He watched, breath held, as Mac slicked himself, his fist moving in long, slow pulls. Thick and hard, the head flushed dark, a bead of pre-come glistening. The sight of it made Melvin’s mouth water.
“Come here,” Mac said, voice a command and a plea.
He guided Melvin by the hips, positioning him. The blunt head pressed against him.
Melvin took a deep, steadying breath, eyes locked on Mac’s. He lowered himself slowly, letting the stretch burn through him.
He felt Mac fill him.
Overwhelming. Claiming.
Melvin sank down until he was fully seated, Mac buried inside him. They both went still. Mac’s hands were vise-tight on his hips. Melvin could feel the frantic beat of Mac’s heart through where they were joined.
“Melvin,” Mac gasped, face a mask of strained control. The wolf in his eyes was right there, close to the surface.
Melvin leaned down, capturing Mac’s mouth in a searing kiss. He began to move, a slow lift of his hips followed by a steady sinking back down. The drag was exquisite. Mac’s hips jerked up to meet him, and the rhythm settled between them, deep and relentless, perfectly matched.
Melvin heard only their breathing, the wet slide of skin, the soft creak of the bed. Mac’s hands roamed him, mapping his back, gripping his ass, pulling him down harder.
“You know I want to see your eyes,” Mac growled.
Melvin snapped his eyes open. Mac’s gaze was fierce, possessive, with a depth that hit like a physical force.
“My mate,” Mac whispered, the words a vow.
He thrust up hard.
Melvin cried out, “My alpha,” and the pleasure crested sharp and bright.
The coil inside him snapped. Melvin came with a broken shout, his release striping Mac’s chest and his own stomach in hot pulses. The clenching of his body pulled Mac over the edge. Mac’s hips stuttered, a final deep thrust, and he spilled inside him with a ragged groan, his body bowing off the bed.
They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, slick with sweat and spend. Mac was still inside him, softening. Melvin lay half on top of him, his face buried in the crook of Mac’s neck, breathing him in.
Mac’s hand came up, fingers carding slowly through Melvin’s hair. His other arm was a solid band across Melvin’s back, holding him close.
Neither spoke.
The two-hour clock was ticking somewhere in the fabric of this place, but here, in the warm aftermath, time felt suspended.
For now, there was only this. The beat of a heart under his ear. The scent of his alpha. The perfect, unbreakable silence.
After a while Mac shifted beneath him and pressed a quiet kiss to Melvin’s hair.
“Let’s go,” he said softly.
They left the shack together, the carved symbols fading into shadow behind them.
Morning came too quickly.
Melvin didn’t wake so much as surface. The base was beginning again. He lay still long enough to feel the imprint of the night in his body. Moonlight. Wind. Mac’s thumb against his scar like a promise repeated.
When he dressed and stepped out, he caught a glimpse of Mac across the corridor, already moving, already composed, like sleephadn’t touched him at all. Melvin read the set of his shoulders anyway. Whatever had eased last night hadn’t stayed eased.
Briefing room, 0800. Captain Baxter stood at the front of the TOC, flipping through a stack of fielding orders as the platoon leaders took their seats. Melvin slid into his chair. Mac took the one beside him. Their knees nearly touched. Almost.
Baxter waited for the room to settle and then said, “New rotation schedule starts this week. Forward operations shift. Third Platoon will begin joint patrols with the 103rd Infantry Regiment starting tomorrow. Second Platoon will manage traffic control points and all MP support ops here at Al Asad.”
Across the table, Mac’s pen paused mid-word. Melvin kept his eyes on the projected map. No reaction. Just the job.
