The Final Line (34 page)

Corey ran a trembling hand over his face, wishing he could get off the chopper. He needed space. He needed to breathe. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, to pretend everything was normal and he wasn’t totally fucked up.

Before the bird had even touched down, Corey leaped out the door. He strode several yards away, dragging in deep, shuddering breaths. He stripped off his Kevlar and scrubbed a hand over his sweat-damp hair. He walked in a circle, struggling to put his memories in order.

The chopper lifted off and the only sounds left were of celebrating Marines. Corey could breathe now. He wiped the back of his hand over his dry lips. He swallowed several times, trying to wet his parched throat.

“Mighty fucking impressive, Staff Sergeant,” Master Sergeant Whitfield said, gripping Corey’s shoulder firmly.

“Thank you, sir,” Corey replied, standing straight.

“Not even that ambush rattled them,” Whitfield continued. “And you are one hell of a dangerous shot.”

“Every Marine is a rifleman, Master Sergeant,” Corey quoted.

“How is it you haven’t been sent to sniper school, yet?” Whitfield appeared genuinely baffled.

Because Corey had made jump school and dive school his priorities, because those were Jonah Carver’s specialties. “I’ve been trying for dive school, sir. Nothing against sniper school, though.” Maybe it was time Corey figured out what his own strengths were.

The master sergeant nodded at Corey’s explanation. “If diving’s what you want to do, by all means. But you shamed some good Marines today, dropping them like flies while moving backward.” Whitfield grinned.

Corey huffed an awkward laugh. He wasn’t used to such direct praise. “Had to get my team’s backs.”

“Well, everyone is talking about how you’re a dead-eye shot with unnatural combat discipline, who had to be dragged onto the chopper by his students.” Whitfield grew serious. “That’s the story we’re going to go with.”

Corey froze, his stomach plummeting. He swallowed hard. “Yes, Master Sergeant.”

Whitfield folded his arms over his chest and lowered his voice. “It says a lot about your character, Corey. You dug into a defensive position and protected your fellow Marines, instead of turning aggressive and excessively violent. For that reason, I’m not going to relieve you of duty.”

Corey gave a single nod. His relief was so powerful he struggled for words. “I’m sorry to cause trouble, Master Sergeant.”

Whitfield shook his head emphatically. “No trouble, Corey. I’m aware of what you have going on, and that you’re actively seeking help for some issues. I expect you to continue to do so.”

“Believe me, if it wasn’t so late at night, I’d be calling my counselor right now,” Corey said derisively.

“Is it that bad?” Whitfield’s concern was obvious. “Do I need to make some calls?”

“No!” Corey took a deep breath. “No, Master Sergeant. The worst is past. I know what triggered my reaction. I’ll just write it down in my journal and discuss it at my next appointment.”

Whitfield chuckled. “You know, this asshole coward, Nygaard and his ambulance chasing lawyer are trying to sully the good name of our beloved Corps. I will not make their lies about how we treat our men with PTS into truths. I encourage you to keep getting help. I will facilitate you getting that help, and you will not be penalized for doing so.”

Corey swallowed hard. “I appreciate that, Master Sergeant.” Anything he could say wouldn’t adequately express his gratitude.

“What do we need to do to get you safely through the night?” Whitfield asked.

Corey didn’t understand at first. Whitfield’s meaning finally registered. “Oh, I’ll be fine now, Master Sergeant.” He consulted his watch. It was 2200 hours and he didn’t have to report back to class until 1800 hours tomorrow. “I have some meds I can take. I’ll record what happened in that damn journal. And I’m going to call a friend who knows about what’s been going on, so there is someone I can talk to.”

“Good, good.” Whitfield looked relieved. “You’re too damn good a Marine to lose to something we actually know how to fix. We’ll get you through this.”

Corey swallowed past the lump in this throat. “Thank you, Master Sergeant,” he said in an embarrassingly raw voice.

“Now get the fuck out of here and go be with your friend.” The way Whitfield phrased it, Corey knew he understood just what kind of friend Corey was going to call.

Inside his Jeep, Corey headed for his quarters. He called Sean as he drove.

“I was hoping you’d get to call tonight,” Sean answered, voice warm and friendly. “Are you done for the night?”

“Yeah,” answered Corey. “I’m gonna throw some gear into a bag and come over. Is that all right?” He needed to shower and change out of his uniform but he needed to be with Sean even more.

“Corey, what’s wrong?” Sean asked, fear lacing his voice.

“Nothing anymore, I’m fine,” he quickly told Sean. “I’m fine now. I just…” Corey couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Okay, I’m here,” Sean assured him. “Get here as soon as you can, but be safe. Do you need anything special? Are you hungry?”

“No. Just wait for me.” Corey’s pleading tone made him wince.

“I’ll get something ready in case you need to eat, and I’ll turn down the bed.” Sean’s voice was low and calming.

Corey’s frayed nerves already began to soothe. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Corey grabbed his ruck and shoved a change of clothes, skivvies, sweats, and his dopp kit inside. He didn’t take the time to pack neatly, despite his seven years in the Marines. His DI would be shitting himself if he could see. He paused in tossing all of his meds into a pocket to take a Xanax.

Corey flew out of the BEQ like he was being pursued. He sort of felt like he was.

He drove as fast as he dared, his leg bouncing the entire time. Corey fought for patience. Over and over, he eased his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. At some point during the journey, he realized his anxiety had eased slightly, and now he just really needed to see and touch Sean.

Sean’s front door opened seconds after Corey rang the bell. He pushed into the condo as Sean reached to take his ruck from his shoulder. Corey let it go as he wrapped his arms around Sean’s body and pushed him back against the wall. Sean let the ruck fall to the floor beside them, his own arms coming around Corey’s shoulders.

Corey pressed the full length of his body against Sean’s. He pushed his tongue past Sean’s lips and swept it through his mouth. He licked into him deeply, Sean’s lips slipping slickly against Corey’s. Sean returned the kiss with equal fervor. Corey swallowed Sean’s deep, guttural moan.

Sean’s fingers dug deep into his shoulders. Sean smelled clean and fresh, the spice and musk of his shampoo and cologne assailed Corey’s senses. His mouth held a hint of mint. Corey ground their hips together and felt Sean’s hardness already growing against him. Corey’s chest ached with need but his dick was still limp in his skivvies.

Shoving his hands under the hem of Sean’s T-shirt, Corey ran his palms over every patch of warm, smooth skin he could find. Sean moaned again, pressing into Corey’s hands. He hated that there was so much clothing between them.

Sean’s hands slid down Corey’s shoulders to his chest. Sean fisted his hands in Corey’s fleece as if he was clinging to him. Breaking the kiss on a gasp, Sean pressed his hot, wet mouth to Corey’s chin and jaw. His breath was hot against Corey’s skin. Corey skimmed one palm along Sean’s tight stomach. At the edge of his track pants, Corey reached lower and palmed Sean’s erect cock through the slick fabric.

Sean gave a filthy groan and nuzzled Corey’s ear. “You smell different,” he murmured huskily.

That wasn’t the mindless dirty talk Corey expected. “Yeah?” His voice was rough and breathless. Corey shivered as Sean skimmed his nose the length of Corey’s throat.

“You’re sweaty,” Sean said. “I smell dirt. Leather. Something metallic.”

Corey pulled back abruptly, feeling like he’d been doused with ice water. He lifted a hand and stared at it like he’d never seen it before. It was filthy. Corey’s skin was dark with dirt, his nails encrusted black with the stuff. “Kevlar,” he said thoughtlessly. “The metallic smell. Kevlar. From my helmet.”

Sean took Corey’s upraised hand and brought it to his own cheek. His eyes drifted shut as he nuzzled against Corey’s palm, heedless of the dirt. “You got down and dirty like a real Marine today, didn’t you?” He opened his eyes and they glinted with humor that was mirrored in his voice.

“I should have showered before I got here.” Corey was ashamed. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I must reek.” How could Sean stand to be near him?

“I have a shower.” Sean smiled playfully. “We can get you cleaned up together.”

“You already showered,” Corey said numbly.

Sean gave him a quelling look. “Getting clean is
not
why I want to shower with you.”

Corey was struck dumb. He followed on leaden legs as Sean pushed off the wall and tugged him forward by his fleece.

“Grab your gear,” Sean said as they stepped past his ruck.

Corey snagged it in mid-stride. Sean walked backward toward the bedroom, tugging Corey along by his uniform fleece. Inside the bedroom, Corey set his ruck on the foot of Sean’s bed, vaguely aware the bedclothes were turned down.

“Get out what you need for your shower, I’ll go start the water.” Sean stripped off his own T-shirt as he crossed to the bathroom.

Corey watched hungrily as the muscles in Sean’s shoulders and back shifted with his movements. Quickly, he unzipped the neck of his fleece before turning back to his ruck and pulling out skivvies, his own track pants, and dopp kit. In frustration, Corey palmed his aggravatingly soft cock through his utilities, squeezing and stroking, trying to get some life into the fucking thing.

He heard water begin to run in the bathroom just before Sean reemerged, wearing only his track pants and a smile.

“Seriously, Corey, you don’t need
clothes
for your shower,” Sean said with a laugh. He stepped in behind and pressed his chest to Corey’s back. Sean reached around and put Corey’s clothing back into the ruck. “If you don’t want to smell like me, bring your soap and shampoo, otherwise you can use mine. Really, you probably only need your toothbrush.”

Corey ran a palm over his shorn hair in agitation. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in and with Sean’s body. His fucking dick wouldn’t cooperate. How fucking much patience was Sean going to have with Corey’s traitorous body? “I like the way you smell.” It seemed like the only safe thing to say.

“Thank you,” Sean replied, kissing the back of Corey’s neck. “I love the way you smell, too.”

“I fucking stink, right now,” Corey said scornfully. “I can’t believe I came here without showering after all the shit I did tonight.”

“I love the way you smell,” Sean said with feeling. “Even now, you smell like a
man
; all man. You smell like you did something worthwhile today, like you were out there being all strong and competent and
dangerous
.”

Corey didn’t have a reply. He stood passively as Sean pulled his fleece and skivvy shirt over his head. He leaned back eagerly into Sean’s chest, sighing in pleasure at the feel of skin and heat. Corey started to pull his dog tags over his head.

“Oh, do you have to do that?” Sean asked plaintively, pressing a kiss to Corey’s shoulder blade.

“I’ll put them back on after the shower,” he replied with a smile.

“Good. Now sit on the bed so I can get your boots off,” Sean said softly, giving Corey a nudge.

“I’m not helpless,” Corey groused. Still, he complied, leaning over to unfasten his boot straps and toss them into his ruck.

“Oh, I know you’re not,” Sean said, grinning broadly. He dropped to his knees between Corey’s legs. He leaned in and kissed Corey, licking lightly at his lips and tongue. Sean broke the kiss and began to unlace Corey’s boots.

Sean climbed gracefully to his feet and held out a hand to pull Corey up as well. When Sean reached for the fly of his utilities, Corey tried to push his hands away. “I can do it.”

“I know you can, but I want to.” Sean whispered against Corey’s throat, his breath warm and his lips soft. “It’s okay. It’s all right. Just relax and let me enjoy being with you again.”

Corey stepped out of his utilities when they hit the floor. He didn’t look down at his flaccid cock hanging uselessly between his legs. He wanted so badly to be with Sean, to show him how much Corey had missed him, and his fucking body was refusing to cooperate.

Sean stripped off his own track pants and reached for Corey’s hand. He pulled him into the steamy bathroom, smiling wickedly the entire time. His hazel eyes were soft, and the way Sean looked at him made Corey’s chest ache even more.

Opening the shower door, Sean pushed Corey into the cubicle. The heat was soothing and the stinging spray stimulating. Corey ducked his head and let the water course down over his entire body. He felt Sean moving in front of him so he opened his eyes and looked down. The water ran off of him, brown in color. Corey grimaced.

Sean’s tanned skin glistened. His muscles rippled beneath the slick skin as he poured shampoo into his palm and returned it to the shelf. Sean’s cock was semi-hard and growing. Corey’s mouth watered, even as he silently cursed his own unresponsive dick.

Smiling, Sean reached up and washed Corey’s hair. “You hardly have any hair. It doesn’t take much shampoo.”

Corey ran his hand over Sean’s thick, damp hair. The mist and the steam made it fall over his forehead and frame his face handsomely. “Sorry. Gotta keep it regulation.” Corey explained the reason for his shorn hair.

“I’m not complaining. It suits you. Rinse,” Sean ordered. “It’s easier to take care of than my unruly mop, I bet.”

When the shampoo was rinsed from his hair, Corey opened his eyes. He fisted a hand in Sean’s longer locks. “I love your hair. I love running my fingers through it.”

Sean’s eyes drifted closed, his expression blissful as he leaned into Corey’s tugging hand. Corey leaned down and kissed Sean’s full, pouty mouth. Sean moaned against Corey’s lips, running his hands up the slick skin of Corey’s arms. He wanted to step closer and pull their wet bodies together.