He kept quiet.
At least they tried. It was difficult to keep track of what he had or hadn’t said. Being with Oliver was like nothing else. He always lost sight of what was up and what was down. Didn’t quite know where he began and where Oliver ended. The initial jitters that had made Aberlour’s hands shake the first few times he’d reached for Oliver had long since subsided. It was easy now. As easy as everything else between them. He hummed in satisfaction as he ran his hands the length of Oli’s back, feeling the lithe muscle and committing every inch to memory. He did so as easily as he aimed and fired. And just as confident that his aim would the hit target as he stroked Oli’s cock. HisDarling, who arched against him, moaning in pleasure—every sound, every whimper, music to Abe’s ears. He marvelled at the magic of it all. At their utter lack of defences, and the unbelievable peace he felt as he laid beneath Oliver—completely at his mercy, and so willing. There were no masks here—no pretense—as he let Oliver pull him apart.
As they came back down together, lying in Aberlour’s bottom bunk, spent, naked, and sweaty, all Aberlour knew was that it was impossible to wipe the smile off his face.
“Do you think they heard?” Oliver asked, after a few minutes, tracing random patterns across Aberlour’s chest with his index finger.
“Hmm?” he asked, struggling to even think straight.
“We were banging against the wall,” Oliver explained. “Do you think the others heard?”
Aberlour hummed around the idea. Maybe. Perhaps. Aberlour just wasn’t sure he cared either way. They were hisbrothers. His best friends. He didn’t keep secrets from them, but he didn’t think this was something they needed to discuss with them. It wasn’t harming the team. It was helping, if anything.
Aberlour shrugged.
Oliver looked unsettled.
“You’d care if they did?” he asked Oliver, capturing his gaze.
Oliver’s eyes widened like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.
“‘Course, I would,” he replied sharply and frowned.
“Why?” Aberlour looked mystified.
“If they knew we were—” he stopped abruptly, unable to come up with the right words. “We’re Marines, Abe. Marines don’t fuck other Marines.”
He said it like it was some ancient rule that Aberlour should have known. Like one of the Ten Commandments or some shit.
Aberlour snorted and shook his head.
“You think too much, Darling. Marines do whatever the fuck they want. The brave, the few, the completely moronic, remember?” he asked, laughing to himself.
Oliver did not laugh along. He stayed oddly quiet as he continued to trace the length of Aberlour’s torso thoughtfully, and there came that look again. That uniquely Oliver kind of worry Aberlour learned to recognize much too late.
Chapter 12
July 2013
Aberlour’s boots were soaked through and through. His clothing was drenched as well, and he genuinely felt like he would never be dry or warm again.
“Five clicks out,” Oliver said, teeth chattering over the comms.
They were almost there. Almost home. Just a few more miles and they could put this one behind them.
They were trekking through wetlands, in the middle of the Peruvian Amazon, as they had been for nearly four days now. Everyone on Team Specter was at their wit’s end. It was supposed to be a simple op, but their intel had been horrible, and their target had not been anywhere near where it was supposed to be. Instead of being a quick in and out, they’d been two days early, and had been forced to camp in the mud, waiting for their cargo to be delivered. They’d kept a safe distance from the drop site, and waited until the smugglers delivered the package before stalking their way into the camp, killing everybody inside, and leaving with their package in tow. It was currently in Aberlour’s backpack, which was the only “dry” thing about him.
“Hold,” Marcus called, suddenly, and Team Specter stopped in their tracks. Aberlour took cover next to a tree and crouched down, making himself a smaller target.
“What is it?” Aberlour whispered over the comms.
“I see a heat signature. A couple actually,” Marcus whispered back. He was in charge of monitoring their exact location. Trekking back to camp in the dark could be tricky for a hundred different reasons. The Peruvian jungle was vast anddiverse. The last thing they needed was to sink into a forest river and be eaten whole by a giant anaconda.
“Birds?” Carlos suggested with a chuckle.
“Too big for a bird,” Marcus replied, his tone clipped. Several hours before, he’d had them hunker down for 15 minutes because of what had turned out to be a flock of birds perched on some low hanging branches. Apparently, Carlos wasn’t ready to let him live that one down.
“It’s coming this way.”
