“Not. Yet.” Wes’s voice was strained.
“Come for me,” Dustin urged. He wanted that almost more than he wanted his own orgasm. He loved the sounds that Wes made, little groans and gasps, loved the way that his voice became deeper and more southern the more turned on he became.
“Wish I could come all over you. Love marking you with my come. That’s my favorite fantasy—you all marked up with my bites and bruises and dripping with my come.”
“Oh fuck. Fuck me. Yes. I want that,” Dustin babbled. The hotness of the image almost tipped him over, even with nothing more than air on his dick.
“Tell me, baby. Tell me how bad you want it.” Wes’s voice was a deep groan now.
“Fuck me hard. I need it. God, I need to touch my cock. Need to come. Please let me.”
“That’s it.” The screen blurred for a second before come seeped out of Wes’s fist and his strokes slowed. “Now you. Come now. But keep the camera on your face. Want to see you go.”
Oh fuck. That was a hard request, one they’d never done before. He’d always pointed the camera at his dick for the money shot. But he needed to climax so fucking badly that he gave in, angling the camera at him, closing his eyes, and fisting his dick. “Not gonna take much,” he muttered.
“Good. You did so good. Your nipple’s going to feel it later. Love that.” Wes’s voice was blissed-out, the low drawl of a satisfied, sleepy guy. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”
Dustin really needed to tell him to can the “baby” business because no way was the pet name supposed to feel this good, make him feel...special or some such BS like that. He wasn’t supposed to want to be Wes’s, wasn’t supposed to want claiming by him. But he did.
He stroked himself with a rough hand. The memory of the sounds Wes had made while coming were enough to get him on the edge. “Need it.”
“Yeah, you do. You earned this.” Wes’s praise was like a drug pounding through Dustin’s veins, intensifying all the good sensations.
Heat licked up his spine and his balls tightened. “Oh fuck. Here it comes,” he moaned, dropping the phone so that he could twist his sore nipple right as he came. The orgasm swamped his senses, made him shudder over and over in an overload of sensation—pleasure and pain all twisted together.
“Hey. I thought I said I wanted to see your face,” Wes complained after Dustin had caught his breath and picked up the phone again.
“Sorry. Got carried away.”
“It’s okay. Next time.” Wes shrugged.
“We can’t.” Every bit of anguish came out in his voice.
“Hey. Let’s not make any bold proclamations right now, okay?” Wes soothed. “We’ll figure this out, I promise. But right now, we both need sleep.”
“Wish you were here,” Dustin whispered.
“Me too.” Wes’s eyes looked as forlorn as Dustin’s chest felt. This was the worst part of cyber, how alone he always felt after it was over. He wanted a warm body to cuddle up with, wanted Wes to hold him and tell him that there was a way that this thing could work, a scenario where they didn’t both lose big. But instead, all he had was spunk rapidly cooling on his stomach and a bare, empty room.
Chapter Fourteen
If you’re not scared of jumping, it’s time to quit jumping. The words of Wes’s first jumpmaster at SEAL training rang in his ears as they assembled in the Arizona sun for more HALO/HAHO training in the sort of high-altitude military parachute jumps that SEALs specialized in. He’d made the desert trek with his Little Creek team more than a few times, but he was still adjusting to how his new team handled training operations.
And how Dustin handled things. They were in an increasingly weird place—not unlike the terror of the freefall before the chute opened when death seemed imminent—where they couldn’t seem to help themselves from continuing to message even as the ground was rushing up at them. Fall’s not going to kill you, but landing just might. Out here though, they were all business. Dustin was his commanding officer, period, not the guy who begged so seductively in the dead of the night or the guy whose confessions and inner demons kept Wes awake a long time after each conversation was done.
At the moment, Dustin was miles away from the uncertain man who had kept Wes talking the other night after his brother’s bachelor party, and was in full-on commander mode, going over every detail with the LT, the aircraft commander, the jumpmaster, and the PT technician who would monitor them for altitude effects, since they were jumping from 18,000 feet that morning. In addition to the checks by the jumpmaster and PT, each of them went over their own equipment, including the oxygen required by jumping at such a high altitude.
Once in the air, the team waited in anticipation for the two-minute warning, no one talking much. They’d been at this since before dawn, and this would be their third jump of the morning, and the highest altitude one so far. Shiny, the newbie SEAL, had the least jump experience out of all of them, and looked distinctly green around the edges of his pale lips.
“It’s going to be fine,” Wes shouted at him, over the roar of the plane. “You’re doing great.”
“Yeah,” Curly added. “You know what to do.”
They all did—hundreds of jumps under their belts, hours and hours of practice and training. And soon, they’d be out on another mission, doing this for real in enemy territory. Just like an active mission jump, they had gear and equipment spread between them, weight carefully distributed so that the lighter guys like Wes and Shiny had heavier packs in order to fall at the same rate as the bigger guys like Curly and Dustin. They couldn’t risk some of the team falling at a faster rate and ending up far from the landing zone, even in practice.
Dustin followed the PT and jumpmaster down the line of SEALs waiting to jump, checking the connections and bottle pressure in their equipment and watching as the PT checked for signs of hypoxia. Wes looked away when he reached him, not wanting to risk making eye contact as Dustin passed. Fuck, this was hard, even when his mind was so occupied by the immediate mission at hand.
“Two minutes!” The jumpmaster signaled, and the preparations increased to a flurry as their oxygen got switched on. Wes struggled, as always, to breathe normally with the flow of oxygen. He checked his over-gloves. He’d lost one in a jump before, and he could still remember the rush of freezing air against his skin.
The hatch opened, the roar of air almost deafening as they lined up in prearranged order—they would head out in two groups of eight, heading for two landing zones. Below them the desert landscape, interrupted with patches of green here and there, looked like the background in a model train setup, so miniature and indistinct. Their success today would depend in part on how well they did in getting everyone in their group to within the orange-flagged landing zone. Wes was in Dustin’s group, along with Shiny and Bacon.
The first men were away with a loud whoop. Jumping this high, the main risk was passing out, something the oxygen helped with but didn’t entirely alleviate. Their chutes were designed to open even if they were unconscious, but serious injury was always a major worry on a HALO jump. Staying together was the other big concern—they needed to be close enough to reach the landing zone together, but not so close as to risk a collision.
Which was why Wes paid close attention to the jumpmaster, going exactly on his mark, even as Shiny rushed it, just a hair of a second early. But that was all it took for their formation to be off—Shiny was too close to Dustin, dangerously so, and the way his body was dangling, it looked like he’d passed out. Dustin steered himself away, but Wes couldn’t tell from his angle whether they’d actually collided.
Fuck. This was bad. Bacon was screaming a warning into his com set for the ground crew to be prepared for a hard landing from Shiny and possible injuries. Wes had to be concerned about himself and his own safe landing, but his adrenaline was racing for Dustin.
> Please let him be okay. Please don’t let him land hard. A hard landing could easily kill even the most hardened of SEALs, and if Dustin or Shiny were passed out, they might not have much control over that. Wes’s pulse roared like the C-23 they’d just exited. His chute deployed at the right moment, but Shiny’s seemed to be late, same as Dustin’s, sending both of them farther away from their group.
As they approached the ground, the bright orange flags waved in the stiff breeze that wasn’t helping anything. He was on course to hit his target LZ spot, but Dustin and Shiny were off course, dangerously behind them.
The second Wes hit the ground, he started disconnecting from his chute and pack. His com headset buzzed with ground control screaming about the guys off course, and the SEALs who were landing safe checking in. Right beside him, Bacon was ripping off his chute too, and the two of them sprinted out of the landing zone to where Shiny and Dustin had drifted.
Bacon reached Shiny first, so Wes kept going toward where Dustin had landed. When he reached him, Dustin was struggling to sit up.
“Stay down,” Wes called to him. “Let the medics come check you out, Lieutenant.”
He was hyperaware that his com set was on, limiting the words wanting to escape his mouth. You okay? Fuck, you scared me so much. He tried to say all that with his eyes as he crouched next to Dustin, looking for visible signs of injury. No blood.
“Where do you hurt?”
“Just got the wind knocked out of me.” Dustin wrenched his helmet off.
“You pass out?” He carefully considered Dustin’s color—his skin was pale, but not dangerously so, and his lips were pink as ever.
Dustin’s mouth quirked and he looked away. “Maybe blacked out for a second, but I got it back. No worries.”
No worries. Ha. Wes was a ball of nerves, concern gathering up like a gluey lump of noodles in his stomach, making him even more nauseated than he usually was post-jump. Don’t ever scare me like that again, he ordered Dustin with his eyes as he completed his assessment of his physical state—not currently vomiting, moving his extremities well, and no apparent broken bones.
“Report on Buckner?” Dustin asked about Shiny.
Wes listened to the com chatter for a moment before answering. “Medics with him. He’s down but conscious.”
“I better go see.” Dustin struggled again to sit, and this time Wes let him, helping him untangle himself from his chute and gear.
“Stand slow.” Wes offered him a hand when he was free of the gear. “No need to rush it. You still could have a concussion or something going on.”
They both still had on their gloves, and even through the layers of fabric, an electric jolt went up his arm from the contact, one he had to work hard to ignore. It didn’t matter how worried he’d been for Dustin or how much he longed to pull him into a tight hug, none of that was happening.
“Thanks.” Dustin’s eyes locked with Wes’s, an unspoken acknowledgment of everything that hung between them.
“Strauss. What the hell happened?” The LT came rushing up, trailed by a medic and some other ground support people.
Wes took a step back, letting the medic do his job and check Dustin out while the LT proceeded to rip Dustin a new one. Man, that was all Dustin needed, the LT riding him like this, especially in front of others, but there was nothing Wes could do to defuse this situation.
“What happened? Were you late jumping?” The LT was even louder and more agitated than usual.
Shiny was early. The words were on Wes’s tongue, but he couldn’t intervene here, and besides, Dustin was nodding. “Maybe. Not sure. It all happened so fast.”
Fuck. He was totally taking the blame for Shiny, and Wes could tell by the set of his shoulders and jaw that he knew it too. Dustin was the type to always put his men first, and he wasn’t going to shirk the blame, even if here he maybe should.
“Not good enough.” The LT had a full head of steam now, and Wes slowly stepped farther away. Dustin didn’t need an audience for this dressing down.
“I take responsibility,” Dustin said firmly, and Wes hadn’t expected anything less from him, but the LT wasn’t mollified, and Wes could hear his continued berating of Dustin as he made his way back to where the medics were helping Shiny.
Shiny was sitting up in the middle of a crowd of SEALs and support personnel when Wes reached him. He apparently had a twisted ankle, a bum wrist, and a possible concussion, but it could have been so much worse. The medics decided that Shiny would go to a local hospital for concussion evaluation before flying back, while the rest of them would head back as planned.
Losing Shiny, however temporarily, to injury had the team in a somber mood on the flight back to base. Dustin sat alone, head in his hands, looking years older and weary as fuck. He’d passed the medics’ concussion tests in the field, so he was clear to travel, but he seemed utterly wrung out from the ordeal. And the LT’s reprimand couldn’t have helped.
Wes yearned to go to Dustin, put an arm around him, tell him that none of this was his fault. But there was nothing he could do that wouldn’t jeopardize Dustin’s position.
“You okay?” the senior chief asked Dustin, moving to sit right beside him, just as Wes longed to do.
“Yeah. Nothing a long shower and a cold one won’t cure.” Dustin managed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The senior chief shook his head as if he didn’t believe him any more than Wes.
Wait. Maybe there was something Wes could do. As he waited for the plane to make its descent and landing at base, a plan started to take shape. He couldn’t let Dustin suffer alone.
* * *
An extensive debriefing with the folks from training missions, the jump crew, the LT, and some upper team leadership had Dustin rolling into his place far later than he’d intended. His fridge was a barren wasteland as usual, and he was debating between a freezer meal and making the effort to call for delivery when a knock sounded at the door.
Huh. His brother or his friends would call first, and the last thing he needed was a neighbor needing a favor. Steeling himself to be polite, he opened the door to find Wes lounging against the rail, holding a six-pack of beer and a grocery bag.
“You can’t be here.” Keeping his voice down, he barked out the words, even as his pulse sped up. “What are you doing?”
“Once when I desperately needed a friend and a distraction, you came through for me. I’m just returning the favor.” Wes didn’t wait for an invite, striding into Dustin’s living room.
“I mean it. If we get caught...” Warmth spread over Dustin’s chest even as his brain rebelled. Wes cared about him, cared enough to make sure he was okay after his shit day.
“I parked three complexes over, left my music playing on low so people will think I’m in my room, and used a grocery store away from base. Relax. I know how to use stealth.”
“You are a SEAL,” Dustin grudgingly allowed.
“Ha.” Wes laughed at that as he headed toward Dustin’s kitchen area. “More like I was once a sixteen-year-old desperate to get laid. I know all the tricks for sneaking around.”
“At least I’m not making you climb the trellis.” Dustin groaned because Wes had already won. “This is dangerous—”
“I know. But I’m being careful, okay? Trust me. And let me be your friend tonight. You can go back to boundaries and rules tomorrow.”
“Not sure I have much choice.” Dustin watched as Wes unpacked food—like real food, steaks and vegetables, not pre-cooked stuff like he was used to.
“You always have a choice.” Wes leaned for a quick kiss. “Now, you gonna let me cook you dinner?”
“Steak does sound good.” Dustin sighed. “There’s a grill on the patio—”
“I noticed last time I was here.” Wes smiled at him, the sun Dustin so desperately needed right the
n. “Now, you go and take that long shower the universe owes you, and I’ll worry about dinner. I’m not as good a cook as my dad, but it’ll be edible. Promise.”
“Okay.” It was easier to agree when he wanted this so much his teeth hurt with the force of his need. “You want...” He wasn’t sure if it would be polite to offer to share the shower.
“I showered at base. Now go.” Wes made a shooing motion with his hand. “And no jerking it in the shower.”
Sex had been the furthest thing from Dustin’s brain, but Wes’s dirty command brought it front and center with a rush. He grabbed a towel and some clothes and headed to the shower, heart jumping like he was eighteen with more terror than experience again. He let the hot water pound his tight shoulders and neck, trying to leave the shit day behind. The LT didn’t mean to be an ass—it was his job to ride every one of them hard and ensure their safety.
And truth was, Dustin wasn’t entirely sure what had happened in the air, but he wasn’t about to let a green SEAL take the blame when it was his job to make sure everyone in his group landed safely, and that hadn’t happened. He’d deserved the chewing-out, but he wouldn’t have minded if the LT had waited until Wes and others were out of earshot.
Soaping up, his mind shifted from the dressing-down to what might happen later. Wes might have come over as a buddy bearing food and beer, but the look in his eyes had been anything but just friends. He had plans, and Dustin couldn’t wait to see what they were. He rinsed quickly, then dried off and pulled on a pair of shorts. No shirt. Wes seemed to have a thing for him shirtless, and he was more than happy to indulge him.
When he got back to the living area, the scent of searing meat wafted through the open patio doors, and Wes was tossing a salad at the island. The scene was so damn domestic and homey that Dustin’s chest clenched hard and his eyes fucking burned. Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to want such things. Homey had always been Dylan’s shtick, not his.
“Smells good.” He gave in to the impulse to wrap Wes up from behind. They were already screwed. Might as well enjoy the fall before the landing did them both in.
Wheels Up Page 14
