Silent Knight: A Fog City Novel

by Layla Reyne

  Brax ripped his shirt off over his head, then did the same with Holt’s tank. There was so much skin, so much Holt, Brax didn’t know where to start. “You are a gift, Holt Madigan.” He nipped across his collarbone. “This night has been a gift.” Licked into the hollow of his throat. “Gifts are a good thing.” Kissed the divot between his pecs. “And I’d like to spend the rest of the night unwrapping you.”

  “But if this is awkward…”

  “One advantage of you being on your way to San Francisco and me being on my way back to Afghanistan.” He turned and walked backward up the steps, giving Holt an out, making sure he still wanted to follow.

  Holt chased after him, lips colliding and hands roaming, never more than an inch, a breath, between them. “Sat phones are awkward anyway.”

  “Yeah, they are.” He hooked his fingers in the waistband of Holt’s jeans and steered him to the bed. “One night together. We enjoy each other before our lives take us opposite directions.” He could die next week; so could Holt. If he had this one chance, he would go for it. He was only hurting himself. “I’m okay with that if you are?”

  Holt laid a hand over one of his and dragged it along his waistband to his belt buckle. “Better than okay.”

  Brax leaned against Holt to catch his breath, his balance, his knees swept out from under him by this impossible reality. Holt held him up, a hand at the base of his skull, the other slinking down his spine and into the waistband of his jeans. The touch Brax really wanted just out of reach. He covered his swoon, his moan, by nuzzling Holt’s chest and inhaling deep, more of that fancy hotel soap mixed with sweat and Holt. Brax wondered if the San Francisco fog had a smell. If that was the indefinable scent, the taste, that hung around Holt. He lapped it up with his tongue, then lapped at Holt’s nipples while he worked open his buckle and fly. The jeans dropped with the heavy belt, and Holt kicked them away.

  Brax stepped back to admire him. Cast in the moonlight and the ambient light of the living area, Holt looked like a ghost on fire—his pale skin dappled with freckles and red blotches of heat, a smattering of auburn hair, and his cock tenting his red plaid boxers.

  Holt lifted a hand to Brax’s fly, the line work on his right arm coming to life, twisting and turning. “Where do we start?” he whispered.

  “That’s as good a place as any,” Brax replied, then halted the movement of Holt’s hand. “But first, you need to know I’m tested regularly, and I’m okay. You need to ask that of any partner if they don’t tell you like I just did.” He hated thinking of Holt with anyone else in the future, but he hated not giving him this lesson more. “And you need to tell them about you too.”

  Holt dipped his chin, the red creeping up his cheeks again. “I’m okay too. Tested, because regulations, but I haven’t been with anyone else like this, so…”

  “Okay, then.” Brax leaned in and kissed his embarrassment away, breaking only when Holt tugged at his waistband again, impatience and need revved back up. “As you were, Private.”

  Holt unbuckled and unzipped Brax’s pants, pushed them down, and Brax hissed as Holt skirted his knuckles down the length of his cock. Then hissed again as Holt dipped his fingers inside the slit of his boxers and teased the bare underside of his shaft. “I did this.” He lifted his eyes to Brax, and they were full of awe, hunger, and pride.

  “You did,” Brax replied. “And I’ll let you do something else about it soon. But first, I need you to sit on the end of the bed so I can suck your cock.”

  Holt wobbled, and all it took was a slight push to the center of his chest to topple him onto the bed. “Fuck, you keep talking like that and I’m gonna blow before you get the chance to.”

  Brax leaned over him, hands braced on the mattress, stealing a kiss, then escaping Holt’s incoming touch at the last possible second. Arms flailing, Holt laughed, the sound warm and lust drunk, as Brax kissed a path down his chest and abs. It was all Brax could do not to detour, to not set about tasting every inch of Holt’s big, hard body, but if the other man’s squirming, if his straining cock, if his muttered pleas and clenched fists were any indication, he wouldn’t be able to hold off his orgasm for long.

  And if there was anything Brax wanted tonight, it was to feel the hot hard length of Holt’s cock, to taste his come on his tongue. Sensing Holt careening toward his climax, Brax dropped the rest of the way to his knees, taking Holt’s boxers with him.

  Some sense of modesty must have kicked in because Holt moved to bring a hand down to cover himself. Brax grabbed it, tangled their fingers, and pinned Holt’s hand to the mattress. “No hiding. You’re beautiful. I want to see all of you.” Using his other hand, he spread Holt’s legs farther apart, making room so he could suck a bruise on Holt’s inner thigh before burying his face in the thatch of auburn hair at the base of his cock.

  “Oh God. Brax, I can’t—I’m gonna—”

  Brax cupped Holt’s balls and waited for his breaths to slow. “Not yet.” He lowered his head and licked a stripe over Holt’s taint, removed his hand and licked around each of his balls, then let his lower lip glide up the length of Holt’s cock. Holt’s hand in his clenched, all that strength that had tempted Brax was also tempting him right to the edge. “Fuck, Holt, what you do to me.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Brax, I’m gonna blow.”

  The precome leaking from his slit foretold as much. Brax lapped it up, then without preamble, the time too short, took Holt into his mouth, all the way to the back of his throat.

  “Holy fuck, that’s hot. Too hot.” Holt thrust his hips off the mattress, and Brax rode the wave with him, pulling back enough not to gag, sucking on the way, then flicking his tongue against the underside of the head before sliding back down. “Oh fuck, Brax, please.” The cock in Brax’s mouth swelled and heat spread under Holt’s skin, the blush and blood running ragged through his body. He arched his back and Brax sucked hard. “Yes, fuck, yes!” Holt shouted.

  Hot, thick come hit the back of Brax’s throat, and he swallowed it down. Greedy, feeding the hunger, sucking every last drop, and licking Holt clean until laughter above him broke through the lusty haze. Brax pulled off and glanced up.

  Holt’s arm was thrown over his face, but he lifted it enough to peek at Brax. “Jesus, that’s what they call high-school-level embarrassing, wasn’t it?”

  Brax gave Holt’s hand still in his a squeeze. “But was it good?”

  “Good is an understatement.” Holt used their hands to tug Brax up and onto the bed beside him. “I didn’t think I could do that with anyone.”

  “You definitely can.” Brax nuzzled his armpit, desperate for more of his scent. He inhaled deep, dizzy on it, stoking his own still raging need. He reached a hand down to stroke his cock.

  Holt intercepted it. “Can I?”

  “Please.” Brax shoved his boxers down and off, and when Holt’s hand closed around his shaft, he forgot what he was doing, forgot his own fucking name. “Yeah, just like that.”

  Holt’s grip was a little dry at first, a little tighter than Brax usually liked, but precome made the glide smooth after only a few strokes, and the tightness revved him up faster. He rolled onto his back and spread his legs, opening himself for more.

  Holt rolled with him, front pressed against his side. “Fuck, Brax, seeing you like this, knowing I did this…” He fondled Brax’s balls with his other hand. “Fuck, it’s making me hard again already.”

  Brax chuckled. “Stamina of a twenty-three-year-old.”

  He thrust his dick against Brax’s hip. “You complaining?”

  “Fuck no. Youth can win this one.” He pushed up into Holt’s grip and rolled his head to the side, opening his eyes. His heart clenched at the sight of Holt watching with rapt attention as he stroked Brax’s cock. “Feels good.” He slipped his arm under Holt’s and held his pelvis against his hip, eager to feel him, letting his imagination wander to how Holt’s dick would feel pounding inside him. Except as much as he wanted that, it really would ruin him
forever, and possibly blow Holt’s mind completely. But they were both building, and fuck if Brax didn’t want to come together this time. Wanted to share that with Holt too.

  “Come here.” He rolled Holt more fully on top of him and maneuvered him between his legs, their cocks lining up.

  “Oh fuck,” Holt cursed. But the “fuck” that followed did not sound like the good kind. Neither did the stillness that washed over his body. He lowered his weight onto his elbows and buried his face in Brax’s neck. “I fucked up,” he mumbled. “I don’t have condoms and lube. I was in such a hurry to get to the club, afraid I’d talk myself out of it, and I figured if I went home with somebody, they’d have that stuff. Do you?”

  Brax couldn’t help but laugh, some of the tension easing with Holt’s familiar verbal vomit and with at least one decision made easier. “One, don’t ever count on that. Two, I do, but it’s back at my hotel room.” Holt’s face fell until Brax hitched his legs higher, sliding them along Holt’s flanks, grinding their cocks together. “More than one way to have sex, as we’ve already proven,” he said. “And this is more than enough.” More than he thought he’d ever get. Using both hands, he held Holt’s face above his and kissed him long and deep, pouring every ounce of gratitude and desire he could muster into the kiss. When they came up for air, he grasped Holt’s wrist, brought his hand to his face, and licked Holt’s palm.

  Holt shuddered. Shuddered again when Brax guided the slick hand around their cocks. “Oh shit, Brax.”

  Brax nipped his ear. “Make us come, Holt.”

  Holt’s grip around them was just right, and Brax tried to memorize everything. More mental pictures. The feel of Holt’s body blanketing his. Holt’s thick, hard cock rutting against his. Holt’s strong sure grip jacking them together. Holt’s smell amplified to the max. Holt’s grunts and “fucks” in his ear. Holt’s taste as he kept returning for more kisses.

  When Holt’s rhythm began to falter, Brax covered his hand, steadying, guiding. Two strokes later, Holt howled and came within their grip. The added slick and riotous heat were exactly what Brax needed to follow him over the edge.

  “Holy shit, Brax, that was…” Holt collapsed on top of him, then shifted to the side, streaking come across Brax’s hip. “That was fucking amazing.”

  Brax buried his nose against his temple. “You were amazing.”

  Holt yawned, his body growing heavier. A twentysomething’s ability to pass out right after sex too. “I’m happy you were my first,” he mumbled.

  Brax knew he should get up, get a rag and clean them off, but everything felt so good—the soft mattress at his back and Holt right where he was supposed to be, in his arms and snoring lightly. His promise kept. “I’m happy it was me too.”

  Brax patted down his pockets, making sure he had everything. Keys, phone, wallet, candies. He popped one of the latter into his mouth, a deterrent. If he was sucking on it, he wouldn’t be able to suck on something else he wanted more. If he gave in to that temptation, he might never leave this hotel room, might irrevocably wreck the most important relationship of his life. Would definitely miss his wheels-up time.

  He eyed the lofted area, listening to the man snoring in the bed up there. He should just turn out the lights and go. But fuck, he did not want to leave that way. Not after the most incredible night of his life. Not when an ocean and a war were about to be laid between him and Holt with no guarantees when—if—they’d see each other again.

  He clicked off the lamps, the room cast in the waning moonlight. Outside, the dark sky was beginning to lighten from black to blue, the sun working its way up to the horizon. Brax approached the stairs with the same slow speed, taking the time to gather and fold Holt’s clothes, setting them at the foot of the steps with Holt’s phone on top. Climbing the stairs, he paused at the top, snapping another mental picture and adding it to the album from the previous night.

  Holt was on his back in the middle of the bed, a single sheet slung across his hips, his tattooed arm on the pillow above his head and his other arm stretched toward where Brax had slept too few hours beside him. The splotchy blush from last night was gone, leaving his skin pale, freckled, and lightly furred, but for the bruise on his neck that matched the one on Brax’s. And the one on Holt’s thigh Brax couldn’t see for the sheet. All that strength, all that muscle, was gorgeous at rest, same as it was in uniform executing maneuvers, or in a tank dancing at the club, or writhing naked below Brax as he sucked his cock.

  Brax’s gaze drifted down, following the line of coarse hair to the not insignificant bump beneath the sheet. Twenty-three, raring to go again, even in his sleep. Brax could just—He clicked the candy against his teeth, stopping the thought before it spiraled further.

  He raised his eyes to Holt’s face and kept careful watch as he crossed the room and lowered himself onto the side of the bed. Holt shifted toward him, blinking sleepily. “Cap?”

  “Shh, Private, it’s early. I’m wheels up at oh-six-hundred. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

  “I’ll get up.” He blinked more determinedly and planted an elbow on the mattress.

  Brax cupped his bare shoulder and pushed him gently back down. His skin was so warm. Brax wanted to touch more of it, all of it, again. He withdrew his hand instead and folded it with the other in his lap. “Your flight home isn’t until noon. You got an alarm set on your phone?”

  Holt nodded.

  “Good, go back to sleep. Phone is on your clothes at the foot of the stairs.”

  Holt relaxed back into the mattress, eyes fluttering closed, and Brax gave in to the urge to run a hand over his head, feeling the soft bristles one last time. Resisting the temptation to coast lower, Brax moved to stand, but Holt shot out a hand, grasping his wrist. Another question added to the list. Holt’s reflexes were more honed than the military taught. What was it he’d said once? That his family had made sure he could handle himself in one-on-one situations? Brax quickly forgot the quandary, though, as he met Holt’s gaze. Last night’s fire was gone, just fear there now despite the power of the grip on Brax’s wrist. “I don’t know if I can do this without you. You’re my best friend.” His voice cracked. “Tell me I didn’t fuck this up.”

  Brax settled back down and braced a hand on the mattress on the other side of Holt’s head, forcing Holt onto his back. He leaned over and kissed his forehead, lingering there. “You didn’t, and you can.” He drew back, meeting Holt’s eyes. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, Holt Madigan. Go live it.”

  Holt loosened his hold on his wrist and adjusted his grip, lacing their fingers together and resting their clasped hands on his chest. “What if I never find this spark again?”

  “You will.” It would hurt like hell for Brax, but the thing he wanted more than his own happiness was Holt’s. Happiness for his best friend, for the man he loved. Even more after last night. But in the current space and time, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. They were headed in opposite directions for the foreseeable future, and Holt had years longer than him. He had to let Holt live his life, and he had to live his too. “Hopefully you’ll find it with someone closer to your own age.”

  Holt blushed. “That didn’t matter last night.” He lowered his gaze and stared at their joined hands, his thumb caressing the side of Brax’s. “What about you? Your life from here?”

  “I’m gonna finish my twenty, then we’ll see.” Brax pushed off with his braced hand and sat up straight, leaving his other hand still in Holt’s and giving it a squeeze. “But if you ever need me, I’m only a message away. I will always be there for you.”

  Brown eyes lifted to his. Some of the fear still swirled there, together with an added touch of sadness, but also fondness and friendship that warmed Brax to his core. “I’m going to miss you. Not the desert, fuck the desert, but you…”

  Brax chuckled. “Go home to your fog, Private.” He started to stand, but Holt still wouldn’t let go.

  “Come visit me.”


  “I promise.” He lifted Holt’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles, sealing it.

  And his fate.

  Chapter Six

  The Next Day

  There was a message waiting for Brax when he arrived back at camp.

  Oski15: I’m home.

  A picture was attached. Holt, in that hideous orange flannel, arms outstretched, standing on a pier with the Bay Bridge in the background. Only half the towers were visible, fog as thick as pea soup swirling around the bridge and around Holt, obscuring everything else in the picture.

  Brooklyn11219: I thought you said the weather was perfect there.

  Oski15: It is :)

  Brax waited until later that night, when there was no one else in the office where the shared printer lived, to print the picture. He stared at it the length of one candy, then folded it and put it in his wallet. Back in his room, he tucked it in the frame behind the picture of his mom and grandfather.

  He’d kept his promise. The private was home. And the desert had never felt lonelier.

  The Next Monday

  Oski15: Same bat time, same bat channel?

  Their usual chat time had been the ass-crack of dawn with Holt on the East Coast. It would be the middle of the night in San Francisco. But maybe that’s what Holt needed. To stick to his routine and to talk to a friend when the nightmares woke him.

  Brooklyn11219: Roger that.

  A Month Later

  Oski15: I’m home but not.

  Brax set aside his sandwich, his appetite waning on a tide of worry.

  Brooklyn11219: Talk to me.

  Oski15: I left at 18. Hawes and I used to share a room. Weird at 23. Third floor was our parents’, but I couldn’t yet.