The Walls of Troy

by L. A. Witt

  On autopilot, I made it back to my apartment building.

  I went up to my apartment and collapsed on the couch. My mind was still reeling, and without the road to hold even a little bit of my attention, I could think of nothing except for Troy and this whole fucked-up situation.

  Neither of us had made a move, but those looks and silences in the study room had been too loaded to ignore. It was like we’d broken some of the ice recently but had still been keeping each other at arm’s length for no reason I could put my finger on. Until today. With no one else around, we’d dropped the act and actually talked, and hadn’t that fucked with my head?

  And then we’d come home. And he’d suggested studying.

  And why didn’t I believe him? Was I imagining that gleam in his eye?

  Goddammit, I was losing my fucking mind.

  Since my assignment kept me at his side for hours every day, it was only a matter of time before something gave. I’d never make a pass at someone I was guarding, but I’d have been lying if I told myself I’d say no if he did, or if he’d pushed just a little harder to “study” together tonight.

  Assuming I hadn’t been reading too much into that. I hoped I was. Because if I wasn’t…

  Fuck. We were both adults, but I was the one with the responsibility toward him. I was the one who was obligated to be the goddamned adult and put a stop to things before they got out of hand. Or before they got farther out of hand.

  I shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the front of my jeans, but that didn’t help. I was rock hard just from thinking about Troy, and that wasn’t going away any time soon. Especially not when my mind kept going right back to Troy. And his mouth. And his body. And those eyes. Fuck, those eyes…

  I rubbed my hand over my face. This was ridiculous. I didn’t need to do anything except take a fucking cold shower and get my head back in the game.

  Cold shower. Definitely.

  I stripped out of my clothes and refused to even acknowledge this damned hard-on as I stepped into the shower. I started the water warm for now, to see if that would help, but I wasn’t above turning it cold. The alternative was…no. Absolutely not. I was not jacking off to him. No fucking way. That would only make tomorrow morning hell.

  Right. As if that ship hadn’t already sailed.

  Exhaling, I pressed my palms against the wall and let my head fall forward so the water could rush over my neck and back. A stream slid over my shoulder, down my chest, and right along the side of my dick, and I clawed at the cold, fake tile wall as I twisted my hips just right to redirect the water. Which didn’t help. At all. Fuck.

  Just do it. A few strokes, an orgasm, and…

  No.

  I stepped back to douse my face with water, which of course let the warm cascade land right on my increasingly unbearable erection. Turning my back didn’t help. Nothing did. Nothing was going to help except either jerking off or getting laid, and the latter definitely wasn’t happening, because the only man I wanted tonight was the last man in the world I had any business fucking.

  Still. I knew damn well getting myself off to Troy wouldn’t make things any worse, but…I couldn’t.

  I thought about everything imaginable besides Troy. Old women. Horror movies. That softball game when Chief Young sent a line drive right into my groin, and how much worse it would’ve hurt if I hadn’t been wearing a cup. I even tried to call on the guilt of my Catholic upbringing.

  Nothing helped.

  I turned the tap to cold and grunted as the freezing water landed on my back. Goddammit. Even that didn’t do anything, and I shouldn’t have been surprised. Fuck that tolerance for cold I’d built up after jerking off in the shower on a ship. That had long ago taught me the difference between a half-assed need to blow off some steam or relieve some boredom—a little cold water always took care of that in a hurry—and the desperate, mind-bending tension that wasn’t going anywhere until I’d given in and gotten off.

  Fuck it.

  I turned off the water but didn’t get out of the shower, and instead braced my arm against the wall and closed my fingers around my cock. One stroke, and I released a low, throaty groan that echoed in the tiny bathroom, and I pressed my forehead against my arm as I kept stroking. My hips joined in, thrusting in time until I was fucking my own fist the way I wanted—needed—to be fucking Troy.

  I didn’t even know if he was a top or a bottom, and my mind played both possibilities out in the most graphic, mouthwatering fashion. Like a split-screen porno, I saw myself fucking him from behind, slamming into him with one hand on his hip and the other in his hair, and at the exact same time, I saw us bent over a bed, Troy riding me fast and hard while I jerked my dick just like I was doing in real life.

  “Shit,” I breathed, squeezing my eyes shut as I pumped faster, as the fantasies picked up speed and my whole body tensed. In my mind, Troy bucked against me, driving me deeper, and on the other side of the split screen, he reared back and roared as he fucked me harder, and I—

  Lost it.

  Just…lost it.

  My eyes rolled back. My whole body trembled. I didn’t even feel the cool air on my wet skin. Nothing existed except the tremors and electricity and the twin pornos of Troy in my mind.

  Panting and shaking, I stopped. I still held my hypersensitive dick in my semen-coated hand and, for the longest time, didn’t move.

  Damn it. My heartbeat hadn’t even started to come back down before the what the fuck am I thinking? set in. Sighing, I turned on the water again, let it warm back up, and rinsed off the sweat and semen.

  I dried myself off and stumbled into the bedroom, where I collapsed across my bed, my arm slung over my eyes as I tried to catch my breath.

  And now there was no escaping my brain and its not entirely off-base accusation that I was a fucking idiot. I’d lost my ever-loving mind. Getting this hung up on someone that young? He couldn’t even drink yet. I’d been able to drink longer than he’d been able to drive. He was an admiral’s kid, and my professional responsibility.

  Dropping my arm to my side, I stared up at the ceiling. Now that the most distracting tension was gone, and I could think again—sort of—I tried to examine things more objectively.

  Troy had never been as relaxed around me as he had been today. Confined to a room in the back of a library with an armed guard, he seemed to calm down a lot. He wasn’t the same guy who’d had a panic attack in a crowd. He wasn’t the sullen kid with an attitude.

  Which meant…

  The incredibly guarded personality was a front. That, coupled with the panic attacks, removed any doubt I might’ve had that something had fucked with his head. Which meant there was a possibility that having me as a bodyguard might not have been enough. I couldn’t protect him when I was away from him, like I was at that moment. I also couldn’t protect him from demons that lived in his head.

  He needed more protection.

  And something told me that whether Admiral Dalton was willing to admit it or not, Troy needed to see a therapist.

  I dressed in civvies and went back over to Admiral Dalton’s house. I slipped in through the back to the security office.

  MA1 Johnson looked up from some paperwork. “Hey, Iskander. You heading out for the night?”

  “No, I actually just came back for…” I hesitated. “Is the admiral home?”

  Johnson nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at his watch. “This time of night, he’s probably in his private study.”

  “Where’s that?”

  His eyebrow arched. “I don’t think you understand. He likes to be left alone when he’s in his study. No one goes in there.”

  “Duly noted.” I shifted my weight. “Where’s the study?”

  He eyed me, lips tight. Then he sighed. “Your funeral, MA1. Second floor, take a right after the stairs, last door on your left.”

  �
��Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “G’night, MA1.”

  I followed Johnson’s directions, and paused outside the closed study door. Voices came from the other side—sports commentators, from the sound of it.

  I tapped a knuckle on the door.

  A moment later, it opened. The man standing on the other side was definitely Admiral Dalton, but he’d dressed down for the evening. A plain white golf shirt. Blue jeans. He’d have passed for an average Joe if not for the severe haircut and the intense what-the-fuck-do-you-want? glare.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir. But I’d like to talk to you. About your son.”

  His eyebrows rose, and some of the hostility in his expression vanished. Without a word, he stood aside and gestured for me to come in, but didn’t invite me to sit.

  He picked up the remote off the armrest of his chair and switched off the baseball game. The remote made a quiet click as he set it back down, and my heart was pounding when he faced me. “What’s this about, MA1?”

  I swallowed. “Sir, given the circumstances of my duties, I need some more information. About why I’m—”

  “Your LPO and the rest of the security detail can fill you in.”

  “They’ve given me all they can, sir. This is… I think you’d be a better source.”

  He folded his arms and leaned against his desk. “All right.”

  “Has there…” I hesitated. “In the briefing, I was given to understand that the concern is about general harassment for Troy being gay. But is—”

  “Has something happened?” He stood straighter. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” I put up my hands and gestured for him to relax. “But I need to know if anything else has happened.” I lowered my hands and folded them in front of me. “In the past. Is there more to this than what I’ve been told so far, sir?”

  His lips tightened. “Why would we withhold that information? I’m trying to protect my son, not play games.”

  “I’m not making accusations, sir. All I want to do is protect him too. But I…I get the feeling there’s more going on.”

  “Such as?”

  I shifted my weight. “I’m… Well, to be perfectly blunt, I’m concerned that Troy is less worried about being harassed and more worried about being in actual danger.”

  Dalton swallowed. “Danger from…what, exactly?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.” I paused. “With all due respect, sir, is this why you specifically asked Commander Ricks for a gay MA?”

  The admiral’s eyes got bigger. “He told you about that?”

  “He told me he wanted me to take a particular set of orders. He said if I put in for them, he’d call the detailer and personally make sure I was given the billet. Given your son’s circumstances, I’m starting to wonder if it was you who asked for someone specific, not Commander Ricks, and not for any professional reasons.”

  We locked eyes. Anyone of my pay grade knew damn well I was on thin ice having this conversation with someone of his pay grade.

  But then Dalton sighed. “Look, my son has taken enough flak over the years for who and what he is. I only wanted to make sure he didn’t get any from someone who’d be glued to his side.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  He tightened his arms across his chest and inclined his head. “What are you driving at, MA1?”

  “Call it a gut feeling. One minute, your son seems to resent my presence, and the next, he’s practically begging me not to be more than an arm’s length away.” And every once in a while, he’s… I cleared my throat. “It just seems like something has him rattled, and—”

  “Wouldn’t you be rattled if someone left threatening messages on your windshield?”

  “Of course, sir. But…” I also know what it’s like to be scared like that, and it took more than a nasty note to do it. “The bottom line is, if there’s more to this, I’ll be more effective if I know what it is. I’ve tried to get answers out of him, but he clams up almost immediately.”

  Silence set in, just like it so often did between me and Troy.

  After a moment, though, Dalton exhaled. “All right, MA1.”

  My chest tightened. Fuck, I hated being right sometimes.

  He moistened his lips. “I’m only telling you any of this because I’m counting on you more than anyone else on the security detail to make sure Troy is safe.” His expression hardened. “Nothing we talk about leaves this room. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He pushed himself away from the desk and started pacing across the thick carpet. “To be quite honest, I’m not sure about the harassment. Or the notes. I know my son, after all, and I know his handwriting.”

  My stomach clenched. “So you think they’re fake?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t.” He stopped pacing and turned to me. “But that doesn’t mean he’s safe.”

  “I don’t…I don’t understand, sir.”

  He held my gaze, and my God, there was no doubt he was Troy’s father. Now I could see where Troy got that carved-in-ice exterior, and how he managed to let that exterior slip sometimes, revealing the uncertainty beneath.

  “The truth is, I don’t know what’s happening when he goes to school. What I do know is…” His eyes lost focus. He shifted uncomfortably, and then started pacing again. “MA1, you don’t get to where I am in the Navy without making a few enemies along the way. I’ve been…” He sighed. “There have been threats. Blackmail. Extortion attempts.” He met my eyes. “Some not too subtle implications that it would be a shame if something were to happen to my son.”

  My blood turned cold. “Oh shit.”

  “More to the point, there are individuals who didn’t appreciate my support of repealing DADT, giving benefits to same-sex spouses, things of that nature.” He took a deep breath. “There weren’t any direct threats toward me or Troy, but a captain with a gay son was told that all it would take is an allegation that her son was a child molester and—”

  “Are you serious?”

  He nodded. “I trust Troy and his judgment, and I know he’s no monster. But with a bodyguard with him at all times…”

  Something sank in my chest. “There’s always a witness and an alibi.”

  Dalton nodded. “Exactly.” He pressed his lips together and shifted his weight. “I don’t think the cowards making those threats have any intention of making good on them, but it seemed prudent to take precautions. When Troy claimed there were people making threats on campus, I couldn’t ignore it, even if it is a bid for attention on his part. And maybe it is. I don’t know. But…” He looked at me again, and the desperation in his eyes echoed what I’d seen in Troy’s a few times. “He’s my son, Iskander.”

  “Understood, sir,” I whispered. I shifted my weight. “Have you, uh…”

  He tilted his head. “Have I what?”

  I swallowed. “Have you ever noticed any signs of PTSD in your son?”

  “PTSD?” The admiral straightened. “No, of course not.” He arched his eyebrow, exactly the way Troy always did, minus the row of piercings. “Why?”

  I took a deep breath. “Because I have.” I explained what had happened the very first day, and at the festival, and those momentary panics he had since then.

  When I’d finished, Dalton’s eyes were wide. “So you think there is a real danger.”

  “I don’t know, sir. I don’t know if it’s real, if it’s in his head—” I cringed, expecting him to lash out at me for suggesting any of this was in Troy’s mind. When nothing happened, I went on, “All I know is Troy is genuinely scared of something.”

  “My God.” Dalton rubbed a hand over his face. “I was hoping it was in his mind.”

  “Do you think we’re dealing with the people who tried to blackmail you?�
��

  “It’s possible, but…” His eyes lost focus again. “Now that you mention it, Troy has behaved a bit strangely the last few months. I thought he was just moody, like he was when he was a teenager, but he’s been…withdrawn. Doesn’t leave the house much. When he’s home, he never leaves that dog’s side.”

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  Dalton leaned against his desk again. “Maybe a bodyguard isn’t the right approach. Maybe I should have Troy see a therapist.”

  That was a switch, considering how Max had thought Dalton would react to the mere suggestion.

  “Maybe.” I clasped my hands behind my back. “But I think he’d feel safest—and probably be safest—if I continued to work as his bodyguard.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Even if it turns out my son has some…” He sighed. “Some psychological issues, I can’t be completely certain that he’s not being threatened. And, well, if he’s not, but he believes he is, then he’ll feel vulnerable without you.”

  I nodded. “Agreed. And, um, one more thing, sir.”

  His eyebrow rose.

  “I can’t be with Troy all the time.” I straightened a bit. “Once he’s been evaluated by a professional, and assuming he is of sound mind, I’d like to teach him a few things so he can protect himself when he’s on his own.”

  “Protect himself how?”

  “I’d like to teach him to shoot.”

  He stiffened. “He won’t be twenty-one for a few months. He can’t carry a concealed weapon.”

  “Understood, sir. But I think under the circumstances, he should at least know how. When he’s of age, it’s up to him whether or not he wants to carry, but at least he’ll have the skill.”

  The admiral swallowed. “All right. Do whatever you think is necessary.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  I started to go and almost made it to the door.

  “MA1.”

  I turned around. “Yes, sir?”

  He pushed his shoulders back and held my gaze. “The other members of my security detail haven’t been terribly convinced that my son needs to be protected.”