Chapter 7
The fire’s glow fades behind us as we push through the trees. A full moon hangs overhead, bright enough to light our path through the woods. Emilio leads, his hand wrapped around my wrist, pulling me forward.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“There’s a spot,” he says. “About five minutes from camp. Buck and I passed it earlier. A little clearing with a fallen tree and a small stream. No one will find us there.”
The urgency in his voice, the way he pulls me along, it all makes me lightheaded with lust. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m going to suck another dick. My friend’s dick.
We keep walking, weaving between trees. The moonlight casts everything in silver and shadow. Emilio’s breathing hard, and so am I. This feels like a mission. A covert operation. Get to the rendezvous point. Complete the objective.
Objective being: get on my knees and blow my best friend.
“How much farther?” I ask.
“Not far. Be patient.”
But I can’t be patient. I’m suddenly starving for it. My mouth is watering, my dick a solid bar in my pants.
I pull my wrist from his grasp and push him up against the trunk of a large oak tree. He lets out a small gasp of surprise as the bark scrapes against his back. I don’t give him a chance to say anything. I drop to my knees on the damp, leafy ground and reach for the buckle of his rigger belt.
“Adrian, not here.”
“Why not?” I ask, my hands already popping the buttons on his fly. “We’re alone. No one’s around.”
“It’s too close to camp,” he says, but he doesn’t push me away.
“We’ll go there in a bit, I promise,” I tell him, looking up. “I just need a little taste. Something to hold me over until we get there.”
My hands tremble as I pull down the waistband of the PT shorts he wears under his pants. His cock springs free, brushing my cheek and making us both gasp.
“Adrian, let’s go to the clearing before we—”
But he’s already in my mouth, the warm, smooth head sliding between my lips. I take him as far as I can, deeper than I managed with Diego at first, moaning around him as the salty precum hits my tongue.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands instinctively going to my head. “Oh, fuck.”
I swirl my tongue around the head, tracing the ridge, savoring the texture and taste of him. He’s different from Diego. Not nearly as thick, but the perfect shape for my mouth. He fits just right, like a key in a lock.
My hands roam over the fabric of his pants, up to his thighs, grabbing the hard muscle there for support.
I want him to lose control. I want him to fuck my face like Diego did, to use me, to make me choke on him.
But Emilio’s not like that. Not yet, anyway.
He’s letting me set the pace, letting me explore him.
“Adrian, we should move,” he pants, but he’s starting to rock his hips gently, pushing himself deeper into my throat. “This is too risky here.”
He’s right. We’re too close to camp. The wet, slurping sounds are too loud in the quiet night. If the wind carries our voices, or if someone decides to take a piss, we’d be done for. Caught twice in one day. I’d be fucked.
But stopping feels impossible. Especially now, with him starting to thrust the way I want.
I look up at his face in the moonlight filtering through the trees.
His blue eyes are closed, his teeth sinking into his lower lip, his breath coming in rough gasps each time he pushes deeper.
Seeing my friend like this, knowing it’s my mouth making him feel this way, fills me with pride.
This is where I belong. This is what I’m good at.
My dick is hard, painfully so, trapped inside my pants. I reach down and palm myself, moaning around him. I can’t get enough of the way he feels in my mouth, the sounds he’s making. I take him all the way in until my nose presses against the blond hair at the base.
Then I pull back until just the tip rests on my tongue, swirling around the slit and licking up the precum. He tastes different from Diego. Sweeter. I run my tongue along the underside, tracing that thick vein that pulses with every beat of his heart.
“Jesus, Adrian, this feels… fuck, this feels amazing,” he pants, his hands pressing against my buzzed scalp. “You’re so good at this. But please, we need to get to the clearing. So we can do this without worrying.”
With one last lingering lick, I release him. A long string of saliva connects my lower lip to the tip of his cock before it breaks. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my chin slick with drool. “Sorry,” I say. “I got carried away.”
“I’m not complaining. Trust me.” He’s breathless, leaning against the tree, his hard cock glistening in the moonlight. He tucks himself back in, buttoning his pants. “Come on. Let’s go. I want more of that. Way more. And I want to enjoy it without having to look over our shoulder.”
He pulls me to my feet, and then does something I don’t expect. He grabs my face in both hands and kisses me, a quick, clumsy press of his lips against mine. It’s over before I can properly register it, but it leaves me reeling.
“Sorry,” he says, looking away. “I don’t know why I did that.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I manage. “You can do it again anytime.”
He smiles, a genuine smile that reaches his blue eyes. “Good to know.” Then he grabs my hand, and we start running through the trees, breathlessly, a couple of fugitives in the moonlight.
I can’t wait to get him back in my mouth, to feel that perfect fit again, to taste more of him, to swallow the hot proof of his pleasure. And to finally get some relief of my own.
The trees start to thin out ahead. I can make out the shape of a large fallen log, its roots torn from the earth. The gentle gurgle of water. But as we get closer, there’s another sound too. A sound that’s out of place.
Emilio slows, holding up a hand for me to stop. We creep the rest of the way, moving quietly through the underbrush.
The sound grows louder. A rhythmic slapping. Wet. Harsh.
We crouch behind a thicket of ferns, peering through the leaves. The moonlight is stronger here, bathing the small clearing in silver. And in the center of it, illuminated like a scene on a stage, are two figures.
One is bent over the fallen log, naked from the waist down, uniform pants pooled around his boots. His head is bowed, his back arched, his knuckles white where he grips the weathered wood.
Behind him is another soldier, still fully dressed except for his cock, which he’s driving into the man’s ass in long, powerful thrusts.
The slapping sound is their bodies colliding. Flesh on flesh.
I don’t have to see their faces to know who they are. I’d recognize those bodies anywhere. I’ve been watching them for the last three weeks, running drills, doing push-ups, hauling gear.
I’ve been drooling over them in secret.
Two of our squadmates are fucking right in front of us.