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.”
oOo
Present day, , 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
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.”
oOo
Present day, , 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
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