Fort Lenordwood, Missouri was hot as hell in the spring, and even hotter in the summer which happened to be the time that Jensen Ackles arrived for basic training (10 page)

“Jesus! That was a fucking nightmare. I didn't realize these bastards made such a fucking racket,” Ryan snorted.

“I did! How did they get you three?”

“He got caught in their cross fire. They lined us up and it was like a fucking turkey shoot.” Patrick snorted too.

“Fucking Grabowski and two others I've never seen just fucking over ran us. We were dead before we even fired a shot.”

On that note everyone went quiet.

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“If that had been real there would have been eight KIAs and someone delivering the news to our parents,” Patrick said quietly.

Every single one of them went silent. Suddenly they knew the reason they walked back into camp with their MILES gear blaring. The Drills were making a point that Phillip had planted those long weeks ago.

***

The goddamned MILES gear was beeping like crazy. Ryan was about to lose it. “Patrick?

Patrick? Where the fuck did you go?” he called. He tugged on the gear seeing if he could beat the bitch
into submission and found he couldn't. “Kenneth? Brendon?”

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“Freckles!”

Just fucking peachy. It made sense that he would be the one to find him.

“Phillip!” Ryan froze. Hell, everything around him froze. Did he just call….? Son of a bitch!

He did. He called his Drill Sergeant by his first fucking name. He could see the storm mounting on
Phillip's face. Fucking hell!

“So now we're buddies?” Phillip asked. There was a terrible smirk on his face.

“No, Drill Sergeant Grabowski,” he muttered out.

“You deserve a punishment.”

Okaaay. Since when did his punishment come out sounding like that? Grabowski NEVER said
it that way. It wasn't until the Drill Sergeant grabbed him did he realize how truly fucked he was.

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He was in the middle of the woods with a man he wasn't absolutely sure was sane and the
gleam in Phillip's hazel eyes wasn't the average 'you're so fucked' look. This one said 'you're so fucked and
you're gonna fucking enjoy it!' “Take off your clothing,” Phillip commanded.

“Umm.” Ryan began to back up. Phillip advanced on him steadily.

“Or I'll rip them off.” Phillip's grin was wolfish. Oh fuck, he was so fucked.

He thought about denying what he felt, telling the Drill Sergeant to go fuck himself. But that
wasn't bound to happen after six weeks of getting hard instantly when the man brushed against him,
listening to the deep cadence of his voice and finally feeling that hard body against his. He decided to say

‘fuck it.’

Ryan's hands slipped to his BDU top and popped the first button free, then the second. He
continued until he could slip the shirt off. A quick tug and the brown shirt came off over his head.

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He watched Phillip watch him. It was so fucking hot that he thought he was going to die just
from those fucking hazel eyes.

Phillip's hand reached out and touched Ryan. Ryan moaned as the hard, callused hand stroked
his chest. One hand played with a nipple while the other just continued to rub soft circles down by his
belly button.

“Keep going.” Phillip ordered. He was towering over Ryan, giving him no way of moving.

Ryan's hands shook as he worked on the belt of the pants. He wanted Phillip so badly that he
could barely step out of his pants without falling over.

“Don't fucking move,” Phillip growled.

Then the Drill Sergeant did something Ryan never thought possible. He dropped to his knees.

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One minute Ryan was breathing and the next his breath was completely gone. He couldn't have
breathed if someone was holding a gun to his head.

Phillip placed wet kisses across Ryan's hipbones. Nibbling at the protruding bone like it was
some sort of rich chocolate. His tongue darted out and left a wet trail from one side to the other.

Ryan's cock hardened almost instantly, shooting sparks of pleasure throughout his body. Holy
fuck! He could feel Phillip moving lower, nibbling, sucking and licking everywhere he went. The damn
bill of his hat kept Ryan from being able to see. His hand moved toward the hat and was grasped by a
firm hand.

“Touch the hat and we stop,” Phillip warned.

“Yes Sir,” he said, without thinking.

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Phillip laughed huskily. “You're just trying to make this harder on yourself, aren't you Ryan?”

The way Phillip said his name should be illegal - just another reason to lust after the man.

Phillip sank lower and nipped at the inside of Ryan's thighs. He dropped Ryan's hands and
continued his exploration. He took his time, not giving any time to regroup. By the time Phillip's hot
mouth found his cock Ryan was ready to hurt something.

The wet, warm mouth around his cock slowly slid lower. Ryan's legs were shaking. He wasn't
sure how much longer he could do this….he was so close. So fucking close…

“WAKE THE FUCK UP Freckles, WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!” The sounds of bombs going off landed beside the tent. There was the retort of M16s going crazy. Ryan jerked awake in the middle of his wet dream to Phillip shaking their tent.

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By the time they got themselves and their weapons out, Grabowski was shaking the two-man pup tent so hard Ryan thought it would fall down around him and Patrick. He automatically started to stand. Patrick was still on his hands and knees.

“Get down, you fucking moron. We're under attack. Low-crawl! LOW-CRAWL!”

Ryan was still half-hard from his fucking porn dream about Grabowski. Low-crawling across the forest floor was not on his list of fun things to do. Matter of fact it was so far down there that he would have to crawl UP to get to it.

Grabbing his weapon and cradling it in his arms he began a slow low-crawl across the ground. He winced and whimpered every time his dick came into contact with something sharp or just fucking got jammed against the ground.

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This whole time Grabowski was throwing smoke grenades, firing the blanks out of his M16 and yelling at the top of his voice about what a cluster fuck everyone was. Ryan couldn't believe that he had been having a sex dream about this insane man.

By the time he low-crawled to his fox hole he was pretty sure his dick would never work again. Patrick, the bastard, was smirking like a mad man. He rolled onto his back and cupped himself. He fucking hurt like fucking hell.

Phillip leaned down until Ryan could see his face, even though his BCGs were dangling from the strap round his neck. “If I ever hear you say my given name again, Freckles, you're going to fucking regret it, got me?” But there was a look in Phillip's eyes that said he really liked it. That didn't help though when Ryan felt his camouflaged cheeks turn red. With that said the Drill stalked off.

Patrick snorted and rolled over. “Dude, you were like moaning his name and I think you whimpered a few times too.”

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“Fuck you, Patrick,” Ryan said, rolling over finally. “God, my fucking dick hurts.”

***

The next day they were eating their MREs when all three Drills came and sat down in the middle of the group.

Ryan could feel Phillip's gaze on him. He had four-day-old camouflage on his face, his uniform looked like hell, the boots were even worse and his BCG's were hanging off his nose at an awkward angle because Kenneth had sat on them their second day in.

He didn't feel hot but under Phillip's gaze he could live with it. It always made him feel hot when the other man was watching him.

175

Ryan glanced up at Phillip through his long eyelashes. The man didn't ever look less than tidy. Hell, even his uniform looked freshly pressed. His white teeth flashed when he smiled, making Ryan take a deep breath. It was not right how good the Drill looked. Ryan was pretty sure that the 'enemy' could smell every single one of them. He stunk like hell. He should have known it was a dream when he couldn't actually smell himself in it.

“Freckles, after this where are you going?” Grabowski asked.

Every set of eyes was on him. He didn't realize this was a round robin. “Umm….Ft.

Knox. AIT,” he said.

“Tanker or Scout?” King asked.

“Scout all the way!” Ryan said, with a smile.

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“Fucking crunchies.” Both Connelly and King said it at the same time.

“Don't hate on us because you're not cool like that,” Phillip said easily, smiling wide.

“Gandhi?”

Patrick looked up; that seemed to be his cue to start talking. Ryan knew it already, so he just kept his eyes on Grabowski.

***

The road march back to the barracks sucked so much ass that Ryan didn't even want to go into just how much ass it sucked. The 15 miles at the end of FTX was brutal. Every one of 177

them had on at least seventy-five pounds of equipment. They started out at seven in the evening and at midnight they were still marching. Guys were falling out left and right.

“Dude, if I walk one more step I'm going to pass out,” Patrick said from his right.

“Fuck, no. We're finishing this bitch, Patrick,” Brendon said stubbornly.

Ryan felt like butt-stroking Brendon. He had been channeling Richard fucking Simmons for the past two hours. Even Kenneth, who could handle Brendon longer than either he or Patrick could, was rapidly becoming grouchier and grouchier with their friend.

Patrick muttered something like 'fuck you' but kept on walking.

“Come on, Privates!” Phillip's voice came from behind them. He walked steadily, not even hunched over. Hell, the man looked like he was taking a leisurely walk in the fucking park.

Ryan hated the man all the more now.

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Brendon grinned. “Right with ya, Drill Sergeant Grabowski.”

The other three men glared at Brendon.

“If I slit his throat before we get back do you think we can rule it ‘justifiable homicide?’”

Kenneth asked.

“Nah, Rosey-Ass, you planned it while I was standing behind you,” Grabowski retorted.

“Furry is a fucking squared-the-fuck-away soldier. Lean, mean and ready to fucking kill. Right, Furry?”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant Grabowski!”

This time Ryan and Patrick looked at the blond and glared at him.

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When the Drill picked up his pace Ryan sighed. The man had the world’s longest legs.

“Furry, you fucker! Why don't you kiss the fuck up some more?” Patrick bitched.

“Don't hate me because I'm young and in better shape than you old farts,” Brendon teased.

“Yeah, well fuck you too, son. When we get back to the barracks I'm going to tie you to your bed and let everyone have a blanket party all over your ass,” Patrick warned.

Ryan snorted. That would be the day. The night after Brendon had gotten them smoked for talking when he shouldn't have, four guys came into the room, going to give Brendon his own wake up call. Patrick had been awake and all hell broke loose in their room. Needless to say the blanket party didn't happen and there hadn't been a threat since.

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“Can you believe it? Dude, two more weeks and we're all out of here.” Brendon sounded sad.

“Two weeks furlough and then off to AIT.” Kenneth sighed.

Patrick, Brendon and Ryan all snorted. “AIT first, then we get leave for two weeks.”

“It doesn't seem possible, does it?” Ryan asked. “Six weeks ago we didn't know each other…”

“And now we would die for each other,” Patrick finished with a grin.

“Speak for yourselves. Y'all get shot I'm gonna patch your asses up and ship you right back to the front.” Kenneth laughed.

“Evil fucker.”

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They slept for nearly twelve hours. After the 15k all three Drills sent them up to shower and then finally they were allowed to sleep like babies. Strangely once they all made it to bed none of them felt like sleeping.

“Are you guys asleep yet?” asked Brendon.

“Not really,” Kenneth answered.

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“Nah,” Ryan said.

“Me either.”

“Can you all believe that we've got a week before we leave?” Brendon was just full of questions.

“We made it,” Kenneth said. Everyone heard the grin in his voice.

“Not yet. I still haven't passed that damn PT test,” Patrick groused.

“You're gonna pass it this time,” Brendon stated with dogged determination.

“That run kicks everyone's ass unless you’re Gracin and are freakishly bowlegged.”

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“Fuck you, Kenny,” Ryan said good-naturedly. “You'll pass it, Patrick. I'll run with you.”

Everyone in the room laughed at that. It was a well known fact that out of the four of them Ryan was the best runner. He had a long stride and flew through the two-mile course.

“No. Stay with Furry. Make sure he maxes out. Perfect three hundred.” Patrick nodded.

It was Brendon's goal to max out the PT test. All four men worked hard to make sure Brendon could do that very thing.

“If you all think I'm going to run a thirteen-minute two-mile you have lost your damn mind,” Patrick muttered.

***

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The very next morning they were all in their PT clothing. Surprisingly all three of their Drill Sergeants were there in BDUs.

After stretching they all patted Brendon on the back.

“Go after it!” Ryan encouraged.

“You got this in the bag, man,” Kenneth said.

They arrived in front of King, who smiled. “Alright, Furry. Seventy-one push-ups in two minutes. You can do this!” he commanded. “GO!”

Brendon went down. It was a blur for him after that. King would yell out his numbers every time he came back up.

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“Sixty-six,” King said. “Forty seconds.”

Ryan tensed.

“He's got it. He saves a burst for the end.” Kenneth said, confident his friend would make it.

“Yup. No one is going to stop Murray,” Patrick intoned.