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Getting out of the open — and as far away from it as possible — became their idea of shelter just short of two days after they stepped into the ruins of Dubai. The topmost floors, specifically: great lookout positions.
Two more days, and the luxury of those apartments became a mundane sight. A week later, it was an eyesore.
"Must’ve been worth a damn fortune once," Lugo said flatly. A week ago, he still wanted one of these for when he’d retire. Now, he couldn’t stand the sight of floor-to-ceiling glass. "I’ll scout ahead."
Walker watched him go.
That’s how it was between them these days. It’s not like that frantic kiss during first aid meant anything — or the rushed excuse for a hookup it bled into. None of the accidental touches and glances they shared afterward did, either. Nor did every single instance of them finding their way to each other’s bodies again. It was simply a convenient way to blow off steam, nothing more.
By now, Walker was starved for it again — had been in need of an outlet for hours, actually — but those hours had been spent with no opportunity for distraction. Now that one was finally there, Lugo chose to keep his distance. Again.
He could work with that, of course. And he did, by joining his Sergeant after securing the main space of the suite and having Adams do the same on the outside.
"Status?"
"Clear. It’s missing some champagne and a heart-shaped tub, though."
Walker felt the corners of his lips tense — but only for a brief moment. They were finally alone, and instead of doing what Walker needed him to do, Lugo was cracking jokes. And somehow, that was even worse — still standing there with his back turned to his Captain.
"That’s enough," he started, taking a step forward. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"I’m sorry?"
"Avoiding me, Lugo?"
Lugo blinked, then let out a sharp, dry laugh. "What? We’re in the middle of a fucking desert, Cap. I’m not going anywhere. You’re seeing things, for real."
Walker stepped closer, closing the gap until he was in Lugo’s space — then face.
Lugo, for his part, remained unmoving.
Fine. Defiance, Walker could get past. "Very well," he nodded toward the wall. "You know what to do."
He expected a shake of the head, a raised eyebrow, hell, even a "fuck you" thrown in his face with bits of spit — but Lugo did what was asked without a hitch.
As his shoulder brushed the concrete first, Walker’s breath caught in his throat. Lugo’s spine followed in a gradual lean, the wall taking his weight, and he left his left leg stretched out while bending the other at the knee, pressing the sole of his boot into the concrete. His thin lips curled into a cocky grin as a nice finishing touch, and then Lugo tipped his chin ever so slightly — a gesture that carried that flavor of defiant grace Walker knew all too well from — /God help him/ — women’s fashion magazines that Dubai was littered with.
As if there was even a chance of Walker prying his eyes away, Lugo set his rifle down on the floor with such particular unhurriedness, too. If there was any ill will put into this performance at all, it flew past Walker’s conscious mind; in fact, he suddenly knew the feeling of wanting to lay down his arms, too.
"That doing it for you, Walker?"
Fuck, yes, it did; perhaps the fashion press people knew more about the art of making men want to surrender than the highest-ranking officers of JSOC command ever could. /Fuck./
It had to be some entranced state he was in, because the distance this little game of prey and hunter put between them was instantly gone, and Walker had Lugo pinned against that same wall in the blink of an eye. "You’re not getting away from me now," he murmured.
Lugo huffed a laugh. "Cap, I’m gross. Haven’t showered in days."
Walker’s eyes skimmed along Lugo’s jawline, then down the muscles of his neck.
Lugo tried to pull free again. "Seriously—"
Walker cut him off without words, but by dropping to his knees.
Lugo drew in a breath sharp enough to sound like a whisper. "Alright, fuck, fine. Can we do this later, though? Let a guy take a leak."
It wasn’t that Walker wanted to teach him a lesson — as good as it would’ve felt to indulge that need of his as well — but he wasn’t letting Lugo go now that he finally had him. Not. A. Chance. Walker planted his feet wider for balance and tore the velcro of Lugo’s vest open. "No."
Lugo blinked. "Cap, I’m telling you. I need to piss."
Walker’s hands were working at his belt and underwear, shoving all that fabric aside to get to what he wanted — needed, probably, since the first bloodbath of the day.
"No, man, I need it. Please." Lugo’s voice had turned higher, and he pressed his body back against the wall.
Walker didn’t give him an inch. Walker wasn’t in the giving mood. What he wanted was to take — and take he did, first grabbing Lugo’s barely-hard cock into his fist, then, a few pumps later, into his mouth.
Lugo’s chest rose and fell, and again, and he had to steady himself by leaning into the cursed wall for all he was worth, torn between two conflicting sensations. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be his Captain’s lay right now, sure, but he also didn’t exactly lie about at least part of the "why," either. "Fucking—"
"Lugo." Walker had just enough patience to give a final warning, but only just. "Not until I’m done."
There was something in those words, something that made Lugo freeze — a mix of command, possession, and his Captain being a piece of selfish shit — and he’d be lying to himself if he said it wasn’t somehow really fucking hot. "Right..."
Walker pressed his forehead briefly against Lugo’s hip, and got back to working his cock. Whatever apprehension he had lasted only until the taste of filth was washed away by his own mouth, and he moved his head with more vigor now, matching the rhythm with his hand.
The first graze of teeth was accidental. The second — after the gorgeous shiver that ran over Lugo’s body and the barked-out curse — was absolutely intentional. So was the rough grope of Lugo’s balls. Then it was Walker’s turn to groan, when Lugo tried to kick him and ended up fucking deeper into his throat instead.
Judging by the noticeably harder state of the cock in Walker’s mouth, Lugo, too, had some sins to confess; for now, though, just blowing him would be enough. And then, and wouldn’t it just be perfect, push him back into the concrete with all the strength Walker had, have the tip of that cock make him fight not to gag or choke, be pushed away, be used like a hole, be reduced to nothing until...
"Sir," Lugo half-moaned, half-pleaded somewhere above him, sounding pathetic — and it was wrong. Walker had to be the one pleading; he was the one standing on his knees, hoping to be relieved of command. He growled, sucking harder and all but fighting to be the one to submit.
Lugo replied in a string of moans, and finally started fucking into his mouth.
Good. Soon. Almost; except now that he was getting close, his bladder wasn’t getting any emptier, a constant push against the pleasure. It was frustrating — fight as he might all these days, now that he was hard, leaking into his Captain’s mouth and needed release, it wasn’t in the works. He wanted to – needed to fix this mess somehow, "Bro, you know dicks don’t work like that. Let me—"
Having almost gotten Lugo where he wanted him, Walker had to deal with being pushed back again at the worst of times. His irritation was quick to turn into anger, which melted into determination; fine. If Lugo wanted to resist, Walker would drag him past resistance.
"I don’t want to hear this again," He should’ve shoved his Sergeant, barked an order, shit, just used blunt force. Instead, Walker pulled himself off his cock — not missing the desperate thrust of Lugo’s hips into the air — and looked up, "This isn’t fucking about you."
Lugo scowled, "So I’ve fucking noticed, sir."
"Good."
"You’re fucked in the head."
Walker nodded from where he was on his knees. "You don’t like something? Well, here’s your fucking chance to put me down. Otherwise, you’ll take it."
"What?" Lugo swallowed hard, pulse hammering hard enough he could feel it in his ribs. His mind raced. Opportunity be damned, he couldn’t joke this one away; there were no words left that could save him, no lifeline, not even the luxury of calling in an airstrike on their heads. He just wanted to be done with all this, for fuck’s sake. Drop the load and hit the road. Shit couldn’t be any easier, and yet; amidst his anger, he heard his own voice say, "Lose all respect for you? Mission accomplished, Walker."
Walker’s eyes flared with a plea.
He didn’t wait for an answer; he swallowed Lugo whole in one go, taking him deep, and sucking harder until he tasted blood in his mouth. The heat, the taste, the strangled noises Lugo was making all drove a slow burn in his gut, and he almost reached down, touched himself – but no. This was what he needed, but not what he wanted.
Walker shifted his weight, and drove his fingers into Lugo’s hips, pinning him back to the wall. Then, after a brief glance up, slid one hand over his lower stomach, then pressed.
"Walker, fuck—" Lugo’s breath broke into ragged pants. His eyes opened, wide and wild, and he thrashed under his Captain, hips jerking against him in a violent, unsteady rhythm. It was a chain reaction; every motion sent shocks through him as all that sharp heat and tight pressure and pure want built up, higher and higher. "Fuck. Fuck!"
It twisted together with pleasure and the unbearable weight in his bladder, until the need became all-consuming.
He clutched Walker’s shoulders like a man drowning, caught in the mess of needing to hold out and knowing he couldn’t. A strangled groan tore from Lugo’s lips, then his hips bucked once, and that was it; his body took what he needed, releasing the muscles’ grip and letting him spill words and wet heat down his Captain’s throat. He would avert his gaze if he could, but alas, he couldn’t pry it away from Walker.
Walker, who just took it. He choked around the heavy flow, sputtered when he couldn’t swallow in time; Lugo watched his piss leak down his chin and all the way down his neck, soaking the fabric at his chest.
Walker, who stayed there, knees planted, letting it wash over him, fist desperately working his dick through the fabric of his pants to the thought that Lugo would never be able to purge this from his memory, that it would haunt him.
Walker, who fucking used him again, and looked so irredeemably good doing it, Lugo couldn’t resist touching himself either, now that he could.
"Jesus Christ," Lugo muttered, softer now, though his hand came up to the back of Walker’s head. "You really are fucked in the head, Cap."
He’d meant it to sting, but Walker looked like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear it; fuel to the fire, for both of them.
Neither of them lasted long, a quick mutual jerk off ending faster than their first ever one.
Walker was the first to rise.
"Not even gonna leave me your number?" Lugo remained where he was, catching his breath and eyeing, lazily, the mess that his Captain was — and then the absence of him. "Fine! Love you too!"