by Aiden Bates
"Wow." Trent ran his hand through his hair. "You don't pull any punches, do you?"
"Not as a general rule." She inclined her head back down the hall. "If you're wondering where he is, he's checking on your friends. The tall fella's with him."
"That would be Vince Floyd. He's probably a little on edge."
"I can hardly blame him. We're not exactly at ease around you either." Morna’s focus returned to her task, and Trent accepted his dismissal.
He trudged down the hall. It didn't take long to find where his host was. He could hear male voices, three of them, from behind a partially closed door. He recognized Floyd's voice, rough with sleep, first. "You're not a doctor. You don't get to prescribe him shit."
Mal's lilting accent came back. "You're right. I'm not a doctor. And we'll be getting you to your commanding officer or whatever hopefully sometime today. But my friend, I do not like the look of that wound and I don't like the smell of that wound either. We can either give him some antibiotics, since you say he's not allergic, or you can take your chances and wait."
Trent stepped into the room just in time to hear Lupo give a little groan. "I'll take the antibiotics," Lupo said, wincing. "I'll be the first to admit I'm not feeling so good."
Trent looked the men over. Lupo's leg injury looked pretty awful, and it was seeping something unwholesome and yellow. "Didn't you wash your equipment before you used it?" he asked, turning his gaze to Mal.
Mal met his eyes with cool defiance. He'd apparently decided to forego the flirtation. Trent already guessed it was mostly an act anyway. "As a matter of fact, I did. In case you hadn't noticed, this isn't a hospital. There's no autoclave, no IV drip, and no lab. The poor guy was on the floor for Lord knows how long. These antibiotics should set him up right." He reached into a bag on the bureau and pulled out a plastic amber bottle. "Take one of these every day for five days. It should clear you right up." He pulled out a little baggie, the kind drug dealers used, and sealed them up inside.
"What is it?"
"Cefazolin. It's an antibiotic used for wound infections, which is what we see the most of." Mal smirked. "Speaking of which, I'll be wanting a look at your stitches too, sailor."
Trent snorted. "I'm fine. How's Baudin?"
"The human washboard is healing up nicely." Mal's tone was light. "He's still a little bit woozy from the blood loss and, of course, you're going to want to get him to proper medical attention and get a cast on that arm of his. Other than that he should be fine."
"He's right." Floyd pursed his lips. "I watched him like a hawk with both of them, but there was no funny business."
Mal scoffed while Trent took off his shirt. "Why would I go through all of the trouble of sewing you back together if I was going to do you harm?"
"Hostages." Trent couldn't take his eyes away from Mal's lips.
"The hell would I do with a hostage? Besides, wouldn't they just disavow you or something?" He waved his pale hand dismissively.
"You do know that's a TV show, right?" Lupo was sweating, but he grinned as Floyd put the pill between his lips. "Not real life."
Trent grabbed a bottle of water and passed it to Lupo, who washed down the pill.
"They must get their ideas from somewhere." Mal changed his gloves and stepped closer to Trent. "Yeah, see, these are healing up well too. How's the arm feel?"
"It's sore. It'll be sore for a while." Trent shrugged. "I've had worse."
"Sure. But your commander isn't going to be available for a little while yet, so why don't we settle in and rest? You don't need to use the arm and risk your stitches, so don't." Mal took his gloves off and put them into a brown paper bag. "We've got some food for you, although it's nothing fancy. We're used to roughing it out here."
Floyd snickered. His whole body had relaxed now that Trent had arrived, but he didn't make a move to leave. "King sized beds and food that isn't MREs isn't exactly roughing it, Irish. Go on, Kelly. Rest up. Mal's right. If we're all hunkering down, we can just hang out. I'll keep watch."
"You've been keeping watch all night. I'll keep watch." Trent crossed his arms over his chest.
"Morna's keeping watch for now." Mal snorted. "Come on. We've already established that there's no point in taking you lot hostage, so just rest. You're safe here for now."
Floyd hesitated, and then he nodded. "Fine. But I'm staying with Lupo."
"Suit yourself. Give a holler if anything changes with him." Mal shrugged, Trent followed him out of the room.
"You've got quite the little setup here."
Mal smiled a little weakly. "Too bad we'll have to abandon it for a while. I don't regret it, but I will admit there's something a little sad about not being able to use it again. Not that I expect we'll be sent back to Greece for a little bit, not with an explosion like that."
"You blew it up?" Trent gaped at the sheer destruction.
"Hell yes we blew it up." Mal stepped into a bedroom. It looked unused. Trent picked up on a thin patina of dust on everything but the bedding before Mal sat down on a chair. Now that he was seated, Mal looked exhausted. His eyes looked sunken, almost hollow, and his pale skin took on a waxy sheen. "You didn't think we were going to sit around and wait for their buddies to come back and pick up the damn missile launcher, did you?"
"You could have waited for us and our investigators! There could have been valuable evidence somewhere in that old dump."
Mal gave him an old-fashioned look. "First of all, while you gentlemen were certainly useful, we weren't planning for you to be there. Blowing it up was always the plan. Secondly, we don't answer to you. We don't trust your bosses. Third —"
Trent stepped closer to Mal. "Oh, but you trust us?"
Mal twisted his lips, wryly. His gaze raked over Trent’s body, from his toes to the top of his head, and it burned just as much as any touch. "For the time being, at least. I think we can all agree that having the bastards shoot down a plane would be kind of bad, yeah?"
"For the time being." Trent ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to cool himself down. He didn’t usually get this hot. "Do you guys always go in with just the two of you?"
"Depends on the job." Mal took off his bulletproof vest. Trent hadn't realized he was still wearing it. Mal really hadn't slept or otherwise rested. "In this case, we realized there wasn't time to call for backup, and there were more of the bad guys than we expected." He leaned back and closed his eyes.
Trent knew he shouldn't. He shouldn't get closer to Mal, and he sure as hell shouldn't put his hands on him. At the same time, he'd almost died. Some reactions were normal and natural. He shouldn’t feel bad about it. He got down onto his knees, so he was on Mal's level. "Hey." He brushed his hand against Mal's cheek. "You should rest."
Mal’s dark gaze burned into Trent’s. "I'm still a little keyed up." His pink tongue darted out to run across his lips.
Excellent. "I know a cure."
"I’ll bet you do." Mal tilted his head, just a little, in challenge.
Trent slammed their lips together. Both of them were dirty from the previous day's adventures, but Trent didn’t care. Trent had a current of energy under his skin that needed release. Maybe if they were safely on base, they'd have time to worry about getting cleaned up or something. For now, it was all about the moment, and their need.
Mal's quick, deft hands ran over Trent's skin. He was careful to avoid any contact with Trent's injuries, but every place his fingertips touched on Trent's torso lit up like a Roman candle in their wake. Trent tugged at Mal's shirt, eager to get it off and see what he was dealing with.
Mal was pale, and his shoulders and arms bore a light dusting of freckles. Another time, maybe Trent would have kissed them and lavished attention on them. This wasn't the time for that, though. This was survival sex, the kind a guy needed when he'd just survived something he didn't expect to. His body needed to prove it was alive, and if the way Mal's pants were tenting was any indication, he was feeling the same way.
The
y moved over to the bed, stopping just long enough to close the door. Mal grabbed some condoms and lube from his pack on his way past, throwing them on the bed before he grappled Trent to the mattress.
They both got naked as fast as they could. Trent knocked Mal onto the mattress, and Mal got up on his hands and knees. Yeah, Mal was just as needy as Trent. Trent slicked up his fingers and got to work.
Neither of them was inclined to talk much. What was there to say? Trent hadn’t ever been much of a talker anyway. All he wanted to do was to sink deep into the hot, welcoming man beneath him. Given the insistent way Mal rocked back onto his fingers, Mal was more than game. As soon as Trent didn't think he'd be hurting him, he rolled the condom on, slicked himself up, and worked his way into Mal.
Mal hissed as Trent entered him, and Trent wondered if he hadn't misjudged Mal's readiness. It was too late to stop now, though, and Mal didn't seem to want him to. He was tight, oh God, was he tight, but he moaned appreciatively when Trent bottomed out. After a moment, during which Trent wondered if time itself had stopped, Mal lifted his head and turned to look back at Trent.
"Move," he demanded.
Trent snapped his hips back and moved. This right here was exactly what he needed. This moment, this ecstasy, was proof he’d survived. Sure, most people said the pain was proof you were alive, but for Trent this sensation right here was everything. He gripped Mal's hips and tried to hold him still, slamming into him again and again at an incredible pace. He was alive. They were alive. This was something to celebrate. His heart thudded in his ribcage in time with his thrusts, and Mal's grunts and cries made a perfect counterpoint.
Mal snaked a hand underneath himself and stroked furiously, in rhythm to the thrusts Trent drove into him. Trent had just enough clarity to notice. Another time that would disappoint him. He should take better care of his omega. He should bring him off himself.
But Mal wasn't his omega. They were just two guys in the same situation, who were getting what they could while they could. Trent redoubled his efforts, squeezing Mal's hips just enough as he held him close.
Mal came with a choked-off cry. Trent would have liked to hear him yell. He liked it when his partners couldn't hold back. Then again, there were a lot of guns in this place, and everyone was on edge. Trent didn't want to trust to Morna's understanding of their "relationship," and he didn't think Mal was exactly comfortable with Floyd's acceptance either.
Another time, another place.
The aftershocks wracking Mal's slender body brought Trent over the edge. His vision whited out for a moment, and he found himself at peace.
When he came back to himself, he pulled gently out of Mal and rolled over. Mal groaned, just a little, and fished some wet wipes from his bag. "Not exactly the Ritz, but we do what we can around here." He gave an exhausted little smirk and set to cleaning himself up.
Trent disposed of the condom and did the same. Now that he'd had his release, his brain had cooled a little. Had he really just snuck off to someone's room for a quick screw while in the middle of a mission? What would the others think?
Okay, it happened all the time. Trent was supposed to be better than this. And Mal might be helping them out for now, but he wasn't even pretending to be on their side.
Of course, Mal in body armor was different from Mal sitting naked on the edge of a bed in an abandoned hotel. He looked impossibly young right now. Maybe he wasn't on their side, but Trent had been raised better than to treat his partners like dirt. "Thought you were tired," Trent said. He pulled the covers back and slid beneath them. "Come on. Let's grab a little shut-eye. Hopefully our buddies won't shoot each other while we nap."
Chapter Four
Mal woke up in Trent's arms. He had soreness in his legs and body, but it was the good kind of sore. It wasn't any different than he would feel after a good training session or something like that. What was more, Mal was warm and safe in someone else's arms. That wasn't something he got to experience very often.
He carefully disentangled himself from Trent's embrace and threw some clothes on. Trent would probably appreciate something to wear, but nothing Mal had would fit his partner. Trent was huge, all muscle and sinew. Mal usually tried to avoid the big, muscle-bound guys. He didn't want to be vulnerable. With Trent, though, he couldn't keep his hands to himself.
In sleep, Trent looked younger. His face was calm, relaxed. Mal knew, better than most, what these guys went through. He could respect it, even if he wasn't comfortable with their leadership. Would it kill them to let someone take care of them for a little while? Let them get a good meal, put their feet up, have a beer, or rest? Spend a little bit of time not killing and not thinking about killing?
Mal chuckled at himself and fastened his belt. For all he knew, Trent had a string of omegas back in the States, all vying to be the one to bring him the beer or massage his feet. Mal wasn't going to be the one, though. Mal might not be a big, muscular alpha, but he was just as battle-worn as Trent and he had the scars to prove it. If he was starting to think about American sailors needing to be taken care of, he must be getting old.
Trent's green eyes flew open when Mal chuckled. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Mal shook his head. "I'm getting on in years, that's what's wrong. How are you feeling? Let me have a look at those stitches of yours."
Trent rolled his eyes, but he sat up and let Mal get at his injuries. "They're fine, Doc. They itch a little, but they're fine."
"Well, don't go scratching at them. Those stitches need to stay in place for a while yet. I can sneak into Komotini and get some more antibiotics, but I'd rather not unless it's an emergency. A guy that looks like me stands out around here, you know."
Trent raked his gaze over Mal, from head to toe. "You don't say."
Mal blushed. He hated his pale skin, which made his embarrassment so obvious to everyone. And he hated being around other people before coffee; when he was less able to control his reactions. "Hush, you." He glanced at the door. "I don't have much to offer you in the way of clean clothes. Mr. Baudin, maybe, but the rest of you are on a little too large of a scale."
"If you can give Baudin something, that's enough." Trent swung his legs over the side of the bed. "It's more than enough, actually. You've already done so much. You don't like Americans. Why would you help us?"
Mal brought Trent his clothes. The blood had crusted on them, and Mal made a face. "I don't like your bosses, no. But in that particular case you were innocents. We're not in the habit of killing innocent people."
Trent slid into his pants. "Who are you guys, anyway? IRA?"
Mal scoffed. "No. Well, our ma was sort of IRA. Still is, probably. It's been a while. But no. We're just a group of concerned people who try to keep the world safe for everyone."
Trent smirked. "Safe as you define it."
"Well, yeah." Mal wasn't about to deny that. "If we know about a terrorist attack, we do what we can to stop it. Any kind of terrorist attack," he added with a dark look at Trent. "We don't trust governments."
Trent squirmed. "You're anarchists."
"No. Not at all." Mal put his boots on. "We just think it's important for all people to be able to live in peace, with personal autonomy and safety."
Trent looked pained, or maybe just gassy. Mal was used to that reaction. Military types usually had it. They didn't care for freethinkers, as a general rule. Ah, well. Mal hadn't intended to be with this guy for the rest of his life, or even the rest of the day.
Waking up with him had been so nice though.
He dismissed the thought and grabbed his bag. "Let's go check on your friends."
Floyd and Lupo were sacked out in their room. Floyd jumped up when they walked in, but relaxed when he recognized Trent. "Lupo's still got a fever," he reported, glaring at Mal.
Mal took Lupo's temperature. "He does, but the temperature's come down a bit. That's a good thing. The wound site is looking better too," he said, peeling back the covers to check the injury. "The antib
iotics are working."
They went to check on Baudin, too. Baudin was already awake. While he was still a little woozy from blood loss, he was able to stay upright, and he wasn't delirious. He accepted clean clothes from Mal. They were too short for him, but didn't have crusted blood or grime on them.
Everyone convened in Lupo's room, because Mal didn't want him on his feet any more than he had to be. "So what's the plan, Kelly?"
Did Trent have rank? Was that why everyone kept looking to him for direction? Mal sat on the windowsill beside Morna and watched the SEALs interact.
Trent cleared his throat. "I spoke to the Master Chief last night. We should be able to get evacuated tonight, hopefully. He's aware of our situation. There were too many casualties to deal with yesterday for him to come back for us then, so he'll have to wait until tonight."
