The Tully Gets Hitched Raid
Title: The Tully Gets Hitched Raid
Author: Randi Leer
Summary: The war is over, and Tully is enjoying a roll in the hay with his beautiful fiancee. . . or is he?
Note: Originally printed in FLANKING MANEUVERS 1
It was a beautiful spring day in the Kentucky hills. Skies of the bluest blue, fluffy white clouds drifting lazily above the rich green of the Kentucky bluegrass, tulips and daffy-down-dillies lining the widely curving drive to the big white house to fulfill the dream of perfection in Tully Pettigrew's war-weary mind.
He was back home again in his beloved Kentucky after years of war. First the dry brown months of the African Campaign: from there to the European theater where things went from green to gray and back again in several cycles before the hostilities ended and he and the other Patrol members were released from active duty and sent home.
The dogwood and redbud trees had started the season with riots of magenta rose and white flower; now the fruit trees were beginning to bloom, and the Pettigrew mares were heavy with foal. Tully's plans to go full steam into horse breeding and car racing was rapidly coming to fruition, thanks to his army savings and the added help from his friend and former Rat Patrol member, Mark Hitchcock.
Hitchcocks had so much money it might as well grow on trees, he mused, but for now some of it was growing healthily in Kentucky while Mark was back at Harvard finishing his long-delayed degree. Afterwards he and Tully would set up a real partnership, and both men were anxiously counting the months until that would happen.
In the meantime, Tully had looked up Leatha. . . and their relationship had picked up right where it had stopped as if he had never been away. The pain of years of separation was being erased by the joy of togetherness, and plans for a June wedding were well underway. Tully and Leatha sincerely hoped the mares wouldn't be the only fruitful residents of Blue Hills Farm.
When Tully finally shook himself loose from his memories he went into the big house to find his mother, Leatha, and Leatha's mother in the front room struggling with yards of billowing taffeta and mouthfuls of straight pins.
"Wal now, if that ain't a right purty sight," Tully teased in an exaggerated drawl. He knew it drove Leatha to distraction when he acted the bumpkin.
"Hummmph!" Leatha snorted around a mouthful of pins. She shook her head and rolled her eyes in the direction of their mothers. Both Mrs. Pettigrew and Mrs. Carter were very headstrong women, each with distinctly different ideas about how the wedding was to be organized.
Leatha was taking it all in stride, calmly negotiating peace terms on one issue after another while simultaneously trying to get her own wedding gown finished. the taffeta sank to the floor amid distressed wails from the women, and Tully slid quickly down the hall to avoid becoming part of the dressmaking party.
Late afternoon found the couple walking arm-in-arm through lush pastures. The barn was some distance from the house, and that distance was just what they needed at the moment.
"It's too bad you couldn't go into Lexington with the rest of them," Leatha said, leaning her dark head against Tully's shoulder. "I know you were really looking forward to seeing those cars."
"It'll keep," Tully answered, smiling down at her. "I think I got the better part of the bargain, anyway. Got you all to myself, don't I?"
Leatha laughed. The sound left Tully breathless. It had been this way since they were kids "knee-high to a grasshopper," as Mammy used to say. At seven Leatha had braids to her hips, and ten-year-old Tully had already picked her as his bride.
"You seen the new stalls yet?" Tully asked. When Leatha shook her head he smiled and gently steered her towards the barn. "Lotsa room now for that Tennessee Walker you want, and space to put in a few of those fancy Arabians Troy's chasing down for me in Africa," he pointed out. "We're on our way to having some of the best horseflesh this state's ever seen."
Leatha's green eyes danced. . . she loved horses as much as her husband-to-be did, and in fact would be doing the lion's share of horse management in the very near future.
Tully was going to be busy racing the southern tracks, and was looking forward to a trip to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway in May. With Tully driving and brothers and cousins to provide a race crew, well, anything was possible.
They stepped out of the sunlight into the cool darkness of the barn. Both paused just inside the doorway, letting their eyes adjust to the change in light while they admired the newly expanded building. The smell of fresh hay was the smell of home and twenty years of shared memories.
Tully stepped away and moved down the center aisle. When he stopped he carefully swung open the gate to one of the new stalls and bowed, sweeping a regal hand to the interior.
"Your stall, my lady," he intoned solemnly.
Leatha mimicked lifting widely hooped skirts and sashayed into the stall, then turned to curtsy grandly. "Thank you, kind sir," came the gracious reply.
Moments later they were tumbling about in the fresh hay, laughing helplessly. "Oh, Lordy!" Tully panted. "Did we really do all this when we was kids?"
"Goodness yes, Lords and Ladies, cops and robbers, pirates and damsels in distress. . . ." Leatha affirmed when she could catch her breath. "'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!' Remember when we tried to do that? I hung my braid down from the loft and you nearly took my head off when you tried to climb it--"
"It was your idea," Tully cut in. "I wanted to cut up a bedsheet and make a sheet rope, remember? Mammy would've had my hide, too!"
They laughed, remembering younger, more carefree days, then settled back into a corner. Tully leaned against the wall, with Leatha snuggled securely against his shoulder.
"I like this better," she confessed, turning her face up to his. They kissed deeply, reaching for one another's buttons as they did so.
Much later, as they dressed and pulled loose hay from their hair and clothing, Tully paused briefly to give thanks for having a woman who had been willing to wait for his return, yet had never felt the need to wait for marriage to take full pleasure in their relationship.
Once dressed and straightened, they settled back into the hay once again in the traditional "spooning" that could be found throughout Kentucky ad the Appalachians. It wasn't long before they were asleep, wrapped comfortably together and deeply satisfied.
It was a strange yet familiar sound that woke Tully. He was bleary and disoriented, knowing he should be able to identify the noise but simply unable to place it in proper context. It was a heavy, rasping sound. . . without opening his eyes, Tully pulled Leatha closer and threw one long leg across her hip while he buried his nose in her nape, nuzzling and kissing her soft neck.
In turn, Leatha rolled over and buried her face in his shoulder, clinging with fierce strength, rubbing against him suggestively.
Still with closed eyes he moved against her with hips and belly, then drew a deep breath to fill his senses with the familiar scent. His arms drew her tighter, and the firmness under his hands set his mind reeling.
Wrong. It was wrong. He still couldn't quite place what was amiss, but it was definitely wrong. Tully's eyes flew open and he stared down at the warm and slumbering body in his arms, down into the sandy hair of Mark Hitchcock.
Tully froze. What the hell?? What was Hitch doing in the barn? Where was Leatha? He closed his eyes and shook his head like a dog, trying to shake loose the fog and find his way back to reality and common sense.
Several calming breaths later, he carefully oriented himself to his surroundings and cautiously opened his eyes to look around again. Sure enough, he was lying wrapped around Mark Hitchcock in the bombed-out ruins of an old building.
Hitch was still sound asleep and clearly having some sort of dream, probably erotic from the movements his hips were making against Tully's groin. His firm erection was matched by Tully's own stiff cock.
Through his arousal, Tully was still aware that it had all been a dream. Leatha, the horse farm, the wedding. . . all a dream. The sorry truth was that the war was far from over, and that the only closeness he was liable to have any time soon was already lying in his arms.
It wasn't an altogether unpleasant thought. In fact, it was a thought he'd had more than a few times before, he'd just never seen any sense in acting on it. Who knew what Hitch would do if Tully suggested some friendly mutual pleasuring?
On the other hand, the young private was mumbling and moaning in his sleep, and now he was fondling himself through his clothes. If there was ever a time. . . .
Tully drew a cautious breath, then reached down to massage Hitchcock's crotch. Firm, gentle strokes up the length of his straining erection led Hitch to spread his legs and thrust up into the pleasure. Tully could tell by the sounds and movements Hitch was making that he was close, very close.
All that was needed was just a little more encouragement. With that in mind, Tully lightly scraped his thumbnail down the length of Hitch's cock, from head to base, then followed up by tackling the zipper that was strained to the point of being nearly immovable.
Fortunately, Tully was good with mechanical things, and the recalcitrant zipper was open in no time. He reached inside, through the fly of Hitch's skivvies, and carefully withdrew the turgid organ. It jutted proudly over Hitch's belly, and the Kentuckian was properly awed by the sight being presented.
He'd never doubted that Hitch had plenty to offer. After all, the youth had no trouble whatsoever finding female companionship whenever and wherever he wanted. Not to mention the number of repeat lovers. . . he clearly knew how to use his gifts to full advantage.
Now it was Tully's turn to take advantage. He did so with aplomb, using all the skills of hand and mouth he'd ever learned or heard of as he pushed Hitch over the edge into a heart-stopping orgasm that shook the blond's whole body.
Hitch woke with his own cries ringing in his ears. He'd just had the most fantastic wet dream, and he was startled at how his body had betrayed him into breaking the silence so necessary to a commando on covert operations.
He quickly looked over to where Tully had been bunked down to see if he'd been vocal enough to wake his partner. Hell, Tully was such a light sleeper. . . and his blankets were empty. . . .
It was then that Hitch finally looked down at himself to check the damage done to his clothing, and found himself looking directly into Tully Pettigrew's amused brown eyes. The other man smiled a very self-satisfied smile, then sensuously licked his lips.
"Have a nice dream?" Tully asked with a sly smile.
Hitch nodded numbly. "He wasn't real sure what had just happened, but he wasn't stupid and the picture was getting clearer every second. Suddenly he doubted it had just been a dream.
"Me too," Tully said smugly. "Wouldn't mind havin' another."
Hitch sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. His mind was racing with possibilities and probabilities, not to mention a few positions he'd seen only in collections of erotic artwork.
He smiled back at his lanky partner. "I'm game," he said, "but you gotta explain to Sarge if he ever gets it into his head to ask any questions."
"Gotcha," Tully replied with a wink and started taking off his shirt. This just might be the ultimate "undercover" assignment of the whole damned war, he mused.
THE END
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