Soldier Boy Ch. 03

"Oh, fuck," Walt growled, and the sound sent shivers down Mark's body. He pulled off suddenly, moving by animal instinct. He flipped Walt over, grabbed his lover's hips, and pulled him to his knees. Mark got behind Walt, positioned the head of his cock at Logan's tight bud, and thrust forward. He sank easily into Logan, both of them crying out in pleasure. Mark wasted no time allowing Logan to adjust. Instead, he began thrusting back and forth, pushing deeper into Logan even as he pulled Logan's hips back.

Logan was willing, maneuvering so that he could rock on his hands and knees, increasing the speed and force of his backward thrusts so that Mark went deeper. Their pace was steady, their panting ragged, and their groans long and loud. Davis stretched Logan as he pushed harder and faster, his hands digging into his partner's hips. Each thrust was punctuated by a loud grunt. "Oh, fuck," Walt said again, his body shuddering and turning loose. Mark hissed through clenched teeth as he felt the spasms wracking Logan's body, causing the flesh gripping his member to contract and tremble. Mark gave three more hard thrusts before his body followed Logan's over the edge.

Both men collapsed, laying side-by-side on the grass in the darkness. "Fuck," Walt said a third time. "Where did you learn that, Farm Boy?"

When they recovered, they walked back through the woods, but stopped at the edge. There were more people on base now as the men returned from their night out. Walt studied the barracks. "We shouldn't be seen together," he stated. "You circle around, come from the toilets. I'll come in the other direction."

Mark nodded, knowing Logan was right, but not quite wanting the night to be over. "What happens now, Captain?"

Walt looked toward Mark, though they could barely see each other in the darkness. "We get ready to go to kick some Nazi ass." He winked, and then took off at a slight jog toward the far end of the base where the exercise track was. Mark watched him go, admitting to himself that he enjoyed the view.

But the captain was right. They had Nazis and Japanese to defeat. They didn't have time for distractions.

And now that they had given in, Davis found Logan much less distracting. He was able to fully focus on his training, even when his Captain was present. He had come to camp a good shot, and it had declined while he had wrestled with his desire, but he returned to being one of the best marksmen in his company. The sexual energy bubbling inside him increased his stamina in long distance marches. Training jumps went flawlessly as the leaves changed colors and the air became cooler. Logan had to maintain his position of authority, but they found time to talk. They talked about their lives before the war and their dreams for the future. They discussed their likes and dislikes over poker games and warm beers. They followed the news of the war and speculated if they would head to Europe or the Pacific first. Mark began writing letters to Julie again.

The squad followed the news of the war as the Allies claimed victory in North Africa and began a march across Sicily in Europe. They celebrated when Mussolini resigned and the new Italian government surrendered, even though the Germans kept the fight going as the Allies marched up the boot. They listened to reports of troops invading the Gilbert Islands in the South Pacific. The friendship, camaraderie, and trust they developed made the squad closer than family members. They were a well-oiled machine and were eager to be involved in the action.

For Mark, leaping from the door of an airplane, watching as the earth rushed toward him, was one of the greatest thrills of his life. It was the only feeling that could match his illicit affair with Walt. The wind blowing against his face fueled his adrenaline. His heart pounded as his chute opened, slowing his fall as he guided himself to the landing spot. The boys in his squad shared his addiction. They launched from the planes with whoops and yells and landed with smiles.

In the back of their minds, they knew it wouldn't be that way when they were overseas. They knew the danger. They knew that all of them would not come home. They did not discuss it. Discussing it would bring bad luck. Instead, they wrote more letters to their mothers and sweethearts. Mark and Walt fucked every chance they got.

Night jumps were especially thrilling. Drifting through the darkness, the blanket of stars overhead after the chute opened was so peaceful. It was a moment of perfection. For Mark, it reminded him how big the world was, and how small he was in the grand scheme of things. He would think about the God his father preached about every Sunday and wonder why He allowed this war to continue. Then he would start to see the treetops and the absolute focus of his training would kick in automatically and there were no thoughts except his current mission.

As they flew over the North Carolina countryside, the rumble of the plane engines vibrated through his body. Even during summer jumps, it was cool at this altitude, but in the winter, it was frigid. Their breath made little clouds as they waited for the jumpmaster to give his signal. The green light came on, and everyone in the stick stood, linked up to the wire, and began jumping in order. Mark was the sixth one out. He sailed through the air, waiting on the tug of the line to open his chute.

But then it didn't come.

His body kept racing toward the ground as he looked up in the darkness. His static line broke from the wire as the chutes of his mates opened around him. He saw it flailing as his fall accelerated. It was a low jump, so he knew he had only moments to react. He twisted for his knife to cut away the failed primary chute. His hands trembling, he patted his pockets. Around him, others began to notice he was in trouble. Their training kicked in as they attempted to steer toward him, but he was rapidly falling out of range.

He found his knife and sliced the failed cord, and then yanked the secondary chute. For a moment, he thought it had failed, too. His mind whirled with the proper landing protocol without a chute, knowing that the possibilities of broken limbs loomed in his future as the dark ground rushed toward him. He heard the whoosh and felt the tug as the smaller chute deployed, lifting him slightly and slowing the fall. He looked around for any landmarks, knowing the freefall had kept him from the targeted landing zone. The landing would still be hard because of the shorter distance of the fall, so he had to find a clear spot immediately. He gave a quick glance up to see the shadowy shapes of the other members of his group, and then gave the chute a hard tug to steer away from a group of trees.

He almost got clear, but the chute caught on a branch. He felt the sudden stop, his feet dangling above the ground. He tried to judge in the darkness how far he had to drop. His body swung like a pendulum and the shoulder straps of his pack dug into his underarms. The sky was clear, with stars twinkling high above him, and the moon glow lit the area. He couldn't see the ground beneath him, so that told him it was going to be a long drop. He could not count on the men in his company to save him because of the darkness. He had to save himself.

He bicycled his legs, seeking a foothold on a lower branch. He lifted his hands above his head, trying to grab the branch he had caught on, but it was high above him. He twisted toward the trunk of the tree, but the lines of the chute kept spinning him away. His movement caused the chute to shift and he dropped as it slid forward on the branch.

He stilled his body and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath to steady his heart and his hands. He thought about praying, but he didn't want to waste any prayers on a training exercise. When they got called to the front, he might need prayers then. God might be answering a prayer for a man flying over an island in the Pacific or an infantryman facing a Panzer tank. He didn't want to take away from someone in need.

His thoughts stilled, he grabbed the lines above him in both hands and began pulling himself up. After a few minutes, he reached the branch that the chute was hanging on and climbed onto it, straddling the branch. He exhaled, more confident now that he was touching something solid. He gathered up the reserve chute and tucked it into his pack before scooting toward the trunk. He wrapped limbs around the tree and began shimmying down slowly, resting each time he found a branch solid enough to support him.

He had made it about halfway to the ground when he saw lights and heard people calling his name. He answered and continued his journey down. He put his foot on a branch about fifteen feet above the ground just as his company came into sight. He answered again, but as he shifted his weight, the branch snapped and he fell backwards to the ground. He landed on his back and felt the concussion of the impact rattle his head and bones. He lay there a moment, mentally trying to access any damage as men rushed to his side.

When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded. Captain Walt Logan stood directly in his line a vision, a look of fear and panic reflecting in his blue eyes. Mark gave a subtle nod in Logan's direction. Immediately, his superior officer's face hardened. "Get him to the damn hospital," he snapped before turning and walking away. Mark was sure he was the only one who heard the tremble in Logan's voice.

A truck rumbled up and they loaded him into it, so he didn't see Captain Logan again until the company was in the prep room repacking their gear for their next training jump. The medics had given Mark a clean bill, telling him there would be bruises and he would be sore for a few days, but that nothing had been broken. Nevertheless, the atmosphere in the prep room was different. There was usually an air of excitement as they relieved the exhilaration of the jump, but things were more somber. Lingering in the back of all of their minds was how close they came to losing one of their own, and that once they went overseas, they would definitely lose men. They would not all go home.

The door slammed open and Captain Logan stormed into the prep room. "What in the hell was that clusterfuck?" he yelled as he marched across the room. All of the men snapped to attention as he continued. "Jumps like that should be as routine as taking a shit, especially with marching orders landing on the commander's desk this morning." The men reacted to the news of orders, but none broke attention. "And now I've spent the morning in the commander's office convincing them that you, you fucking farm boy, are still mentally and physically prepared to carry out the job when the time comes. Somebody's head has to roll for this!" He was now in front of Mark, his finger in the Private's face. "The rest of you, get the hell out of here. Pack your bags. You're getting a three day leave before we ship out."

There was a general scurrying as the other men in the company scrambled to be the first clear of Logan's wrath. Logan and Davis did not break their eye contact from one another. Logan was breathing hard. Davis remained at attention. The last man shut the door to the prep room behind him and Logan continued his tirade. "We have been folding chutes and hooking up since day one of training. How in the fuck did your chute not open? Are you so incompetent that you didn't double check all your lacings? Well, Farm Boy? That's what the commander thinks. That you are incapable of properly executing a jump. Furthermore, he thinks that you will now be fearful if you continue these jumps. He was talking about reassigning you to a different division where you won't be a future liability. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Logan had stepped closer as he unloaded his anger on Mark, his finger poking Davis's chest.. Private Davis opened his mouth to respond to his superior's question, but did not have the opportunity to speak. Logan grabbed him, his right hand on the back of Davis's neck, the other holding his cheek, and pulled him into a rough, passionate kiss. His lips were firm against Mark's, his tongue forcing its way inside Davis's mouth to taste, to explore, and to punish. His teeth scraped against Mark's lips as he pressed closer, their bodies fused together.

Mark welcomed the kiss, opening his lips for the invader, his hands going to Logan's waist as he tilted his head to allow Logan to go deeper. He met Logan's tongue with his own, rubbing, entwining, and invading. Logan's hands held his head prisoner as the desperate kiss continued.

They were both out of breath when Logan finally broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against his lover's. "Don't ever let that happen again," he whispered. "You scared the fuck out of me. I . . . I can't lose you."

He did not give Mark an opportunity to respond, resuming the kiss with less anger and desperation. His mouth was hungry as their tongues dueled together, but Mark could also feel the tenderness lingering beneath the surface of Logan's desire. Without speaking and without breaking the kiss, Mark's hands moved to Logan's belt as Walt's hands moved to Davis's shirt buttons. Their bodies, tuned to one another, respond instantly and naturally. They were two halves of a whole. Mark opened Logan's fly as soon as he worked the belt free. Logan finished unbuttoning Mark's shirt and tugged the uniform shirt and undershirt from the waistband of Davis's pants. His palm caressed Davis's stomach, pushing the undershirt up with both hands until his fingertips brushed Mark's hardened, flat nipples.

Mark tilted his head the other direction, changing the depth of the kiss as his fingers began working their way up Walt's uniform buttons, slipping each one free. Playfully, Logan bit Mark's lower lip, bathing it with his tongue, sucking it, then tugging slightly as he stepped away. Eyes locked, still not speaking, not needing to speak, Logan finished removing his shirt. Mark opened his own belt and fly, pushing his pants off without breaking eye contact. Logan tugged his pants off while Mark shrugged out of his shirt.

Their bodies came back together with incredible force, holding each other close as their mouths came together again and again. Where their bodies touched, heat radiated and vibrated. "I love you," Walt whispered when the kiss finally broke again. He kissed his way down Mark's throat. "God help me, I love you." His mouth moved down Mark's chest, over his lean stomach, his tongue circling Mark's navel as he sank to his knees. He tugged Mark's underpants down, freeing the hard monster living inside.

There was no teasing and no hesitation. His profession of love had fed his desperation and he took the length of Mark's cock into his mouth, allowing the head to pop into his throat on the first thrust. Mark groaned, placing his hands on the table behind him, gripping the edge so tight his knuckles turned white as he leaned back. He tilted his head toward the high ceiling of the prep room and closed his eyes as Logan sucked and tugged on his hard member.

Walt's mouth pulled and squeezed Mark's long rod. He held Davis's hips in his hands as his head moved slightly, his lips tight around the base. He sucked, his tongue rubbing the length and circling the hot member. Davis jogged his hips, thrusting lightly in and out of Logan's throat. Walt held on tighter. "Oh fuck," Davis growled at the ceiling, his body close to letting go.

Walt released him, his mouth making a popping sound as it slid off Mark's swollen head. Mark opened his unfocused eyes as Walt stood and shed his boxers. They came back together for a kiss, Walt's hands sliding to the back of Mark's thighs. He lifted till Mark's ass was perched on the edge of the table, pressing his lover back into the stack of folded parachutes laying there.

Logan stood with Mark's legs pressed between their bodies and guided his hard cock to Davis's exposed rosebud. He slid in easily, their fit with one another like a glove after months of raw, hungry, passionate fucking. It had always been about more than fucking, though. For the first time, as he began moving his hips and sliding in and out of Mark's tight hole, Logan acknowledged in his head that there was more than fucking when it came to Mark Davis. His heart had known it almost from the start. Had he really said it to Mark? Their eyes were locked as Logan pumped his hips, his thick member pushing deep, then almost pulling out before driving in again. Mark still had a death grip on the edge of the table, pulling forward as Logan thrust again and again and again.

Logan leaned forward, changing the angle and causing Mark to groan long and low. He placed one hand on the table beside Mark's head, never breaking eye contact, his pace steady, a half smile curling his lips. His other hand reached down, gripped Davis's hard, wet cock in his fist, and tightened his hold. Each forward thrust caused it to slide, but Logan's grip was sure.

Mark was the first to break their locked stares. His already sensitive cock, now being tugged by the force of their mating, was thrumming with each powerful thrust of his captain's hips. He closed his eyes, his head thrown back, and arched his body off the table. The sound escaping his throat was primal and unrelenting. At the sound, Logan allowed his animal instincts to take over. Now, it was about fucking. He slammed forward and back, his body a machine, pistoning his cock in and out of Mark's tight ass. He knew Mark's body, and knew Mark was finished a second before his lover shot a thick load of hot cum onto his stomach and chest. Logan followed him instantly, emptying himself into his love and his lover until there was nothing left.

They shared a cigarette as they recovered, as they always did, sitting side-by-side, naked as their bodies cooled and sense prevailed. Mark was the first to speak. "Would you really do it? Would you let them transfer me to another division?"

"No, Farmy Boy,," Logan answered with a laugh. "I've grown fairly fond of your cock and don't relish the thought of having to break in another fuck boddy."

"Asshole," Mark growled, standing up and beginning to get dressed.

Walt also stood, taking the cigarette from Mark's lips and replacing it with his mouth. This kiss was short and gentle. He placed one hand behind Mark's head, stroking his short hair. "Honestly, if I thought they'd let you go home, or even assign you some place that you would be a desk jockey, any place where you would be safe, I would have told them that you were batshit scared after that mishap. But I know that wouldn't happen. They'd assign you to some infantry unit and you'd end up being artillery fodder on a fucking beach in France. At least here, you are with me, where I can maybe protect you."

Mark leaned over for another kiss. "We can protect each other." They held each other in silence for a brief moment, and then resumed dressing. "So, you said we had orders. Where are we going?"

"Train for New York," Walt answered.

"So, it is Europe," Mark mused. "We do get to kick some Nazi ass. When do we leave?"

"In a week," Walt replied as he finished tightening his belt. He grabbed Mark's open uniform shirt and pulled him forward so their bodies were pressed together. He kissed his lover again, a deep kiss but not a prelude for more passion. "The company's getting leave tomorrow. Three days. You are close enough to go home. Go. Make love to that pretty little wife of yours. If you don't show up to get on the train, I won't turn you in."

With that, he released Mark and walked out of the prep room to deliver the news to the rest of the company.