, staring down at the burning tip of the cigarette. "Maybe so."
"Hey, LT, you doiní okay?" Kept his voice smooth, but with that listening tone.
Myron was trying for that hard-edged smile, but it came out a little wobbly this time.
"Iím fine, Sergeant." Another drag, and he flicked the butt away.
The kid tried too hard sometimes.
"She just ainít never gonna get it, LT. Neither are them politicos or business guys or even Major Darling. Theyíre lookiní at the big picture. Screw the big picture. Weíre lookiní at lives." He paused, gave Myron that little smile again. Myron was watching him with that look, eyes so deep they might as well go on forever. "They ainít never gonna see it the way we see it."
He shouldnít be getting involved. Shouldnít be offering an opinion one way or the other when it came to Devlin. Not his business who Myron chose to break his heart this time around. Why should he care? The field was one thing, the base was a whole other ball game.
But Myron was sitting here, alone with him in the dark. Was looking at him, that face (young, so young, too damn young for this war), knowing Zeke was right, but still wanting to believe. Myron wanted so much for the women he loved to be good, to be right and true, that he was willing to overlook or justify just about anything to make it so.
Zeke shook his head once more. Heíd been spending way too much time thinking about Myron. Way too much. Get over it, Zeke, ainít never gonna happen and you know it. Let it go.
It donít mean nothiní.
Just the war and not a whole lot more.
Myron was nodding slowly. "Maybe so." He sighed and stretched. Too young and too damn good lookiní to be out here. How did he make olive drab fatigues look that good? Shouldnít be possible.
(Shouldnít be thinking of it).
"You got anything to drink in that hooch of yours?" Myron asked, gesturing over his shoulder with a jerk of his chin.
"Sure thing, LT. Címon in." Zeke stood and opened the door, motioning for Myron to enter ahead of him. Myron rose smoothly, headed inside, shoulders straight even at this hour.
Zeke stood for a moment at the open door, taking several breaths of the warm night air, breathing real careful, before he followed him inside. Get a grip, Zeke.
Dug the bottle out and poured them two drinks in glasses that were mostly clean. Inside, away from any eyes but Zekeís, Myron had sagged down on the bed, scrubbed his hands over his face. He was tired. Zeke had been able to see it in his eyes outside. There was a tightness there that never quite let go, on base or in the bush. Always so much the LT, never quite got the chance to be the kid that he was. That was a damn shame, it was. Kid as pretty as him deserved a chance to just be happy.
Quit it, Zeke. No future in it.
Myron sat up straight to take the glass Zeke offered him. "Here you go, LT, enjoy it. Thatís good stuff, got it from a guy Taylor knows over in Saigon."
Zeke leaned against the desk comfortably. He sipped his drink, watching over the rim of the glass till Myron caught his eye. Zeke held his gaze for a moment (just a moment) before allowing his eyes to flick away.
No future in it.
Myron paused, having caught Zeke looking at him once more. Now, this wasnít fair. They should be on a pretty even footing here (officer he may be, but Zeke had been out here a lot longer. Different training, different rules. They each had different strengths, and theyíd learned to play off of each other). But sometimes it felt like Zeke was keeping track of him, still. Myron had enough eyes on him as it was. He looked down at his drink, sighing and cocking an eyebrow for just a second before downing it. What did it matter? Zeke knew he was a good officer. Maybe, just maybe, he watched him just to make sure. . .make sure of what? Oh, hell, maybe just making sure. Zeke wasnít just a sergeant, he was THE sergeant. It was his job to make sure of just about everything. Myron wasnít going to stop him.
He was tired. Hit him hard, sometimes, at the end of a day like this. He lay back, after holding out his glass to be refilled, which Zeke did with the same precision he did everything else. Propped himself against the head of the bed, carefully balanced the glass on his chest. Watched Zeke from lidded eyes.
"Sergeant. . .Zeke. You donít think much of Alex Devlin, do you?"
Zekeís lips curved in a little smile, and he took another sip of his drink before responding. "I donít like haviní to watch over lady reporters in the field, if thatís what you mean, LT."
Myron slowly shook his head back and forth on the pillow. "Not what I mean, Zeke." He took a careful sip. He was tired, too tired, for the booze to be getting to him this quick. "You donít think much of her as a person. You donít think much of her being with me."
"More like I donít think much of ~you~ beiní with ~her~." Zeke answered, a bit too quickly. A bit too surely.
Myronís eyes narrowed curiously. "I donít follow."
Dammit. "I just mean. . ." Aw, what the hell. "Guess what I mean, LT, is you got some eye in pickiní out just the exact right woman who wonít appreciate you one damn bit." He smiled his not-smile. Wasnít nothing but features moviní, and meant a whole different thing from what the word "smile" implied. "Takes a hell of an eye, that does."
Myron felt a tightening in his gut. Didnít like the judgment being passed. Didnít like Zeke finding fault with him. But. . .tired. Tired and a tiny bit tipsy and didnít really care enough to actually sit up and argue it. He closed his eyes for a second, then cracked them open. "You donít seem to have much better luck yourself, there."
"Donít I know it." Zeke finished his drink and set the glass down. Watched as Myron shrugged the comment off, closed his eyes again. What ~was~ it about this kid, anyway, that got him so worked up? Got him involved when he didnít mean to, didnít need to be. None of his damn business, but. . .
Let it go. Just let it go.
He watched as Myron opened his eyes. "You think I could do better?"
"Than Devlin? Yes, sir, I surely do." Zekeís heart was beating too fast, all of this getting way too close to the truth for comfort. Didnít stop him, though. Not much did. "I just think that maybe someone who knows a little bit more. . .takes things a little more seriously." He stopped for a second, watched Myronís eyes watching him. "She doesnít understand you, and I kinda doubt she ever will," he said carefully, aware he was pushing his luck.
Myron just looked at him for several moments, blinking slowly. "I donít know a whole lot of people who do, Zeke." He got up, shaking his head. "Iím going to head back to my quarters, before I fall asleep in your bed."
"Okay, LT," Zeke said. This was not good, it was not at all good. These thoughts he was thinking, about what exactly it was the lieutenant did need, who would understand him, and how easy it would be. . .not a good thing. Let it go, Zeke. Just let it go.
Myron walked over to the desk, put his glass down next to Zekeís. He was close, so close, to the sergeant, just for a moment. Zekeís eyes were drawn to his face, close enough to see the tired lines, the warm brown of his eyes. Took less than a second of looking, to pick up on those details, but it was enough for Myron to notice the quick study. He looked startled, and his voice when he spoke was a little confused. "Thanks for the drink, Sergeant."
Zeke looked him directly in the eye for a moment, then flicked his eyes straight ahead. "No problem, Lieutenant." Holding himself together, tight and easy. Would have been a whole lot easier, though, if Myron hadnít still been standing so damn close, close enough to touch. Thoughts like these could lead to some very serious trouble.
Myron walked slowly towards the door. Zeke found that he could breathe, a bit, again. Till Myron stopped for a second about halfway there, looked over his shoulder at Zeke. Maybe saw something on his face, because he turned the rest of the way around. "Zeke? You doing okay, yourself?"
"Sure I am." There was not the slightest movement to Zekeís body, but every muscle was tight as he willed Myron to leave and leave fast, before matters got out of his very carefully held control. But he was good at this (maybe too good). He stayed leaning comfortably against his desk and there was that little half (twisted, maybe) smile on his face.
Myron stood, still halfway to the door, looking at Zeke. Rumpled fatigues and rumpled hair and still with that weariness to his features. His eyes were dark and a little blurred with fatigue and the drinks hitting him harder than usual. His voice when he spoke was slightly bemused. "Youíre easy to talk to, you know, Zeke? Just. . .thanks for listening." He shook his head and smiled that smile that melted Zekeís heart in his chest every time. Without conscious thought, Zeke was no longer leaning against the desk, but poised in front of it, a few steps closer to Myron. Now, how had that happened? Get control, there, Zeke.
Myron continued, "I get the feeling that you see me. . .see more to me, you know, than anyone else." He paused, watching as Zeke took another few steps closer. Must be tired, must be drunk, must be imagining that look in his sergeantís eyes. No way, no ~way~ was he seeing what he thought he was seeing. Right? That look. . .must mean something else.
Not. . .not what it looked like. No way.
But here Zeke was, right in front of him, and looking at him, looking right at him, looking right into his eyes. And Zekeís voice was desperate as he said, "I see you, LT. I see you, all right." And he was taking Myronís face in his hands, and Myron wasnít pulling away. As a matter of fact, Myron seemed frozen in place, caught in that look Zeke was giving him. Zeke, who wasnít just looking at him, but ~seeing~ him. Seeing to the depths of his soul, whether Myron willed it or not. Seeing him and not backing down. Not backing away.
Zeke paused for an instant that seemed like a lifetime, seemed to be waiting for something, still weighing, measuring. He was leaning ever closer and didnít break that strong and steady gaze till his lips touched Myronís own and that kiss was all they were.
In the heart of Vietnam, in a dirty little hooch in a dirty little war, and Zeke was kissing him and Myron wasnít backing away. Not backing away, not hardly, but responding. Slowly, at first, caught not just in the kiss itself, but in everything that went with it. Aware of the strength behind it. Those lips against his, strong, so strong, and the hands dropping from his face to his hips (he was ~real~ aware of those hands on his hips). The scent of Zeke, mixed up with the taste of him, so Myron seemed consumed by the sensations of whisky and sweat and the musky scent that was particular to Zeke and Zeke alone.
Took him a second, a few seconds really, of just being kissed, kissed strong and hard and by someone who damn well knew how. Then he was leaning into it, his hands coming up to hold onto Zekeís strong shoulders, holding onto him, holding himself up, not sure his knees would support him through this.
He couldnít even think, could just respond, and it was Zeke who finally (slowly) pulled back. Zekeís breathing was ragged and his eyes were worried.
Everything seemed blurred to Myron: his sight, his breath, his thoughts, the line they had just crossed. One thing was crystal clear, though. That kiss. It had neveróNEVERó been like that with Alex. Or anyone, for that matter. My god.
He knew he needed to say something. He seriously couldnít put together one coherent thought. My ~god~.
Zeke still had hold of his hips, and now he brought one hand up to brush across Myronís cheekbone. Myron was trying to focus on something. Anything.
"LT. . ." Zeke seemed at a loss for words, too. His eyes were flickering now, studying Myronís own. Looking for answers, maybe. A kiss that good came from both sides. Theyíd connected good, real good in the field. On the base. Had to be likely theyíd connect real good like this. And they surely did connect. Question was, did the kid know what he wanted, really?
"Zeke." Myron brought his hand up to Zekeís where it rested against his cheek. Zeke looked at their two hands, entwined, for a moment, then back into Myronís eyes. Myron blinked several times in quick succession, trying to gain some semblance of control. His voice, when he spoke, was shaky, with reaction and perhaps a bit of laughter as he said, "Well, what the hell are we going to do about ~this~?"
A real smile crossed Zekeís face as he said, "I donít know the answer to that one, LT, but I gotta say, I sure am glad weíre doiní ~somethiní~. The waitiní was likely to kill me."
Myron couldnít help but smile back. His smile turned into a laugh, which turned slightly manic. He pulled away and Zeke let him go quickly. Myron paced, running his hands through his hair, still with that panic-stricken smile on his face. "Iím just. . .I donít know." He laughed again, slightly calmer, but still not meeting Zekeís eyes.
Zeke watched calmly, waiting him out. Let him get through this, think it through. Hopefully, heíd see.
"I, ah, Zeke, I. . .you know, fraternization is strictly prohibited." A smile crossed Zekeís face, which he quickly hid. Rules, rules, always the rules, LT.
Myron was talking and pacing and patting his pockets in a mad search for cigarettes. "We shouldnít. . .this isnít. . .aw, hell." Heíd found his cigarettes and shook one out, dropping several to the floor in the process. Fumbled the cigarette to his mouth, and began to search for his lighter. His hands were shaking, bad, and he couldnít find it. Finally he stopped, and just looked at Zeke, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. That look, open and young, seriously young. Looking for answers. "Hell, Zeke."
Zeke moved, then. Kept his eyes on Myron, calm, like you would a nervous colt. Jesus, kid, breathe, will you? Pulled a pack of matches out of his pocket and stepped forward, easy-like, and lit a match, held it out for Myron. Myron stayed, looking at him for a moment, before raising a shaking hand to hold the cigarette still, leaning in to light it. Zeke watched him over the flame.
"LT." Zeke got his attention and Myron looked at him, calmer now, with the cigarette in his hand, taking in a big lungful of smoke and letting it out slowly. "LT, Iíve been holdiní back for a long time now. There were. . .well, there were ~lots~ of reasons to keep quiet. But watchiní you, throwiní yourself away on someone who doesnít know anything, anything at all, doesnít even ~see~ you. . ." Zeke paused, watching as Myron, smoke calming him, looked at him with those eyes that seemed all pupil, wild and wired. "Couldnít let that happen. Couldnít let you get hurt like that, again." Watched as Myron flinched at that. Zeke flinched inside, himself. Hated using Nikki to drive the point home, but it was true. It was killing Zeke, watching Myron set himself up for the fall yet again.
Myron was slowly coming into focus, nerves steadying. He took another drag. "Zeke, this. . .this is a lot to deal with." He forced himself to look right at the sergeant.
"I know that, LT. But," and Zeke took a step forward, touched Myron on the arm. Myron kept his eyes on Zekeís, grounding himself. "But tell me this . .did you feel what I felt, just now? There was. . .you canít tell me there isnít somethiní there between us." He searched Myronís eyes.
"No, I canít deny that," Myron said softly. His hands were hanging down by his side, smoke forgotten and burning down. Zeke took it carefully from his hand, eyes never leaving Myronís own, and placed it in the ashtray on his desk.
"Well, letís not let this one go." He pulled Myron gently forward. "Hmm?"
Myron was trying to think clearly, be smart about this, but was distracted, utterly distracted, by the thought of Zekeís lips once again on his. As it looked like they were likely to be. He was already recognizing that look in Zekeís eyes. No hesitation this time, as Zekeís lips met his hungrily, his arms pulling Myron close. Myron, ever the lieutenant, tried to gain some control this time. Got pulled into the kiss, sure, but aware that he had some power of his own. When he felt Zekeís tongue nudging against his lips, seeking entrance, his response was natural and uniquely Myron.
He opened his mouth slowly (teasing?) and met Zekeís tongue with his own, tasting him. He felt Zekeís hands tighten around him, and he brought Zekeís tongue into his mouth, opening himself, allowing it. Myron heard small, desperate sounds coming from Zekeís throat. Sounds of want and need, and to whom the control belonged was anybodyís guess. Somehow Myronís hands were on Zekeís hips, bringing him closer. Sweat trickled down his back, and his heart was beating fast, so fast, and that kiss was, if possible, better than the first. Primal and real and getting that reaction out of his stoic sergeant. . .it set Myronís blood on fire. Breathing became necessary, but that was the only thing that got him to pull away this time. He struggled for composure, difficult with his arousal being patently obvious, pressing hard into Zekeís thigh. The reaction had been instant. . .heíd been hard since the first kiss. But as he caught his breath, Myronís lips curved into a smile, for Zekeís eyes were still closed, as he too grasped uselessly at self-control, lost. And he could feel that Zeke was in much the same physical state.
He cleared his throat. "Yeah. What was that you said, that some things shouldnít be let go?"
Zeke opened his eyes slowly. His voice was just the slightest bit strained, as he tried to regain control. "Somethiní like that."
Myron looked at him for a moment, still holding him close. "Yeah. Something like that."
"Itís more than, more than just this, you know? The physical stuff?" Zeke studied Myron, wanting to make sure of him. "I just canít stand to see it, see you gettiní caught up in a bad bargain. You donít belong with Alex, aní. . ." He stopped, closed his mouth tight.
"No, go ahead, what is it?" Myron was curious about what exactly it was Zeke wouldnít say after all that ~had~ been said. And done. He still couldnít believe how instantly aroused he was.
Zeke grimaced. "Well, I just think that thereís a hell of a lot goiní on between you and that flyboy McKay, and I gotta admit," he smiled once more. "itís makiní me nervous."
Myron nodded slowly. Even he had noticed the sparks flying between him and McKay. Heíd never have acted on it, but there was definitely something there. They clashed a lot, and it was somehow satisfying in a way. That tension built up and released between them, left him with an outlet of sorts. It had always made him a bit uneasy, the way he was drawn to the too-handsome young pilot.
Zekeís eyes were dancing with amusement, as he realized that Myron had been well aware of the chemistry between him and McKay. Not quite as innocent as you appear, Lieutenant. Even with that baby face and those seriously deep brown eyes and those soft lips, just begging to be kissed again.
Myron was trying to think and here Zeke was, obviously focusing in on another kiss. "Wait, just a second."
"Okay, LT." Zeke stopped, real close. "Iíll wait, I just canít promise for how long." His grin was sly and Myron couldnít help but grin back.
"This is a bad idea, all around, you know that, right? Weíd get the stockade for any part of this whole thing."
"Thatís true." Zeke was still smiling, ever sure that theyíd find a way to make this work.
"And look where we are! Weíd have to be pretty damned lucky to find any time alone at all." It was really hard to focus on all of the arguments against, when the greatest argument ~for~ was right here, very close, and pulling him near.
Zekeís voice was that real soft one he got. "Weíre alone now." He brought his lips to Myronís ear. "Arenít we?" he whispered, and his tongue captured Myronís earlobe in a fairly compelling manner.
"Yes, but. . ." The rest of Myronís rebuttal was lost as Zeke trailed kisses down his neck, nudging aside the shirt collar to get at the smooth skin. Reaching the point where neck met shoulder, he gave in to desire and bit down softly, eliciting a groan from the lieutenant.
Zeke loved this. Loved being able to do this (finally!) to Myron. Feeling him, hard against his thigh. Now, ~that~ just took his breath away. Just to get a reaction, he shifted his hips against Myronís. Got the stifled moan he was looking for, but also got Myron, dropping his hands to Zekeís hips, pulling him hard against him. Zeke, startled and wholly unprepared for the ease of this intimacy, overbalanced and stumbled forward. Myron caught his balance with several quick steps back, but ended up pinned against the wall near the door, Zeke pressed up against him, arms braced against the wall on either side of his head, eyeing him, impressed.
"Not so shy, are you?" he murmured.
Myron met his eyes smoothly, though he did blush. "Iím a lieutenant, I canít afford to be shy." He brought his gaze to bear on Zeke, forcing him to focus. "Zeke, this is weird for me." Weird. That was putting it mildly. It was downright insane, but somehow. . . somehow, it felt right. Surrounded by war, surrounded by death, sometimes it was a struggle even to breath through the madness of it all, but this madness. . .it just felt ~right~. If there was anyone he trusted, if there was anyone he knew, really knew, anyone who knew him, through and through. . .it was Zeke.
Think about it. What they went through in the field. Their way of communicating was damn near telepathic. A flicker of the eyes was usually enough to say everything. They did it all the time, without even thinking, that easy, tacit communication. Myron had never thought twice about it, but it was true. He was easier and more open with Zeke than heíd ever been with anybody, basically because he didnít have to spell it out for him. Zeke could look at him and read him, easy. No one elseónot Alex, not Nikkióhad ever been able to do that. Had ever tried to. Zeke could.
That should have been weird, but wasnít. Kind of like how those kisses should have been weird, but werenít. Were instead right. Right in a way that hit you over the head. Right in a way that left you wondering what the hell youíd been doing with your time, that you hadnít seen this right in front of you.
Zeke. Right in front of him. Looking at him. Myron sighed and shook his head. "We are just asking for trouble here, you and I." Zeke was watching him close. Searching him. "We are going to have to be very, very careful to not get cauÖmmph." The rest of his words were lost as Zeke, grinning now, swept in to capture Myronís lips, sweetly, surely, once again. He gave himself to Myron in that kiss, all of his doubts, his need, his love, bleeding out into Myron. Myron could feel it in the force of that body against his, and that, too, felt right.
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