Tight Quarters

by Annabeth Albert

  “Give. Me. Your. Hand.” Spencer’s voice left no room for argument. Fuck. This was gonna hurt, and more than just his pride. He gave Spencer his injured hand, swinging himself with his good arm, getting momentum to scramble up while Spencer pulled.

  “Thanks,” Bacon said once he was back on level land. “Thought for sure I’d yank you down too.”

  Breathing hard, his eyes met Spencer’s and for a heartbeat he was tempted to embrace the man out of sheer relief. But before he could get hold of himself, Spencer shook his head, dropped Bacon’s hand, and stepped back. Message received. No matter how much adrenaline or weird chemistry, Spencer wasn’t going to give in that easily. Which was good. One of them needed to be adult. Bacon tried to curb the disappointment that coursed through him. Fuck, I’m a mess.

  “I’m stronger than I look, and maybe you need to work on trusting me.” Spencer finally spoke, voice still firm and commanding, and damn if that tone didn’t do something for Bacon. However, there was a message in Spencer’s eyes that went beyond Bacon’s little tumble but they didn’t have any time for lengthy conversation before they needed to be back at the beach.

  Can I do it? The question rattled around in his head the whole way back. Could he trust Spencer to not say anything about his suspicions about Strauss? And even more than that, could he trust Spencer out in the field, rely on him the way he did his teammates, see him as more than a burden?

  Back at the forward base, he continued to wrestle with himself on the walk to the chow hall with Spencer.

  “Thanks,” he said at last, in a low voice. “You saved my ass out there.”

  “Well, I was hardly going to leave you dangling.” Spencer’s tone was serious, and he knew Spencer meant more than just the bluff.

  “You could.”

  “But I won’t.” Spencer pulled up short next to a building and looked Bacon straight in the eyes. “I’m a good guy. I promise.”

  And I’m the bad guy who wants to bone you so bad I can’t think straight. And fuck, the only thing stopping him from kissing Spencer was the fact that they were out in the open. He couldn’t guarantee what he’d do next time he was alone with Spencer, and that thought chilled him past the heavy island humidity, made his sweat run cold and clammy. Maybe it wasn’t Strauss and Lowe to whom Spencer posed the biggest risk.

  Chapter Nine

  Spencer was not going to kiss Bacon. He could have, back there on the trail when Bacon had slipped and been all jacked full of adrenaline and gratitude afterward. He was a master of reading body language, and all Bacon’s said was that he wanted to touch Spencer. And he’d given the same signal on the walk to the chow hall—flared nostrils, intent mouth, dark eyes that couldn’t seem to drop Spencer’s gaze.

  But Spencer had stayed firm. Aloof. He might be doing Bacon the stupidest favor of his journalistic life and dropping questions about the former XO, but he wasn’t going to compound it by starting something physical with the man. His source. Because that’s really what he was, why Spencer couldn’t even dream of acting on the weird pull between them.

  But he stayed strong through what was left of the day after they returned to base, sitting through several logistics strategy sessions, trying to focus on the job he’d come to do. Back in his room, he reviewed his notes, trying out different angles for a possible article opening. The longer he was here, the more his source Harry’s final texts weighed on him—Spencer wanted readers to see these men, see their work as important and vital and most importantly see them as human. Not myths. Not supermen. But humans, worthy of respect and protection.

  However, words weren’t cooperating the best that night, and finally the hot, sticky climate caught up with him and he needed a shower more than he needed another five hundred words. Stripping down to his boxers, he grabbed a towel, and not really thinking, he opened the door to the bathroom.

  Only to find a very naked, very damp Bacon in front of the sink. Damn, but he was gorgeous, auburn hair dripping onto his sculpted shoulders, tats standing out in stark relief to his pale pink skin. Little freckles dotted his shoulders and chest.

  “Can I help you?” Bacon raised an eyebrow. His eyes swept over Spencer’s barely clad form, lingering on his chest and boxers before returning to Spencer’s eyes, holding his gaze, heat arcing between the two of them. The moment seemed to stretch, and Spencer had to force himself to look away before he stepped farther into the room.

  “Sorry.” Spencer’s voice sounded rough, even to his own ears. How had he missed the sound of the shower? Or forgotten that this bathroom was shared? He’d had an inappropriate attraction to Bacon, almost from the start, but the tension between them had never been this...potent. Charged. Dangerous. He moved to close the door, but Bacon stepped closer, closing the distance between them.

  “Maybe you don’t have to go,” Bacon whispered. His eyes danced, expression almost playful as he trailed a hand down Spencer’s jaw. Spencer liked this side of Bacon far more than the grumpy SEAL who was put out at having to miss the action. This Bacon was pretty damn hard to resist.

  But resist he must. “We are not starting something with your roommate five feet away,” he hissed.

  “One kiss,” Bacon wheedled. “Way I see it, we can be quiet. And fast. And get this...whatever it is, out of our system. I’m not even sure we even like each other. I just know I need to know what you taste like.”

  Bacon made a pretty damn convincing argument, and Spencer let out an involuntary groan. Somehow he found the strength to put up a hand before Bacon could lean in, putting two fingers against his full, warm lips.

  “Like? You won’t even tell me your first name. Call me old-fashioned but I’m not kissing you without a name.”

  Bacon frowned. “You don’t need a name to kiss me.”

  “I’m not calling you Bacon in...an intimate moment.”

  “I’m not hauling out the candles and the jazz music here, Spencer. I just wanna kiss you and maybe jerk off. And be quick about it.”

  “Sorry. I’m not a Happy Meal with a side of fries at the drive-through window.” Spencer pushed around him to get to the shower, which he turned on. “And I hate to have to tell you this, but a five-minute quickie fumble isn’t going to get anything out of my system.”

  He pushed his boxers off and got into the shower then before he could do something absurd like kiss Bacon senseless to make his point that a little taste would never be enough.

  “Sleep well, Bacon,” he said before pulling the curtain shut, gritting his teeth against the impulse to haul the confounding man in with him. Luckily, another minute and he heard the bathroom door shut. Temptation gone. That thought should have relaxed him, but instead all he had was the bitter tang of disappointment. The water was tepid at best and no way was he going to linger and rub one out or anything like that. Bacon might be willing and oh-so-tempting, but Spencer could be strong.

  And he stayed strong through a long, restless night where even the A/C couldn’t seem to cut through his heated skin. At a meeting after breakfast, the LT announced that the mission would be a go shortly after dusk, the brass having decided that darkness would be the best cover. They’d head out in the Mark V in the late afternoon to be in position. The rest of the day was spent in preparation—testing out night-vision goggles, getting equipment and supplies set, and some mandatory downtime in the early afternoon since no one was expected to sleep that night.

  “Doubt I’ll sleep,” Bacon told him on the walk to the barracks. “But remember to stay in your room until I come for you.”

  “Too keyed up?” Spencer resisted the urge to offer to help him with all that adrenaline. He had a room with a door and a bed, which was all they’d need...

  Nope. Can’t go there.

  Bacon grinned like he knew the direction of Spencer’s thoughts. “Yeah. Always. Curly will probably sack out, though—he can sleep through anything. Includin
g maybe—”

  “No.” Spencer cut him off before he could make a tempting offer they’d both regret. He swore he could still smell the generic soap on Bacon’s skin, could feel the kiss they’d come so close to sharing. Even as his breath sped up, his resolve hardened. He knew what he had to do here. “I know you don’t think much of journalists, but I don’t sleep around on the job, and I’m for sure not fucking moments before we’ve got to leave.”

  “Fine.” Bacon gave an exaggerated sigh.

  “What brought this on anyway?” Spencer had to know. “Last night and again just now? You regularly make out with people you don’t like or what?”

  Bacon shrugged. “I get...impulsive sometimes. I’ve reined it in in recent years, but sometimes, I just get all restless and itchy. You make me damn itchy. And yeah, I know it’s all kinds of stupid and I’ll undoubtedly hate myself afterward but I still want it. Want you.”

  “I’m not doing anything where we’re going to hate ourselves after.” Spencer paused at the door to his room.

  “You’re a good guy, Spencer. Maybe too good. You could have made dropping the questions about Strauss conditional on me blowing you or—”

  “Never.”

  “I get it now. I really do. And weirdly, that only makes me want to do it more.” He stepped toward Spencer, close enough that Spencer could feel the heat rolling off him, close enough that all he’d need to do was lean...

  No.

  “Gratitude and impulse control are a bad combo.” Spencer’s voice was shakier than he liked. Then, because he only trusted himself so far, he opened his door, prepared to slip inside. “Get me when it’s go time. Not before.”

  Bacon laughed knowingly. “You’re going to regret turning me down.”

  “I know.” Spencer wasn’t even going to pretend otherwise as he gently shut the door in Bacon’s handsome face. The problem wasn’t only that he wanted to fuck Bacon. He wanted to talk more, wanted to know how his nose got broken, wanted to hear more about Jamie and his past, wanted to know more about these rogue impulses he got. In short, he wanted to know Bacon, and that was all kinds of trouble.

  * * *

  Bacon was used to friends and acquaintances going along with his impulses. Not that he was conceited, but he didn’t get turned down often, and whether it was an impromptu camping trip or a dare to eat weird food or semi-public fucking, he could usually count on his crew going along with him. Hell, more than one friend-with-benefits had said that was why they kept him around—they liked how spontaneous and creative he could get, liked it when he let go of his serious side.

  But Spencer didn’t. Didn’t want risky kisses and an easy way past the tension between them. Didn’t want to follow Bacon’s impulses, and in fact, made Bacon feel damn foolish for making the come-on. Twice. Twice he’d blatantly offered and twice Spencer had turned him down. Well, fine. He wouldn’t be getting a third try, and when he knocked on Spencer’s door, it was with new resolve to stop trying to goad Spencer into fucking.

  Spencer was right that it wouldn’t solve anything, and things were complicated enough. Plus, Bacon knew he shouldn’t even be contemplating screwing around. Which was honestly probably part of the appeal, but if Spencer could be adult, then so could he.

  “We’ve got a complicated insertion ahead of us,” he explained as they walked out of the building. Explaining what was coming was so much easier than dwelling on thoughts of what Spencer had gotten up to during their downtime. Had he jerked off?

  Stop it. Listening to his own order, he continued his report for Spencer. “Because of the distance we need to cover, we’re taking a chopper out to where the boat is already waiting for us, then we’ll be leaving from an undisclosed location—LT says no guessing for you in your article—in the boat, then doing the mission. Boat crew is already there. They did their insertion earlier in the day, probably using a ship or helicopter or both to get them and the Mark V in position.”

  “Neat.” Spencer’s face looked far younger when he was all eager like this, and if he too was plagued by what if whispers in his brain, he sure wasn’t showing it.

  “You ever see a Seahawk refuel in the air? You’ll get to see that here. It’s pretty cool.” Bacon forced himself to focus on the mission at hand. At the airfield, he went through the preflight checklist with the LT, making sure that Spencer had his night-vision equipment and everything else he’d need. The helicopter crew seemed as jazzed as the team, everyone buzzing with the adrenaline of a mission about to start.

  They had a long helicopter ride, one with a mid-air refueling, which, as always, was both nerve-racking and super cool. Right when he was starting to get impatient, the helicopter dipped low, hovering above the speck in the ocean that was their ride. He really wished they’d had more chopper practice with Spencer—he didn’t like the wobble in his gut as they transferred to the boat. Last thing they needed was for him to fall. Well that and for Bacon to start caring about Spencer more than he should. He shouldn’t be any more nervous over Spencer than he would over a green teammate. But luckily Spencer handled it as he did almost everything else, with the sort of competence like he’d been doing this for years, along with the rest of them.

  Then they were on the boat, helicopter darting away, leaving them to the boat crew and the next phase of the mission. The boat crew didn’t waste any time, hauling ass across the choppy sea toward the coordinates where they’d launch the smaller boats. The decoy fishing boats were already on board and ready to go. Night fell over the dark, seemingly endless ocean, and the swimmers on Team Alpha were away without a hitch.

  Bacon couldn’t quite calm the queasiness in his gut, though—it had nothing to do with the turbulent water and everything to do with knowing that things could go sideways at any moment. They transferred to the fishing boats far from view of any land, and as the island finally came into view, the feeling worsened. Other small fishing boats dotted the shore, reminding them that it wouldn’t be just them and the tangos on this island. Innocent lives had to be protected at all costs.

  They motored around to the backside of the island, which was more desolate, but still the risk of discovery remained as they headed to shore. In groups of two with very precise timing and stealth, they headed into the inky darkness of another tropical night, muggy weather weighing them down every bit as much as their equipment.

  Waiting for the go signal, he and Spencer were the last two away, and as they headed for the cover of the tree line, their headsets were filled with chatter of Team Alpha starting to reach their coordinates. Unlike at the practice island, here the hike was longer and hillier as they needed to get deeper into the jungle before climbing to a vantage point where they might be able to survey the island below them and see flashes of Team Alpha carrying out the mission objective.

  “I think I see them,” Spencer whispered urgently as they reached the top of the bluff. Sure enough, they had a view of a distant encampment of some kind—dim lights in an otherwise still night. He listened to his comm set as Team Bravo was still getting set and in—

  Boom. In the distance, an explosion rocked the quiet island.

  “That was too soon,” Spencer said right as Bacon cursed low. He was right. Timing was off for it to be the plan being carried out. Then right as he was about to try to rouse Riddles on the radio, another boom sounded, this one much closer, just down the trail they’d come from. Fuck. That tingling sense that things were about to go wrong had been right.

  “Bacon?” Riddles’s voice crackled in his ear, and Bacon switched his set to talk.

  “Yeah? What’s happening?”

  “We’ve got company. Your orders are to follow Plan Delta. Team Bravo is providing support for Team Alpha, which is engaged in a firefight. Be advised that you are ordered to Plan Delta, no matter the contingency. This channel will be going silent as—Fuck.” Riddles’s curse echoed in his ear before the channel did indee
d go silent. Repeated attempts to rouse him didn’t work.

  “Which one was Plan Delta?” Spencer asked in a low, almost inaudible whisper.

  “One they didn’t tell you about.” The LT had briefed him on this contingency the other night while Spencer had been in his room. His tone was every bit as grim as he felt. “We’ve got a long hike in front of us—gotta make our way to the southwestern tip of the island and not go back the way we came. There will be a hidden motorboat waiting for us. We take that to the rendezvous coordinates and await extraction.”

  “Wait. What?” Spencer didn’t sound alarmed as much as pissed. “Something’s gone wrong. They’re in danger—”

  “And so are we. Trust me, I want to go investigate, every bit as much as you.”

  “We could help.” Spencer grabbed at Bacon’s sleeve.

  “I know. But I’m not going to face a court martial for disobeying orders. We’re on our own now. We have to trust the team to take care of business.”

  He fucking hated this. The team needed his shooting skills, now more than ever. But as much as he wanted to play hero, he wasn’t about to throw away his career even though this plan sucked donkey balls. It was the get-Spencer-out-alive-at-all-costs plan, and he was the only one who could execute it.

  Chapter Ten

  Spencer’s heart galloped like he was at the starting line for a triathlon. They were on their own. Something had clearly gone very wrong, but instead of fixing it like every cell in his body screamed to, they had to beat a retreat. That didn’t sit well with him at all.

  “We can’t—”

  “Listen. We’re going to have to work together to get through this.” Bacon put a strong hand on Spencer’s shoulder.

  “Being an observer sucks.” Spencer couldn’t help his growl. They didn’t have time for an argument, but it still sucked.

  “I’m going to go first. You’re going to stick close.” Dropping his hand, Bacon pulled his weapon off his back, checked it. At least he got a gun. Spencer didn’t even get that.