R & R

Yet another tedious patrol completed and all the Wild Cards had returned from the dark silence of space alive. That was as much as could be hoped for these days. Exhaustion was their constant companion. It stalked their every mission. One day soon it would probably claim one of their number for death's own.

Shore leave was requested. Again. This time approved. Finally. Body bags were now a scarce resource.

The Bacchus welcomed them like conquering heros. The King's Shilling was always worth a toast or two. A slate of rooms stood ready for an infinite imagining of carnal lust.

Neutral ground, then. Military regulations relaxed, if only for a few hours. An opportunity granted by fate, perhaps? Or a well-conceived plan?

Lights dimmed, they faced each other, ankle deep in discarded battle dress. Tee-shirts and skivvies kept them in no man's land for a few moments longer. Not naked, yet. The opportunity to bail, declare a misunderstanding, withdraw and stop this insanity, diminished with each breath.

Dry mouthed, McQueen's cock hardened as he anticipated the beauty of Hawkes' naked body. The sculpted strength of his Marine-trained muscles. The leanness of his battle-hardened physique. The firmness of his youthful erection. Folds of white cotton fabric obscured McQueen's view, but he was certain of what lay hidden. It had to be so. How could Hawkes not be as hard as he was?

This rendez-vous was an eternity distant from an earth-side bar where their worlds had first collided. Isolated even within the midst of their comrades. Recognising, wordlessly, their mutual estrangement. Both chose to remain aloof from the ensuing affray until the news of Earth's darkest hour had broken and stopped the bar brawl dead in its tracks.

When he joined the 58th on board the Saratoga, McQueen had been unaware that his life choices were no longer under his sole command. He'd merely identified a young recalcitrant tank in desperate need of discipline and friendship, and offered what aide he was capable of. Awareness of Hawkes' evolving intentions had completely blindsided him. What he had assumed was a naive hero-worship had quickly burgeoned into a fully fledged adult lust to fuck. He realised now that Hawkes had begun subtly. A stare held too long. A step taken too close. McQueen's refusal to recognise that niggling sensation at the base of his skull, acknowledge the truth for what it was, had forced the Lieutenant to bolder, more dangerous, choices. Until, finally, even he could not deny what was so obvious to any one with eyes.

On the Saratoga, McQueen ran his life completely by the book; honour and pride demanded no less. Here, though, here they could lose themselves in the crowds of furloughed soldiers. Imagine, for a moment, there were no stripes to segregate them or rule their behaviour.

A movement caught McQueen's eye, drawing his gaze down as Hawkes spread his feet apart and began to fondle his own balls. Slowly, with his right hand, Hawkes traced a path with his fingertips across his skivvies making clear the outline of an expectant cock. McQueen swallowed hard, his eyes intently focussed on the hand as it tightened around the erection and stroked back and forth. A wet spot darkened the fabric, emphasising the strength of Hawkes' arousal.

The hand abandoned its rhythm and disappointment briefly coloured McQueen's mood, but then the skivvies descended and all he could think about was how much he wanted that thick hard cock inside him. Claiming him. Driving into him with raw lust, ripping him apart, screwing him toward ecstacy. A groan escaped his lips. He raised his gaze and met Hawkes'. The young invitro's eyes were ravenous.

The last shreds of false pretence dropped to the ground with their clothes.

A step forward, then another, momentum overcame inertia and diminished all that separated them. No turning back now. With palms pressed against Hawkes' chest, lips besieging their mate, McQueen forced Hawkes' retreat until a bulkhead pinned his target exactly where he wanted him. McQueen's hands swept everywhere exploring all within reach whilst his tongue plundered virgin territory, his mouth demanding its due. Recompense was enthusiastic. Though inexperienced, Hawkes tasted of strength and virility. His feverish passion fed the fire that coursed through McQueen's veins, tightening the ache in his balls. Intently focussed, Hawkes' hands tag-teamed a coordinated onslaught of escalating intensity; one milked McQueen's cock as the other massaged the curve of his ass.

Abandoning Hawkes' mouth, panting, McQueen bowed his head submissively before Hawkes, exposing his navel. Without hesitation, Hawkes' accepted the offering, covered the raised ridge with his mouth, teased its edges with the tip of his tongue. Between the flash points of Hawkes' trident assault, McQueen jolted erratically, fiery sparks burning muscle deep.

Determined to bestow pleasure in equal measure, McQueen's hands sought out Hawkes' balls and cock. Hot and heavy in his palms, McQueen swiftly quickened Hawkes' pulse, distracting him and disrupting his rhythm. Sinking to his knees, McQueen accelerated the pace. Hawkes' hands flailed, half-heartedly trying to halt McQueen's descent, but animal instinct took over as soon as his commander's mouth closed on his cock. Hawkes' fingers laced through McQueen's hair, urging him on as he sucked and licked Hawkes to completion.

Slumping against a trembling thigh, semen staining his chin, McQueen stared up at Hawkes. Awestruck at the wantonly open mouth, chest heaving, gasping for air, head rocked back, hands flattened against the wall for support, McQueen wondered at the beauty so artfully created in an antiseptic laboratory devoted to profit. Standing, McQueen took Hawkes in his arms, held the other Invitro tenderly within his embrace; created a haven for however fleeting a moment. The saturated scent of tank sex came with every breath, heady with elation, jostling him to the brink of genuine laughter. Hawkes' quivering body pressed close against his own, brought satisfaction within his grasp.

A mouth clamped down on McQueen's navel, sucked hard as hands cupped his ass, fingers seeking the crack between his cheeks. Hawkes laughed with raw desire and whispered, "Surprise, surprise!" A shiver of anticipation skittered down McQueen's spine. Control, uncoiling, escaping his grasp; McQueen twisted free and stumbled back a few steps, dislodging Hawkes' hold.

Eyes met. A lone wolf was loose and on the prowl. McQueen was its prey.

Retreating, his eyes bright, the come on implicit, McQueen stepped back towards the bed. With precise calculation, Hawkes pursued him, captured him in a tight embrace and devoured him with hungry kisses. Hands executed a mission to gain a more forceful hold. Not so compliant yet, McQueen evaded restraint, knocked Hawkes off-balance, tumbling him on to the bed.

Legs dangling over the edge, Hawkes propped himself up on one elbow and stretched languidly. "Why don't you come over here and help me with this." Slowly, Hawkes stroked his own cock eliciting a purple-hued lengthening.

God, to be young like that again, thought McQueen, a hint of envy sparking inside. His thoughts went back to when he'd been Hawkes' age, when his body had been equally capable. The darkest of memories threatened to break loose from their bonds and assault him. He retreated from that vanity swiftly, chastising himself for conjuring with experiences best left where they lay. There were advantages that age brought. Experience for one. Confidence and control, too.

Appropriating a tube from the bedside locker, McQueen clambered on to the bed and straddled Hawkes' lap, knees bearing his full weight. Their cocks brushed as McQueen drew Hawkes' head forward cradled in the cup of a hand. Zero resistance. Lips brushed, whispered welcome. Hawkes groaned and arched his hips as he wrapped the fingers of one hand around the pair of jutting erections, drawing them tightly together. McQueen deepened the kiss; desire flared bright and was fed by the friction Hawkes was stoking between them.

McQueen's fingertips stroked Hawkes' navel, then sauntered lower. Pinched a nipple tartly before descending, to and fro, across unblemished perfection. Hawkes' stroke slowed. Gently untwining the grasp from their cocks, McQueen squeezed lubrication on to Hawkes' fingers and guided them, underneath his body, to his puckered opening.

Hawkes' eyes widened and he gulped hard. With slick fingertips he tentatively rubbed against McQueen's anus, swirling and stroking before pushing cautiously inside. Velvety softness squeezed on him as he circled and probed onward. Paused. Withdrew. Relubed. Reentered. Returning with greater confidence, he delved deeper as if seeking out the darkest corner of McQueen's soul for illumination; stretching and preparing him for a reckoning.

McQueen sheathed their cocks within the curl of a fist and with a potter's grace coated them both in an oily sheen. "In me, now," a whispered order, granting permission. Awkwardly, a confusion of hands, juggled angles, headings and adjustments until the head of Hawkes' cock prodded the opening to McQueen's interior. Slowly, McQueen sat down, permitting gravity to work its will. Face to face, he watched as the tightness engulfed Hawkes, the increasing pressure rippling across a concentrated glare, limbs trembling with anticipation.

Full, to the hilt, McQueen paused allowing possession to engulf him. He brushed his fingers against Hawkes' cheek, smiled, raised his body slightly then sat back. Involuntarily, Hawkes gasped. Satisfaction came with the sound he forced from Hawkes' lips. Repetition enticed him. So he did. Again. And then again.

"Oh god!" Hawkes gasped for air. Sought, with one hand dancing erratically in the air, to discover a catch-hold that would ground him.

McQueen guided the hand, cupped it to his mouth and kissed the palm. The thumb was an obvious and easy conquest and he sucked on it as he continued on with slow, tormenting strokes.

With a ragged breath, Hawkes wrestled his hand free and reached back, snatched fistfuls of blanket, twisting the fabric as he gained a stronger anchor against which to lever.

Closing his eyes, McQueen surrendered to the heat telegraphing through him, into the core of him. Focus subsumed to a single need, instinctual insight the lone guide. Suddenly the world tipped upside down. Upended, flat on his back, the lead wrested from his tenuous grasp, his knees were forced toward his shoulders. Pinned, Hawkes reentered him with ease and ploughed, furrow deep, throttle flung open, careening on the accelerating rush toward completion.

All semblance of control was gone as Hawkes fucked him hard, driving down relentlessly into his welcoming body, ravaging him, despoiling any control he might imagine he still had. Hawkes' orgasm hit suddenly, stealing his breath. Arching, driving cock-deep into McQueen's ass one last time, his face contorted, more a mask of pain than revelation of the heady heights of pleasure. Lost in the tumultuous slip-stream of the young invitro's completion, McQueen joined the free fall to ecstacy.

As awareness restored itself, McQueen shifted Hawkes' sprawled body, cradled his shoulders against the long stretch of his arm, as the length of their legs entwined. He ran his fingers through Hawkes' sweat-soaked hair then softly traced looping intricate patterns across Hawkes' torso.

A little sore and tender from the fucking perhaps, but McQueen's breathing steadied into a slow, regular rhythm as his limbs relaxed. Worries, though, niggled at the periphery of his contentment. Reality painted stark, daylight-bright pictures for their future. He'd just broken god knew how many regulations and who knew what tactics Hawkes would employ on their return to the Saratoga. He wasn't sure he would be able to behave as if their relationship had not changed.

Absentmindedly, he stroked his own cock as he contemplated the monumental mess that could ensue. "Buts" assailed him in legions. He resisted. Sod them all. Life was more than just being, expending time following orders and implementing policy. Hawkes wanted him and that need connected him to a humanity he often imagined was still-born on Omicron Draconis. He quelled to silence all those dissenting voices that belaboured him with their disdain. He remembered the ferocity of Hawkes' passion and his cock hardened.

"Let me help you with that." Hawkes' hand wrapped around his. "Show me how you like it." The Lieutenant's voice was husky. "I want you to show me everything."

McQueen sank back, relinquished his fears for the future and let Hawkes take him over the precipice to oblivion.

The End

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