Afraid to Fly

by L. A. Witt

  “Sure.” She disappeared down the hall.

  “Gross googly-eyed stage,” I muttered to myself as I tugged my sleeve again. “Please.”

  Down the hall, the door opened, changing the air pressure in the house.

  “Hey!” Kimber said. “Look at you!”

  My heart skipped. I hadn’t seen him in this uniform yet.

  Clint laughed shyly. Even from down the hall, I could hear the sharp click of his dress shoes on the hardwood.

  And when he appeared in the kitchen doorway . . .

  Oh. Wow.

  Like me, he wore dress blues. Basically a dark-blue suit and tie with gold stripes on the sleeves and his ribbons on the left side. He must’ve had a hell of a rapport with the base tailor—the jacket and trousers fit him just right to make my mouth water. His cover was tucked under his arm, and his dress shoes gleamed enough he could’ve signaled an aircraft with them.

  Holy—

  “See, Dad?” Kimber patted my arm. “Gross googly eyes.”

  “Shut up.” I gently shoved her away as my cheeks burned.

  She snickered. “Aww, come on. You guys are cute. Oh! Let me get a picture!”

  “Really?” I eyed her. “Shouldn’t you wait until we put on the corsages?”

  Clint chuckled. “Well, I didn’t bring one, so I guess that’s prom-date fail.”

  “It really is.” Kimber clicked her tongue. “Shame on you. He’s been looking forward to that corsage all day.”

  “And on that note,” I said. “Let’s go.” But I paused, and turned more serious. “You’re good for the night, right? You don’t need—”

  “Dad. Relax. I’m going to finish a paper, and then catch up on House of Cards.”

  My jaw dropped. “What? You’re watching it without me?”

  “I won’t erase them.”

  “But . . . that’s our show!”

  “And you’re going to a party.” She made a shooing motion. “Go.”

  “She’s obviously your kid,” Clint said. “I can see where she gets her smart-ass genes.”

  “Hey! I resemble that.” I grabbed my wallet and keys off the counter. “All right, let’s get out of here before you two completely gang up on me.”

  They both laughed, of course.

  “Come on, you.” I nudged him toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Have fun, you kids!” she called after us.

  “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” Clint asked under his breath.

  “Remind me why I let you two meet?”

  He just laughed again.

  This was going to be a long, long night, and not only because military functions could be tedious as hell or because there was a lot of liquor flowing. No, it was because the man walking in with me was insanely gorgeous, and he was in his dress uniform.

  On the right physique, these uniforms were utterly hot. And Travis . . . well, Travis had the right physique for damn near anything. He was hot in PT gear, for God’s sake. I doubted there was anything he could put on that wouldn’t make my mouth water.

  In his dress blues, though? Sexy. As. Hell.

  On the way in, after he’d tucked his cover under his arm, Travis slipped his hand into mine. We exchanged glances, and both grinned. I wondered if it gave him as much of a thrill as it did me, being able to walk into an official military function with a boyfriend. I wasn’t even nervous this time, because it didn’t feel like a huge mistake. On my way into the Navy Ball with Logan, I’d nearly turned back three times because my gut had said no. Nothing felt wrong this time.

  I had a flicker of panic that a picture or a rumor might make it back to my ex-wife, but I pushed the thought away. We didn’t have any mutual friends at this base, and the photographer’s mates were pretty good about asking before posting photos on social media. It would be fine.

  We grabbed drinks—a Coke for me, a beer for him—mingled with coworkers and the odd acquaintance from another department. Slowly, we made our way around the ballroom, which had been decorated to the gills with fake holly, red bows on evergreen boughs, and a huge Christmas tree lit up with white lights.

  And, of course, there was the pile of presents at the front of the room.

  “Good lord.” Travis gaped at the enormous mountain of gifts. “Did MWR rob a fucking bank this year?”

  “Kind of looks like it, doesn’t it?” Morale, Welfare, and Recreation always managed to pull together an impressive cache of giveaways for the Christmas party, but even some of my larger commands hadn’t come up with this much.

  In between several gaming consoles, there must have been half a dozen laptops, and they didn’t look like the cheap-ass ones I’d seen down at the Navy Exchange. Some good-sized flat-screen TVs. An enormous display of gift cards. High-end electric shaving kits. A few gift baskets.

  The grand prize was, as always, a gigantic television. In this case, a sixty-inch HD plasma screen.

  “Wow.” I shook my head. “A few more years and they’re going to be giving away IMAX screens at these things.”

  Travis chuckled. “Now I feel old as fuck because I was about to say back when I first started coming to these things, the grand prize was one of those giant CRTs that took twelve people to move.”

  I burst out laughing. “Oh my God. I remember those. I had to help move a few of them too.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, same here. Never did win one, though.”

  “Nah, me neither. Those are a pain in the ass. Wouldn’t have minded getting picked for something like that, though.” I tilted my Coke toward the plasma screen. “Hell, I’d still like one of those.”

  “Same here.”

  “Maybe I’ll buy one eventually. Especially since they don’t cost more than my car anymore.”

  Travis laughed, which still, even after weeks of sleeping with him, made my heart skip.

  We mingled some more, and at one point, stopped at the bar so Travis could get a glass of wine and I could get another Coke. It didn’t bother me at all that he drank, especially since I’d never seen him have more than one or two in the course of an evening. A couple of beers if we were out with the guys from work. A glass of wine with dinner. Nothing more. It never showed, either. I’d never once heard him so much as slur, and he always walked as steadily as he ever did.

  As for me, I wasn’t even all that tempted to drink anymore. Definitely not socially—a few bouts of alcohol poisoning in rapid succession had killed any taste I had for the stuff. The only reason I’d kept drinking after that—or was still sometimes tempted now—was in the name of sweet, sweet oblivion.

  And I didn’t need that tonight. No, I was pretty content to be absolutely aware of what was going on, because what was going on was I was walking amongst my coworkers with my hand in Travis’s.

  A few people did double takes, but didn’t seem hostile. Just surprised. Others talked to us like nothing was out of the ordinary—especially people from our own offices who had been reading between the lines for a while now.

  There were a couple of dirty looks, and I thought I saw some people whispering behind their hands and shaking their heads. No one said a word to us, though.

  Eventually, the cocktail hour ended and everyone took their seats. Like we had at the Navy Ball, we sat with some people from work. Someone’s wife wrinkled her nose and gave us some side-eye over her wineglass, but didn’t say anything. No one else even looked twice at us. A few years ago, it would have been scandalous. Apparently same-office relationships had lost their novelty after Chiefs Hanson and McKinley in security had gotten married last year, and same-sex ones weren’t exactly a shock since they all knew Travis and I weren’t straight. So when we started seeing each other, it had warranted about as much gossip as someone losing their change in a vending machine.

  Fine by me. I could get used to this progressive Navy.

  The Christmas party didn’t have anywhere near the pomp and circumstance of the Navy Ball. The chaplain did the invocation as always. The col
or guard presented the colors. The CO said a few mercifully brief words. After that it was booze, food, and more booze.

  A couple of guys from the office below ours were having an animated and possibly heated discussion about . . . something. They were both gesturing wildly and speaking loudly, but hell if I could make out anything they were saying.

  I glanced at Travis, and he was watching them too. His expression was half-amusement, half-horror—eyes wide, but lips quirked.

  Shaking his head, he laughed. “I don’t miss those days. Do you?”

  “Not at all.” I rested my hand on his leg. “And it’s kind of refreshing, being here with someone who isn’t drunk out of his skull.”

  Travis turned to me. “Not a fan?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Then, if you don’t mind my asking . . .” He searched my eyes. “Why the hell were you with that guy you brought to the ball? Was the sex really that good?”

  Warmth rushed into my cheeks. “Not really. To be honest . . .”

  He put his hand over mine.

  I stared into my drink. “I don’t know. When he was sober, he was great. We had a good thing . . . sometimes. And . . .” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “But it was a disaster waiting to happen, and I . . . God, I guess it was just so good to be with someone again, I didn’t want to let it go. So I held on, and realized the reality of the situation when we were at the fucking Navy Ball.”

  Running his thumb alongside my hand, he said, “At least you didn’t hang on after that.”

  “Oh yeah. I’m glad it’s over.”

  “At the risk of sounding like an opportunist—” he kissed my cheek “—me too.”

  I met his gaze, and we both laughed, and it took a second to realize he’d kissed me—even if it was only a peck on the cheek—in public. Not just in public like the day I’d kissed him on the pier, but around people from our command. And no one was freaking out. Not even me.

  He smiled and leaned in. He stopped, though, hovering in that safe zone between being close and being close.

  My heart sped up. I resisted the urge to self-consciously glance around. No one had given us any shit so far, so why the hell not?

  I closed the remaining distance and pressed my lips to his.

  It was quick and light, followed by a long look and a smile from him that turned my bones to liquid, but it felt great. A chaste kiss with my boyfriend at the command Christmas party? Jesus. Times had really changed, hadn’t they?

  Some commotion turned our heads. Captain Rodriguez and Commander Johnson had taken center stage with the microphone and the box of tickets for the gifts. The CO was almost too shitfaced to stand without her husband’s help, and the XO was slurring so bad I doubted even he understood what he was saying. Somehow, they were supposed to draw the tickets for the gifts, but I suspected they’d need some help before they were halfway through the box.

  Travis and I exchanged glances as the top of our chain of command slurred their way through . . . whatever it was they were trying to say.

  “She always get that drunk at these things?” I asked.

  “Not usually,” he replied. “But everyone seems to let their hair down at the Christmas party, so . . .”

  “Yeah, seriously.” I picked up my Coke and took a sip. “I went to one of these a few years back where a junior enlisted guy managed to knock a glass of red wine down the front of the CO’s uniform and get away with it.”

  Travis laughed. “You’re kidding.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. And we’re all pretty sure it wasn’t an accident.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Call it a hunch. He was”—I made air quotes—“‘trying to take a picture of the ice sculpture’ and ‘accidentally’ backed into the CO. And that might’ve been true, but man, something about the way he told the story . . .”

  “Sounded a little premeditated?”

  “You think?”

  “What’d the CO do?”

  I shrugged. “Had another glass of wine. He was so wasted by that point, he probably didn’t even remember the next day. Probably woke up with a stained uniform and figured he’d dumped it on himself.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “Fucker deserved it anyway,” I muttered.

  “That kind of CO, huh?”

  “So much.” I rolled my eyes and reached for my Coke. “He was a fucking dick, and I defy you to find anyone on that boat who disagreed.”

  “Pretty sure we’ve all worked for someone like that.”

  “Mm-hmm. We just usually don’t get the chance to knock wine all over the bastards. And even if we do, none of us have the balls to go through with it.”

  “I hope that kid realizes he’s a goddamned legend now.”

  “If he doesn’t, the rest of us sure do.”

  “Amen to that.”

  We watched for a while as the CO and XO stumbled their way through drawing some gifts. Half the people who’d won them were equally drunk, and with the amount of glass being given out—bottles of wine and liquor, mostly—I was amazed nothing had shattered yet.

  Beside me, Travis sighed. “I think these were more fun when I was younger.” He looked at me. “Does that mean we’re getting old?”

  “I’m pretty sure we’re already there.”

  “Fair point.” He slid his hand over my thigh. “You want to stick around, or get the hell out of here?”

  I glanced down at his hand, then at him, and the mischievous gleam in his eyes told me he didn’t mean let’s go home and watch TV.

  “Hell yeah,” I breathed. “Let’s go.”

  We both stood, but I paused and picked up our tickets. “What should we do with these?”

  Travis shrugged. “Give ’em away?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  So we handed off our tickets to a nearby ensign and her husband, and got the hell out of there.

  Our uniforms would need some serious ironing later, but for now, they could stay in their rumpled heaps on my bedroom floor.

  Tangled up in a kiss, we sank onto the mattress, Travis guiding me down with a hand behind my head.

  Oh yes. This. This was what I wanted. Being out in public with him, openly letting the world know that Travis was my boyfriend, had been fun. Sharing a kiss where I wouldn’t have dared a few years ago had been amazing.

  But now I didn’t want the public. I wanted him. Alone.

  I slid my hands up his sides, and he tensed, sucking in a sharp breath.

  I froze. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” He laughed, his lips grazing mine. “Just, uh, kind of ticklish right there.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I hesitated. “Is your back all right, though?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He kissed under my jaw. “It’s good. Maybe we should take advantage of it while it’s not throwing a fit.”

  I shivered, arching under him, and ran my nails down his waist. “Anything you want. I’m all yours.”

  “Good,” he moaned against my throat. “Because I want you so bad right now.” He pushed himself up and looked in my eyes. “Seriously, anything you want tonight.” He swept his tongue across his lips. “We can even fuck. If . . . if you want—”

  “All I want is you.”

  “But if—”

  I kissed him. “I want you,” I whispered. “No way in hell are we doing something that’ll hurt you.” And before he could protest, I claimed another long kiss, and his body relaxed against mine.

  I pushed him onto his side, and he grunted softly when I wrapped my fingers around his cock. He did the same to me, blanking my brain and sending goose bumps up my spine.

  It didn’t matter that we couldn’t fuck. I enjoyed some wild, headboard-pounding fucking as much as the next man, but this was amazing. Lying here, stroking each other and kissing, in no hurry at all but already out of breath—it didn’t get any better than this.

  And what kind of man would I have been if I’d taken him up on his offer, knowing how much
pain he could very well be in afterward? No way was I making him spend a night in more pain because of me. I couldn’t imagine hurting him.

  So we stayed like that—legs intertwined under the sheet, hands moving in unison, lips moving lazily together. Little by little, the intensity grew. Grips tightened. Strokes picked up speed. Kisses were more frantic, more breathless. His skin was hot against mine, his breath cool as it rushed across my skin. He hooked a leg over mine. I held on to his shoulder with my free hand.

  I wasn’t in any hurry, but I sure as hell wasn’t putting on the brakes either. If we came too fast, well, we’d have to catch our breath and start over again. And if we did this all night, keeping each other on the brink while the room spun around us, that was perfectly fine by me too.

  It blew my mind that he’d thought for even a second I might not be satisfied with the kind of sex we had just because anal was off the table. I could take that or leave it anyway, but nothing we did was lacking at all. His kiss alone was mind-blowing—I’d have happily made out with him for hours on end even if we never took it further. And my God, his hands and mouth were magic. I had never once come away from a night with him and wondered how much better it could be if one of us fucked the other.

  Travis whimpered and broke the kiss. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and bit his lip. His dick seemed to get even harder, even thicker in my hand, so I pumped it faster. He did the same, and my vision blurred as I rocked my hips to fuck his fist.

  It was impossible to say who came first. We both tensed. Both trembled. Both shuddered. Our strokes were suddenly slick, and he didn’t stop, and I didn’t stop, and the leg he’d hooked over mine pulled me in tighter, and he breathed “Oh my God” as if he’d felt the shudder that was curling my toes and straightening my spine.

  In unison, we exhaled and relaxed. I grabbed the box of tissues off the nightstand, and once those had served their purpose, Travis moved them out of the way and moved himself closer to me. I lay on my back so he could rest his head on my chest, and I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. Oh, this was perfect. His body always fit just right against mine. The fact that he was still warm—still feverishly hot—was utterly perfect.