Best Gay Erotica of the Year Volume 2

by Rob Rosen

  When I’m done, I pull out and Lake turns to me. Amid the dirt on his face comes a smile which I take as gratitude. He pulls up his pants, and then, right there in the thick of it, pulls off his helmet and attempts to kiss me. Damn fool, but his lips are on mine, tongue prodding, and for a second I almost give way because the whole of me stirs. I hear the familiar whiz of bullets, but it’s not until I taste blood that I realize Lake has been hit. I pull back, and when I let him go, he falls. I want to drop down and tend to him, but I know better. Men die in war. He looks up at me, not pleading, not anything, as I unholster my pistol. He keeps looking as I finish him with a single shot, after which I tuck my cock into my pants, zip up and rejoin the battle. I go at it hell-bent, not for Lake, as he’s gone now, but to obliterate what he brought on inside me. I blast my way toward an enemy platoon near the freshwater storage tanks, my men following me in a great swarm. I feel invincible, body armor ten times strong.

  The plant sits in a cove on the Modesto coastal shore. Built in 2261, it’s nearly a hundred years old, so it is one of the older desalination plants, and vital to the region. Of course, one day the ocean will swallow it as it once did plants in San Diego, Los Angeles and Santa Barbara. We should be building new plants farther inland, as there is no stopping the Pacific Crawl, that ever encroaching tide, but those who have power over such things must argue and posture until the water is up to their necks. For now, a company of Mojave’s best drives off northern forces while protecting the plant. I’ve fucked Lake once or twice each day, always with bullets flying.

  The battle appears over as quiet descends. We lose forty-two men while decimating Sacto forces in bloody retribution, not only for their attempt to take our northernmost plant, but for crossing into southern territory. The border was long ago fixed as the Stockton Line, back when that city was still dry. Now underwater, it remains alive in name only.

  Blood is spattered up the sides of the freshwater storage tanks when the northern forces finally retreat. Those of their men still living are quickly dispatched. I’ve heard there was a time when men were taken prisoner and actually treated well. I can’t imagine such bother.

  I sound the call to pull back to a position behind the post-treatment building. “We cut them down by half,” I tell my platoon. Just then comes word there’s trouble at the plant’s other end where it meets the water and where the pumping works lie. Though I’d like to give my men a rest, I issue a command to approach from two sides. “Blow ’em up the ass,” I add.

  This platoon is made up of my specially chosen machine gunners, who are fearless in support of the southern cause. None ask about Lake’s absence. If he’s missing, he’s dead, since wounded are not tolerated. They know Lake took a bullet from either a Sacto or me. None ask which.

  We run a wide perimeter, and once in place I issue the command to charge. All hell then cuts loose, the Sactos firing in all directions, which results in them shooting a good many of their own men.

  Heavy gunfire fills the air, ripping through the day and sending smoke into that relentless sunshine. As I fire my M82, my dick gets hard, the urge to fuck as strong as the urge to kill. My rapid-fire weapon lets go a stream of bullets, and when I pause to reload, I glance at the man nearest me, Toth, whose weapon looks part of him, like a steel dick. I have to force myself back into the battle, though I do give a last thought to the fallen Leon Lake, who died with my spunk inside him.

  Time is lost, gunfire relentless, bodies piling up, blood soaking the ground. At last the Sactos retreat and we go after them, shooting them in the legs, as there’s no armor down there. As we move forward, we finish off those who lie screaming for mercy. I allow each one a few seconds to beg before I put a bullet to his head. I kill and kill and I want so badly to come. My prick is throbbing, and though I’ve done it before—come in my fatigues—this time the battle ends without relief. Gunfire fades and I figure about a hundred of the enemy got away while an equal number lie dead.

  As silence settles over us, I address my men. “Good work,” I say, which is all the praise a commander is allowed. I find my radio man, who has anticipated me. “I have Colonel Cross for you, sir,” he says. I take the phone.

  “Mission completed,” I declare. “The plant is secure and intact, suffering no more than bullet holes. Their casualties are heavy, ours light. Processing platoons will begin work immediately.”

  “Good work, Captain Garza. I want the area so clean you’d never know there was a battle.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Once that’s done, return to base.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I take a second to downshift from warrior, then summon my platoon leaders. “Murdoch, Parr, your men start the processing. Damon, you and Kemp get the trucks ready to go. Mauer and Leach, your men are on blood cleaning detail. Make that plant shine.”

  The men return a chorus of affirmatives and depart for their various assignments, leaving a lone sergeant, Miner Toth, who has no reason to stay behind other than to offer himself. My dick may have gone soft with the battle’s completion, but the urge remains. “Sir,” he says to indicate he’s ready. I’ve been considering him for some time because he gets hard in the shower, soaping his dick, working himself to a come and not caring about others watching. He’s well built with a rounded ass that begs attention. “Come with me,” I command. “I want to check inside the plant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  While my company works on the plant’s outside, Toth and I go in a door near the processing unit. I’ve been in the plant many times, seeing how desal plants are a military priority, so I know the layout includes various nooks and supply rooms. Right now I don’t want some place crowded with barrels of chlorine and stacks of filters; I want some quick corner, and as we pass an accommodating nook, I pull Toth into it. “Drop ’em,” I command as I free my cock. It’s already stiff, and I take it in hand as the sergeant throws off his helmet and bares his bottom. As I wet myself with spit, Toth is already pulling his dick. “Lake took a bullet,” I say, as Toth is no doubt wondering about my regular man. When I shove my cock into him, I tell him he’s promoted to lieutenant.

  “Yes, sir,” replies Toth. “Fuck me, sir. Fuck me good.”

  Though the battle is past, I hear a roar as I go at Toth. This I attribute to blood coursing through me en route to my cock. I’m as stiff as my M82 or even the meaner multi-mag M90, which caused me to come the first time I fired one. War and sex are inseparable, and my own M82 is buried in Toth’s ass.

  “I’m coming,” he shouts as he sprays jizz onto the wall.

  “Who gives a shit,” I growl as I ream his ass. Right now he’s nothing but a hole for my throbbing cock, and I pump harder to drive the point home. Once I feel the rise, I go crazy, pounding him as he braces both hands against the wall. When I finally come, I drill him with all I’ve got, which is one hell of a load. Then I’m spent and pull out to stand bared, so that Toth can see what did him. They all want a look, and Toth is no exception. He pulls his pants up, but leaves them open, dick out. He then approaches.

  “Some good fuck,” he says, and I see he’s wanting more. He’s blond and sports the perpetual burn the fair of skin suffer, along with the resulting early creases. We’re all more weathered than our years because blazing sun and unrelenting heat do that to a man. To everything. We’re all getting cooked, but right now I don’t care about that. When Toth presses himself to me and attempts a kiss, I’m caught off guard, and for a couple of seconds I allow him to stir me. I even run a hand down onto his dick, then catch myself and push him back. “Duty calls,” I bark.

  “Yes, sir,” he replies. He gives his dick a pull before tucking it away and zipping up.

  “You’re my second now,” I tell him as we leave the nook to inspect the plant. When we meet its commander, I introduce Toth and feel pride in him being full of my spunk. I can’t wait to get at him again, but, as captain, I have to keep control of myself.

  Our base is about fifty miles south
, in Merced. It’s the northernmost of four that defend Mojave, as our region is known. Bases are Victorville, the southernmost, then Bakersfield and Fresno as you come north. It’s all desert. Some say water once fell from the skies. I can’t imagine that, and suspect the information is false. It should be lumped in with others about cold and snow blanketing the Sierra white. How could the mountain people have lived in that? Heat is what sustains us. The Sierra people insist the stumps that cover their mountains once stood tall, like shade spires, only living. Those people are nuts. Trees, they say, but nobody believes because nobody’s seen one.

  A platoon guards the plant perimeter while the rest of the company works to clear the grounds. Bodies are loaded onto trucks for transport to the disposal site on our base. Once the work is completed and the plant commander agrees things are secure, we make rough camp, then head south at dawn. I ride in my personal armored truck, sitting beside Toth, while the driver, Corporal Kemp, keeps his eyes on the road. Toth sits quiet as we go along. By ten o’clock in the morning it’s near one hundred degrees outside, a hundred and ten being the norm. I suspect we’ll hit one-twenty today. I don’t mind the heat. Sweat makes me want to get dirty, and I don’t mean with grime.

  “You performed well yesterday,” I tell Toth.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be back up there soon.”

  “Well, we’ll whip their asses all over again, whip them until they keep north of the line.”

  “We sure as hell will.”

  I don’t like that I’m talking just to hear his voice. It’s his ass I want, not his mouth, unless my dick is in it, but there’s something about the sound of him that gets me.

  By Turlock, I’ve stewed myself, and it’s not the heat. The air-conditioned truck is a cool eighty, thanks to its nuclear fuel cell propulsion, but I’m probably hovering around one-twenty. Urges are all over me. I want to strip Toth and feed on him, lick and nibble and suck. God, how I want to suck. Dick, tits, toes, fingers. And fuck, of course, but not right off. I picture Toth laid out naked on my bunk with cock soft, waiting for me to get it up. He’s pliable and willing and I want to torture myself until I’m ready to explode. It’s like stealth in battle: go in quiet, then full-on attack. I’m silent for the rest of the ride, and when we arrive at the base, I get away quick. I head for Major Mauer’s office where I offer my report.

  “Fine work, Captain Garza. Go get some rest. We’ll meet tomorrow at 0800 with the colonels to discuss further strategy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Inform your men that the rest of the day is free.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rest of the day is about four hours, but any time off is welcome. When I’m back in the barracks, I make the announcement, which is met with whoops. I then order it sent down the line. I’ve just finished when Toth comes up. “May I see you in private, sir?” he asks.

  “Of course. Follow me.”

  My quarters are sparse, office with bunk and locker, all behind a door I can lock. It has no windows. No barracks do. I’m told windows were once the norm in buildings housing people. Hard to believe since there’s nothing to look at.

  In my quarters I sit at the desk while Toth stands. “At ease, soldier,” I say, and he takes the position. “Stow that, Toth. You can relax in here.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m Tom in here.”

  “Miner.”

  “So what is it, Miner?” I’m tempted to say something filthy, but don’t because I can’t quite get hold of this guy.

  “I’m happy you promoted me, Tom.”

  “You said that before.”

  “I don’t think I said happy, and that’s what I want you to get.”

  It’s a foreign word, not in use. I saw it once in a lexicon book I’d once stumbled across and know it means pleased, only more. I found it hard to accept, and am glad those words fell away. I tossed out the book, not wanting to be seen having it. In any case, now here’s Miner saying the blasted word right out loud.

  “It’s a good word, Tom. It has meaning.”

  “All words have meaning.”

  “But some have more than others.”

  I laugh. “Hell they do. A word is a word with a defined meaning, nothing more.”

  “That’s what we’ve been taught and I understand why that is. We’re a warring society with little room for feelings, and what better way to control them than strip us of verbal expression?”

  “What in hell are you saying?”

  “Do you ever get a warm feeling inside? I’m not talking outer heat. We all get that, but inside warmth that’s got a tickle to it. A pleasure tickle. That’s, well, that’s happy.”

  This annoys me no end and I think to dismiss him, yet I don’t because I’ve known that tickle once or twice, though I’d call it a tingle. This makes me wonder if Toth is a spy who’s armored himself so he can get under my skin.

  “Come sit with me,” he says as he settles onto my bunk. He’s absent his armor now, just fatigues, which allow me to assess him better. My dick stirs as I get how he’s wanting fucking, but being a lower rank can’t say it right out. I sit beside him instead of making my usual move to strip and fuck. This is a first, but I’m curious now.

  “You make me happy, Tom,” Toth begins. “I like the promotion, but only because it puts me closer to you. I get that tickle when you’re close, that happy tickle. And I get it when you’re far away, too. Just thinking of you warms me inside, and it’s a good thing, Tom. There’s more to life than fucking.”

  I snicker. “There’s battle.”

  “Okay, there’s battle, but we don’t fight all the time, and in those hours free of it we are simply men. Men with needs. Men with wants.”

  “That’s fucking.”

  He doesn’t reply. He takes my chin in hand, turns me to him and kisses me in a way I don’t know. Quietly, no tongue. One kiss, then some little ones. “There’s that tickle,” he says when he eases back.

  My chest is tight, like it can’t contain the heat, and I tingle something fierce. And worse, I may like it. “Tingle,” I say as I give way without consent. “Tickle to you, tingle to me, along with an ache in the gut. You call that happy?”

  “Actually, Tom, I call that love.”

  “Another word. Shit. Why do you keep throwing them at me?”

  “Because they’re good and you should know them. We all should. So much has been lost in this damnable battling society.”

  “Oh shit, you suffer historia.”

  “Yes, I know, and I sustain nonetheless.”

  “I should shoot you here and now.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “Why won’t I?”

  “Because love has sparked inside you. I can see it, and it will eat you up unless you give it room.”

  “The hell it will.”

  “The thing is, Tom, I love you too. It goes both ways, this loving. It’s when feelings rise up and carry us away, and it can happen without fucking.”

  “Well, I’m not buying that. Fucking is what men do, put it to man or woman, such as inclined.”

  When he kisses me this time there’s more to it. I get some tongue, so I fuck him, but he talks as I mount him. “It’s a loving fuck, Tom. I give myself to you completely, and from you I take your all.”

  Why in the hell his talk stirs me, I don’t know, but it does. When I come I cry out, and once done I flip him over and suck him till he blows. When I start to get up, Miner stops me. “Why rush off?” he asks. “Stop being the captain and be just the man.”

  “Can ‘the man’ wash up?”

  “Okay, then come back to me.”

  He watches as I clean myself, and when I return to the bunk, I bring us cups of water. Miner remains lying on his side as he drinks. “You’ve thrown me,” I admit.

  “Love does that. It’s not a bad thing, Tom.” Here he runs a hand up my back and starts a rubbing.

  “I think you’re going to co
mplicate my life,” I say, and I take a drink to avoid saying more.

  “I hope so.”

  “I don’t mean in a good way.”

  “I know,” he says, “but love is like that. The heart holds you captive, two as one.”

  He pulls me down to him and I kiss him gently, trying it his way. The tingle rushes through me. I forget about talk.

  We miss chow, but that’s not missing much. Susten has six flavors, and I’m sick of them all. Miner says he’d rather starve than let go of the now. “You’re so rough,” he says as he touches my cheek. “Burned by the sun, worn by battle, yet you’re handsome as hell. Do you know that?”

  “I don’t think about it. I’m a soldier, strong and fit.”

  “Well, you’re very striking. Looking at you makes my heart race.”

  “I’ve never talked like this,” I tell him.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I guess.”

  Just then comes a knock at the door. “Captain Garza? I need to see you.”

  I recognize the voice. It’s Corporal Sue Pratt, and I know her reason for the inquiry. She’s pregnant and needs transfer. “Not now,” I call out, and to Miner I say, in a low voice, “God, not now.” He’s fingering my nipple as I speak.

  “Yes, sir,” says Sue.

  Women sure know how to get in a man’s way, but they are fine soldiers and must be respected, as they can reproduce. They are fucked regular and pregnant often, so they rotate in and out of units as need dictates. Sue will be reassigned to Repro Camp where she’ll drop the kid, who is then put on the farm to be raised under strict control, since dying babies are a concern. I’ve covered over memories of those years, as I was mainly being groomed for the military by a regimented upbringing. Main thing was I survived when so many didn’t. If we could solve that, we’d have an army so big we could wipe out the Sactos, but we’re limited, same as them. Some say it’s the fouled air, others say the desalinated ocean water. My belief is it’s the Susten, which is man-made. Those who suffer historia insist food once came from the ground, which is silly. One look at the vast brown landscape and you’re done with that. The dying off is most likely due to shoddy work at the Susten plants, but, since nobody knows for sure, Sue being knocked up is good news.