The Hot Water Raid
Title: The Hot Water Raid
Author: Randi Leer
Summary: Troy and Hitch enjoy a very steamy shower together.
Note: Originally printed in FLANKING MANEUVERS 4.
Private Tully Pettigrew bent to lace up his boots as Sergeant Jack Moffitt swished his straight razor through the tepid water in the basin, rinsing off lather and nearly a week's worth of dark beard.
"Much better," the Englishman sighed, reaching up to check for any stray stubble. "I feel almost human again." His hazel eyes crinkled with the smile he sent towards his American driver.
Pettigrew rolled his eyes and grinned back. "Well, can't go out looking for ladies when you're not human, can we? Never hear the end of it. . ."
Both men laughed companionably, looking up as the youngest member of the Patrol strode through the front door, slapping his French Foreign Legion cap against his leg to dislodge the dust.
"I take it you two hogged all the hot water," Mark Hitch苞ock groused, letting his voice slide into a whine.
"Damn straight," Tully muttered. "The early birds got the hot showers. . . not our fault you couldn't drag your slow butt back here earlier."
Hitch pouted from under a wave of unruly strawberry blond hair. The effect was ruined by the uncontrollable grin that followed. "Nah, I was just letting you two get ready to go first and warm up the ladies for me. Thought I'd let you at least think you' re gonna be some competition..."
Hooting laughter from the other two was followed by friendly threats of a sound trouncing later, as neither of the presentable duo was willing to compromise his cleanliness for a whack at the youngest, who still carried his week's worth of desert from head to toe.
"Yeah, yeah, catch you two later!" Hitch snorted as he strip計ed and headed into the shower.
Sergeant Sam Troy walked out of the CO's office, down the hallway, and out the front door into the shimmering heat of mid-afternoon in Algiers. He paused for a moment, tilting his head back with eyes closed to absorb a few moments of sun before stretching cramped neck and shoulder muscles, then absently swatted his Aussie bush hat against his right thigh before clap計ing it back over sweat-soaked brown hair.
There was always that brief moment of peace, that sense of accomplishment that came at the end of a successful mission with his hard-riding team of desert commandos. Troy savored those moments; they were quickly replaced by a growing excitement and sense of impending danger as the next assignment was passed on to the Rat Patrol.
He was always the last to make it to the showers. As the team leader, it was up to Troy to make the reports and sift through long debriefings after each mission. Moffitt helped as much as any second-in-command could, but in the final analysis he was still "just" a team member, with fewer responsibilities and greater opportunity to enjoy a period of relaxation whenever they made it back into headquarters.
Troy was on his way into the Patrol's private quarters just as Moffitt and his lanky driver, Tully Pettigrew, were leaving for the nearest watering hole. Both were showered, shaved, and dressed in clean desert uniforms, the better to angle for some female companionship for the duration of their leave.
"Finally done, eh Sam?" Moffitt queried in his clipped British accent. He squinted into the sunlight silhouetting the other Sergeant, then smiled cheerfully. "We're off to find some more... enticing companionship. Shall we wait?"
"Nah, just don't drink all the beer," Troy joked. "I need about an hour in the shower just to get the sand out of the creases. I'll catch up to you later." He stepped aside to let the others descend the steps before he started up, asking, "Where's Hitch?"
"Slower'n molasses, Sarge," Tully drawled. "You know that college boy. . . every whisker gone, every hair in place, every crease sharp. . . takes as much time as a woman to get ready. He'll be along directly, I reckon." The blond chuckled and saluted haphazardly as he and Moffitt started down the street.
"Hey! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Troy called after the duo.
Moffitt stopped and pivoted, looking back at Troy in some amazement. "Do you mean, Sam, that there's actually something that you wouldn't do?!?" he mocked.
Troy whipped off his hat and swung it at his less-than-respectful colleagues, then laughed and took the steps two at a time. "Not that I can think of, Doc!" he called back, and disappeared through the door.
The bush hat sailed across the room to land on Troy's cot. The military corners were still perfect, and the hat bounced lightly before settling. Troy unbuttoned his shirt as he followed the hat to sit on the foot of the cot, where he removed belt, boots and socks in quick succession.
Then he stood and quickly stripped out of shirt, undershirt, slacks, and shorts, grabbed a bath sheet, and strode briskly toward the showers. Once again he thanked Tully's foresight in recon要oitering the supplies needed to build themselves this small creature comfort. Not many men got showers these days, much less a good hot one like the Patrol had.
Rounding the corner, he drew up short at the steam billowing from the shower room. The first breath of all that wet heat caused an uncharacteristic coughing fit as his lungs rejected the dry, dusty desert air and sucked hungrily for the moisture in the steam.
"Hey, Hitch! You in there?" Troy bellowed, knowing full well the young private had to be in the cloud somewhere. "If you didn't save me some hot water. . ."
The threat echoed back from the dripping walls, and Troy chuckled as he tossed his towel aside and strode into the center of the small room.
"Hi, Sarge," the youth greeted, appearing seemingly from the walls themselves. "There's plenty of hot water left. Doc and Tully got here first, so I went over to the motor pool to see to the jeeps. Gave it time to build up again." He grinned, showing dazzling white teeth and dimples that attracted every female for miles.
Troy shrugged. "Couldn't tell it by me."
The younger man gave him a jaunty look from under the dripping hair plastered over his forehead, then turned and step計ed back into the spray. "Better get some while it's hot, Sarge," he quipped, rinsing the lather from his chest and sides.
Troy moved to the other shower and turned it on full blast, sighing as he stepped into his own steamy waterfall. This is the life. Hot shower, clean bed, food that isn't rations. . . forget what it's like, sometimes, he mused.
Strains of "Lili Marlene" came from the other side of the room. Hitch, ever the music lover, was humming dreamily to him貞elf as he lathered long, muscular legs.
"Knock it off," Troy snapped, whipping towards the sound. "You know I hate that song. . ." His voice trailed off at the expression on Hitchcock's face. For a moment the kid looked like a whipped puppy, all fear and confusion and sorrow in one.
"Sorry," Troy mumbled contritely. "Just, pick another song, okay?"
Hitch nodded silently, still wide-eyed at the unexpected censure. Then he shook off the momentary upset and went back to his shower.
Gawd, you can be such a bastard, Troy berated himself. It's not his fault you hate that song. No need to come down on him like a load of brick over it. Getting too old for this, too set in my ways. . . He sneaked a look at the younger man, to find that he was being cautiously observed in turn. "Sorry," he repeated, louder this time. "Got stuff on my mind, not that it's any excuse."
"S'okay, Sarge. Really." Hitch stared thoughtfully at the bar of soap in his fist, then began working up a lather again.
Troy snorted and shook his head. "How many times you gonna shower, anyway?"
"'Til I'm so clean I squeak," Hitch grinned. "The ladies like clean, you know. Makes all the difference. . ."
Rolling his eyes heavenward, Troy turned his back to the spray and began lathering his chest and belly, working the soap into the thick hair that covered his midriff, scratching absently at spots where the dry skin was irritating him.
He turned, starting to say something, and was struck dumb by the searching look on Hitchcock's face. Troy looked down at himself somewhat self-consciously, wondering what Hitch found so interesting all of the sudden. After all, none of the foursome was much for bathroom conversation or comparisons. Realizing he was caught, Hitch flushed and turned his head away, only to find his eyes drawn inexorably back to his sergeant. He started to say something, but coughed instead, further adding to his consternation.
"What!?" Troy demanded irritably.
"Nothing," the younger man mumbled uncomfortably. Then he winced as he caught himself staring, in direct contradiction to what he'd just said.
Growling to himself, Troy firmly turned his back and con負inued attacking the ground-in layers of grime and desert dust, determined to finish quickly and get the hell out of the shower.
His thoughts raced as he practically snatched up the sponge he'd dropped in his consternation. Just what's so damned inter苟sting, anyway? It's not like he hasn't seen me practically every day for the last year. . . not like he hasn't showered with the rest of us before. . . it's just not like him to be so, so damned interested, is all. . .
When he sneaked a look back at the private he realized the younger man hadn't moved, and was still watching him but now with open curiosity. "What!" Troy barked, turning to glare at his young admirer.
"Sarge, can I?" Hitch hesitated with soapy hand outstretched, reaching for the center of Troy's chest.
Troy looked down at himself in bemusement, then sighed. What the hell, he thought, women always want to play with it and rub their hands in it. No harm, no foul. He nodded silently.
Both men jumped slightly at the electrically-charged contact, but it was quickly forgotten as Hitch concentrated fully on lathering Troy's chest and swirling the soapy brown fur into whorled patterns.
Troy's eyes drifted shut as he leaned into the comforting caresses and inhaled deeply the scent of soap and clean male skin. It was intoxicating.
Finally Troy stepped back into the shower spray, leaning backwards and allowing the flow to cascade over his chest and shoulders. Mesmerized, Hitch continued running his hands in wide circles over Troy's chest as he watched the rivulets carry away the lather and leave the hair smoothly flattened in its wake.
"C'mere," Troy whispered huskily as he in turn picked up the soap and worked up a lather. "My turn."
Can't believe I never just looked at another man before. Jeez, the kid's beautiful. No wonder the women are crazy about him. Smooth skin, thick hair, dimples... and then there's the rest. Damned long arms and legs, nice muscles, wide shoulders and small hips.
Troy's eyes dropped to Hitch's semi-hard manhood swaying between them and knew there would be no turning back. Just as there would be no direct contact, not just yet. He could feel the blood rushing to his own groin in response to Hitch's arousal.
With effort he brought his hands to the muscular chest in front of him, simultaneously soaping and massaging from neck and shoulders to waist and hips before working his way back up to squeeze brown nipples that hardened immediately under his touch.
"Sarge!" Hitch hissed, then subsided into moans of pleasure as the firm handling continued. Troy pressed him back against the wall under the showerhead, then turned Hitch to face the wall and gently nudged the long legs apart with his knee.
It was while he carefully soaped Hitch's back and firm butt that Troy realized the water had gone lukewarm and the steam was dissipating.
He glanced over his shoulder towards the door, straining to hear any sounds from the rest of their quarters. No, all was quiet. Moffitt and Pettigrew would normally be gone for hours; all night, in fact. Hopefully they would do so this time.
Damn, I don't care, he realized in amazement. Let Tully or Moffitt walk in. Nobody else will; our quarters are strictly off-limits to everyone, no exceptions. This is as safe as it gets, short of shipping the others off on a mission.
He firmly kneaded the muscular back until Hitch arched his head back with a throaty moan, then moved forward to run the tip of his tongue lightly along the rim of the kid's right ear.
Hitch shuddered and craned to look over his shoulder at the smaller man, willing the sergeant to continue the course he'd set.
Troy nodded silently and pulled his young partner back into the spray. Gooseflesh rose as the suds slid away. The water was completely cold now, and signaled time to leave the shower for more comfortable surroundings.
Too bad, Troy thought sadly. His eyes dropped to the other man's groin, still straining with desire. Would have been fun to get both hands around that with some good lather to ease the way. Shae taught me some great bath sports. . . never thought I'd use them on another man, though.
He lifted his gaze to the wide blue eyes hardly a pace away. Hitch, despite the chilly dousing, was flushed and panting, cock twitching with eager anticipation. "Sarge..." he croaked des計erately, obviously fearing the game was over and he'd be left frustrated and unsatisfied.
Troy jerked his head back towards their living quarters, then smiled tightly. "Shake it," he hissed, voice taut with his own firmly-restrained emotions. Hitchcock didn't need to be told twice.
They entered the spartan bunk area with Hitch in the lead, Troy a few steps behind. He'd dropped back to enjoy the view, as Hitch was using the towel on his hair and letting the rest air-dry on the way.
Hitch went to the middle of the room, then turned to face Troy. "Your place or mine, Sarge?" he asked with a crooked smile.
Looking from his own spare cot to Hitch's, piled high with pilfered pillows, Troy made the obvious decision. "Yours, of course," he shrugged, surprised to hear how normal his voice sounded. He was sure the kid could hear his heart pounding from where he stood. It was deafening.
Suddenly shy, Hitch nodded agreement and slid under the covers. His eyes quickly roved around the room, checking for safety and escape routes. Yes, thank goodness, the shutters were closed to keep out the afternoon heat. No passersby could see what was happening just a few feet away.
Troy bought himself a little time to calm down by walking over and locking the door. There. At least we'll have a few moments' notice if someone comes home. Of course, we're liable not to hear anything. He double-checked the door, then turned and started back to their sleeping quarters.
Damn, I'm nervous as a canary sharing quarters with a cat. How different can it be? Hitch seems pretty calm. Has he done this before? Nah, not the ladies' man... well, maybe. He's pretty knowledgeable for a kid his age. Been around a lot with the ladies, that's for damn sure. Jeez, what if I'm not good enough? Compared to what? To who?
He stopped, looking down at his own naked body. Plenty of scars from an adult lifetime in the army. Plenty of experience, good and bad. Aging, but in damned good shape all the same. Nothing to be ashamed of at all.
Taking a deep breath, Troy closed his eyes for a moment, then mentally counted to ten before opening them again. Well, Sam, here goes nothing. If David could see you now...
"Thought maybe you'd changed your mind," Hitch said hesi負antly. He was sitting up, covers pulled to his waist, slowly rubbing the lush blond hair on his forearms. He smiled when he noticed Troy absently rubbing his palms against his thighs. It was an old, familiar gesture.
"Uhhh, I'm not real sure what to do now," the sergeant confessed. "Seemed like a good idea in the shower..." He fal負ered to an uncomfortable stop.
"No obligations, Sarge," Hitch said gently. "Things just kinda get out of hand sometimes." He shook his head, smiling sadly. "Believe me, I know how crazy things can get." Suddenly his hands were the most fascinating things he'd ever seen.
It was with no little trepidation that Troy found the strength to cross the room and sit on the cot beside the younger man. "Hey," he whispered, lifting a hand to brush unruly hair out of the youth's face. "Look at me, Hitch... Mark." His hand dropped to lift the cleft chin, and he looked full into deep blue eyes.
They locked gazes briefly before Mark's eyes closed and once again the sergeant found himself drawing near. This time he met pliant lips eagerly responding to his own, and the embrace came naturally.
Moments later they were lying together on the cot, hands buried in each other's hair as they explored the length, breadth and depth of the kiss.
"Sarge," came the sigh as they parted for air, only to move back immediately to intense exploration. Mark let his hands roam across the older man's chest as his own mouth was consumed. Lips were tasted, nibbled and sucked with languorous deliberation; then the exploration moved within and his tongue received the same attention.
Following Troy's lead, Hitch gave as good as he got and soon they were locked tongues to tonsils, sharing every breath and building blindly to a need to share further.
They broke apart again, both gasping for breath, bodies slick with sweat. Troy reached up to wipe damp hair off Hitchcock's forehead and neck; he held up his sweaty hand and smiled. "So much for taking a shower," he smirked.
Hitch threw an arm up to swipe the hair back away from his forehead, then left it there while he gulped air. Troy watched the sweat bead and roll from his armpit and had an almost uncon負rollable urge to bury his face in the golden curls and lick away the salty moisture.
He satisfied himself with rising to elbows and knees over the younger man, then bending to draw the tip of his tongue lightly up the center of Hitchcock's ribcage. Hitch yelped and arched under Troy's gentle ministrations, dropping his arm to tangle long fingers in Troy's brown hair.
He desperately wanted to push the sergeant's head lower, to the semi-erection that was begging for attention, but was leery of trying to rush things. At this point anything was better than nothing, and he groaned as his muscles tensed and his toes curled with pleasure.
Troy was trolling the younger man's well-developed pectoral muscles, lavishing the tanned skin with a practiced combination of kisses and nips, licking and sucking. He watched as brown nipples swelled, tightened into hard little knots, then swelled again as his attentions varied.
"I take it you like that," Troy breathed, shaking his head lightly to disentangle Hitch's hand from his hair. The pressure on his neck was starting to make him slightly woozy.
"More, Sarge, please," Hitch gasped, writhing as Troy's fingertips traced around his nipples and down to the flat belly. His hand dropped of its own accord to take hold of his insistent hard-on and he began stroking himself firmly.
Troy bent to oblige the younger man, only to be assaulted by another round of lightheadedness. He faltered, then stopped entirely, holding completely still and hoping the dizziness would pass.
"Sarge? You okay, Sarge?" came Hitch's concerned voice from somewhere above him.
Squeezing his eyes shut, the sergeant struggled to find some control and slow the spinning in his head. He'd known sexual rushes before, but this was something well beyond his experience. The pleasure he'd been feeling was rapidly being replaced by something closely akin to pain. Extreme pain.
Cautiously cracking his eyes open, Troy carefully tried to lift his head, only to have a hand firmly planted against his forehead, forcing him back down.
"Easy, Sarge, it's gonna be okay," Hitch assured him.
"What happened?" Troy croaked, barely recognizing his own voice.
"You took a hell of a knock there, Sarge. Been out nearly five minutes," his driver informed him. "The jeep flipped and you went butt over boots into the rocks. You're concussed pretty good, I bet." Hitch carefully brushed Troy's hair back, skirting the growing knot on his forehead.
Troy stared at him in disbelief. Jeep? Rocks? Huh??
"Sarge??" Hitch was beginning to sound really concerned. "You with me here, Sarge?"
Licking parched lips, Troy managed to grunt an affirmative. He still couldn't make heads nor tails of what was happening, or had happened, but he was sure things would come clear in the near future.
"I take it we're not in Algiers," he said cautiously.
"Nope. Nowhere close," Hitch confirmed.
"How long we been out here?"
"About nine days, give or take a few hours. Sarge, do you remember anything about the last few days?" Hitch's concern was growing by leaps and bounds, and they weren't due to rendezvous with the rest of the team until nearly 1600. Nearly seven hours away, and Troy making no sense whatsoever. "No," Troy admitted. "But I'm sure it'll come back to me. . . eventually." He smiled wryly.
Hitch sighed, then nodded. "I'm gonna check over the jeep.
You just stay here and rest, okay?" He patted Troy's shoulder gently.
"Trust me, I'm not going anywhere fast," Troy assured him. With that he closed his eyes and went back to his own counsel. He had a lot to think about.
As Hitch started to move away, Troy coughed lightly. "Hey, Hitch. Did I say anything while I was out?"
"Nah, mostly just some moaning, Sarge. Like you were delir虹ous or something. Last time I got concussed, I had the weirdest dreams you could ever imagine."
Hitch hesitated, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I mean, really weird dreams." He shook himself lightly, then turned and continued to the jeep.
"Yeah, I believe you Hitch," Troy whispered. "I really do."
THE END
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