Chapter 11
Early on a Sunday morning in May, they were deployed on a mission that would last for the rest of the year.
They were scheduled to take a cargo plane headed to the Yorktown Naval Base where they would then board the USS Callaway.
The Navy warship would be their “home base” for the next six months, with intermittent breaks to conduct land-based missions.
Organizing their gear and preparing to board the plane, Oliver and Abe seemed to be the only ones enthused about their deployment. The rest of Team Specter was either frowning or sniffling. Abe couldn’t blame them. They were leaving everyone and everything they loved behind.
Ghost’s jaw tightened in an effort to keep his composure as his daughter wailed from beyond the gate.
His wife wasn’t faring much better, looking pale and stricken as she waved goodbye while seeking to console their daughter at the same time.
Sabine, Marcus’ fiancé, waved at them with composed severity, though her eyes were red-rimmed and she’d lowered her head, as if trying to conceal her pain.
JD’s new fiancé had not made the trip to see him off at the airfield, since they’d said their goodbyes in private.
But the dark circles under JD’s eyes showed it had been very difficult for him.
Other than Aberlour and Oliver, Carlos was the only one who seemed remotely normal, although his usual glimmer of excitement was noticeably absent as they stepped onto the plane.
Unsurprisingly, Oliver noticed Aberlour’s scrutiny of their teammates.
Nudging him with his elbow, he said, “Give them a few hours and they’ll be good as new. ”
Aberlour just sighed in response.
The next few weeks were a whirlwind of training, briefings, and exercises with Green Berets and Canadian Special Forces.
Every night, Aberlour collapsed onto his bunk exhausted and burnt out, unable to do more than wink in Oliver’s direction.
Even though they had officer’s quarters this time, their stateroom had a three-tiered rack of bunk beds that he and Oliver shared with Ghost, which offered very little privacy.
Then Ghost got the stomach flu, and was sent to the clinic for IV fluids and Zofran, which meant—
“Fucking finally,” Oliver said, as soon as the stateroom door shut behind them and they had the room to themselves.
It was midday, and they both had to report to briefing for a new mission in a couple of hours.
None of that mattered though. Oliver pressed Aberlour against the door, grabbing his shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises.
God, Abe hoped he’d leave bruises.
They fought for dominance, Oli’s lips bruising his with desperation. Aberlour chuckled as he let himself be manhandled against the door, finding Oli’s enthusiasm more than flattering.
“I’ve missed you.” Oliver’s voice was muffled against his skin as he kissed the length of Aberlour’s neck.
Abe muffled a moan, the walls were paper thin, and the rest of the team was right next door, either napping or calling home. If they caught wind of this, Aberlour would never live it down.
“I need you,” Oli added with a smirk, as his hands reached beneath the fabric of Abe’s shirt and pulled it over his head.
There were a million things Aberlour wanted to say: You have me was first and foremost.
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.
His Darling, 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 his brothers. 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.