#bohens

It lasts all of five seconds, his scowl cracking under the effects of several rounds of drinks at the hotel bar, and Scott finds his own frown dissolving, until they’re both doubled over laughing in the middle of Scott’s hotel room.

“Fuck me,” Scott groans, collapsing backwards onto the bed. It’s a five-star hotel, because Scott hasn’t slept on anything higher than a hundred thread-count in weeks and Section 20 doesn’t expect them to report back for another couple of days. Stonebridge is checked in across the hall, and the nukes have been handed over, Dalton’s going to live, and Central Africa hasn’t gone up in radioactive flames so Scott’s more than happy to put it on 20’s dime.

He’s getting comfortable on the duvet, too exhausted to care, when Stonebridge speaks from his seat in one of the armchairs. “One of these days, Scott. That mouth is gonna get you in trouble, and someone’s gonna take you up on that.”

Scott cracks an eye open and sees Stonebridge sprawled out in the chair, head tipped back and staring half-lidded at the ceiling. “Why, you offering?” he grins, dropping back onto the bed.

Stonebridge snorts noncommittally.

He can’t help it, it’s Stonebridge and Scott’s only been tugging on the stick up his ass since day one, just to see how far up it goes, and so he rolls over on his side and says, “Right, Her Majesty’s Finest count to zero, there’s no time for experimenting.”

Stonebridge finally looks at him. “And you have? Damien Scott, the man who’s tried to fuck every woman he’s ever come across,” he says mockingly. “Your balls would probably shrivel up if you touched another man’s cock.”

Scott laughs and leans back onto the covers. “Trust me, princess, when I touch another man’s cock, his balls aren’t doing any shriveling.”

“I said yours- never mind. You know, you might’ve been able to handle another cadet fifteen years ago, Scott, but I think all the women and booze have made you too soft for a real man.”

His voice has gotten closer, and Scott opens his eyes to see Stonebridge standing over him, hand reaching towards his exposed stomach with a sly grin on his face. Scott swats it away, and the resulting smugness on Stonebridge’s face is like a gauntlet thrown down between them, stirring up something hot and dangerous inside Scott.

He sits up and strips his shirt off as smoothly as the beers in his system will allow. “If this is what you wanted, all you had to do was ask, sweetheart.”

Scott smirks at the flash of hesitation in Stonebridge’s eyes, but it’s gone in an instant. What he doesn’t expect is the bark of laughter. “Yeah, because the rug on your chest is so fucking sexy.”

“Hey, fuck you, the ladies love the fur,” he snipes back. “I might not look like a Ken-doll on steroids, but I’m willing to bet you’re as junkless down there.”

Stonebridge leans in dangerously, a hand flat on the bed on either side of him, and for a fleeting second Scott thinks about tapping out, thinks that the look on Stonebridge’s face is more than he knows what to do with.

And then Stonebridge murmurs in his ear, “Why don’t you find out?”

Before Scott can think about what he’s doing, he grips Stonebridge’s hips and twists, and he lands on the bed with a grunt before Scott climbs over him and tugs Stonebridge’s shirt off. It’s the scattered bruises and cuts beneath that make him pause, the fact that he knows who put them there, knows that they’re all dead or gone because he’s helped make sure of it, and his hands freeze and he backs away, but Stonebridge catches his arm before he gets anywhere.

He casts Scott a hesitant look, like he’s the one afraid of pushing their little game too far, and guides his hand back to his belt buckle.

Scott swallows, leans back in and tries to cover the lapse with a lazy smirk. “Just lie back and think of England, babe. I’ve got you.”

When he’s gotten as far as the zipper, Stonebridge throws a knee up and rolls them over. “I’m gonna do a little more than that, mate,” he promises. And just like that, he shoves his pants all the way off and tosses them onto the floor.

Scott’s mind goes a little blank then, and he whistles lowly, not even trying to hide his admiration. Not junkless, then.

“Well shit, Mikey. You’ve been holding out on us this whole time,” he breathes. Stonebridge is still soft, but Scott can already imagine how impressive he’d be fully hard, and the rush he gets from that thought is unexpected. When Scott looks up at his face, he realizes he’s been staring when he sees the first hint of bashfulness this entire time from Stonebridge, a tiny furrow of his brow as he waits for Scott’s next move.

It’s still a game, Scott realizes, and it might have started out this way, the two of them trying to one-up each other like they always have, but Scott’s now aware how much of it’s just a pretense for something they won’t fucking acknowledge. Maybe they would have eventually, maybe after they’ve both lost more than they have already, but Scott’s fed up with it all.

He knows what Stonebridge expects him to do next. Instead, he reaches up and cups a hand around Stonebridge’s jaw, pulls his gaze back towards him. “Hey,” he murmurs. “I said I’ve got you.”

Stonebridge – Michael, Scott thinks – blinks, his pursed lips falling open in silent acknowledgment of the change in his tone. He raises a hand to where Scott’s still rests on his face, running it down his arm until his fingers trace over the tattoo on Scott’s shoulder.

“Got that right after I graduated from the Army,” Scott grins. “Me and a couple of the guys in my class. Brotherhood, and all that. I haven’t seen them since we first got deployed.”

Michael doesn’t say anything, but the understanding hangs in the air and he shoves at Scott’s hip until he turns over. He gets him on his hands and knees, and Michael fiddles with the clasp of his jeans until he can pull them down over his bare ass.

Scott barks out a laugh. “You gonna fuck me, then?” he asks over his shoulder, more calmly than he would’ve expected.

Michael drapes himself over Scott’s back and brushes his lips against his neck, his answer muffled. He can feel Michael hard behind him now, sliding along his ass.

“What?” Scott asks breathlessly.

“No.” And Scott bucks forward with a surprised groan, Michael’s free hand wrapped around his cock.

He shudders again as Michael’s hand jerks him from half-mast to fully hard, his large, gun-calloused fingers drawing sensations none of his past bed partners have been able to arouse.

Michael’s hand twists over the head of his cock on an upstroke, and Scott rears back to thrust into it, only that grinds his ass into Michael’s cock and he gets a low moan in his ear for his trouble and the hand on his own dick speeds up.

“Jesus, Michael, Nngh-“

At the sound of his name, Michael starts to thrust eagerly along the cleft of his ass, slick with sweat and pre-come, and combined with the soft grunts in his ear and the torturous grip on his cock, Scott’s elbows are shaking so hard he can hardly hold himself up.

When Michael’s cock slips and catches on his hole, Scott chokes on a whine. He’s too close.

With his last bit of self-control, he hooks a leg around Michael’s thigh and rolls them. He ends up straddling Michael again, jeans finally discarded on the floor, both of them fully naked on top of the fucking duvet still.

“God, they teach you that in the SBS?” he pants.

Michael grins, looking about as winded underneath him as Scott feels. He looks wrecked, sweat matting his hair and eyes half-lidded, and Scott wants nothing more than to kiss him.

Nothing’s stopping him.

Michael gives as good as he gets, gripping back at Scott’s shoulders, and his mouth is hot and wet, and they can’t get enough air but it’s perfect. He licks into his mouth and Stonebridge bites and tugs his lip in response, and Scott thinks that it’s all as natural as any of their sparring.

“Jesus, Scott, your fucking stubble-“

“Mm, wait ‘til you feel it between your thighs-“

When he reaches down and takes them both in hand, Michael arches straight off the bed.

“Scott– Oh, fuck-“

He gets a steady rhythm going, feels Michael’s cock pulse against his. His partner is writhing underneath him, thrusting wantonly into his fist, and Scott feels a fierce surge of satisfaction at having reduced the stern-faced sergeant to the mess beneath him.

He lays his other hand on the tightly coiled muscle of Michael’s chest, meaning to steady him, but his nail catches on a nipple and Michael keens, wraps a hand around Scott’s on their dicks and comes, heavy spurts that rack his entire body. Scott feels Michael’s thighs seize underneath his ass, and his grip is punishingly tight, and he can’t hold back – he follows, shouting out his release over both their hands.

When he finally comes to, Michael’s still panting next to him, come slick and cooling in the ridges of that fucking stomach.

Scott gropes around for something to wipe it down with, and Michael looks down dazedly as he dabs at his stomach, before huffing out a laugh. “You fucker, is that my shirt?”

He peers at it. “Guess so.”

Michael barks another laugh and leaps at him, throwing the shirt aside and they tussle on the bed, Scott sliding out of a chokehold and flipping Michael onto his back. They’re both mostly drained, and before long, Scott finds himself wrapped between Michael’s arms, feeling his chest rise and fall behind him and his breath gusting past the hair on his neck.

He’s totally the little spoon, but Scott finds himself not caring in the least. They’ve fought together, lost together, saved the world together, and no matter how it ends, they’ll be there together.

It’s not how he always pictured it, but there’s no doubt in his mind that Michael has his back.