Yeah. I knew him. A long time ago.”
“Sean Kennedy is a common enough name.” Marsden was still eyeing Vic curiously. “Well, it’s a small world, and that’s a fact. Good friend, was Kennedy?”
“Yes.”
The best.
And more.
“Funny how things work out,” Marsden said, apparently in one of his philosophical moods. “Well, whether this Kennedy is your Kennedy or not, it looks like it’s your job to bring him home. You deploy at oh one hundred hours.”
oOo
Twelve years ago, , Beneath the chapel of the U.S. Naval Academy, Annapolis, Maryland
Eerie blue light bathed the marble sarcophagus of John Paul Jones.
“Jee-zus, you’re one crazy sonofabitch,” Midshipman Second Class Sean Kennedy said admiringly — though this was very much the pot calling the kettle black. “Remind me not to gamble with you again.” He looked around the chamber with awe.
“Yeah, yeah. Pay up.”
“You want a blowjob in a crypt?”
Hell, provided Sean Kennedy was the guy at the other end of his dick, Vic would have welcomed a blowjob inside the sarcophagus.
“Are you chickening out?” Vic asked in a hard voice because if Sean was, Vic was liable to strangle him out of sheer frustration and murderous disappointment.
Ever since he’d seen fellow plebe Kennedy laughing down at him from the top of Herndon Monument — sunlight gilding his chestnut hair and honey-colored skin, turning his hazel eyes gold — he’d wanted him. Wanted him so bad it kept him up at nights. And it hadn’t helped when they’d become friends. Or roommates. And if it hadn’t been for the presence of their other bunkmate, Midshipman “Specs” Davis…
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
“Sean Kennedy is a common enough name.” Marsden was still eyeing Vic curiously. “Well, it’s a small world, and that’s a fact. Good friend, was Kennedy?”
“Yes.”
The best.
And more.
“Funny how things work out,” Marsden said, apparently in one of his philosophical moods. “Well, whether this Kennedy is your Kennedy or not, it looks like it’s your job to bring him home. You deploy at oh one hundred hours.”
oOo
Twelve years ago, , Beneath the chapel of the U.S. Naval Academy, Annapolis, Maryland
Eerie blue light bathed the marble sarcophagus of John Paul Jones.
“Jee-zus, you’re one crazy sonofabitch,” Midshipman Second Class Sean Kennedy said admiringly — though this was very much the pot calling the kettle black. “Remind me not to gamble with you again.” He looked around the chamber with awe.
“Yeah, yeah. Pay up.”
“You want a blowjob in a crypt?”
Hell, provided Sean Kennedy was the guy at the other end of his dick, Vic would have welcomed a blowjob inside the sarcophagus.
“Are you chickening out?” Vic asked in a hard voice because if Sean was, Vic was liable to strangle him out of sheer frustration and murderous disappointment.
Ever since he’d seen fellow plebe Kennedy laughing down at him from the top of Herndon Monument — sunlight gilding his chestnut hair and honey-colored skin, turning his hazel eyes gold — he’d wanted him. Wanted him so bad it kept him up at nights. And it hadn’t helped when they’d become friends. Or roommates. And if it hadn’t been for the presence of their other bunkmate, Midshipman “Specs” Davis…
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
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