“Of course, yeah,” Frank leaned back. “I thought you might prefer riding with him.”
“You ever seen the way he drives?”
“Uh, no, I can’t say I have.”
Stefan grimaced. “I’m not sure if he needs a refresher course in the rules of the road or the laws of physics, but I’m not getting into a car with him until he does.”
Frank laughed. “That bad?”
“Worse.” Stefan glanced around the lounge. “Solid crowd tonight. I should get to work.” He faced Frank again. “Meet you at your place? Same time?”
Frank nodded.
“Cool.” Stefan stood, hesitated like he was about to say something, but then left.
Well, at least this time, he could watch Stefan stalk his prey without worrying he was in the kid’s sights. Of course, that had been half the fun last time, but Frank had no doubt he’d enjoy the view even without the thrill of being hunted.
Especially if he got to watch Stefan fuck someone like that again.
Stefan arrived bang on time, as always. He changed out of his unassuming T-shirt and jeans and put on his clean, pressed camouflage. The military must have drilled that into him, making sure all the seams and creases were perfect even though he’d be crawling around in the dirt soon. Not to mention—
Don’t think about that now.
Stefan didn’t put on his camouflage blouse yet, instead draping it over his arm and wearing only his tight black T-shirt and dog tags above the belt. Same thing he wore at Market Garden most nights, which had johns falling all over themselves. Maybe Frank needed a few more guys like him. Built, bold, dressed in something right out of a military-themed wet dream.
“Ready to go?” Stefan pulled his gear bag onto his shoulder.
“Yeah.” Frank had already loaded his equipment into the car, so they added Stefan’s to the pile and headed out of town.
“So how often do you do this? The sex and paintball games, I mean?”
Frank shrugged. “Every few weeks, usually. Sometimes more often. Depends on what I’ve got going on.”
“Before last weekend, I hadn’t played since I left the States. Didn’t even realise they had woodsball in the UK.”
“How long ago was that?” Frank stopped at a red light.
Stefan didn’t answer immediately. “The last time I played? Or when I left the States?”
“Either or.”
Stefan looked out the window. Frank could only see his partial profile and couldn’t even catch his reflection in the side mirror. What little of the kid’s face he could see was blank.
After a moment, Stefan spoke. “Last time I played was three years ago.”
Frank waited, but Stefan didn’t offer up any more than that. “You just play woods? Or speedball?”
At that, Stefan relaxed a little. “Man, I could tell you some stories about playing speedball.”
They stayed on the topic of various types of paintball, which gave them something relatively easy to talk about for the duration of the drive. Frank tried not to let it show how relieved he was that they’d stuck to a lighter subject. Nothing quite like being a captive audience during a more awkward discussion, particularly when they still had to ride back together.
When they arrived at the field, several of the guys were already there. Naturally, Geoff and Mike were there, calibrating people’s guns and handing out bags of paint.
As Frank got out of the car, he met Geoff’s eyes. Then Geoff looked past Frank, and his jaw dropped. He stared at Frank again, silently asking, Wait, what the fuck?
The minute Stefan stepped away from where they were laying out their gear, Geoff materialised beside Frank. No surprise there.
“You guys talked, right?”
“Yes, we talked.” Frank shot him a pointed look. “And I gave him a ride in because he doesn’t have a car.”
“So, there’s nothing . . .”
Frank shook his head.
“Oh.” Geoff gave a sharp nod. “Okay. I—”
“Would it be a problem if there was?”
“No, of course not.” Geoff put up a hand. “I was merely surprised to see you here together. Wasn’t sure how he’d handle things, so I didn’t expect to see both of you. Driving in, I mean.” Geoff pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Okay, I’m sounding like an arse here.” He dropped his hand. “You get what I’m saying, right?”
Frank nodded. “I follow, don’t worry.”
“Thank God.” Geoff watched Stefan, who was drooling over some pricey paintball toys with one of the other guys. “Things not work out with him and Chris or something? Thought those two would be shacking up by now.”
Frank chuckled. “He didn’t say anything except that Chris’s driving scares him.”
Geoff laughed. “So Yankee Doodle Arsefuck has an Achilles’ heel after all.”
Sniggering, Frank glanced at Stefan. “Somehow I don’t think Chris’s driving will help any of us out on the field.”
“Yeah. Death-wish vehicle support is out.”
“Also a waste of extremely fine arse, if you ask me.”
Geoff slapped his shoulder, and Frank was glad that that conversation had drifted away from the unpleasant stuff.
“You’ll ref?” Geoff squeezed his shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“Sweet.” Geoff moved on to calibrate weapons and prepare for the game.
Frank stretched his shoulders and legs to loosen up. The other guys were arriving now, greeting and kitting up before they all headed to the ready area. Stefan was greeted back into the red team, and the suggestion that the teams should be “mixed up a bit” was rebuffed with sarcasm. The reds had to be quite pleased to have added a secret weapon against Chris to their arsenal. Probably wouldn’t be too long before they elected him team leader and put up a monument in his honour. Though half the team was likely inwardly groaning that they had no chance to get a piece of him.
Frank slipped down his mask and jogged out onto the field for the first battle of the day, feeling a great deal more positive than he had. Maybe getting stuff out in the open had, in the end, been good. They could both think clearly, since straight was out of the question.
The teams took their positions and the siren sounded. Frank found a place up the hill, closer to the blues, because he liked seeing Stefan advance and assumed he’d use the bunkers for cover when he made for the blue flag.
Meanwhile, some asshole nearly shot him in the head and Frank ducked, tempted as always to beat the hell out of the trigger-happy bastard, but he managed to suppress the reflex. Barely.
There, the blues were advancing over the right flank, and the reds were responding with everything they had.
Again paint splatted against Frank’s cover, exploding high up enough to speckle his visor and spray his lips. He stepped back and peered out from behind a bunker at the back, when he saw two things: a blue shooter aiming at him and squeezing the trigger, and then a grenade that exploded between the shooter’s feet, drenching him in paint while two paintballs exploded high up on Frank’s right thigh, a hand’s breadth away from his groin.
“Fuck!” The blue—now really more yellow—cursed and lifted his hands. “I’m out.” Chris? Wow.
Chris kept his weapon over his head and tried to wipe paint off his mask, but succeeded only in smearing it. “Goddamn motherfucking grenades.”
Frank chuckled, but then Chris stumbled. “Can you see well enough to get off the field?”
“I can’t see a motherfucking thing!”
Frank blew his whistle twice. All activity on the field ceased. “Dead man walking! Mask off. Everyone hold your fire. Is everyone clear?”
A chorus of yeahs and roger thats came from all over the field. Chris stripped off his mask. Some paint had made it through the vents and splattered on his face, and he scowled as he left the field. Once he was clear of the boundary, Frank blew the whistle again, and play immediately resumed.
He crouched behind the bunker.
Chris and whoever had shot him out had been the only players in this area, so there was no point in—
A hand on his shoulder startled the fuck out of him.
“Dead.”
Frank whirled around, eyes wide and heart pounding, and damn if he wasn’t looking right into Stefan’s mask. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Stefan shrugged with one shoulder, and even the visor couldn’t hide the way his eyes narrowed in that unmistakable way that accompanied a smirk. “Made another bet with Mike and Geoff.”
Frank glared at him. “Stefan, you know we—”
“You’re a ref, and the field boss said I could capture a ref.” Stefan straightened, beckoning with a gloved hand. “Let’s go.”
In spite of his sudden urge to grab a stick and beat some sense into the arrogant little punk, an entirely different response brought him to his feet. Especially since crouching had suddenly become very uncomfortable.
“Stefan, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Frank gulped. Stefan gestured sharply towards the field’s boundary, and Frank didn’t know what else to do but follow him. They crossed the yellow tape line.
Stefan faced him again. “I’m assuming, since you’re cooperating with the terms of your capture, that you’re willing?”
Oh dear sweet mother of God, “willing” doesn’t begin to describe it.
“I am.” Frank set his marker on the ground by his feet. “The question is, are you?”
“Take off your mask.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Frank glanced at the boundary line. Most of the game was at the south end of the field right now, from the sound of it, so they were well away from any potential stray paintballs. Or grenades, for that matter. He took off his mask and dropped it beside his feet.
Stefan laid his weapon on the ground. As he stood, he removed his own mask. Fuck, he was always hot like this, sweaty and dishevelled and flushed like he’d just fucked the hell out of someone. Maybe he had. All Frank knew was the man personified pure, unbridled lust.
Stefan’s mask landed on the ground beside them, and he stepped towards Frank. Paintball combat continued in the distance, but here, the woods were silent except for the crunch of vegetation beneath Stefan’s boot. He reached for Frank’s jacket.
“To answer your question—” He tightened his grip and drew Frank to him. “—yes, I am absolutely willing.”
And Stefan kissed him.
You’re mad. You’re completely galloping mad.
Frank didn’t manage to jerk back, hell, didn’t want to, his brain gibbering like a freaked-out ape. He has no fucking idea what he’s getting himself into, and he hasn’t taken off the mask with the others. He hasn’t kissed the others.
Stefan tasted of mint and something spikier, like adrenaline or aggression, and Frank couldn’t help it; he grabbed Stefan’s jacket and opened up to the kiss, thrilled to his fucking toenails at the touch, the kiss, the strength and the surprise.
Dead.
No, not at all, actually.
Hell, he could maybe blow Stefan. He wanted to. Let the kid use him, subdue him, take his pleasure, and he’d get his own, too. Good deal. Best bloody offer he’d had for a long time, not counting his friends.
Stefan pulled back a little, eyes glazed. He licked his lips, but didn’t relax the grip on Frank’s jacket.
“I’ll . . .” Frank cleared his throat. God, he was turned on like mad from only one kiss, but he had to keep a clear head and keep control of this. Because otherwise something might happen that shouldn’t. Because it would be his responsibility. “I’ll blow you. Like . . . Chris did.”
Stefan shook his head. “I don’t think you’ll be like him at all.”
Frank chuckled. “Okay.”
Stefan glanced behind himself, then turned Frank and pushed him up against a tree. He pulled open Frank’s jacket, and then attacked his throat with teeth and lips. It made Frank shudder. He’d fucking loved biting, until he’d freaked out over blood, even though he’d never bitten anybody to the blood. Bruises, yes, but . . . oh shit. Stefan was digging his teeth into the muscle between neck and shoulder and Frank’s knees almost buckled. His fingers worked frantically to open Stefan’s jacket, then finished opening his own, and tore at the T-shirt Stefan wore underneath, baring abs and even a bit of chest. Stefan’s dog tags jangled, and Frank ran his hands over his pecs, found his nipples, and pinched them.
Stefan hissed and bit harder, then whispered near Frank’s ear. “Prisoner’s getting brave. Next time I’ll tie you down.”
Yes please.
Bloody hell.
Frank felt Stefan’s hands on his trousers and ground against the touch, Stefan keeping him pinned in place with his hip and leg. Had he ever wanted anything so much in his life as this frantic quest for skin contact?
When Stefan freed his cock, he was completely hard, and Stefan’s rough touch didn’t change that at all. This was meant to show him who was boss, but all it did was make him more frantic to feel more, touch and taste more, see more.
He managed to get Stefan’s trousers open and pulled his briefs down, and then they ground together, sensitive skin against hot skin, clothes in disarray, a messy pushing and grinding and kissing and biting up against a tree. Frank pushed back, ground his cock against Stefan’s hard, panting body, and pulled him into another kiss, tongues wrestling for control too, sliding alongside each other, and Stefan pushed and bucked, using his whole strength as if Frank could even think of getting away.
“I’ll make you come. Every fucking way I can think of.”
A threat as much as a promise, but Frank relished it. This felt fucking amazing, and it was according to the rules, though he’d have a word with Geoff later. Likely to thank him, the bastard.
“I don’t . . . I don’t think you’ll have to work hard to do that.” Frank could barely breathe. “Holy fuck, you’re . . .”
Stefan kissed him again, stifling his speech and his breath. He ground harder, fucked against Frank as if he were thrusting into him, and Frank shuddered between the hard trunk and the hard body and came in a maddening rush of need and release. Stefan moaned into his kiss, and with another hard thrust and a deep, throaty groan, he came too.
They panted, but otherwise didn’t move. Lips close together, but not touching, they just breathed and trembled.
Stefan finally caught some of his breath. “First night I walked into Market Garden, I wanted you.”
“Likewise.” Frank pulled back as much as the tree behind him would allow. “But now that you know . . .”
Stefan slowly ran the tip of his tongue across his lip, brushing Frank’s. “It didn’t change that.”
“Don’t try to tell me it doesn’t change anything.”
Stefan shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I said it didn’t change the fact that I wanted you. Still want you.”
“Do you have any idea—”
“You’re not my first, Frank.”
“What?”
Stefan loosened his grasp on Frank, and broke eye contact as he wiped some of the semen off his stomach with his hand. “You’re not my first. Another boyfriend. He was . . .”
“Positive.”
Stefan nodded. He pulled a small towel from between the spare hoppers on his belt and cleaned off his hand. “I know the risks. I know the precautions.” He looked Frank in the eye. “And I know what I want.”
Frank held his gaze, then broke away to clean himself up and straighten his clothing. Wordlessly, they put their masks back on. It was weird to see Stefan behind the mask again, with his camo blouse buttoned and the visor over his face, when Frank had seen him so exposed and, if only for a moment, raw.
“We should get back.” Stefan picked up his marker. “They’ll probably send a search party after us before too long.”
“I’m pretty sure they won’t worry if someone’s missing with you.” Frank chuckled halfheartedly. Though Mike a
nd Geoff were probably wondering what the fuck was going on. That would be an interesting conversation.
What the fuck just happened? No idea.
What is going on? Not a clue.
What now? Fuck if I know.
They made their way across the field. Frank stole a couple glances at Stefan. Challenging, with a mask on, since the lack of peripheral vision meant turning his head, which killed the subtlety. Stefan didn’t seem to notice.
As they covered the last few metres before the ready area, it occurred to Frank that he’d finally had the opportunity to see Stefan come without the mask obscuring his face, but he’d been too lost in a kiss to take advantage. On the other hand, he’d been able to feel him come, and kiss him while he came, but damn, he wanted to see his face.
Maybe next time.
Stefan had mentioned a next time, hadn’t he? And as much as Frank steadfastly refused to get involved with his employees, well . . . Stefan. Fucking Stefan.
And as they stepped out into the ready area and took off their masks, the guys noticed the change. A few applauded. A few gave Frank a sideways look or exchanged puzzled glances. And Geoff and Mike? Frank could almost see the WTF? floating above each of their heads.
Not far from them, Chris stared wide-eyed at Stefan and Frank. His lip curled slightly, and as he turned away, shaking his head, he tossed a wrench into his toolkit with a loud clang. Frank ignored him. There was no room for territorial bullshit at a sexual free-for-all like this.
Stefan and Frank grabbed some water from the communal cooler, and then went about stripping off their gear for a break between games.
As Frank unbuttoned his jacket, he wasn’t at all surprised when Mike appeared beside him.
“Am I hallucinating, Frank?”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, are you? You put some of those weird mushrooms in your lunch or something?”
Mike huffed. “Well, I’m starting to wonder if you or Geoff slipped something into my tea, because I could swear I just witnessed you and Stefan slinking off the field like you’ve had a little romp in the woods.”
“Slinking?” Frank snorted. “Please. I do not slink. At six-five, I’m incapable of slinking.”
Capture & Surrender Page 7
