Reed '03: Brothers In Arms

Chris lay back and listened to Buck humming to himself in the bathroom. It was early; the sun wouldn't be up for another hour. Chris shifted in bed, he hadn't moved when Buck had silenced the alarm and slipped out of bed. He pretended to be asleep, letting Buck kiss the top of his head before he headed for the bathroom. Now that he finally moved, rolling over on to his back, he winced. Damn but he was gonna be sore today, not that he minded, their love-making the night before had been fairly intense, so he wasn't complaining.


Chris had just got the take-out in the oven to keep warm when he heard the door slam.

"Hey Larabee where the hell are you?" Buck called as he strode across the main room, shedding his jacket, shoes and tie as he went.

"Kitchen!" Chris bellowed.

"Hot damn!" Chris spun around to see Buck leering at him from the doorway. "C'mere here you," he demanded.

Chris flipped the oven door closed with his boot and crossed the room. Even before he reached his lover, Buck had grabbed Chris' wrist and pulled him in for a hug. His eager lips found Chris' and captured them. By the time he pulled back, Chris' lips were swollen and flushed, his eyes dilated with desire and his dick rock hard and straining against his tight jeans.

"Hello," Chris finally greeted. "Have fun in court?"

Buck rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "Oh heaps, but, we got the continuance, six whole weeks, Ez should have all the evidence you need by then - right?"

"Six weeks, yeah that’s great. You wanna eat?"

Buck looked at him; he was hungry but he was also horny. "How long?"

"Now, it's all set."

"Sure, why not."


Chris leaned forward and pulled off another barbecue rib, dripping in tangy sauce.

"Here," he offered the rib to Buck, who was lying back on the couch, feet propped up on the same low table that their shamelessly unhealthy meal was spread out on.

"Mmm." Buck opened his mouth and sucked the succulent meat from the bone, while Chris held it. Some of the rich, sticky sauce was left smeared around his face.

"Messy boy," Chris chided, as he put the bone down. "Let's take care of that." With that he moved over so that he was straddling Buck's lap, his knees taking his weight either side of Buck's narrow hips. He moved into kiss his lover, sucking off the sauces as he did, licking and kissing in equal measure until he judged the job done. "That's better."

Buck smiled lecherously up at the blond. "Seems you could use some food yourself. Rib or chicken?"


Buck sat up a little and reached around Chris to grab the container of Cajun chicken strips and pot of spicy salsa dip.


"Hmm? What does ‘hmm’ mean?"

"This could get messy, you should take off that nice shirt." Buck's own button-down shirt was already open and pushed aside for the self-same reason.

Chris looked down at his polo shirt, plain black, old and faded. He pulled it off instantly and tossed it over Buck's head to land on the floor behind the couch.

"Much better." With that Buck dipped the chicken in the salsa and held it up, Chris took it half into his mouth and, instead of biting, he sucked on the succulent spicy meat, only biting down when the morsel began to disintegrate in his mouth. "Good?" Buck asked.

"Oh yes, very good, long, thick, succulent, spicy - my favourite."

"Another? Or do you want a change?"

"I never get tired of it, don't need anything different," Chris assured, as Buck offered him another strip.

Three strips later Buck was getting hungry. He sat up as Chris took the meat and took the protruding half into his own mouth. Sucking on succulent chicken quickly gave way to sucking each other. The food forgotten they kissed, a long lingering kiss, deep, passionate, claiming. One frantic kiss followed another, kisses that left the lips bruised and swollen.

Chris gasped for air. "I'm getting hungry again," he panted. Buck didn't respond, he just smiled seductively.

"You know where the good stuff is," he offered in a husky voice.

A grinning Chris shuffled back and dropped to his knees on the floor before the reclining Buck. Eager fingers pulled his partner’s dark dress pants open and made short work of pulling them down, making sure he pulled the soft grey boxers with them. Buck lifted his hips a little to facilitate their removal, as his cock sprung up ramrod straight, full, flushed and hard.

"Damn!" Chris cursed. The sight of Buck's erection never failed to send a tingle to his groin that was pure bliss. He let his tongue run around his lips, forcing himself to hold back and not just engulf it instantly. He ran his tongue up the underside slowly, savouring the shiver of pleasure it produced, the little gasp and the moan of desire.

Buck was already hard, yet he felt his cock fill and harden even more; Chris hadn't even started and he was already aching with need. Fine tremors ran all over his body, making him feel incredibly energised and sensitive.

"Please Chris," he gasped.

Chris just grinned up at him, past a veil of blond hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. Then he took the aching, almost quivering shaft into his mouth, he felt the swollen head hit the back of his throat and quickly overcame his gag reflex. Then he pulled up, sucking hard, until he reached the head, which he didn't release. After a long pull on the head, he once more took the whole length - or as much as he could manage - in his mouth, pulling back up slowly. Buck was close, he could feel it, the sudden tensing of every muscle, the staccato panting breaths. Suddenly a big hand was in his hair and he felt the final convulsion as Buck’s warm seed flowed into his mouth, bitter, salty and wonderful.

As Chris pulled back he made sure to lick every drop of semen from his love, and when he looked up, he made a seductive show of licking the final drops from around his mouth.

"Damn, Chris," Buck finally gasped, his face flushed, eyes dilated.


"Damn good," Buck assured. "Stand up," he instructed.

Chris grinned, and obeyed instantly, and as soon as he was upright, Buck's fingers were already working to free him from his jeans.


Buck's humming gave way to singing as Chris heard the shower water start to run. He smiled as the strains of 'Anchors Away' drifted out to him. Even though he knew it would bring a tingle of pain he shifted his hips, lifting them a fraction before giving them a little wiggle. There it was, the burn, the little stab of sweet pain, the pain that would remind him today, and possibly tomorrow of his lover's passion. It would help to keep fresh the memories of being fucked into the mattress not once, not twice but three times in one night, and all that was on top of a mind numbing blowjob. He would have only those memories and his right hand to keep him company for the next sixteen days.

It was some thirty minutes later that Wilmington returned to the dark bedroom.

"I'm awake," Chris said softly.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't, 'sides, I need to get up now anyway." Chris reached out, the movement producing another small stab of the pain he was so happily embracing, and flicked on the lamp.

Buck was standing by the dresser. He had a crisp white towel wrapped around his hips, water still clung to his hair - it was normally thick and slightly curly, but his new hair cut was shorter than normal and he'd had his hair thinned out. Chris hated it; one of his greatest pleasures was running his fingers through his lover's thick, silky soft hair. As Chris stood he watched Buck discard his towel and pull a pair of plain white boxers from the drawer. He resisted the urge to run his hands over the tight, wonderfully round ass cheeks that were suddenly presented to him as Wilmington bent over to pull on his underwear. This was not the time. With a small smile of regret he walked on past into the bathroom.

By the time Chris came out, Buck was almost dressed. His clothes were what Ezra called casual and everyone else called smart casual. Navy blue Dockers, navy polo shirt… Chris loved that shirt on Buck, because of the way it highlighted his eyes. He was pulling on a heavy jacket as Chris approached.

"Damn," Chris breathed.

Buck straightened up, giving Chris a slight smile.

In response Chris stepped up to Buck, leaning in, attempting to get close enough to capture Wilmington's lips.

But Buck pulled away. "Please," he whispered. "…don't."

Chris backed off with a frown. "Are you sure about this? You don’t have to do this, honestly, not for me."

Buck avoided his gaze as he did up his jacket. "It's time."

Chris smiled and pulled back. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. You almost ready?"

"Give me five to pull some clothes on. You still gonna eat on the plane?"

There was no response, as Buck had already picked up his bags and headed out.


Chris pulled up outside the airport. "Take care," he said softly.

Buck leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Don’t I always?"

Larabee's head snapped around, all the memories of all the foolhardy, dumb ass, incredibly brave things Buck had done since he'd know him, flooding his brain all at once. In one terrifying vision he saw Buck lying bloody and unmoving in the street, saw him in a hospital bed connected to machines and tubes, saw him step into the path of a bullet - a bullet meant for him - saw him deliberately antagonise a bank robber just to distract him from the pretty little hostage he had been ogling.

"No!" came the reply sharply, far more sharply than had intended, but then fear always made him aggressive.

Buck was, as ever, unphased. "Don't fret, I'm too old to be doing any of that dangerous shit, mostly I'm gonna teach a few classes, maybe march in a parade." Chris was still frowning. "Okay?" he prompted.

"Yeah, okay," Chris finally admitted.

Chris watched Buck stroll into the airport - his suit bag over one shoulder, duff over the other - with a heavy heart. This would be the first time they had been separated by more than a few miles and for more than two days, since they had become a couple. He had left the Navy Reserve after just three years; by then he had a wife and a young son, and giving up just one weekend with Adam had been torture, one weekend in four too many, too many by far. The two-week annual AT was two weeks in which he seemed to miss so much of his son's growing up. But if he hadn't had Sarah, he too - like Buck - would probably have stayed in. Now Buck was quitting, because now he too, had someone he couldn't bear to be parted from. That that person was him, was something he was still, even after nearly a year, coming to terms with.


They had met on Chris' very first tour of duty as an Ensign. As he looked back, he realised he was the poster boy for convention. School, college, navy, do not pass go, do not collect $200, do not stop to look around at life. So there he was, 'Mr Convention' with men under his command and a truly evil Petty Officer called Shadrack, who took a perverse pleasure in letting Chris make mistakes. Buck was only six months out of boot camp himself, but while Chris was nervous and more than a little scared, Buck - the only other newbie - seemed at ease, effortlessly confident and street wise. Buck was a very quick study and he hated to see people suffer, so he started to give the young Ensign little signals if he was about to do the wrong thing. It didn't take long for Chris to learn the ropes or get the measure of Shadrack, but he never forgot Wilmington's help. Right at the beginning Chris had wondered if he had made a huge mistake. Seeing the easy way Buck dealt with people and duty, he reckoned life as an enlisted man was so much easier.

Chris' first assumptions about Buck were almost all wrong, and that in itself was a lesson. Buck projected an image of laid back nonchalance, but then Chris found out he was studying whenever he got the chance, trying to amass credits that would help him toward a college degree. It wasn't easy to find the space, or time, still do his job and have some semblance of a social life, but he was doggedly determined. Chris quickly found out Seaman Wilmington was even more stubborn than him - and that was saying something! Buck was self-confident, intelligent, and with his combination of charm and streetwise smarts he was a natural leader, so that even though he was new, the other ratings looked to him for leadership. In Chris' eyes he was perfect officer material. True, he came from a poor background, but poverty was no real barrier, and it quickly became clear he wasn't afraid of responsibility. Yet in conversations they had it became clear to Chris that Wilmington didn't share his view, he had never even thought about becoming an officer. It took a lot of years, a lot of trust and a lot of alcohol for Chris to finally figure it out. Buck's streetwise confidence had been hard won, growing up on the very edge of society, no real home, no stability, no continuity, always moving schools, never knowing how much money there was. The truth was, Buck didn't think he could be an officer because he was just 'poor white trash', and people like him didn't get to be officers, because they weren't the right type. Even now, after all these years, Chris wasn't sure he had really convinced Buck he was no-one's 'trash' that he was in fact the very opposite, a true 'prince among men'.

Their instant attraction to each other was on all levels, including physical - although neither had ever admitted that, even to themselves - at the time. The difference in their rank though, was a constant barrier to their friendship. Chris was posted to a different ship, and eventually accepted by the SEALs and successfully completed their basic training - the BUD/S. Not long after, he happened to see a list of the next men to do the 'BUD' and spotted one Wilmington B on the list. He asked if the B stood for Buck and on being told that it did, he admitted he knew Buck. It had to be him, how many people in the Navy could there be with 'Buck' on their birth certificate.

"You know him?" he was asked.

"Yes, Sir, were served together some time ago."


"He's a good man sir, we would be lucky to get him."


For the whole flight Buck had missed Chris, and as he sat in LAX waiting for his connection all he could think of was the next time he was there he would be only two and a half hours from Chris. But as the plane began to descend into Honolulu the old feelings of pride and excitement returned, the tightening in his gut, the lump in his throat that he had to fight from turning into tears every time he saw the USS Arizona Memorial. He hadn't been to Pearl that often, but the fates had smiled, either that or someone was looking out for him, because here he was, on his very last AT, at Pearl, and the last day of that AT, was the eleventh of November, Veterans Day.

Serving had always been more to Buck then a free education, and it was more than a way to gain the respectability his subconscious told him he lacked. Then there was the belonging. Apart from with his mother, Buck had never belonged anywhere; he'd never lived anywhere long enough to belong. Arriving in Las Vegas when he was seventeen was the closest he had come. Yet even at school he didn't fit in, he was held back a year so it was hard to feel he belonged, when all his peers were a year younger. He was a good athlete but he never got to play team sports because he was never around long enough to get onto a team, so by seventeen he just didn't have the right skills. Then, just two months after he graduated high school, his mother was murdered, stabbed in a hotel room, and Buck was totally alone. His school counsellor had suggested the military as a career, though he had originally rejected the idea because he had to stay close to his mother - to protect her. Having lived by the sea on occasion and always loved it, he joined the Navy and suddenly he belonged somewhere. He was part of something, he was on the inside looking out for once, and more than that, they actually seemed to want him. And it was about protecting people, protecting his country. His sainted mother had always said her boy was part 'momma grizzly' - he just had to protect. He was forever bringing home strays, both human and animal. "You’re a big strong boy darlin' - use it for good," his mother would say to him. He had failed to protect her, but he could help to protect others.


It was an uneventful active duty; he had qualified as an instructor many years ago, long before he was promoted to Chief, and now he taught what was second nature to him, 'surveillance'. It was a skill the Special Forces were crying out for, post 9-11. There were always those who were dismissive of Reserves, believing they were either too old, too out of touch or too out of practice, to be of any help. But Buck was able to win their respect and attention. The first thing he did was show them how easy it was for him to eavesdrop on them. Then he showed them how to use the latest equipment and, almost as important, how to detect it.

A week into his duty Buck was called to see the CO. He marched smartly in to the office, came to attention and snapped a text book salute.

"Chief," the CO greeted.


"Take a seat." Once Buck was seated, the Captain smiled at him. "I know you are determined to leave, and if I thought I could change your mind I would. We need men like you."

Buck gave a rueful smile. "Sorry sir, it's been twenty years, my life has changed, I need to move on." Then he seemed to think of something else, something new. "I'm tired of the secrets and lies." Much of their work was highly confidential and the Officer knew and understood the pressures of not being able to talk about your work. He assumed that was what Buck meant.

"Fair enough. I didn't ask you here to persuade you to stay. I have an offer for you Chief, something those twenty years have earned you."


Veteran's Day had always been a day of observance for Buck. His mother was an outcast from her own family; a family so detached that Buck had no idea who or where they were. But she had been close to her grandfather, who had died when she was twelve, but who left a lasting impression on his granddaughter and on the great grandson he never knew. He was a veteran of the First World War, a Marine, and every November 11th he would take the grandchildren to the parade. But only Cynthia would go willingly, only she actually liked to hear his stories, only she really cared about the day for what it was and not just as a holiday. This deep respect for the final sacrifice of past generations, she passed to her son.

On this Veteran’s Day there was, as every year, a parade to the Pearl Harbor Memorial Park, culminating with a solemn service at the memorial to those lost on the Arizona. To carry the flag at the head of the navy contingent of the parade was huge honour. Buck could hardly believe his ears when the CO asked him to do it. He had protested he was only a reservist, that he was too old, the honour of carrying the Stars and Stripes traditionally went to a very young seaman, often the youngest on the base. His CO had explained that the various commanders on the base were asked to submit suggestions and he had put Buck's name forward. The base commander was so impressed with his record as a twenty year veteran and holder of the silver star, and by the fact that it would be his last day in the navy that he had given him the job, if he wanted it.

He had hardly slept that night, the need to get his dress whites looking immaculate and unaccustomed nerves keeping him awake. He wanted Chris to be there, he needed Chris to steady him and he wanted his lover, the love of his life, to share this moment with him. This was possibly one of the proudest moments in his life and he had no one to share it with. He had seen tall blond men everywhere; it was as if his mind was programmed to pick them out. He saw a lot of beautiful men and women - everywhere, but all they did for him now, was make him miss Chris all the more.


Uniform crisp, and perfect, cap on square, gloved hands sweating, Buck waited to be given the flag he would carry. 'Don't fuck up, concentrate, don't cry, don’t fuck up, don't fuck up.' He repeated the mantra in his head over and over again. There hadn't been much time to practice and 'fucking up' was his biggest fear, but becoming overcome with the emotion of the day was another fear. Buck - raised entirely by women - was a man who had few hang-ups when it came to the outward expression of emotions. Sadly the macho world of the military and law enforcement didn't share his views, so - in order to conform, to fit in - he had learned to curb his outward signs of emotion. Fitting in, that was another thing he had learned early in life: defer to others, agree with their ideas, plans or opinions and you just might be allowed to join. The trouble was his sense of right; his hatred of injustice and prejudice was often in conflict with his desire to fit in.

The leather strap which would take the weight of the flag rested heavy and reassuring on his shoulder; he could smell the newly polished leather, polished leather made him think of Chris, Larabee cleaning his work shoes every weekend. When the Master Chief presented him with the flag, he settled it in the cup that hung at his hip and took a firm hold.

"You earned this, enjoy," the other man whispered as he stepped back, coming smartly to attention.

Buck allowed only the hint of a smile to escape as he about-faced and marched to his place at the head of the column. Sometimes he mused, life was just as good as it could be, and even if he had no one to share it with, he wouldn't have missed this moment for the world. Not fucking up he managed, concentrating he managed, not crying was the hardest part, but whenever he felt the emotion of the occasion overcome him he would force his mind to picture Chris. Chris laughing, a rare and beautiful sight, Chris stretched out in bed, soft and boneless in a post-coital haze of love and want, Chris smiling at him seductively across a crowded room, when he thought no one was looking. He considered it was probably some kind of sacrilege, to think of your male lover in the midst of all this solemnity, but he didn't care, those thoughts, just little snatches of images really, kept him doing his job, kept him from letting his CO and the base commander down by blubbering like an idiot. He listened to the names of those who would never grow old, the names of very young men, not much more than boys, lost forever, never to know the love he knew now, never to see a man walk on the moon, never to see the end of the Cold War - not that they had seen the beginning of it - never to sit and weep on a bleak day in September. Men and boys who would never walk down the aisle with the love of their life, never hold their child, who would never see a grandchild. And as he listened and fought down his response to their hurt, he knew once more how lucky he was. There always came a moment, when he finally gained control of his emotions, when the chance of tears flowing was over. When that happened he could relax, just a little, and he let his eyes scan the somber faces around him, veterans, relatives, patriotic and grateful citizens and visitors; there were even a few survivors. His eye caught just a flash of corn blond hair, and then it was gone. Dismissing it as 'wishful looking' he concentrated fully on his job.

The parade and service were in the morning, culminating at eleven o'clock. Once they were back at the base, everything was squared away and he'd had lunch, Buck had to deal with the inevitable paper work that went with his exit from the service. Before a farewell supper in the Chief's Mess, he was given a formal farewell from the Admiral. After a sumptuous meal, he and his fellow Chiefs drank and told tall stories of past missions, impossible odds, and comically helpless officers. He never had to buy a round and was amazed how many people wanted to shake his hand and wish him well. For all the endless free drinks and good company he had to be at the airport at six the next morning, so kept a tight rein on his drinking and made his excuses relatively early.

At five thirty the next day he picked up his bags and exited his quarters for the last time. As two weeks earlier, he skipped breakfast, preferring to eat on the plane later. For Hawaii it was chilly, a light drizzle fell, and he turned up the collar on his leather jacket, as he walked. He still had his uniforms over his shoulder, but wasn't sure why - he would in all likelihood never wear them again. To his surprise - considering it was still dark as well as early - his CO and the Master Chief were waiting at the gate to see him off.

"Off back to snowy Denver then Buck?" the CO asked.

"It's home sir, wouldn't want to live anyplace else."

"Not even paradise?"

Buck shrugged. "Got my own piece of paradise waiting for me at home."

"Don't tell me some woman finally tamed the great Buck Wilmington?" the Master Chief joked.

Buck gave him one of his enigmatic, head tilt smiles. "Something like that."

He looked away to see his taxi arrive. "I gotta go." He pulled his security pass from his pocket and handed it over. "Guess this is it."

"You could still change your mind you know," his commander offered.

Just then the passenger door of the taxi opened and a familiar, long, lean, dark clad frame, got out, blond hair blowing in the slight wind, despite the rain. Buck felt his gut tighten, his heart quicken and a flush rise in his cheeks.

"No sir, no way, it's like I told you I'm tired of secrets and lies." With that he shook both their hands, gave the seaman on duty at the gate a smile as they lifted the barrier for him and walk out of the Navy and into his lover's embrace. As Chris' arms enclosed around him and their lips joined, he dropped his luggage onto the wet asphalt.

"Well I'll be!" the Master Chief gasped, his jaw hanging down in amazement.

"Good God," the officer chimed in.

"Fuck!" they could hear one of the gate guard exclaimed.

"Well he did say he was tired of secrets – damn, that's not the secret I expected!"

Buck drank in the smell and feel of Chris, feeling his whole body begin to tingle in response to his lover's presence.

"You came," he whispered in between kisses.

"I'll always come," Larabee assured.

"Did they see?"

Chris lifted is eyes to see over his taller lover, without releasing him.


"Good. Let's go home."


It took a while for Buck to realise that the cab wasn't driving them toward the airport but in the opposite direction. He was nuzzling Chris' neck, even as he spoke.

"Umm, I got a flight at eight you know?" he murmured, as he began to nibble on Chris' ear.

"Not any - oh shit! - more, we got two extra days’ leave and the weekend."

Buck finally pulled back. "What?"

Chris grinned, then explained that JD had changed his booking, Josiah had 'persuaded' Travis to give them both leave, Ezra had somehow got him a last minute ticket, and found them a remote beach front cabin.

"I've got supplies in the back and a jeep comes with the cabin, it's out near Nanakali."

Buck tried to assimilate all the information. "Four days?"


"Just you and me, by the beach?"




"Wait, I don't have beach stuff here."

Chris waggled his eyebrows in a fair imitation of Buck. "Well I wasn't planning on you wearing much - but - I brought some of your stuff with me."

The taxi dropped them at an ordinary looking home outside Nanakali. While Chris knocked, Buck unloaded the cab and moved the bags and boxes over to a jeep parked at the entrance to a narrow track, next to the house.

In no time they had the keys and were headed down the track toward the sea. The cabin was small, basic, but clean and secluded. There was one large room that opened out onto a large covered deck, with a huge four poster bed with muslin drapes. There was a table and chairs on the deck and a double swing seat. As well as the bed, there was a large couch and a recliner in the main room, a small stove, coffee table and a well stocked book case, but no TV and no phone. There was an archway to the left of the seating area leading to a small kitchen and one on the right of the bed, leading to a bathroom. Outside there was a grill and a double hammock strung between two sturdy trees. Beyond the trees, no more than a hundred yards away was a small sandy cove surrounded by high cliffs. The only access to their retreat was by sea and the narrow rough track. The rain had eased off as the sun had risen and now, even as they put the last box of supplies in the little kitchen, the sun pushed past the thin cloud cover to make the newly washed land glisten.

"Here," Chris met Buck on the deck, holding out his suit bag.


"Put on your dress whites for me, I wanna take a picture." He held up his new digital camera.

"Ah hell, Chris, I wore it all day yesterday, can't it wait?"

"I know, I saw you," Chris confessed softly. "Can't tell you how I felt, ain't got the words."

"You sound like that scrawny Texan…" Buck's voice changed mid sentence, from amused to awed. "…you saw me?" The one tiny blip in his otherwise perfect day was gone; his moment of honour had been seen, and shared, by his family.

Chris stepped up to him. "Yeah, I saw. I didn't want to distract you, I know you find that kind of thing tough, but I was there."

Chris might not have had the words, but his eyes told Buck all he needed to know. He saw the pride and the compassion. Chris understood him, understood how he felt, understood what an honour it was. "Even borrowed the video camera from JD, so I could film you, the boys will get a kick out of it too."

"Oh, come on Chris, there's no need to bore them with it." Buck dropped his head.

Chris reached out and let his hand rest on Buck's neck, feeling the slight prickle of the close cropped hair. "They will want to see it, they will be so proud of you, of all that you've achieved."

Buck still wasn't looking at him. 'How am I ever gonna convince him he's valued and needed, by all of us?' he wondered, not for the first time. Buck just shrugged. "Okay, I guess." He sounded like a scolded schoolboy. But he took the suit bag from Chris and headed in to the cabin. Once Buck was inside, Chris picked up his own bag and strolled around to a clearing under a tree behind the cabin. If Buck had notice he was carrying a traditional suitcase and not a duffel, he hadn't said anything.

Buck wasn't too happy, his uniform wasn't looking its best, and while it wasn't strictly true that he had worn it all the previous day - he'd changed into khakis as soon as he got back to the base, it wasn't as pristine as he liked it to be. The burgeoning hard-on that had started as soon as he saw the four poster bed, died. Nevertheless wearing it was going to make Chris happy so that was all that mattered. He was somewhat surprised that Chris wasn't watching him, as he usually liked to watch while he dressed, and Buck even made sure Chris got a good look at his ass while he did it - most days he got a nice little fondle on the butt to send him on his way. Eventually, pulling his cap on, he strolled out onto the deck.


Responding to years of training he instantly came to attention, stock still and ramrod straight, even before he realised who had shouted the order and long before his brain remembered he didn't have to obey orders anymore.

"What the…?" he finally spluttered.

"SILENCE! You will only speak when asked a direct question by a superior officer - or have you forgotten so soon?"

'It's Chris and he's …'

Chris stepped into his line of vision. He all but gasped when he realised Larabee was wearing his old dress blue uniform.

'Shit! Oh God, that's hot, this is gonna be fun!'

Chris would have worn white, but he couldn't find it in the attic in time. He stepped up to stand face to face with him, pulling on a pair of pristine white cotton gloves as he did.

"So Chief Wilmington, let us see how you've turned yourself out. I warn you I have very exact standards." Buck was trying not to smile - a smile that was threatening to turn into a smirk.

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir, Lieutenant Larabee sir!" Buck barked out, his dick once more growing hard.

Chris was fighting to keep the lascivious grin from his face as he squatted down in front of Buck's shiny shoes. He ran one gloved finger across the shoes and then examined his finger, finding, as he knew he would do close to a beach, specks of sand and dust. He stood, eye to eye - well as best he could manage given the height difference - with Buck.

"See that?" He held up the gloved finger with the barely noticeable specks of dirt,

"Sir, yes sir!" Buck barked out.

"Unacceptable, remove your shoes."

Buck didn't even hesitate removing his shoes and -placing them neatly against the wall of the cabin before once more coming to attention, eyes front, focusing on the distant horizon.

Chris looked down at his lover's feet, clad in soft grey socks. "Those socks are not regulation, remove them."

"Sir, yes sir!" The socks were discarded, rolled up and placed inside the shoes.

Once he was once more at attention, Chris began to circle his lover, he ran his gloved fingers over every button, every badge, running then down the slight ridges of the embroidered chevrons on his sleeve. Finally he came to a halt in front of Buck. "Your medal ribbons are incorrect."

That surprised Buck, as he was expecting Chris to find some dirt. "My ribbons?"

"I did not give you permission to speak," Chris rebuked. "You are entitled to the Armed Forces Retired Commemorative Medal are you not?"

Buck supposed he might be, he hadn't thought about it, besides he had been 'retired' for all of seven hours.


Buck decided to go with the flow. "Sir, yes sir!"

"Remove the jacket."

Chris circled him once more. He ran his gloved finger around the inside of the shirt collar and examined it, he came around to face his lover and made a great show of sniffing at his arm pits. His face screwed up in show of disgust. "This under shirt it a disgrace, it isn't even clean, remove it."

Buck was having a hard job not to smile now, the dirty - it was dirty, he didn't have a spare one - shirt joined the other clothes. He stood tall, the soft, warm, wet breeze exciting his now naked skin, moving his sparse chest hairs, exciting the senses. Chris was circling him again. A soft gloved finger traced over his belt buckle, while other gloved fingers ghosted over the sensitive skin in the small of his back. Chris squatted down behind him, fingers ran up and down his legs, and he all but stumbled as one hand traced down his inner thigh.

Chris didn't move while he spoke. "Your pants are creased and dirty, remove them."

Buck tried to keep his voice normal as he barked out his response, but it came out slightly hoarse and high pitched. 'Damn, he does love my ass!' he mused with some pride, as he returned to his position at attention, now dressed in nothing but his under-shorts. Chris hadn't moved; he was still squatting down, facing Buck's ass.

Try as he might Chris couldn't think of any regulations that would give him an excuse to get Buck's crisp, white, clean boxers off him. He could just order it, Buck would comply without hesitation, but that wasn't as much fun, and he was having fun. Finally he stood and came back to face his lover. As he stood there he could see that those wonderfully deep blue eyes were dilated with desire, his lover's face flushed and glowing with the inner heat of passion. He had already noted the prominent tenting of those same white boxers, now he looked down and an evil smile spread over his face.

"Navy regulations require all ranks to wear underwear for the proposes of cleanliness and modesty - do they not?"

"Sir, yes Sir!" Buck barked out - not that he had any idea if that was right.

"Yours appear to be defective."

Buck frowned and then followed Chris gaze down to his own groin. His erection had broken free from the boxers; it now protruded lewdly from his shorts, hard, engorged and weeping.

"Defective equipment must be discarded," Chris instructed.

Instantly Buck's thumbs were in the waistband, and he pushed them down. With a quick shimmy of his lean hips and a slight parting of the knees they dropped and pooled around his ankles. He stepped out of one side and then deftly lifted the crisp cotton up on one heel, and only had to bend a fraction to collect it, he then tossed it over to the pile of clothes on the rail, where it landed neatly on top.

There was something incredibly erotic about standing there naked - but for his cap - while Chris was still fully clothed. The uniform was an extra turn on. He shivered, not in cold, for the day was warming up fast, but in anticipation. Chris was still standing in front of him. Now he pulled off the cotton gloves and tossed them aside.

"Good personal hygiene is a requisite, is it not?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Stand still and only move if I tell you to, I intend to make sure you have been keeping yourself clean."

Standing still was going to be a real test of his self control, as Chris ran one finger along his shoulder, tracing the line of his collar bone, under his neck and out along the other collar bone. He didn't say anything; he just looked up and smiled. The finger ran down and lazily circled one nipple and then the other. Still in silence he lifted his finger and ran it gently down the side of his lover's cheek.

"Nice smooth shave - congratulations."

"Thanks," Buck whispered in a voice that was beginning to tremble.

"Oral hygiene is important - open our mouth."

Buck obeyed and Chris moved closer, but it wasn't a finger that explored his mouth, but a hot eager tongue that had him moaning and swaying in response to its expert ministrations. His tongue responded without any conscious command from him. Eventually, they parted, both panting and breathless.

Chris ran a seductive tongue around his lips. "Mmmm Colgate, excellent oral hygiene," he commented. "But I may have to check it again, repeatedly in fact - do you have any objections to me checking your oral hygiene, from time to time?"

"Sir, no Sir!"

"I'm glad to hear it." He moved behind Buck and placed his hands, palms up under the biceps of the man before him and gave a gentle tap. In response, the arms rose until they were out stretched at shoulder height. Chris leaned into the left armpit, where he inhaled deeply, taking in the aroma of soap, and that wonderful Buck smell that he loved so much. He let his fingers play with the soft, thick, hair, resisting the urge to kiss it, much as he wanted to - but he could feel the residual of the plain, unscented, extra strong deodorant Buck used and had no wish to get a mouthful of it - besides there were other parts of Buck he would rather taste. He repeated the examination on the right side and then placed his hands, palms down on top of the outstretched arms and pressed down very gently.

"Most satisfactory."

He let one finger trail down the ramrod straight spine before him. In response to his feather light touch, that spine quivered, it was as if each vertebra vibrated as he passed it. He reached the valley head, the parting between those twin globes he loved so much. Kneeling down he whispered his next command.

"Spread them."

Buck intently moved his legs apart, giving Chris full access, taking in a deep breath as he did so, in an attempt to retain his composure. The gentle skilled finger continued down, it passed over the puckered opening making it quiver, then continued until it found the sensitive patch of skin just beyond it. There he stopped and gently and very slowly he stroked it. A man only had just so much self-control, even men of the calibre of Buck Wilmington. He gasped; he almost over balanced, taking one step forward to steady himself. Chris’ ministrations stopped instantly. He stood and walked slowly back to face his lover. He waited until Buck seemed more composed.

"Ready?" he finally asked.

"Yes sir," came the whispered response.

"Good, I have one other place to inspect." With that he sank to his knees.

The inspection was purely visual, he positively drank in the sight of the engorged shaft, so hard it looked as if the taut skin might split at any moment, the head weeping copious amounts of pre cum. Finally he looked up, Buck was still steadfastly staring ahead at the distant horizon.

"Congratulations, you pass inspection."

"Thank you sir."

"However I now need to test the equipment. A sailor must ensure that his equipment is always in full working order, must he not?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Repeated testing is required to maintain peak performance."

"Sir I hope my performances have always been peak ones."

Chris smiled, and took a moment to keep the laugher out of his voice.

"Indeed they have been, we must continue the testing to keep it that way. Lubrication is key to maintain machinery." With that comment, he leaned forward and captured the shaft before him.


Chris stood slowly. Darkness had fallen, they had made love on and off all day, in the bed, on the deck, on the beach, in the sea. In between they ate, no cooking, just snacks, and drank beer. Buck was asleep, stretched out on the huge bed. The breeze blew the thin bed curtains, and shadows danced across his lover’s wonderful body. He watched, sitting on the windowsill, where the sea breezes played on his back as he lit a thin cigar and inhaled deeply. He had lived most of his adult life as a straight arrow heterosexual man, conventional to a fault. And yet - the very first time he set eyes on Buck Wilmington, there was something else. It shocked him - he wasn't gay so why was he having erotic dreams about Wilmington? He dismissed the thoughts, buried them, allowed himself to fall in love with the a beautiful, vivacious, Irish firebrand called Sarah, and Sarah gave him Adam, with Adam as the focus of his love all thoughts of Buck disappeared. And then it all ended, and there was only Buck.

Buck, who never left him, never gave up, never judged, and never condemned. It took a long time, but those old desires returned. And desire turned to love. He watched the man he loved shift in his sleep, and his gut tightened, an involuntary reaction he felt several times a day, and which he embraced as proof positive that he loved and was loved. Proof positive that he had found his life partner, his soul mate, the love of his life. Would he give up Buck if he could have Adam back - he no longer knew the answer. Buck muttered in his sleep. "Chris," he called softly, barely coherent.

"Yeah I'm here, I'll always be here," he assured, stubbing out his cigar and padding back to the bed. He gave a little stretch before he climbed back on to the bed, relished the slight burn and lay down beside Buck again, pulling up the light cotton sheet to cover them both. Almost instantly one long arm snaked over his chest, Buck's lanky body rolled until he was pressed up against Chris.

"Mmm, Chris, love you." Chris wasn't sure if Buck was awake or asleep or somewhere in between, it didn't really matter. Buck loved him, they were together and they were happy - nothing else mattered.