by Unknown
Eric forces his gaze back to the mat. "I'm sorry, Jason. I really am."
"Yeah." He sounds bitter and defeated. "Yeah, I'll bet you are."
*~*~*
Jason hates it here. His days are filled with Grier breathing down his neck. His nights are wrought with terrors he feels but can't remember. They say they've rescued him, but he still feels like a prisoner—the cell is just bigger this time. He knows they're protecting him, but Jason is far too accustomed to having free reign in the field. Hiding out in a safe house isn't what he trained for.
He shouldn't have exploded at Eric, though. Jason stifles a sigh, rubbing at his eyes. Eric is just following orders, like everyone on this base. Cabin fever is no excuse to act like a jackass, especially not after everything Eric has done for him.
The phone rings, making him start. He's been sitting in his room since his trip to the gym with Eric. He's gotten used to the silence. Jason gives himself a shake and reaches over, plucking the receiver from its cradle. "Yes?"
"Slate." It's Major Grier, which is just the icing on today's cake. "I'd like to speak with you. Come by my office."
He makes it sound like an invitation, but Jason knows better. "Yes, sir."
The call drops, and Jason sighs. He glances at the clock: it's almost six. As if on cue, Jason's stomach rumbles. He wills it to stop while he changes out of his PT gear and into his uniform. He smoothes out his hair while he hikes to Grier's office.
Major Grier is studying some documents when Jason pushes the door open. He doesn't even glance up to give Jason any acknowledgement. Admittedly, they don't really get along, due in no small part to Jason's inability to deliver the knowledge Grier is so certain he has. Jason goes through the motions regardless, walking up to the desk and saluting.
After a moment, Jason clears his throat. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes," Grier says, finally looking up. "I have a proposition for you." His chair creaks as he leans back. "I'm sure you're just as tired and frustrated as we are by now."
"An understatement, sir," Jason mutters.
Grier grunts. "So here's what I propose: hypnotism." He lets the word hang there.
Jason blinks, nonplussed. "Sir?"
Grier stands up and leans his large hands atop the desk. "I've been advised against pushing you, or forcing you to consciously relive the experience. You say you've been remembering little things, but every day that goes by gives the Order more time to move ahead with their plan." He scrutinizes Jason closely. "I can't shake the feeling that you saw something in that basement. So I made some calls. Found a hypnotist on our payroll that we can use."
Jason frowns. Looks like Grier's patience has finally worn thin, and he's taken the bull by the horns. "Isn't this base top secret, sir? You won't even tell me where I am." He's careful to keep any bitterness out of his voice.
"Affirmative." Grier's lip twists up in distaste. "I can't risk your safety being compromised, but I think I'm out of options. You're not making any progress, and I'm not getting any younger." That cuts deep, but Jason manages not to flinch. "If you're willing, we'll have the hypnotist walk you through the memory—safe and controlled," he emphasizes, lifting a hand. "Then we'll know whether or not the Order let something slip. Choice is yours, Slate."
Six weeks. Nearly six weeks, and now they come to him with a magic solution. If the hypnotist is for real, Jason will finally be of use. Kilik could be avenged.
And Jason is so, so tired of living in this base. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. "I'll do it, sir. Make the call."
Grier certainly doesn't look excited, but Jason can see the change in his demeanor instantly. "Glad to hear it, Slate. Security clearance will take a couple of days, but I'll be sure to get this moving as soon as possible."
Jason stands up straight and salutes again. "Yes, sir."
Once he leaves the office, Jason decides he should tell Eric. It'll be an excuse to apologize, as well. He turns down the corridor leading to Eric's room and raps his knuckles against the door.
Eric answers the door in his uniform, gray eyes going wide with surprise. "I was about to call you."
Jason raises a questioning eyebrow, and then he smells the food. The scent of fresh pasta wafts up to his nostrils and makes his mouth water. Eric actually looks sheepish.
"I felt bad about this morning," he says awkwardly. "After all you've been through, you deserve a dinner out." He gestures vaguely to the small table in his room. "Since that's not possible right now, I asked the cafeteria to whip up a dinner indoors." He moves aside, inviting Jason in.
Jason brushes past him, taking in the dim light and the dinner for two. The plates of pasta are crowding the table, and there is only one chair, so one of them will have to eat standing up. It's the thought that counts, though—and Jason's heart swells when he reaches for the bottles of beer.
"Cheers," he says, handing one to Eric. After they've taken a sip, Jason adds, "I came to apologize."
Eric waves it away. "Apology accepted." He takes another sip, tilting his head back and revealing the long line of his throat.
Jason swallows, averting his gaze. "I said yes to the hypnotist," he says, twisting some fettuccine around a fork. He tastes Alfredo sauce, thyme, and pepper. It's creamy and rich; he gives an appreciative moan as he chews.
"You didn't have to agree," Eric says.
"I want to do it." Jason glances over at him. "But thank you. You've been—amazing. I know Grier made you babysit me, but—"
"I said I was genuine," Eric interjects. He is staring at Jason intensely. "You've got…" He gestures to his lip.
"Oh." Jason grabs a napkin and dabs at the corner of his mouth. He drops it onto the table, but when he looks back, Eric is still staring. "Did I miss a spot?"
Eric swallows. "No," he replies shakily.
The anticipation is infectious; when Eric comes to set his beer on the table, the air between them is electric. Jason inhales slowly, smelling Alfredo and cologne. Why does he even have cologne? This base is practically empty—oh.
Jason looks up at Eric and licks his lips. "This isn't just because we've been stuck together for three months, is it?"
Eric makes a noise at the back of his throat. He grips the back of the empty chair as though to hold himself up. "I don't know. Is it?"
Jason says, "Christ, I hope not," and closes the gap.
Eric's mouth opens wide for Jason. He tastes like beer and Alfredo. Jason presses closer, craving contact, and Eric stumbles away from the chair. Jason gets his arms around Eric's neck, feeling strong hands encircle his waist. Jason kisses like he's starved for it, long and deep and desperate.
"Look at you," Eric pants, running his hands up and down Jason's sides. "God, look at you." He grabs Jason's biceps and squeezes.
Jason moans in response, licking into Eric's mouth again. He cards his fingers through Eric's short dark hair and pulls him even closer. There's a long line of warmth where they're pressed together, and it lights a fire in Jason's belly.
Eric tries to spin them around, and the strength behind the move takes Jason by surprise. He resists at first out of reflex. Eric makes a noise and breaks the kiss to growl, "Bed."
"Oh," Jason whispers breathily. When Eric pushes him again, he is soft and pliant. He lets Eric walk them backwards to the mattress. As soon as his knees hit the frame, he reverses their position, pushing Eric onto the thin pillows and climbing over him.
Eric quirks an eyebrow at him. "You got a thing for coming out on top, soldier?"
Jason feels a smile tug at his lips. "Yes, sir," he murmurs, running a hand down Eric's shirtfront. Eric arches under his hands, giving tacit permission. The buttons give way beneath Jason's fingers, and in moments the shirt is no longer an obstacle. Eric's chest is covered in a soft dusting of dark hair. Jason smooths it with his palms, following the trail down to Eric's bare stomach. The muscles jump beneath the pads of his fingers. "You're not as soft as I thought," he teases, hand drifting low
er to the growing bulge in Eric's slacks.
"I'm full of surprises," Eric says, his voice thick with arousal. He sits up, catching Jason's lips in another kiss while he shrugs out of his shirt. When it's on the floor, he goes for Jason's, popping a button in his haste to remove it. Jason chuckles against Eric's lips, but it turns into a groan once Eric pulls them flush. Eric's chest is soft and warm against Jason's smooth skin.
He shoves Eric back to the mattress and follows him down, lips fastening onto a nipple while his fingers work at Eric's slacks. He manages to yank both pants and briefs down and off before giving in to temptation. Jason inhales the heady scent of Eric's long, engorged cock. He licks a stripe from balls to tip, savoring the throaty groan that is wrenched from Eric's throat.
Jason takes the head into his mouth. One of Eric's hands tangles painfully into his hair, holding him in place so Eric can shove himself deeper. Jason moans around his erection, slurping greedily. As he sucks, he hears Eric rummaging around a drawer.
"Come here," Eric says, tugging his hair.
Jason growls and takes his cock deeper in response. He wants to see Eric come undone. It's not long before he gets his wish. Eric undulates, following Jason's bobbing rhythm, moaning wantonly. He gets progressively louder and soon, all too soon, he's crying out—keening and desperate—spilling hot and wet down Jason's throat.
"Fuck," Eric pants, his voice hoarse. Jason hums appreciatively, licking his softening cock clean before pulling off. Eric looks completely debauched, eyes wild and hair mussed. He's gripping a bottle of lube in one fist.
Jason cocks an eyebrow at it. "You have any condoms?" he asks quietly, pressing his own jutting erection into Eric's hip.
Eric chuckles, curling his free hand around Jason's bare waist. "It's not for me," he says, fingers questing into the back of Jason's pants. "It's for you."
Oh. Jason swallows and tries to pull away. "Look, I don't usually—" He cuts off when Eric flips them, throwing all his weight into it. Jason hits the mattress with a grunt. He doesn't struggle, but Eric boxes him in with all four limbs as though he might. "Eric," he tries again. "I don't—"
"You can," Eric murmurs, palming the bulge in his slacks. "Do you trust me?" Then he smiles—a smug, cocksure little grin. "Would you let me?" The request compels Jason to swallow his next protest. He relaxes, taking a deep, shaky breath, and nods.
With deft fingers, Eric slips Jason's pants and briefs down his legs. He moves slowly enough to give Jason time to veto the entire thing. Jason doesn't. He gasps when Eric curls skilled fingers around his neglected cock. He arches into the touch as Eric strokes him, tugging on the length of his erection and then the soft weight of his balls.
"Nn," he groans in protest when Eric's hand drifts away, trailing down his left leg. The light touch tickles, and his thigh trembles. "Eric," he says. "Please—"
"Shh," Eric says, popping the cap off the lube. In one swift motion, he gets a hand under Jason's knee and pulls him closer, hooking his left leg over Eric's shoulder.
Jason flinches, hands grabbing at the sheets. He feels open and exposed—vulnerable. "I…"
Eric shushes him again. "I've got you," he promises. One hand curls around Jason's thigh to grab his cock again. The stroking provides a warm, soothing counterpoint to the slick finger slipping into him.
Jason inhales sharply through his nose. Eric's index finger is cold and intrusive. Jason rolls his head back, trying to focus on the handjob while the finger pushes deeper. Eric murmurs some soothing nonsense. When the lube is warm and Jason starts to relax, Eric pulls his finger out. He pushes it back in again, all the way to the knuckle, and it makes Jason grunt. After four pushes, Jason's ass takes the finger easily, so Eric adds another.
"Fuck," Jason chokes out, tossing his head on the sheets. Eric's fingers are long and strong, thrusting slow but steadily, and questing deeper each time.
"Are you okay?" Eric asks, turning his head to drop a kiss on Jason's leg. His gentleness belies the determined, methodical fucking his fingers are doing.
Then Eric finds his prostate, setting every one of his nerve endings aflame. Jason feels his toes curl as he is pulled taut with pleasure. He manages not to cry out the first time, but Eric knows what he's doing. Each subsequent thrust is a deliberate rub against it; before long, Jason is pushing back against the fingers, trying to prolong it.
"You like this," Eric says, adding a little twist to his thrusts with a flick of his wrist that makes Jason gasp. "I knew you would." He cups Jason's balls with his other hand but keeps up the onslaught. "Can you handle another finger?"
"Oh God," Jason moans desperately, twisting his fingers into the sheets.
"Can you?" Eric asks pointedly. "Do you want more fingers fucking into you?"
"Christ," Jason manages. He's barely managed to nod before Eric's ring finger joins the party. It's good, beyond good; Jason feels tears prick at the corner of his eyes. He lets go, forgetting about Dawn Division, Grier, hypnotists, and masked doctors. His world narrows to Eric Archer, three fingers deep into his open, willing body. "Eric. Eric, Eric, Eric."
"This is just my hand," Eric says hungrily. "Imagine how it would feel with my cock. Imagine what I could do to you."
Jason almost forgets how to breathe. He can't take any more. He can't. He's going to—
"Would you let me?" Eric asks. "Would you let me fuck you?"
"Yes!" Jason shouts. "God, yes!" Eric responds by swallowing his cock. It pushes Jason over the edge, and he comes violently with a scream.
*~*~*
"I'm sorry."
Jason rolls over to look at Eric. He's staring up at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head. "For what?"
Gray eyes flicker over to Jason's before looking back upwards. "I didn't invite you to take advantage. It really was just for dinner."
The fettuccine Alfredo is probably cool by now. Jason isn't hungry anymore, though. "I kissed you," he points out. "And I," he falters, "I liked it. What you did." Jason only bottoms when his partners really want to switch it up, but Eric… Eric is a determined demon in bed. Jason can't remember the last time he came so intensely.
Eric gives him a wry smile. "You asked me if this was just cabin fever lust."
Jason drops his gaze to the rumpled sheets. "Eric, look—I like you. As a friend, and as more than a friend." He frowns. "I don't know when one became the other. Maybe it's the weeks here together; maybe it would have happened regardless. I don't know." He rubs at his eyes. "But I like it."
When he risks a glance at Eric, he finds Eric giving him a genuine smile. "I like it, too."
Jason feels suddenly lighter, as though a weight has been lifted from his chest. He stretches out on the bed, throwing one leg over Eric's hips. "I want you to go with me when the hypnotist gets here."
"Of course I will," Eric says, and he sounds at peace.
*~*~*
The hypnotist arrives three days later. He sets up shop in one of the offices Jason has never been in. Jason and Eric barely have time to change out of PT gear before Grier wants them front and center in uniform. Jason can't say he minds too much; the rush ensures he has no time to fret over the memories he may soon have.
"Slate, Archer, allow me to introduce Dr. Henry Kent." Grier shuts the door behind them and pulls the vertical blinds shut. Jason doesn't see the point; the base is understaffed and quiet as a tomb, anyway.
"Gentlemen," Dr. Kent says warmly. He's sitting at the small desk, papers and folders littering its surface. Kent is wearing a fine gray suit and wire-rimmed glasses. He keeps a trim red beard that seems a natural extension of his hair. "I am pleased to be of assistance." He extends his hand to Jason. "You are Jason Slate, yes?"
Jason eyes the outstretched hand warily before shaking it firmly. "Yes, sir."
"Very well. Please have a seat. Major, you and Mr. Archer may leave."
Jason blinks at the abrupt dismissal. "Hang on," he says, gesturing to Eric. "I want Archer to stay."
A
flicker of annoyance crosses Kent's face. Jason almost thinks he's imagined it, but it's his job to be observant. He glances back at Grier and Eric to see if they noticed.
Grier apparently hasn't, but he still shakes his head. "Negative, Doctor. This is all top secret. I insist on being here for any developments."
"I'm not leaving," Eric says matter-of-factly.
Kent looks briefly irritated again. It's gone in an instant, smoothed over with professional calm, but Jason knows what he saw. Again, he looks at Eric and Grier for any sign that they noticed, but they just give him reassuring nods. Dr. Kent clears his throat. "Very well. Please lock the door. Sometimes, the emotions triggered by recollection are quite intense. During the session, we will literally relive the experience, and I have seen some odd reactions from subjects."
Jason's gaze snaps back to Kent, eyes widening.
"Subject seems disoriented, perhaps from the anesthesia."
"It's quite all right," Kent says, misunderstanding Jason's reaction. "I will stop the session the moment it becomes dangerous for you."
Jason barely registers Kent's words. His skin feels like it's on fire, but his blood is running cold. He can hear his pulse pumping in his ears. He's breathing heavily.
"Slate?" Grier asks, sounding distant.
"Jason?" Eric sounds even further away.
Kent frowns at him. "Are you all right, Mr. Slate?"
"We'll get to that, Mr. Slate."
Jason swallows audibly, trying to claw his way back. "I—" He balls his shaking hands into fists at his sides. "I don't—"
"We have a question for you."
"Is this place as classified as you insisted it was?" Kent asks Grier.
"Of course," Grier says. "Very few people have the clearance for it."
"Jason," Eric says. "Are you okay? You're shaking."
But Kent is staring at him now, and Jason finds himself unable to look away. "I have a question for you, Jason Slate: Who is the Conduit?"
Jason blacks out.
