The ‘understanding’ between himself and DiMarco turned out to be a lot more fun and challenging than Jethro could ever have expected. He discovered a depth to the man that was certainly not visible in either his jacket, or the personality that he presented to the people around him. He was an unbelievable strategist and Jethro made a firm bet with himself never to play poker with the man. Ever. His good humor and readiness to laugh at himself was endearing in a way to which Jethro couldn’t help but respond.
Their games didn’t happen often enough, in Jethro’s opinion. He looked forward to the times when they were both off and he could limp down to the rec room where DiMarco would be setting up the board, or already have the pieces lined up. It was on their fifth such game, after Tony had picked up Caitlin for the second time, that conversation turned a little more personal than he liked.
“So you never married, or is there a Mrs. Gibson waiting back home?”
Jethro gave the younger man a sharp look, then returned to contemplating the board. He couldn’t very well cut the man off by hiding behind rank, they were too far beyond that now, but it wasn’t like he could admit to the fact that women did nothing for him. He finally settled on, “The Navy’s been my life for my entire adult life. Didn’t want to subject a woman to that kind of vagabond existence.”
“Ah.”
Shooting him another sharp look, Jethro found nothing but understanding on the young man’s face and couldn’t help but demand, “What?”
“Nothing,” Tony replied, smiling. “I figured it was something like that.”
‘Something like that,’ could
mean anything, Jethro thought, looking down at the pieces again. He finally
moved a pawn and sat back, absently rubbing his aching thigh. He could’ve
taken it at face value.
But somehow, Jethro didn’t think that was the case. Tony was a hell of a lot smarter than he pretended to be, more perceptive too, and well able to read between the lines.
“Well that wasn’t very bright of you,” Tony observed, moving his knight into check.
Jethro looked at the changed board and grimaced, seeing his Queen exposed. No matter where he moved her, she would be in danger of capture in only two or three moves, depending on what Tony did to counter him. He pinned Tony with a glare and said, “You distracted me.”
“Of course I did. I want to win.”
The bright grin diffused Jethro’s irritation and he snorted, knocking his Queen over. “Line ‘em up again.”
But the ground shook and, seconds later, a warning siren pierced the air just then. Tony jumped to his feet and ran for the exit while Jethro cursed his body into standing and moving faster than it had any intention of going. By the time he was in the hall, men and women were running to emergency positions, so he hugged the wall to keep out of the way. The building shook and Jethro staggered, almost losing his balance. He had to stop at the next doorframe when the building shook again and stay put, for fear of falling over altogether.
The air raid siren continued and Jethro couldn’t help but think of Tony, knowing he was gearing up to get in the air and fight, possibly die, to save those on the ground.
* * * *
Tony went through flight check without even thinking about it, hands moving over the controls, eyes taking in the gauges, until everything was right where it was supposed to be. He was lined up to be third in the air and waited impatiently for the others to get moving, anxious to take a shot at the bastards who dared to come at them like this.
Cowards, he thought
hatefully. Takes a lot of guts for a surprise attack like
And then he was in the air and his entire being was focused on chasing down and blowing his opponents out of the sky.
* * * *
By the time it was over, Jethro was on the ground, trying not to draw attention to himself as people continued to hurry about their business. His back continued to spasm and sharp pains lanced through his leg. All he could do was ride it out and hope no one noticed him until he could stand up again.
“Captain Gibson? Oh gosh, Sir, are you all right?”
Too late, he thought with a sigh. Looking up, he spotted Tony’s roommate, Commander Donovan, rushing towards him. “I’m fine. Just lost my footing is all.”
“Here, let me help you,” Donovan offered, reaching down for him.
And while it galled him something fierce, Jethro had no choice but to accept his help. Fortunately, there was nothing but a sincere desire to help on the young man’s face, no pity or sympathy, which made it a little easier to bear.
Once he was upright, Donovan stepped back and asked, “Did you need anything else, Sir?”
“No, thanks, Commander. Go on with what you were doing,” Jethro ordered.
Donovan saluted and rushed on without a backward glance, intent on his duties.
Lips pursed thoughtfully as he watched the rounded young man hurry off, Jethro wondered just what it was that had driven Donovan through the ranks at such a young age. He was only twenty-five, an unheard of age to reach Commander, so there had to be something about him besides his willingness to help.
Once he was sure that he could walk without disgracing himself again, Jethro moved slowly towards Command to find out what was going on…and who had survived the dog fights in the air above them.
* * * *
It was late that night before Tony even had the chance to hunt down Jethro. First was seeing a medic for the stitches he needed and then was debriefing. After that, he wound up back on the tarmac working with the flight crew on maintenance. Three of the mechanics had been hurt in the attack and were in the infirmary, leaving them short staffed until replacements could be brought in from another base. Somewhere in there, someone shoved a couple of sandwiches that he chowed down on and he managed to take a piss at least once when he was sure no one was looking.
Tony was thoroughly exhausted as he headed for Command, figuring that he would find his CO there, even hours after everything was over. Jethro was nothing, if not a stickler for detail, and he would make sure everyone’s I’s were dotted and their T’s were crossed. Searching the room from the doorway, Tony frowned at not seeing the man anywhere inside.
“Something we can do for you, Lieutenant?”
Jumping a little, straightening into attention at the Admiral’s gravely question, Tony saluted and waited to be released from it before replying, “No, Sir!”
“Then why are you here?” Morrow questioned, blue eyes cold. “You didn’t get enough action in the air?”
Tony hesitated briefly, then said, “I was looking for Captain Gibson, Sir.”
For a long moment, Morrow simply looked him in the eyes, as if trying to judge the very marrow of him. Finally, the man informed him, “At ease, Commander. I sent him home a couple of hours ago, Lieutenant. You can find him there.”
“Would the Admiral be able to direct me?” Tony asked, hoping against hope the man would. He’d already dated and dumped most of the administrative staff, so getting the address would be a bitch if he had to do it that way.
A flash of amusement crossed the hardened face, as if knowing that were the case, and Morrow answered, “You can find him at 112 Wilcox St.”
“Thank you, Sir!” Tony exclaimed, saluting again.
Morrow returned the salute briefly, releasing him, and then brushed by him to stride into the room.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Tony hurried away in search of Jethro, worried about why he’d needed to be sent home in the first place. He knew the other man hid a lot of the pain that he was in, so it had to have been very bad indeed for the Admiral to override him and order him home.
* * * *
It took a good twenty minutes to navigate his way through the city, but finally Tony wound up at 112 Wilcox St. and rang the bell. When no one showed up, he rang again, longer this time. Finally, a petite, frazzled looking woman answered the door with a furious and very hard to understand, “What in the world are you doing here at this time of night? Who are you? What do you what? I’ll ring for the police if you don’t speak up!”
Sorting through the thick and, he thought, Scottish, accent, Tony exclaimed, “I’m sorry, ma’am, didn’t realize just how late it was. I was looking for Captain Gibson. They told me he’d been sent home and I was worried that he’d somehow hurt himself, what with his injuries.”
She scowled up at him and answered, “He’s here, and he’s in bed, and I doubt he’d appreciate being woken for the likes of you.”
Which was when he remembered, abruptly, that he was dressed in an oil-stained uniform, probably had a dirty face and wild hair. It was no wonder the door was open only a couple of inches with the chain still across. Wincing, he apologized, “I’m really sorry, ma’am, didn’t mean to bother you.”
“Mrs. Mallard, it’s all right, I work with Lieutenant Commander DiMarco,” Jethro called from inside. “You can let him in.”
The irritated expression deepened, but she unchained the door and let Tony in, even as she muttered, as an apparent curse, “Italian. Should’ve known.”
He found himself glared at the entire way into the foyer and offered her a weak smile as he handed over his jacket and then looked up the stairs to where Jethro waited. The other man was dressed only in a robe and looked almost haggard with pain. Concerned, Tony nonetheless bobbed his head politely to Mrs. Mallard before climbing the stairs. Stopping on the second floor, he asked softly, “Are you all right?”
Jethro grimaced and didn’t answer, jerking his head behind him and turning to walk in that direction. Tony followed close behind and was led into a fairly substantial room lined with dresser, double bed, and bookcases that overflowed. Closing the door behind him, Tony watched as the other man slowly lowered himself onto the bed and then leaned back at an odd angle. That Jethro felt comfortable enough in his company to show such weakness sent a warm pang through him.
Crossing over to the bed, Tony sat down beside Jethro and apologized, “Sorry for the late hour. I honestly didn’t even think about it when I came here.”
Jethro offered a quirk of the lips that passed for a smile, then said, “I figured. Everything okay on base?”
“Everything’s fine,” Tony assured him. “I was just worried when the Admiral said he’d sent you home.”
A scowl surfaced briefly, but it was as if the officer didn’t even have the energy to maintain it, because the expression swiftly faded. “I’m fine, Tony, thanks for the concern.”
“You’re not fine, and if you let me, I think I can help.”
“Help? Nothing can help this.”
“I really think I can,” Tony insisted. “But you have to trust me.”
Jethro stared at him for a long moment, then asked, “What do you want to do?”
“My family spent a lot of time in Sweden when I was growing up, well, all over Europe really, so the kids I spent time with were from all social spheres. Not that my father approved, but Mom was adamant that I do pretty much whatever I wanted.”
“So you were spoiled.”
Tony grinned and confirmed, “Rotten.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Jethro muttered, but there was a faint smile in place when he said it.
“The point is, that I learned the art of massage at a young age and have had plenty of opportunity to perfect it over the years, believe me,” Tony said, winking.
Jethro arched an eyebrow at him. “What the hell is a massage?”
Tony thought about how to explain it, then said, “Well, it’s like a shoulder rub, only all over. Goes right for the muscles that cause the most trouble, getting knotted up and out of place. Basically, you lie down and I, ah, straddle you, and rub your back and shoulders.”
Which doesn’t sound all that on the up and up, put that way, Tony realized, flushing.
It was a sign of just how much pain Jethro was in that he simply grunted agreement and ordered, “Move and then help me lie down how you need me.”
A loaded question if ever Tony had heard one, but only from his side of things, he knew. It took a few minutes to get Jethro out of his robe and stretched out on the bed, but Tony was straddled over him only seconds later. Looking at the massive scars on Jethro’s back sent a flush of belated panic through him at just how much damage had been done to the man beneath him. If the land mine that Jethro had apparently stepped on had truly done its job, then they never would have met.
Shaking off the thought, Tony kept himself on his knees, careful not to put any weight on the fragile man lying on the bed. He knew, then, just how strong Jethro’s will was, because anyone else would have succumbed to what had to be agonizing pain. Making an assumption, he said casually, “I don’t have any oils with me, but I’ll bring some next time.”
“Let’s just see how this goes first,” Jethro said, voice somewhat muffled by the pillow.
Tony smiled, glad he hadn’t been rebuffed completely, and began with the neck. He moved slowly, ever so slowly, downward and discovered that the muscles were a complete mess, not a big surprise. It took a long time to get all the way down to Jethro’s waist and by then, the other man was utterly pliant, his breathing deep and slow, assuring Tony that he was already asleep. From there it was the arms, and he ended by doing the legs all the way down to the callused toes, not wanting to stop.
Just as well he’s so out of it, Tony thought ruefully, his own body now very tense from having had his hands on his CO for a couple of hours. It wasn’t the sort of tension that any normal American man would ever own up to feeling, at least not for another man. He carefully climbed off the bed and pushed his feet into his shoes before taking one last look at Jethro, peacefully asleep with his face mashed into the pillow. Smiling at the sight, Tony sighed wistfully and left the room, closing the door as silently as he knew how and then tip-toeing down the stairs to grab his jacket.
Once outside in the bitter damp
of a November predawn in
* * * *
Jethro woke on his stomach, which wasn’t unusual since he’d been injured, but mostly pain-free, which was. Frowning, he moved cautiously onto his side and then into a sitting position only to discover that he was, indeed, merely sore instead of in active pain. Eyebrows raised in pure astonishment, Jethro took hold of his cane and slowly got to his feet. The area around his spine, which was always the worst, was merely a dull throb and he smiled outright at the results of Tony’s ‘massage.’
Not wanting to jinx anything, he used the cane on his way to the bathroom, but was able to simply lean on the sink as he shaved and prepared for the day. He smiled at one of the other renters on his way back to his room, getting a double take, and that made him smile even more. He was in the middle of getting dressed when the bedroom door opened unexpectedly. A shocked gasp announced Ducky’s presence and the boy’s view of Jethro’s back. Thankful that he at least had his pants already on, Jethro grimaced and turned to face the kid, admonishing, “That’s why you’re supposed to knock, Ducky, to make sure you don’t see something you shouldn’t.”
“I, I’m sorry, Captain!” Ducky exclaimed, eyes wide behind his glasses. “I didn’t mean to, to pry!”
Jethro waved it off and said, “It’s okay, son. Where’s the fire?”
“Mum says there’s some Italian man waiting for you downstairs. He brought coffee,” Ducky explained, practically whispering the last word in awe. Then he recovered himself and said matter-of-factly, “Mum still doesn’t like him.”
Chuckling, Jethro replied, “I’m sure she doesn’t. Tell them I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Ducky nodded and scampered off, closing the door behind him.
After pulling the rest of his clothes on and taking the extra time to make sure that his uniform was smooth and correct, Jethro headed downstairs, taking them slowly. He didn’t want to risk messing up his body again, enjoying the nearly pain-free use of it for the first time in over a year. Turning into the dining room, Jethro smiled to find Tony entertaining a wide-eyed Ducky with some story that came to an abrupt halt when Mrs. Mallard reentered the room.
Jethro hid a grin and forestalled the storm clouds by greeting, “Morning, Lieutenant. I hear you brought coffee?”
“I’ve got it percolating now, Captain,” Mrs. Mallard answered, smiling at him and somehow delivering an almost simultaneous frown to Tony. “Should be ready in a few minutes, as I know you like yours strong.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Jethro replied, taking the seat beside Tony.
Tony gave him a brief grin and asked, “How’re you feeling today, Captain?”
“Better, thanks.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
Tony grinned at the honest response. “Don’t worry, Sir, I won’t take it personally.”
Ducky leaned on the table on the other side of Tony and asked, “You really get to fly in planes and shoot Jerry out of the sky?”
Nodding, Tony replied, “Sure do. You know, if it’s okay with your Mom, I could let you sit in one of them.”
Jethro didn’t think it was possible, but the kid’s eyes got even bigger and he breathed, “Really? You’d do that?”
“Absolutely!” Tony agreed.
Catching sight of Mrs. Mallard’s disapproving look, Jethro hastened to say, “It’s perfectly safe, Mrs. Mallard, and I would of course go with them as chaperone.”
Still not looking all that pleased, she nonetheless nodded and agreed, “All right then. Why don’t you gentlemen tuck in while I get the coffee?”
A couple of the other boarders had arrived for breakfast and Ducky headed out shortly thereafter for school. But not before Tony had told him to mention to his friends that he was going to get to sit in a real fighter plane after school that afternoon.
Jethro just shook his head once Ducky was gone and observed, “Good thing we already started boxing lessons.”
“Oh c’mon, Captain, the kid’ll be fine,” Tony assured him. “Just needs to get some confidence and a couple of admirers at school and he’ll be all set.”
“I thought you didn’t go to school.”
“Well, I went to college.”
“Completely different, rich boy.”
Tony grinned, not in the least offended.
* * * *
It turned out that Commander Donovan had a higher security clearance than Jethro did, which rankled somewhat as he looked through the man’s jacket. Donovan had skipped a total of three grades in public school, graduated valedictorian of his high school class at the age of fifteen, and gone on to study at Harvard on a scholarship until he was eighteen. At that time, he’d enlisted in the Air Force OTS whereupon he’d been immediately pulled into the making and breaking of codes, and that was where’d he’d stayed for the last five years.
A knock at the door had him looking up to find the young man in question outside his office door. Jethro waved him in and went back to leafing through the file. “Have a seat, Commander.”
The young man sat and then nervously shifted in the chair in front of Jethro’s desk. He kept the commander waiting a few minutes longer, leisurely turning pages in the obvious personnel folder and letting the nervousness grow, just to appease the imp on his shoulder. Finally, he glanced over at the commander and said, “I’m looking for someone to devise a code for an operative in deep cover. It should be simple enough for her to memorize in a short amount of time, but difficult to break.”
“Ah, for, for written or verbal, Sir?” Donovan questioned.
“Written. The messages will be couriered through a grapevine. No more than five words in a sentence.”
“You want just words? No numbers?”
“Don’t want to alert anyone that it is actually a code,” Jethro pointed out mildly. “If the messages get intercepted, they should read at face value, ‘A loaf of bread,’ or whatever.”
Clearly already on the order, nerves fading as his mind took over, Donovan nodded. “Understood, Sir. Will there be anything else?”
“That’s all, Commander. Dismissed.”
Donovan stood, saluted, and turned sharply before leaving.
Jethro grinned a bit and closed the file, knowing all he really needed to about the young man. His mind turned to a more pleasant occupation, such as Tony. The night before had been a revelation in more ways than one. He knew that Tony hadn’t meant to do it, but Jethro had felt the hard length of him under the uniform slacks as the young man had rubbed his hands over Jethro’s body. It told him that Tony was like him, that they were both…whatever it was they were. Not normal, unfortunately, and certainly not something he would wish on anyone so young as to have their whole lives ahead of them, but alike.
How long had it been, since he’d found someone like himself? There’d been the suggestion of offers in plenty of eyes over the years, the lingering touch of someone silently telling him that he could take what he wanted. None of them had been from anyone that he knew well enough to really trust with that kind of knowledge about him, though. It had been five long years from the last time he’d felt hands on his body. Five years between kisses and passion was much too long. He groaned softly in need as he thought of everything that he and Tony could do together that had absolutely nothing to do with chess.
Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was after three, time for Ducky to be out of school and on his way to the base. He grabbed his cane and stood, figuring to meet the kid at the gate, but his phone rang first. Picking it up, he answered, “Gibson.”
“Captain, we need your presence in Command.”
“On my way,” Jethro replied.
It looked like Tony and Ducky were on their own.
* * * *
Carrying Ducky on his
shoulders, Tony pointed out the various non-classified areas of the base on his
way to the tarmac. There were plenty of smiles sent their way, lots from women
who wouldn’t otherwise have anything to do with him, thanks to his reputation.
Tony couldn’t help but grin as he thought, Too
bad I didn’t think of something like this before I got interested in Jethro.
They reached his plane in no time and he spent the next half hour bending over the cockpit from the outside so Ducky could sit in the pilot’s seat. He put the helmet on the kid, pointed out all the different controls, showed him how to hold the joystick, and most of the basics of flying. The kid picked everything up the first time and his questions tended to land on the technical side, surprising Tony every time. When there wasn’t anything left, he helped Ducky down and went in search of Donovan, since it was obvious that something had come up and Jethro couldn’t join them.
Finding Tim in the mess, he introduced the two and went to grab food for Ducky and himself. When he got back, the two were immersed in a discussion of code-work and Tony groaned. Plunking his cap on Ducky’s head and pulling it down to cover the kid’s face, he demanded, “Don’t tell me you actually understand what Donovan’s saying?”
Ducky pushed the hat up and answered, “It’s easy if you’ve got the point of reference, Tony! See…”
Tony tugged the hat back down, holding onto it to give the kid something to struggle against, and shook his head at Donovan. “Giving sensitive information to a minor. What will Gibson say?”
Donovan’s eyes went wide, much as Ducky’s had a tendency to do, and he exclaimed, “C’mon, Tony, you’re not going to tell him, are you? There wasn’t anything sensitive, I swear!”
Ducky finally succeeded in pulling free of the hat, so Tony snagged the kid in a casual neck hold and answered, “Oh sure, you say that now. But what if this poor kid needs to be brainwashed or something? You never can tell what spies are going to do, isn’t that right Kate?”
Caitlin took the seat beside Donovan and smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t know, Tony, I’m just a secretary. Are you going to let the boy breathe some time today?”
Tony looked down at Ducky’s now upside down face and grinned at how red it was. Ducky was laughing as he futilely tried to get free. Looking back at Caitlin, Tony shrugged and said, “He hasn’t given me the magic word yet.”
“Please?” Ducky guessed.
“Nope.”
“Thank you?”
“Nope.”
“You’re welcome?”
“Nope.”
Ducky frowned, his ten-year-old mind trying to come up with the right word. Seeing the kid was completely occupied, Tony returned his attention to Caitlin and said, “Donovan here was giving the kid secret information. Think I should tell Gibson?”
Flushed almost as red as Ducky, Tim exclaimed, “I didn’t! Honest, Caitlin, I didn’t. Tony’s just being a pain in the…a pain!”
Caitlin barely winked at Tony before turning a sober face to Donovan and said, “I don’t know, Tim. Any military information given to people who aren’t US Citizens could be considered an act of treason. Telling Gibson is the least of it, I would think.”
Tony had all he could do to not
to burst out laughing when Donovan paled, and thought, Looks like that
barrel of Guinness really did the trick.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m dead. They’re going to draw and quarter me. That’s what they do to traitors, isn’t it? Oh my God,” Tim mumbled, swaying.
Caitlin slapped him on the back and started laughing as she exclaimed, “Relax, Donovan, I was kidding!”
Even joining in the laughter, Tony couldn’t miss it when Ducky shouted, “Coffee!”
Startled, he looked down and asked, “What?”
“Coffee! That’s the magic word!” Ducky pronounced, triumphant.
A little spooked, since that was indeed the magic word he’d been thinking of, Tony let the kid go and demanded, “How’d you figure it out?”
Ducky just smiled smugly at him and took a seat beside Caitlin as he said, “You’re very pretty, Miss. D’ye mind if I sit with you?”
Caitlin continued to laugh and put her arm around the boy’s shoulder. “You can indeed, little man.”
Shaking his head, Tony wagged a finger at Ducky and warned, “If you’re not careful, you’re going to wind up a spy one day.”
Ducky’s grin just got bigger.
* * * *
“I’m telling you, the kid is freakishly smart,” Tony insisted with a grin. “He and Donovan were holding an actual conversation, one that I could barely follow.”
“That’s not hard,” Caitlin drawled lazily.
Jethro managed to snort, instead of laugh, and took a sip of tea, leaning briefly against Tony as he said, “Ducky’s a good kid.”
Shaking his head and lightly squeezing Jethro’s leg, just above the knee, Tony replied, “That’s not in question. I just have the feeling that he should be doing something other than avoiding the bullies at school. Don’t they have some kind of program around here that smart kids can join?”
“Last call,” Abby announced, to the disgruntled rumblings of the patrons. “Oh knock it off, will ya? It’s last call this time of night, every single night.”
Jethro did laugh at that and asked, “Where’d you say this girl is from?”
“Brooklyn,” Tony answered. “Rumor has it that she won this place in a card game. Though how she managed to get here in the first place, is a mystery I have as yet to plumb.”
Caitlin gave him a wink and informed him, “Better to leave the plumbing to the experts.”
Tony smirked at her, replying, “I don’t think she’s looking for a woman to do that kind of…excavation.”
Wondering exactly how they’d gone from talking about Ducky, to Abby’s potential for responding to Caitlin, Jethro shook his head and said sternly, “This isn’t the place for that kind of talk.”
Caitlin just shrugged carelessly, as she always did whenever he scolded her about things of that nature, but Tony moved his hand a little higher up on Jethro’s thigh, sending a shiver through Jethro.
“You folks should stick around for a while. I’ve got a feeling that things are going to get interesting once the doors close tonight,” Abby told them quietly, leaning on the table.
Jethro caught Tony’s gaze, but the other officer shrugged, apparently not having any idea what was going to happen. Making a decision, Jethro answered, “Sure. We’ll stick around for a while.”
Abby moved away without further explanation and started shooing out the other customers, except for a seeming select few. When the door was locked behind the last of the regulars, Jethro watched as Abby went to all the windows and pulled down the blackout drapes. Once that was done, she sauntered back behind the bar and simply pulled out a newspaper and started to read. Frowning curiously, Jethro turned back to the quiet conversation Tony and Caitlin were having about the engine speed of cars, of all things.
Jethro leaned back in the comfortable, high-backed booth and closed his eyes, letting the conversation swim over him, just enjoying the company and relaxed atmosphere. It had been a long time since he hadn’t felt the need to be in control. Most of that, he knew, had to do with Tony and Caitlin. They were both extremely capable and, by all rights, better equipped to handle anything that might come at them than he was, physically at least. He didn’t have to worry about being in charge with them around.
His eyes reopened when he started hearing conversations grow around them, and more feet moving around than there should be. To his surprise, Jethro found several more patrons there than when Abby had closed up shop. Not that it was his business what hours she kept, so he just ignored them and shifted slightly closer to Tony, enjoying the warmth the other man gave off. The engine speed of the new model 1945 Ferrari had given way to sports talk when someone turned on a radio. Big band melodies filled the pub and Jethro sighed deeply, enjoying the familiar strains.
“Excuse me, ma’am, would you like to dance?”
Not an unusual phrase, really, but the fact that it was Abby doing the asking prompted Jethro to crack an eyelid. There wasn’t really anything untoward about two women dancing together, but Jethro’s eyebrows climbed upon finding a three sets of men slow dancing together in the middle of the room.
Caitlin stood and took Abby’s hand, walking away with a murmured, “I’ll lead.”
Straightening in the booth, Jethro frowned and took a good look around. There were about twenty other patrons now, most of them in uniform, just chatting quietly around the room. The lights were dimmed to flickering candlelight and the fireplace. The difference between now and the regular crowd, however, was the segregation of men and women. Hands were being held on the tables. Heads were together holding ever-softer conversations. And then there were the dancers, who were very obviously in love, or about to be from the way they were holding one another.
“Shocked?”
Tony’s quiet question brought his attention back to the man beside him and Jethro shook his head. “Surprised, is all. I mean, there’s always whispers of places like this, but I never thought I’d be in one.”
“It’s nice, isn’t it? Not having to hide,” Tony commented, putting his hand on Jethro’s. “Knowing that someone knows who you are and…cares for you in the same way.”
“Do you?” Jethro challenged.
Tony smiled and answered, “I am falling so far down over you, I don’t think I’ll ever see my way out again, Captain.”
Emboldened by the words, Jethro brushed his knuckles over Tony’s cheek and said, “Likewise, Lieutenant.”
“C’mon. Let’s dance.”
But Jethro hesitated. His body was still mostly pain free, but dancing wasn’t something he was really ready to try. It would be too awkward and humiliating with the cane in the way and besides, who would lead?
As if sensing his strong doubts, Tony suggested, “How about you lead and I’ll support you if you need it? Just one dance, Jethro, please?”
Like I can say no to those eyes? Jethro thought with an inward sigh of what he was sure would be a disaster. He nodded and got out of the booth, leaving his cane there to walk hand in hand with Tony onto the impromptu dance floor. Strong arms surrounded his waist, holding steady, and Jethro tentatively put his own around Tony’s shoulder, twining their hands together. There was a long moment where neither man moved, then Jethro took a breath and began swaying to the music Bing Crosby’s version of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You.’ There were some painful twinges in his leg and sciatica, but his body didn’t protest too violently, so Jethro let out a slow sigh of relief.
They drifted slowly together and, despite himself, Jethro found that leaning on Tony felt right, as well as good, and eventually wound up dancing with his head on the slightly taller man’s shoulder. Tony’s cheek rested against his temple and his arms both surrounded Jethro’s waist.
They danced for a lot longer than just the one song.
* * * *
Too many songs later to count, Jethro hobbled into the bathroom at the end of the short hall in the back. He couldn’t help the smile as he limped, despite the increasing pain through his lower back and sciatica. Even if he could barely move the next day, he’d still be smiling. The door opened when he was washing his hands and Tony entered the small room, shutting the door behind him.
Jethro met his gaze in the mirror.
The lock snicked shut with an absurdly loud click.
And then Tony was right there behind him, arms wrapping around Jethro and pulling him back as he nuzzled at Jethro’s ear. “God, I want you.”
Jethro shuddered as his ear was sucked lightly and then bit, his head rolling back to rest on Tony’s shoulder as he gasped, “Same here.”
Turning in Tony’s arms, Jethro grabbed the other man’s shirt and pulled him in for a hard, desperate kiss. Opening to him immediately, Tony kissed back just as strong, tongue thrusting into Jethro’s mouth to slide along his palate and map out the rest. Jethro moaned, hands rubbing over the firm chest, fingers digging into the muscles until they found hard nipples and stayed there, moving back and forth over the small points, twisting them under the fabric.
Panting into his mouth, Tony pushed a leg between Jethro’s, against his hard cock, and Jethro jerked in response. Without a single thought except to find release for both of them, despite the location, maybe because of it, he pushed his good leg between Tony’s and they started a mostly-coordinated humping motion. It wasn’t going to take much, he knew. It had been too long since someone else had touched him, let alone with such desire.
Tony’s hands gripped his ass, pulling him up and awkwardly setting him on the counter.
Dazed, Jethro pulled back enough to hoarsely demand, “What about you?”
“This’ll do me, don’t you worry about it,” Tony promised, eyes dark and heated as he swiftly unzipped Jethro’s pants. “I wanna suck you down, Jethro.”
Jethro’s eyes rolled back when the wet heat of Tony’s mouth surrounded his cock. His fingers held tight to the counter, the edge digging into them as he was swallowed down fast and deep. Biting his lip to keep the sounds quiet, Jethro hunched up into the welcoming throat, aching to come. Tony’s fingers lightly pushed against his balls, sliding under the fabric to fondle him in his most sensitive spot, behind the sacs. Jethro saw stars, a shout escaping as he spilled hard down Tony’s throat, despite the control he tried to keep.
He could hear Tony’s hand moving on his own cock and wanted to protest, wanted to do it for his new lover, but hadn’t the strength. Tony was still alternately sucking on Jethro’s cock and panting when he came, moaning around Jethro’s shaft when he did. The sensations overloaded him temporarily and Jethro shuddered violently in pleasure once more.
When Tony finally stood straight again, it was with a satisfied, ‘cat ate the cream’ expression on his face where Jethro was sure his was completely dumb. His new lover leaned in and took his mouth in a slow, deep kiss and he couldn’t even find the energy to protest the taste of his own seed, something he’d never done before with other lovers. Resting his forehead on Jethro’s, Tony sighed deeply and murmured, “Damn.”
For some reason, that struck Jethro as truly funny and he started laughing. A deep, belly laugh like he hadn’t had in over a year. Then, just as suddenly, excruciating pain sliced through him and he seized up, his mouth open in a silent scream, eyes clenched shut.
“Jethro! Jethro? What’s wrong?” Tony demanded, voice frantic.
But it was all Jethro could do not to pass out. He couldn’t explain about the agony radiating from just the left side of his spine. Couldn’t say that they’d probably just knocked some piece of shrapnel out of place. Couldn’t do anything except half-sob in pain and do his best not to move.
“Abby!” Tony shouted. “Abby! I need a doctor in here! Abby!”
There was a loud crash, as if someone had broken through the door and, in the ensuing chaos of voices and questions, Jethro blessedly passed out.