The Public Schoolboys’ Raid Title: The Public Schoolboys’ Raid
Author: Randi Leer
Summary: Hitch and Moffitt discover just how much they have in common.
Note: Originally printed in FLANKING MANEUVERS 1
The whole mission had been dicey right from the beginning, what with the rainy season about to start, and Troy all tied up trying to bail Pettigrew out of his latest transgressions with some Arab sheik’s personal harem.
It was the kind of mess that wasn’t going to straighten out easily, even with high command urgently requesting the Rat Patrol’s assistance in an infiltration maneuver in the hopes of making one last hard push against the German lines before every bogged down in the rains.
Moffitt sighed gustily, rolling his eyes heavenward in supplication to God or Allah or anyone else within range who might be feeling kindly towards a bone-tired English sergeant and the exhausted young New Englander who was currently wrestling with the steering wheel of a jeep heading for the last roundup at the motor pool--if they could even get the bloody thing that far behind Allied lines.
Despite his own misgivings about being minus half of the team, Moffitt had partnered Hitchcock through a brazen display of showmanship at Gestapo headquarters.
They had gone in, an arrogant son-of-a-gun Austrian Hauptmann and his oh-so-Aryan aide, and had actually replaced the German command pouch with one of their own, drastically changing the “sealed” orders being delivered.
Now all they had to do was make it home before it rained. He shook his head slightly, catching Hitchcock’s bemused smile out of the corner of his eye.
“You okay, Doc?” the younger man asked.
“Quite,” Moffitt replied. “Just wondering when our luck is going to desert us. We can’t always get off scot-free, you know.”
Hitchcock blithely rolled his ever-present bubble gum around his mouth before blowing a sizable bubble. Then he chuckled and shook his own head in response.
“Didn’t you ever hear you shouldn’t trouble trouble ‘til trouble troubles you?” Hitch queried. “Count your blessings and hope this old jeep stays together long enough to get us back!”
Moffitt nodded agreeably. “Quite right, old man. I do hope we stay ahead of this rain, though. I”m too tired to sit out the monsoon in an open jeep.”
Hitch swiveled to look over his shoulder at the rapidly growing clouds, then turned back to his sergeant. “Think we should look for cover? We’re definitely not gonna beat this one.”
“It’s coming much faster than I thought,” Moffitt agreed. He surveyed the landscape, then pulled out roughly drawn maps of the area. “We should be getting near those foothills we passed on our way in here. Did you see anything there that might make good cover? An overhang, perhaps, or even a cave?”
Hitch thought for a moment, then nodded his agreement. “Yeah, that’d be as good a place as any to start looking. Maybe we could even find cover for the jeep there.”
With that the young driver hauled around on the steering wheel and the jeep shot off on the hardpacked sand that passed as a road and struck off towards their only real hope of cover.
It took nearly two hours to work their way back into the foothills far enough to look for shelter, and by that time the clouds had grown steadily darker and more ominous. They were also, unfortunately, directly overhead; both men were pouring with sweat from the increased humidity that presaged the torrential downpour to come.
“Hitch, over there!” Moffitt called above the swirling of the sands, pointing towards a small rise that ended at the food of a slight rock mound. There appeared to be an opening partway up the rock, and the rise was just enough to keep the jeep above the worst of the flooding that was sure to come.
Hitch sent the jeep streaking towards the sparse cover as the first heavy drops splattered across the jeep and its weary passengers.
They screeched to a halt in front of the small cave. Moffitt launched himself from the jeep straight towards the opening, with kitbags and blanket rolls in hand. Hitch quickly flung C-rations and canteens after him, then leaped from the jeep himself with a small sterno stove and grenades in hand, machine guns slung over either shoulder.
It might seem unnecessarily cautious to carry so much into the small cave, but the Patrol stayed alive by being prepared for whatever might be in store for them. both men were mentally cataloging their supplies as Hitch whirled and ran back through the heavy rain to fling a tarp over the jeep and weight it down with stones on the corners.
The skies opened in earnest before he was done, and in moments Hitchcock was not only soaked to the skin but rapidly losing body heat to the drastic drop in temperature that accompanied such a desert downpour. He eyeballed the jeep, then sprinted for the small cave, hoping what little he’d been able to do would be enough to keep the vehicle from flooding out owing to the severity of the rainfall.
“Bad luck, eh?” Moffitt commented from the back of their small shelter. “Looks like we’ll be here quite a while, so we may as well set up and get comfortable.” With that he hauled the small stove to the side of the cave, and dropped the blankets and kitbags on either side of it.
Hitch knelt just inside the cave opening, looking out through the waterfall launching itself from a small shelf just above the cave mouth. He was shivering, teeth chattering painfully, and tried to assuage the chill by rubbing his arms ineffectively with wet hands.
“You’d best get out of those wet things or you’ll catch your death,” Moffitt commented. He smiled to himself as he remembered that Pettigrew, talking about the sudden rainstorms in Kentucky, had described feeling like “a drowned rat” on more than one occasion. Until just now, Moffitt hadn’t quite understood the term, but looking at Hitch dripping and shivering, hair plastered down over his blue eyes (the lad always seemed to have more hair than was allowed by military protocol) he thought he had a good idea of what Tully was talking about.
Hitch nodded stiffly, then sat down to pull off his desert spats. It was apparently more difficult than usual, Moffitt noticed. Hitch must be stiffening up with the cold.
“Need help?” he asked with some concern.
“N-n-nah, I’ll b-be ok-kay,” Hitch chattered as he started struggling with sodden bootlaces. It took a few moments longer than usual, but he eventually got the boots and socks off, dropping them untidily on the ground.
The next time Moffitt looked up, Hitchcock was framed in the cave opening, stripping off his wet shirt and pants. Still shivering, he started to wring the water out of his shirt.
Moffitt found himself staring in a most ungentlemanly manner. He’d always been aware of Hitch’s startling good looks, and knew the younger man worked hard to keep his body in shape. He did military calisthenics, lifted weights, even did some running when the desert temperatures weren’t life-threatening.
The Englishman was acutely aware that it had been most effective. Moffitt was electrified by the sight of the youth’s arm and back muscles rippling as he twisted and wrung his shirt. The skin was smooth and tanned, with a generous spattering of freckles besides, and when Hitch turned his way to drape the shirt over some rocks to dry the crisp lines of chest and belly muscles were just as prominent as the well-developed biceps.
Hitch bent to retrieve his army-issue khakis and proceeded to wring them out, as well. The material was heavier, bulkier than the shirt had been, and required more strength to wring. The effort, made in profile to Moffitt, was even more enticing as it brought groin muscles into play.
Moffitt shook himself and snapped his jaw shut as he turned away from the vision. Hitch was, he hoped, blissfully unaware of how. . . interesting. . . he was right then, and how interested the sergeant was.
For his part, the younger man was cold enough to know that just getting out of the wet clothes wasn’t going to take care of the problem. Hypothermia was equally as dangerous in the desert as anywhere else, and he was going to have to wrap up tight in his blanket and hope the shivering generated enough body heat to warm him back up.
He looked back towards the Englishman to ask for one of the blankets just in time to catch the slightly shell-shocked expression before the older man turned himself firmly away and busied himself with the sterno.
“Care for a spot of tea?” Moffitt asked. His voice was a little tight, but Hitch wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t also seen the expression on the man’s face just moments earlier.
“Uh, s-sure. Anything t-to warm up,” Hitch replied, fighting to remain nonchalant. Things had suddenly gone awkward and he wasn’t quite certain how to handle it. . . or even of how he wanted to handle it.
Get ahold of yourself, old man, Moffitt lectured himself sternly. The last thing the lad wants is your roving eye making him self-conscious. . . or worse. There now, take deep breaths. Keep it up and all will be well. Steady the hand, steep the tea, and leave well enough alone.
Hitch caught his lower lip between his teeth, wondering if he should proceed to strip out of his wet skivvies or not. Any other time he would have done so without a second thought, but he’d have to either pass Moffitt to get to his blanket or ask the other man to hand it over.
Either way, there was going to be fairly close contact and he wasn’t sure what would happen. Now, if Moffitt were a woman there would be no question. He’d strip in a second flat and parade for the benefit of any extracurricular activity it might induce.
A strong new wave of shivering wracked him and the decision was made. “Doc, toss me a b-blanket, okay? I’m f-f-freezing,” Hitch called.
Moffitt looked up long enough to aim the rolled blanket, then turned and again busied himself with tea preparations. Hitch shook his head, turned slightly away, and stripped. He was already dancing with the cold by the time he got the blanket wrapped firmly around himself.
Both finished at roughly the same time. Tea was steaming in their mess cups, and Hitch had wrung out the last of his wet clothing and draped it over rock ledges in hopes of at least some of it drying before he had to wear it again.
the Englishman offered his partner the steaming tea; the youth buried his nose in the cup and sighed deeply, inhaling steam and warmth. He lifted blue eyes to the hazel eyes across the cave and smiled wryly.
“Don’t know why I don’t drink tea more often. It’s not like I didn’t take tea every day while I was at school,” Hitch observed.
“Really?” Moffitt was genuinely surprised. He had always assumed that Hitchcock had attended some dreadfully proper boarding school in the States, but it was beginning to sound as if he had a more Continental background.
“Just where did you go to school?” he asked.
“La Chappelle,” Hitch answered. At Moffitt’s bemused expression he added, “In Switzerland. Have you heard of it?”
The other man nodded mutely. Good Lord! La Chappelle! Troy said the boy’s family had money, but I never imagined! One of the most prestigious schools in all of Europe. . . .
For a brief moment Moffitt considered a fit of jealousy, then gave it up as poor form. Of course the Hitchcocks would have sent their son to the best of the best. What else was money for?
He smiled wistfully. “Odd, isn’t it? We’ve been together for the better part of a year, and really know next to nothing about one another.”
Hitch nodded mutely and slid the steaming cup inside his blanket with the vague hope that it might warm him up a little better from the outside than it seemed to be accomplishing from within.
At that point, conversation stopped. Both men wrestled with the thoughts brought to the fore in the past few minutes, and the silence stretched uncomfortably.
As time dragged on, enveloping the two men in an increasingly awkward atmosphere, Hitch began wondering if he would ever warm up. He had stopped shivering, but thought it was probably because he was just too cold to keep it up any longer.
The cup of tea was long gone, and it had been well over an hour since Moffitt’s observation on their lack of knowledge about one another.
While the men of the Rat Patrol were close, it was the closeness bred of war and the need to stay alive, more than any overt form of friendship. All four men were more than capable of spending days in each others’ company with hardly a word spoken. . . conversation was neither necessary nor desired.
But now the quiet wasn’t comfortable. It was a growing presence that had taken up most of the space in the small cave, and rapidly seemed to be taking up all the air, as well. Both Hitch and Moffitt wrestled with the need to deal with the situation, and the equal need to ignore it out of existence.
Moffitt, with all his proper English breeding, was more than capable of riding the silence to his doom and Hitch knew it. He, on the other hand, had the somewhat irritating Yank tendency to need closure and damn the consequences.
So it was Hitch who finally found enough air to try starting up a conversation again. “Where did you go to school?” he asked cautiously.
The black beret canted sideways as Moffitt pushed it up off his forehead, then he turned to fix Hitch in his gaze. “Bristol Academy,” he answered, bulling off the beret and tossing it towards his bedroll.
They held eye contact for a long moment before Hitch cautiously tested the waters again. “Did you like it there?”
Moffitt bit back a small smile. “It was all right, but I missed the desert. . . the Arabs. . . . England seemed to strange after spending most of my boyhood in Africa. . . .” His voice trailed off. He cocked an eyebrow at Hitch. “You?”
Hitch struggled to smother another fit of shivering, then managed a brief nod. “It was okay, I guess. Not many Americans, and I never did learn French. . . though they sure tried to teach me. Too much on my mind, I guess. . . .” His voice trailed off into chattering teeth.
It was more than Moffitt could stand. Both of them were being total idiots, and Hitch was paying for it mightily. He was never going to warm up without help, especially if the rain didn’t stop, and it showed no signs of doing so. Hell, it could literally rain for days and they both knew it.
“Come here,” he commanded gruffly. He raised a hand to beckon the young man closer. “I’m bloody well not going to sit here and watch you catch pneumonia, not this far from an aid station.”
Hitch shivered again, then moved closer to the Englishman. Moffitt turned him firmly around and began scrubbing vigorously down his arms and across his shoulders through the rough woolen blanket.
After a few minutes Moffitt began alternating, first arms and shoulders, then the back, then another round of arms and shoulders, and then another firm and steady backrub. His hands were beginning to feel raw from rubbing across the wool when Hitch moaned softly and pulled more tightly into himself.
“Are you okay?” Moffitt asked with no little alarm.
“MMmmmfff. . . yeah. Feels good, warm,” Hitch mumbled as he began briskly rubbing his legs under the blanket. “If I can get my legs and feet to warm up now I’ll be fine,” he concluded.
Moffitt lightened his touch, keeping up just enough brisk rubbing to keep Hitch from backsliding now that his body temperature was finally on the rise. True to form, however, Hitch was growing drowsy as the lethargy of expending so much energy on shivering took over and dragged the exhausted man towards sleep.
When Hitch leaned back against his chest, Moffitt switched to massaging across his shoulders and up the back of his neck. The strawberry blond hair was just beneath his chin and the temptation to bury his face in the thick waves was almost overwhelming.
The younger man looked up at him and Moffitt felt himself being drawn inexorably into the deep blue gaze. “Tell me about school,” he blurted nervously. “Did you play sports at La Chappelle?”
Hitch smiled sleepily and nodded. “Sports. . . and other things,” he affirmed.
Moffitt’s eyes crinkled into his smile. “Popular with the ladies, were you? Even then?”
“Mmmmmm. Popular, period,” Hitch sighed. His eyes glazed dreamily as he remembered the not-so-distant past, when his most pressing concerns had been getting caught in a girl’s room or in some other, more compromising situation.
Watching closely, Moffitt could see Hitch’s mind wandering as he reveled briefly in memories. The blue eyes sought him out again, and Hitch chuckled.
The fact that he was exhausted didn’t help and in moments the American was fully hysterical, laughing until tears rolled down his cheeks. Moffitt held him patiently and waited for the hysteria to subside.
When Hitch finally brought himself more or less under control, he drew a deep breath and moved further back into Moffitt’s encompassing arms. He shook his head, blue eyes dancing with mischief over his lifted knees. Then Hitch turned his back to Moffitt again. Familiar yearnings were stirring, and Hitch was more than in the mood to act on those desires.
With Hitchcock’s back to him again, some of Moffitt’s tension lessened and he went back to slowly rubbing the muscular back and shoulders. He wasn’t exactly surprised when Hitch leaned back, allowing the top of the blanket to loosen and expose his chest.
Nor was Hitch surprised when Moffitt’s very capable hands moved inside the blanket to smooth and caress his chest and belly. Groaning softly, he arched up against the roving hands. His hard shaft lifted the blanket into a tent just below the path being traced by long, sensitive fingers. The thought of the careful massage dropping to his groin was maddening, and more than enough to chase away his exhaustion.
Moffitt was hardly less affected than Hitch; being in such close proximity had his own blood boiling. It was the most natural thing in the world to pull the younger man firmly back against himself, pressing his growing erection against the youth and rocking his hips gently with growing pleasure. Moaning, he dropped both hands to Hitch’s hot genitals and squeezed, then gently cupped the bobbing balls in one hand while sliding the other hand firmly up and down the thick cock.
Hitch thrashed, tangled in the now unwelcome blanket, while Moffitt guided him inexorably towards a gut-wrenching orgasm. Both Moffitt’s slender hands were fondling Hitch’s straining member as the Englishman’s rod pressed into him from behind.
Without forethought Moffitt pulled his hands out of the blanket, caught Hitch by the shoulders, and spun him around. Then he quickly pressed the unprotesting youth onto his back and spread open the blanket to drink in the incredible sight presented there while he frantically yanked off his own khaki shirt and shorts.
Buttons were still spinning as he hooked his skivvies and pushed them down off his hips, then lay full-length on top of the younger man and began rolling and thrusting his hips against the eager response from below.
Moments later, Hitch’s moans became cries that echoed in the small cave as he bucked in the throes of orgasm, sending hot jets of come across belly and chest. Sweat beaded his body and dripped form his hair as he gulped for oxygen, then dropped his hands to clutch Moffitt’s buttocks and pull the older man more tightly against his body.
Moffitt kept grinding his hips against his partner as he bent to nuzzle the blond’s neck, exploring with lips and tongue, then moving up to lightly tongue an ear.
Hitch shuddered and groaned, gently pushing against Moffitt’s shoulders to move him up and away this time. When Moffitt obligingly raised himself, Hitch slid out from underneath, then used a sidelong glance and gentle hands to encourage the sergeant to lie next to him on the blanket.
They stroked and caressed one another for a few moments, then Hitch winked at Moffitt and whispered conspiratorially, “Doc, did I ever tell you the only thing I like better than bubblegum is a nice, big lollipop?”
Moffitt’s eyes widened for a moment, then closed in ecstasy as Hitch slid down his side to take his rigid cock in a firm hand. He could feel the gentle licking and sucking taking him further and faster than he’d gone in quite a while. . . the cries echoing in the cave this time were his own.
“Careful!” Moffitt gasped as he felt the orgasm building in his belly, starting its journey towards Hitchcock’s eager mouth. He peered through slitted eyes to see Hitch smile contentedly around his mouthful of throbbing cock.
“Piece of cake,” he murmured, letting loose for a moment, then diving forward to take Moffitt fully down to the crisp brown thatch that covered his groin. It was more than the Englishman could withstand and he shouted as his come pulsed in streams down the young private’s throat.
When Moffitt came back to himself he found that Hitchcock had moved up to lie full-length against his side, and the blanket was wrapped around both of them.
He looked into mischief-filled blue eyes and couldn’t help smiling. His own eyes sparkled as he reached up to lightly tweak Hitch’s nose.
“I say,” he chuckled. “I have no doubt that you were popular at school if this is any example of your. . . talents.”
Hitch laughed aloud. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Doc!” He waggled his eyebrows comically. “Don’t know why you Brits are known for your stiff upper lips. Seems to me some other things are even stiffer!”
Moffitt joined in the laughter. He knew they had plenty of time to get to know each other better now, and they’d made a grand start of it.
THE END
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