Generation Kill; Wynn/Bryan
28 January 2009 02:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wrennetteTitle: A Bit of Company
Fandom: Generation Kill
Pairing: HM2 Robert Timothy 'Doc' Bryan x GSgt Mike 'Gunny' Wynn
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Recognizable characters are the property of HBO and Evan Wright, and in no way represent the lifestyles of the real people upon whom the characters are based. No copyright infringement or slander is intended, and no profit is made.
Summary: There's a little hole in the wall of a gay bar a few hours off the beaten path from Pendleton, and Mike's pretty sure that a goodly proportion of the clientele is like him, military, but he's never seen anyone he actually knows there, so he keeps going back.
There's a little hole in the wall of a gay bar a few hours off the beaten path from Pendleton, and Mike's pretty sure that a goodly proportion of the clientele is like him, military, but he's never seen anyone he actually knows there, so he keeps going back. It's about as safe a place as he can imagine for that half-way state where he's been in a war zone the past while and doesn't want to see his wife, doesn't want her to see him, but still needs some company. There's a motel a block and a half away where they don't ask questions and take cash up front, and he's spent more than a couple nights between Pendleton and home there. He walks in, half recognizes the bartender from the last time he was here, and buys himself a Budweiser. It's about the best damn thing he's tasted since they got word they were shipping out.
Mike nurses his Bud for a while, scoping out the 'local color'. There are a few decent looking guys, but they seem so young, hardly out of high school, never mind old enough to drink, and he's been around boys too much recently. He can't bring himself to be attracted to anyone that reminds him much at all of the Marines that are only a few hours into his rear view mirror. When he's finished his first beer, he tells himself he'll have one more, and if nothing interesting walks in by the time he finishes it, he'll just get himself a room and sleep alone tonight. He doesn't need to get laid, but he really would prefer a bit of company. He catches the bartender's eye, silently indicates that he wants another Bud, and settles himself slightly, going over the room again.
He's half way through his second Bud when Doc slips into the bar. It's completely unexpected, and that first split second of recognition feels like a sucker punch to the gut. He trusts Doc though, more than most, and so he stays carefully still, avoiding eye contact and pretending not to recognize him. He sees Doc's eyes widen fractionally before the Corpsman contains the reaction, and Mike gives the smallest possible nod of greeting. Doc perches, semi-wary, two stools away. They continue to ignore one another while Mike drinks approximately an inch of beer and Doc throws back a whisky. During that silence, Mike takes stock of the perpetually angry Corpsman.
Doc hasn't shaven that day, a shadow of reddish brown hair smudging down his cheeks and neck. His mustache is a half shade darker, the bottom fringe moist with liquor. Instead of his usual camo bandana, he has his head covered with your standard red version, and he's wearing jeans, a black tee, and work boots. Mike has to admit, to himself at least, that if this wasn't a man from his platoon, he'd have already scooted over that empty stool between them and given his name. He doesn't though, because this is not something he knows.
All he knows with other men is rough, anonymous sex, another body to hold through a single night, and then onward without looking back in the morning. That is an impossibility in this situation, because Doc is one of his Marines, someone he already cares for probably more than he ought to. Mixing that knot of emotion with sex doesn't seem like a very wise idea. Either way, Mike decides to leave the decision making up to Doc. He takes another sip of beer, and Doc slides over onto the empty stool between them.
"Hi," Doc says, as if they didn't already know each other's names, ranks, serial numbers, and blood types.
"Hey," Mike returns rather gruffly, then offers his hand. "I'm Mike." Doc smiles in a surprisingly friendly fashion, electric blue eyes soft with alcohol.
"Tim," Doc offers, taking Mike's hand, and Mike swallows another mouthful of beer, because the light in Doc's eyes is impossible to ignore or misconstrue. This might be a catastrophic mistake, but it's one that Doc's willing to make. Mike swallows again, then shotguns the rest of his beer and orders a whisky. If they're going to do this, he wants a couple more drinks worth of deniability running in his veins.
They both end up having a few more, talking quietly, eyes catching across the rims of their glasses in the dimness of the bar. Every time, Mike forces himself to look away, feeling too warm, as if the room has suddenly become uncomfortably close. He has a third whisky before he decides that yes, he really does want this, and that yes, he should probably stop drinking before he either a) pickles himself or b) renders himself incapable of what they both know will come later. He has a glass of water when the bartender comes around again, the first gulp going down rather more quickly than intended when Doc casually rests a hand on the small of his back, proprietary at the very least. Mike glances over at him, then follows the Corpsman's glare across the room to a pretty boy that is very much not the type of guy Mike is interested in.
Mike smiles into the curve of Doc's neck, breathes his name, suggests they get lost. Doc's hand curls a bit more tightly, a bit more possessively around Mike's waist, and they stand together, easily inside each others personal space. But then, personal space is one of those things you discard pretty damn quick in a war zone, because the easiest way to tell you're still alive is to hear the thrumming heartbeat of the man next to you echoing up through your skin. They walk to the motel, and Mike lets Doc get them a room, waits outside and wishes he had a lip full of tobacco, or at least a cigarette. Doc leads him to the room on the corner of the building, and Mike smiles, slides his hands into Doc's front pockets while Doc swears softly at the door. Mike's smile widens, and he presses it against the soft worn cotton between Doc's shoulder blades, hands shifting slightly in Doc's pockets to find his half hard cock.
"Mike," Doc gasps, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the door, and Mike stretches up a bit, presses a light kiss to the knob of Doc's spine.
"Yeah Doc?" he answers, willfully ignoring that Doc probably wants to forget at least for a little while that he's in any way associated with the military. Doc groans softly, the edge of anger underneath his want soothing Mike unexpectedly. Doc's sure, steady hands and deft fingers fumble with the key before jamming it into the lock again, and Mike doesn't know if it's luck or force, but the tumblers of the lock slide together and the door pops inward. They stumble forward into the room, not bothering with lights as Doc slams and bolts the door, then presses Mike against it. Mike groans softly into Doc's mouth, savoring the rough scrape of Doc's stubble and the sweet bite of alcohol on Doc's tongue.
The kiss is more test than anything else, each of them seeing whether the other will break, give way. Neither of them does, and they continue biting at one anothers lips, sucking on one anothers tongues as they skim hands under civilian clothes to map hard won warrior musculature.
"So how is this gonna go?" Doc finally asks, voice low and breathy in the darkness, the forms of his words brushing gently against Mike's face. Mike takes a deep breath, evaluating.
"You suck me off, I'll return the favor," he finally proposes, because he's pretty sure that Doc doesn't want to get fucked, and he's never bottomed, isn't going to start tonight. Doc leans in, kisses him again, slower this time, easier.
"Alright," Doc agrees when they part, and they find their way to the bed, tumble into it and begin pushing off their clothes, wanting to feel warm skin already.
Mike ends up on his back, Doc draped over him. Gently he pushes at Doc's shoulders, not yet insistent, but wanting the blow-job they had agreed to. Doc gives a soft snort of amusement, then ducks down, flickering his tongue across Mike's nipples quickly before settling between his legs, getting down to business. With one hand Mike strokes along Doc's well developed shoulders, fumbling for the bedside lamp with the other. The soft snick and subsequent yellow glow of the light make Doc flinch slightly, still wound a bit too tight for the normal world. Mike smooths his hands down Doc's tense shoulders, kneading lightly, and Doc blows out a deep breath through his nose, then lets Mike's dick slide from between his lips. Mike doesn't hurry him, waiting as Doc nuzzles against his crotch, inhaling sweat and musk before again sucking the crown of Mike's cock into his mouth.
A slow groan of pleasure wells out of Mike's chest as Doc's hand wraps around the root of his cock, stroking in counterpoint to Doc's sucking. Mike hisses in pleasure as Doc sucks him deeper, his hands clenching more tightly into the muscles of Doc's shoulders and back. Doc understands, sucks harder, doesn't tease at all, just opens his throat with more skill than Mike would have anticipated. It's fast and sloppy and just what Mike needs at the moment. He wraps his hand tight around the nape of Doc's neck and pulls him up and away. Doc's hand keeps working Mike's cock though, even if his mouth isn't, and Mike groans once, an indistinct sound that refuses to form any single name, and then he's coming, eyes closed against the sight of Doc braced over him. Doc's mouth presses against his, and he can feel the rigid heat of Doc's erection pressed against his flank.
It takes Mike a moment to pull himself together, but when he does, he reaches down for Doc's cock, palms it flat against Doc's stomach, smearing his abs with pre-come. The sensation draws a decidedly needy whine from deep in Doc's throat, and so Mike stops playing, because Doc was good enough not to tease him, so he feels he ought to return the favor. Shifting them, he comes to rest between Doc's bent up legs. He drags the flat of his tongue across the head of Doc's dick, drawing a low groan, and then he sucks Doc down. He cups Doc's balls in his hand, rolls them in his fingers for a little while before shifting his hand to Doc's shaft, stroking in time to the motion of his mouth. Doc scrubs a hand through his hair, fingers twitching about, seeking purchase in his military issue brush cut. Foiled by the length of Mike's hair, Doc's hand settles for curling around the base of Mike's skull. A brief tensing of Doc's legs and a soft gasp are all the warning Doc gives, and then he's coming.
Mike jerks back in surprise, turning his head and spitting. Doc's come paints a warm stripe from his shoulder to his groin, but that doesn't really bother him. He leans on his elbow, watches Doc's eyes flutter open, watches his pupils slowly contract to something resembling normal size.
"Sorry about that," Doc says, soft and gruff, reaching up to wipe a streak of cum from the corner of Mike's mouth with his thumb, and Mike can't help but smile, because he's never heard Doc apologize for anything, ever. Doc just smiles back though, the usual anger impossible when he's so loose and relaxed. Mike leans in slowly, because this is already different from any other hook up he's ever had, and brushes their lips together. Doc opens to him easily though, and now, relaxed like this, Doc gives way, lets Mike do as he pleases. Their legs tangle together, neither of them caring enough about wet spots or cleanliness to make a fuss. Finally Mike reaches over, closes the light, then pillows his head on Doc's broad shoulder. Doc winds an arm around his waist, and not sleeping alone has never been quite this comfortable before.
Fandom: Generation Kill
Pairing: HM2 Robert Timothy 'Doc' Bryan x GSgt Mike 'Gunny' Wynn
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Recognizable characters are the property of HBO and Evan Wright, and in no way represent the lifestyles of the real people upon whom the characters are based. No copyright infringement or slander is intended, and no profit is made.
Summary: There's a little hole in the wall of a gay bar a few hours off the beaten path from Pendleton, and Mike's pretty sure that a goodly proportion of the clientele is like him, military, but he's never seen anyone he actually knows there, so he keeps going back.
There's a little hole in the wall of a gay bar a few hours off the beaten path from Pendleton, and Mike's pretty sure that a goodly proportion of the clientele is like him, military, but he's never seen anyone he actually knows there, so he keeps going back. It's about as safe a place as he can imagine for that half-way state where he's been in a war zone the past while and doesn't want to see his wife, doesn't want her to see him, but still needs some company. There's a motel a block and a half away where they don't ask questions and take cash up front, and he's spent more than a couple nights between Pendleton and home there. He walks in, half recognizes the bartender from the last time he was here, and buys himself a Budweiser. It's about the best damn thing he's tasted since they got word they were shipping out.
Mike nurses his Bud for a while, scoping out the 'local color'. There are a few decent looking guys, but they seem so young, hardly out of high school, never mind old enough to drink, and he's been around boys too much recently. He can't bring himself to be attracted to anyone that reminds him much at all of the Marines that are only a few hours into his rear view mirror. When he's finished his first beer, he tells himself he'll have one more, and if nothing interesting walks in by the time he finishes it, he'll just get himself a room and sleep alone tonight. He doesn't need to get laid, but he really would prefer a bit of company. He catches the bartender's eye, silently indicates that he wants another Bud, and settles himself slightly, going over the room again.
He's half way through his second Bud when Doc slips into the bar. It's completely unexpected, and that first split second of recognition feels like a sucker punch to the gut. He trusts Doc though, more than most, and so he stays carefully still, avoiding eye contact and pretending not to recognize him. He sees Doc's eyes widen fractionally before the Corpsman contains the reaction, and Mike gives the smallest possible nod of greeting. Doc perches, semi-wary, two stools away. They continue to ignore one another while Mike drinks approximately an inch of beer and Doc throws back a whisky. During that silence, Mike takes stock of the perpetually angry Corpsman.
Doc hasn't shaven that day, a shadow of reddish brown hair smudging down his cheeks and neck. His mustache is a half shade darker, the bottom fringe moist with liquor. Instead of his usual camo bandana, he has his head covered with your standard red version, and he's wearing jeans, a black tee, and work boots. Mike has to admit, to himself at least, that if this wasn't a man from his platoon, he'd have already scooted over that empty stool between them and given his name. He doesn't though, because this is not something he knows.
All he knows with other men is rough, anonymous sex, another body to hold through a single night, and then onward without looking back in the morning. That is an impossibility in this situation, because Doc is one of his Marines, someone he already cares for probably more than he ought to. Mixing that knot of emotion with sex doesn't seem like a very wise idea. Either way, Mike decides to leave the decision making up to Doc. He takes another sip of beer, and Doc slides over onto the empty stool between them.
"Hi," Doc says, as if they didn't already know each other's names, ranks, serial numbers, and blood types.
"Hey," Mike returns rather gruffly, then offers his hand. "I'm Mike." Doc smiles in a surprisingly friendly fashion, electric blue eyes soft with alcohol.
"Tim," Doc offers, taking Mike's hand, and Mike swallows another mouthful of beer, because the light in Doc's eyes is impossible to ignore or misconstrue. This might be a catastrophic mistake, but it's one that Doc's willing to make. Mike swallows again, then shotguns the rest of his beer and orders a whisky. If they're going to do this, he wants a couple more drinks worth of deniability running in his veins.
They both end up having a few more, talking quietly, eyes catching across the rims of their glasses in the dimness of the bar. Every time, Mike forces himself to look away, feeling too warm, as if the room has suddenly become uncomfortably close. He has a third whisky before he decides that yes, he really does want this, and that yes, he should probably stop drinking before he either a) pickles himself or b) renders himself incapable of what they both know will come later. He has a glass of water when the bartender comes around again, the first gulp going down rather more quickly than intended when Doc casually rests a hand on the small of his back, proprietary at the very least. Mike glances over at him, then follows the Corpsman's glare across the room to a pretty boy that is very much not the type of guy Mike is interested in.
Mike smiles into the curve of Doc's neck, breathes his name, suggests they get lost. Doc's hand curls a bit more tightly, a bit more possessively around Mike's waist, and they stand together, easily inside each others personal space. But then, personal space is one of those things you discard pretty damn quick in a war zone, because the easiest way to tell you're still alive is to hear the thrumming heartbeat of the man next to you echoing up through your skin. They walk to the motel, and Mike lets Doc get them a room, waits outside and wishes he had a lip full of tobacco, or at least a cigarette. Doc leads him to the room on the corner of the building, and Mike smiles, slides his hands into Doc's front pockets while Doc swears softly at the door. Mike's smile widens, and he presses it against the soft worn cotton between Doc's shoulder blades, hands shifting slightly in Doc's pockets to find his half hard cock.
"Mike," Doc gasps, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the door, and Mike stretches up a bit, presses a light kiss to the knob of Doc's spine.
"Yeah Doc?" he answers, willfully ignoring that Doc probably wants to forget at least for a little while that he's in any way associated with the military. Doc groans softly, the edge of anger underneath his want soothing Mike unexpectedly. Doc's sure, steady hands and deft fingers fumble with the key before jamming it into the lock again, and Mike doesn't know if it's luck or force, but the tumblers of the lock slide together and the door pops inward. They stumble forward into the room, not bothering with lights as Doc slams and bolts the door, then presses Mike against it. Mike groans softly into Doc's mouth, savoring the rough scrape of Doc's stubble and the sweet bite of alcohol on Doc's tongue.
The kiss is more test than anything else, each of them seeing whether the other will break, give way. Neither of them does, and they continue biting at one anothers lips, sucking on one anothers tongues as they skim hands under civilian clothes to map hard won warrior musculature.
"So how is this gonna go?" Doc finally asks, voice low and breathy in the darkness, the forms of his words brushing gently against Mike's face. Mike takes a deep breath, evaluating.
"You suck me off, I'll return the favor," he finally proposes, because he's pretty sure that Doc doesn't want to get fucked, and he's never bottomed, isn't going to start tonight. Doc leans in, kisses him again, slower this time, easier.
"Alright," Doc agrees when they part, and they find their way to the bed, tumble into it and begin pushing off their clothes, wanting to feel warm skin already.
Mike ends up on his back, Doc draped over him. Gently he pushes at Doc's shoulders, not yet insistent, but wanting the blow-job they had agreed to. Doc gives a soft snort of amusement, then ducks down, flickering his tongue across Mike's nipples quickly before settling between his legs, getting down to business. With one hand Mike strokes along Doc's well developed shoulders, fumbling for the bedside lamp with the other. The soft snick and subsequent yellow glow of the light make Doc flinch slightly, still wound a bit too tight for the normal world. Mike smooths his hands down Doc's tense shoulders, kneading lightly, and Doc blows out a deep breath through his nose, then lets Mike's dick slide from between his lips. Mike doesn't hurry him, waiting as Doc nuzzles against his crotch, inhaling sweat and musk before again sucking the crown of Mike's cock into his mouth.
A slow groan of pleasure wells out of Mike's chest as Doc's hand wraps around the root of his cock, stroking in counterpoint to Doc's sucking. Mike hisses in pleasure as Doc sucks him deeper, his hands clenching more tightly into the muscles of Doc's shoulders and back. Doc understands, sucks harder, doesn't tease at all, just opens his throat with more skill than Mike would have anticipated. It's fast and sloppy and just what Mike needs at the moment. He wraps his hand tight around the nape of Doc's neck and pulls him up and away. Doc's hand keeps working Mike's cock though, even if his mouth isn't, and Mike groans once, an indistinct sound that refuses to form any single name, and then he's coming, eyes closed against the sight of Doc braced over him. Doc's mouth presses against his, and he can feel the rigid heat of Doc's erection pressed against his flank.
It takes Mike a moment to pull himself together, but when he does, he reaches down for Doc's cock, palms it flat against Doc's stomach, smearing his abs with pre-come. The sensation draws a decidedly needy whine from deep in Doc's throat, and so Mike stops playing, because Doc was good enough not to tease him, so he feels he ought to return the favor. Shifting them, he comes to rest between Doc's bent up legs. He drags the flat of his tongue across the head of Doc's dick, drawing a low groan, and then he sucks Doc down. He cups Doc's balls in his hand, rolls them in his fingers for a little while before shifting his hand to Doc's shaft, stroking in time to the motion of his mouth. Doc scrubs a hand through his hair, fingers twitching about, seeking purchase in his military issue brush cut. Foiled by the length of Mike's hair, Doc's hand settles for curling around the base of Mike's skull. A brief tensing of Doc's legs and a soft gasp are all the warning Doc gives, and then he's coming.
Mike jerks back in surprise, turning his head and spitting. Doc's come paints a warm stripe from his shoulder to his groin, but that doesn't really bother him. He leans on his elbow, watches Doc's eyes flutter open, watches his pupils slowly contract to something resembling normal size.
"Sorry about that," Doc says, soft and gruff, reaching up to wipe a streak of cum from the corner of Mike's mouth with his thumb, and Mike can't help but smile, because he's never heard Doc apologize for anything, ever. Doc just smiles back though, the usual anger impossible when he's so loose and relaxed. Mike leans in slowly, because this is already different from any other hook up he's ever had, and brushes their lips together. Doc opens to him easily though, and now, relaxed like this, Doc gives way, lets Mike do as he pleases. Their legs tangle together, neither of them caring enough about wet spots or cleanliness to make a fuss. Finally Mike reaches over, closes the light, then pillows his head on Doc's broad shoulder. Doc winds an arm around his waist, and not sleeping alone has never been quite this comfortable before.
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Date: 28 January 2009 11:47 pm (UTC)glad you liked it even though you don't know the fandom!