by brooklinegirl (witchbaby)
A warm night, a closed door, and energy to burn.
They connected now, more than ever.
That was saying something. Always, easily, had they been able to do this. This tacit communication, sometimes through a look, sometimes not even that. Sometimes all it took was for them to *not* look at each other. Especially those times when they found something annoyingly stupid, or amusing, or both. Then, Myron would just need to feel Zeke next to him, and heíd know. Thereíd be that click, and heíd just know he wasnít in all of this alone.
Theyíd connected, always.
Well. It seemed* like always. Maybe that wasnít necessarily the case (theyíd had their rough spots. They *still* had their rough spots), but it hadnít taken long for them to be able to play off each other, real well.
Now, though. This was something else entirely.
Myron shook his head. Cleaning his weapon mechanically, easily, unconsciously, his mind on Zeke. It was ridiculous, how distracted he was by him. By this. He wondered how long it would take his sergeant to show up tonight.
A knock at the door interrupted his reverie, and he called out, "Come."
The door opened, and Zeke poked his head in. "Busy, LT?" That tiny grin on his face.
Myronís heart started beating a whole lot faster. "Nope. Come on in, Sergeant."
A little nod and the barest of glances behind him (taking in everything going on out there, Myron knew). Zeke entered, and stood casually at ease. "Quiet lately, LT."
Theyíd not made any contact whatsoever, three days in the bush. That was sometimes worse than firefights. Gave them too much adrenaline to easily bleed off.
Myron kept the cigarette at the corner of his mouth as he answered. "Yep. You told the guys theyíre off tomorrow?"
Zeke nodded easily. "Mmm-hmm. Theyíre off drinkiní the night away. Pretty okay, I think. A little wound up. Too much energy, nowhere to put it."
"Yeah. I know how they feel." Myron felt Zekeís eyes following him as he got up and stashed his weapon. Myron was all too aware of Zekeís presence. Damn. Would this ever get easy? Did he want it to? That charge he got when they were alone together. . .it was something, all right. But still. This not-quite-knowing was annoying. Not knowing where this was going, or what came next. Myron preferred knowing just where he stood.
Zeke was still watching him. Myron just couldnít let this go. He carefully stubbed out his cigarette. Walked towards Zeke, who kept following him with his eyes. Myron advanced, sidestepping him at the last moment. Liked how Zekeís eyes widened just a bit, curiously.
Myron got to the door, glanced out as well (no harm in being careful), then shut the wood door firmly over the screen. Made the air inside the hooch a little close. That was okay, he intended to make it a whole lot closer, shortly, anyway.
He rested his back against the door. Zeke had turned around to watch him, eyes amused. Myron spent a moment looking at Zeke. Making him wait. He just leaned, feeling the adrenaline flow through his veins, seriously aware of it. Aware of Zeke. Breathed in. Myronís eyes felt sharply focused, and he watched Zeke, who was still comfortable, seeming not at all unnerved by this.
Was his sergeant *always* this sure?
Myron finally levered himself from the door. "Drink, Sergeant?"
"Sure, LT." That grin. "You got lots of reports to do tonight?"
"Lots of reports to do every night." Myron allowed himself a sideways smile as he poured the drinks. "Question is, am I going to get to them?"
He turned to hand the drink to Zeke, who had taken a few quiet steps and was close. Right next to him, actually.
"Iím guessiní thatís a no, LT."
"Youíd be right." Myron handed Zeke a glass. Their hands touched and he paused for a moment, not able to look away from that intense stare Zeke was giving him. The intimacy of a single touch was astounding.
Zekeís voice was soft, and he wasnít looking away. "Thanks."
"Mmm-hmm." Myron sipped his drink, let his gaze drift from Zeke to the door and back again. Still quiet out there. He opened his mouth, paused for a moment once more, then shut it. Settled for a smile.
Zeke watched the LTís eyes. They were dark and maybe a little wired. The kid just leaning there for a bit, against the door, watching him with those bedroom eyes. . .pretty damn sexy. And now Myron was standing real close. Those eyes seemed to be making a statement. . .or making an offer, depending on how you looked at it.
Seemed the kid was flirting with him. Interesting.
Myron sipped his drink again, without taking his eyes from Zeke this time. Then he tilted his head, stepped forward, smooth. Those eyes. . . piercing. Damn. Not shy, unh-unh.
Myron had showered, shaved, changed, after coming in from the bush. Maybe he had his own energy to bleed off a bit, before this. Or maybe just building that energy up to something. His fatigues fell into relatively neat lines (a bit rumpled maybe), fitting him nicely. Hair, as ever, needing a trim. Sticking up in spots, making him look real innocent, especially with that clean shave. Real young. Eyes betrayed that, though. Old eyes. Soldier eyes.
Well. Zeke was nothing if not pushy. His lips curved into a full-fledged grin, he reached out and (pausing for just a second) took the glass away from Myron. Reached around his lieutenant, arms on either side, to put the glasses down. Zekeís arms were already so close to being around the kid that it seemed only natural to wrap them around, pull him just a bit closer.
Zeke did so, then stopped for a second, just holding him. Myron, however, didnít hesitate. Zeke suddenly had Myronís lips pressed against his own, and he wasnít complaining, not hardly.
Theyíd been waiting, seriously waiting. . .had not had one single moment safely alone . . . since that night last week. That night. When theyíd first kissed. The mind boggled.
Without thought or choice, he was returning the kiss, holding Myron close, crushing him in his arms. . .but not crushing him. Danger-close, sure, but this was so different from, well, anything at all. Myronís body, strong and sure, and Zeke didnít hold back, and it didnít matter.
Strange, for sure.
Arms around him, holding him close, and oh, god, the LT pushing his tongue into his mouth (boy surely did know how to kiss, now. Must have taught those ladies a thing or two, oh yes).
Sure, not shy, and mmm. . .hard. Against him, hard, and was there ever, could there ever, be a greater turn-on than this? Arousal matching his own?
Surely not. Couldnít be beat. No way.
Nothing was like this. He brought his hands to Myronís hips, held tight, felt Myron holding on to him, as well. Nice. He liked that, a lot. And Myron, so much the LT as ever; holding on, but still pushing against him. Hands on his shoulders, propelling him back.
Looked like he wasnít the only one with some energy built up.
Wasnít the only one whoíd been thinking about this all week long.
He moved where Myron urged him, felt the bed hit the back of his knees and sat down, pulling Myron with him and lying back. Easy, this: Myron on top of him, still kissing, all that energy pushing him, pushing them. Easy, yeah, easy to get lost here.
Myron broke the kiss. Needed to breathe, and maybe regroup a bit. There was intimate, and there was *intimate*. Straddling his sergeant on the bed, however good it felt (and yeah, it did feel pretty damn good). . .well, it was weird. Out of his depth, he thought, maybe. He pulled back a bit, but Zekeís hands were still firmly holding his hips. Holding him close.
"Well." He *had* to take a moment to swallow and catch his breath. "Guess we have a little adrenaline to deal with ourselves." Nervous now, he was looking everywhere except at Zekeís eyes.
"Somethiní like that." Zekeís voice was breathless as well. He raised one hand, traced it down the side of Myronís face, around the curve of his cheek, bringing Myronís eyes to focus on his. "Anythiní youíre not sure of here, LT?"
Myron laughed, shaky. "Iím not sure about *anything*, Zeke."
Zeke nodded, still softly tracing Myronís cheek. "You want to stop?" he said quietly.
Myron looked down, cocked an eyebrow. Did he? Could he, at this point? When his blood was racing and his breath was coming fast, and Zeke was giving him that look? Nervous, yeah, but. . . "I donít think I could stop if I tried."
"Now thatís what I like to hear." The kiss Zeke drew Myron into was urgent, and he was acting from instinct, acting on need, as he sat up and gently turned so Myron landed on the bed. Zeke lay over him, kissing him. Pressing him hard into the bed, trying to resist the urge to grab those slim wrists and hold him pinned to the bed, explore that body in every damn way heíd been thinking about all week. Thoughts that had kept him awake and uncomfortable far too late almost every night.
Out of control, out of control, Zeke, take it down a few notches, donít scare the boy. Though, kind of hard to think that he was going to spook him. Not when Myronís hips were moving, achingly, beneath him. Driving him crazy, driving him to the edge, seriously. He pulled away from the kiss, taking several breaths of much-needed air, before Myron put his hand to the back of his head and drew him down again, not roughly, but necessary.
First date? Second date? Were there dates in Nam? Were there rules, ever? His head, his thoughts, were spinning. What was too far, what wasnít far enough? Damn, damn, damn. If the kid kept moving his hips like that, it would be past the point of wondering.
"LT. . .Myron." He wasnít quite able to extricate himself, but he tried. "We should stop."
Myron, who had opened his eyes and was very, very focused on Zeke, bit his lip as he heard his name from his sergeant for maybe the very first time. Studied him for a second, seriously, nodding his head. Then, surely, "No. Not yet."
Myronís lips on his again, and Zeke couldnít remember his argument. Couldnít concentrate on much of anything but this, and who could blame him for getting lost here? But it wasnít argument so much as instinct (different kind of instinct here: self-preservation, putting the brakes on that desperate need) that had him exert his power to desperately loosen himself from the hold Myron had on him. The hold he had on Myron. Aw, hell, all of it. So tough to pull away from.
But there was such a thing as too much, too quickly. They both knew that somewhere inside, even if their bodies seemed to be doing the thinking for them here. Couldnít stop himself from continuing the kiss, even as he reached up and pulled Myronís arms from around him. Found himself pinning those searching hands to the bed above Myronís head. Best way to get them out of harmís way, but not the best position to put a stop to the current situation. Not when having the slim form of the LT pinned beneath him this way fed into the fantasies heíd been having. He stole one last kiss and pulled his head back.
Myron lay there beneath him, breath coming fast, face flushed. Glanced up at his hands, pinned firmly beneath Zekeís, then back at the sergeant. Raised an eyebrow.
Zeke grinned, shaking his head a bit. Still way too aware of how he was pressed up against Myronís body. "Okay, LT, now we need to slow down just a bit."
That crooked grin again, and Myron nodded, though he seemed none too apologetic. "I guess. This is crazy, everything about this is crazy. We shouldnít be doing this on base." The grin got wider and he said, "We shouldnít be doing this at all." Zeke nodded gravely. "Gonna get court-martialed, for sure." Would maybe be worth getting court-martialed. His heart didnít seem to be willing to slow down much. It was warm in the room, and Myron was still lying there, looking comfortable, even when pinned to the bed, smiling at him. Was agreeing with Zeke, but didnít seem inclined to put a stop to things. Zeke shifted a bit, trying to find a position where he wasnít pressing every inch of himself up against the lieutenant. Not the best idea, as he found himself pressing harder against him, felt Myronís cock pressing hard, hard against his thigh. The rest of the world seemed to zoom out of focus around them, the center of his being wrapped up in how close they were. God, feeling Myron hard, hard for *him*, and not shy about it. . .made Zekeís mind spin wildly.
Then Myron, testing maybe, or maybe teasing; maybe just liking his newfound ability to throw Zeke off-balance, dropped his smile. By necessity, the position holding him there,
Zekeís face was real close to Myronís, looking right into his eyes. Myronís expression was intense, gazing up at him. He flexed his wrists against Zekeís hold on him, Zeke pinning him, apparently in a position of power. Myron licked his lips, real slow, and Zekeís mouth went entirely dry.
Then Myron lifted his hips, pressed up against him, hard.
Zeke actually groaned out loud, before rolling very quickly off of Myron. Lay there on the bed, on his back, legs dangling over the side. Breathing heavy and running his hands over his face, trying to calm down, regain some semblance of composure. Took several moments. "You actually *trying* to make me crazy, here?"
Felt Myron looking at him, and dropped his hands to find Myron there, curled up on his side on the bed, watching him. Expected him to be smiling, enjoying the sergeantís discomfiture. Instead, Myronís expression was serious. Studying him.
Zeke sat up, turned sideways to face him. Myron lay there quietly, eyes following Zekeís movements. The lieutenant was relaxed on the bed, apparently ignoring any possibility of them being interrupted, and the havoc that would rain down on them then. His voice, when he spoke, was easy, but slow, distracted. "Hand me my smokes, will you?"
Zeke turned and snagged the pack of Marlboros off of the desk, handed them to Myron. Myron, still lying there so easy, shook one out, began a systematic pat down of his pockets, looking for matches. Zeke smiled, pulled out his Zippo, lit it, and held out the flame for the LT. He carried the lighter for lighting more than just cigarettes, but it worked here too.
Myron raised his chin in a gesture of thanks. Laid his hand on Zekeís to hold it steady as he leaned into the flame. Zeke felt a tremor rush through him at the simple touch. Myron must have felt it too, because he lifted his eyes, looked at Zeke through the haze of smoke for a moment before he leaned back again.
Zeke shut the lighter with a sharp click, dropped it back into his pocket.
Myron took a drag and held the smoke for a moment, studying Zeke. Released it with a breath of air, and leaned over, one long arm grabbing the ashtray off of the bedside table.
Looked at Zeke again. "We donít have much time for this. For us." He tapped the ashes off, slow, careful, watching them fall.
Zeke waited, held his peace, wanting a glimpse of what went on behind those sometimes-guarded eyes.
"Iím not saying we need to rush this." He was quiet for a moment or two, taking a drag before he looked up at Zeke through his lashes, eyes dark. Wasnít trying to be cute, was serious this time. Couldnít quite help it sometimes, though: those young features, could make him look like a kid playing grown-up.
He was watching Zeke. Watching his eyes. "Itís just. . ." He paused, thinking. "Itís just. . .doing this, with you," he ducked his head again, looked up at Zeke, smiling, and this time he *was* trying to be cute. "Throws me off balance, but it feels right. Feels too good, sometimes, like weíre playing with borrowed time. Like we canít have too much of a good thing. . .because there *isnít* any time." He looked to see if Zeke understood. Zeke got that. Got that, big time. Wanted this boy like there was no tomorrow, Ďcause in their circumstances, that might well be the case. But he wasnít going to screw with this by rushing things, the way heíd done with Jennifer, the way Myron had done with Alex.
He watched as the LT concentrated hard on crushing out the half-finished cigarette, obviously still thinking about this whole thing. This decidedly weird set of circumstances theyíd found themselves in. Zeke sat there, watching, till Myron met his eyes. The LT leaned past him to replace the ashtray on the table, and Zeke caught hold of him, gentle-like. "Not too much of a good thing." He stopped, smiled. Got a smile in return. "Not here, no way. But I just donít want to push this, is all. Weíve got time."
Myron looked at him, face clearly showing what he thought of that statement.
Zeke amended. "Okay, maybe not, but if we canít *find* time, weíll *make* time. With our own two hands, if need be."
Almost as if in example of that, Myron, still leaning on one elbow, took hold of Zekeís hand. Wove their fingers together, then looked up at him. Leaned a bit closer, and Zeke could almost *see* him turning on the charm.
Worked, too, as Zeke found himself kissing the boy without being quite aware of deciding to do so.
He was drawn down to the bed by the LTís gentle arms, pulled into an embrace. The kiss went on and on, soft and smooth, and not quite as desperate as before, but just as hot. There was a taste of smoke in Myronís mouth, a tangible thing almost, mixed up with the sweet taste of Myron himself. Zeke broke the kiss, but stayed real close, heart beating like mad. "I donít want to mess this up. I want this to work." Open, open, too open, was that what the kid was going for here, trying to break down walls Zeke didnít even know he had? Not fair.
Myron murmured against his mouth. "I do too." Opened his eyes to look up at Zeke. That look that said clearly that wanting and doing are two different things. "We can sure as hell try, canít we?"
"Yep." Zeke kissed him again. "All we can ever do is try."
"So, címere." There was a laugh in Myronís voice as he pulled Zeke closer. Taking the time they had, and making it as good as they could. "But no holding me down in order to have your way with me. . .I donít think thatís quite fair, do you?"
"Oh," and Zeke ran kisses down Myronís neck, pausing to very softly drag his teeth across the spot where neck met shoulder. Myron arched and moaned, and Zeke smiled. "Sometimes I think itís fair. Someone needs to pin you down."
"Oh, yeah?" And Myron reversed their position, Zeke allowing himself to fall back underneath, while Myron grabbed hold of his wrists, held them down with surprising strength. Kissed him, hard, took his breath away. Then Myron pulled back with obvious effort, rolled off, and got up. Straightened his uniform, tried to look cool and calm. But his hair was all mussed up, sweetly, and Zeke could see his hands shaking, knew that the pulling away had cost him. But he was standing firm, doing the smart thing. Zeke sat up slowly, letting his eyes run over Myron. Could never even do that much, out on base, too obvious. But here, he could, and enjoyed it, almost (*almost*) as much as the kissing. The pressing. The pinning down.
Okay, stop it. Focus.
Zeke got up. Didnít dare go to kiss Myron goodbye, knew if he did, heíd not want to stop. Myron knew that, too, because he lit another cigarette, this time with matches from the desk, lit it but didnít smoke it. Just something to keep his hands busy. Watched Zeke head towards the door, his eyes carefully shuttered. A look Zeke could read clear as anything.
The LT just stood there, smoke from the cigarette curling up around him. He was letting the cigarette burn, as he watched Zeke pause at the door. Myronís face was expressionless, all hard edges and careful blankness, all except his eyes. Eyes that hid almost nothing. They were dark and penetrating, and Zeke felt pinned to the floor, just by that steady gaze.
All it took was a look, sometimes.
Myron just stood there. Stood in the center of his hooch, alone, eyes laying into Zeke.
Zeke had to force himself to turn away. Stood facing the door, breathing for a moment, before he opened it. "See you later, LT." He couldnít turn around. If he turned around, he would *not* be able to leave, and he wasnít going to put them into a position like that. Trouble would find them, sure enough, no sense courting it. He almost missed Myronís reply, so long was the pause before it. A long, low, "Yep. See you later, Sergeant."
Zeke heard a promise in that. He didnít smile, didnít turn around, but an eyebrow went up as he headed out the door, and there was a bounce in his step as he headed towards his hooch. Another sleepless night, most probably, but the sweetest of dreams were worth waiting for.
Nothiní good ever came easy.
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