Shadow Soldier

by Carol Lynne

  Aaron made a show of jacking himself off. A performance Deacon very much appreciated. Each tug of his dick punctuated with a grunt, groan or babble. Deacon knew he was staring into the eyes of the sexiest man he’d ever known. He thrust up as hard as he could while he pulled Aaron down firmly on his cock.

  “Oohhh, fuck!” Deacon howled as the first shot of cum exploded from his cock.

  “Yeah!” Aaron seemed to agree as he climaxed, painting Deacon’s chest with a silky rope of seed.

  Deacon eased Aaron to his side, withdrawing from his warmth. “I’ll go longer next time, promise.”

  With a contented smile, Aaron curled around Deacon’s sweating body. He removed the condom from Deacon’s cock and swiftly tied it into a knot, setting it beside the bed. “Next time, you should tell me which position is more comfortable for your leg.” He ended the sentence by slipping his lips around Deacon’s softened cock.

  Deacon reached down and brushed Aaron’s cheek. He’d never had a partner clean his cock so thoroughly after making love. The gesture touched him. As he threaded his fingers through Aaron’s hair, long dormant feelings within him rose to the surface. “I didn’t know that I would ever be able to love again after I lost Bobby.”

  Aaron released Deacon’s cock and crawled back up to rest his head on the pillow. “Tell me about him. Where did you meet?”

  Deacon rubbed his bare chest, the memories of Bobby still painful at times. “He was a bartender. I met him when I was stationed in Kentucky between tours.” He smiled, remembering his first love. “He was as country as country gets, but I knew the second I laid eyes on him that he was a kindred spirit.”

  Aaron threaded his fingers through Deacon’s where they rested on his chest. There would always be a place in his heart for Bobby, but Aaron was quickly filling every ounce of available space. “I appreciate you asking about him, but maybe now’s not the time. Let’s just lay here and make out.”

  Aaron grinned. “Sounds good to me.”

  * * * *

  “Kenny and Eli should be here anytime.” Luke covered the marinating steaks with plastic wrap. “So…you haven’t mentioned the incident in town.”

  Deacon took a drink of his bourbon. “Everything turned out okay, just an accident.” He stared out the big kitchen window. Priest was out in the small barn showing Aaron a new batch of kittens. “You know Aaron’s gonna fall in love and want to take one home.”

  “I guarantee he’ll fall in love. I swear that’s the cutest litter I’ve ever seen.” Luke grabbed his beer from the counter and joined Deacon at the table. “So, what really happened today?”

  “I told him the truth.” Deacon didn’t want to think of the near tragedy, let alone talk about it. “He freaked out and ran into the street.”

  “And you saved him,” Luke finished for him.

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his leg. Between his earlier sprint and fucking Aaron, Deacon’s leg was killing him.

  Luke tapped his bottle against Deacon’s glass. “You do a lot of that.”

  “I didn’t think twice about running in front of that SUV for Aaron, but it has me thinking. I know the situation earlier was an accident, but what if someone tries to get to him the way they did you? I lost Bobby because of this damn job. Is it selfish to put Aaron in danger?”

  “Blindly? Yeah, probably, but I thought you said you told him the truth. If he knows what he could be getting into, it’s his decision. Even if I’d known I’d have to go through that torture shit with Jeffries, I probably wouldn’t have changed my mind about being with Priest.” Luke smiled. “Especially now.”

  “He doesn’t know everything, just enough to know I can’t really talk about the other part of my life.”

  “That’s wrong.” Luke crossed his arms over his chest. “If you’re going to be honest, be honest for fuck’s sake. If he really cares for you, it won’t matter. Look at me and Priest, for example. I didn’t run away screaming when he told me, and Aaron won’t either.”

  “Speaking of, has Priest said anything about our earlier phone conversation?” Although Deacon had decided to tell Priest of his position in the agency, he’d begun to change his mind.

  “No, why?”

  “I was afraid he recognised my voice. I’ve considered promoting Midnight to my position and getting out entirely. If that’s the case, I see no reason for Priest to know.”

  Luke shook his head. “It feels like I’m lying to him every time he asks, and I put him off. You can’t keep doing that to me. Besides, I think he already suspects. He made a comment the other day that it was strange how close you and I have become in such a short time. You’ve never really told me why it’s so important to you.”

  “Would you want Priest walking around telling everyone what he did for a living? People in my line of work stay alive by keeping secrets.” He held up a hand when Luke opened his mouth to argue. “Even, at times, from each other.”

  “Promise me one thing. If he ever asks you directly, tell him the truth.”

  Luke’s friendship meant the world to him, so, despite his misgivings, Deacon made a decision on the spot. “I’ll tell him the truth tonight.”

  “Good. Do it now before Kenny and Eli get here. Go outside and tell Aaron I need his help in the kitchen.”

  Reluctantly, Deacon got to his feet. “Does Priest let you boss him around like this?”

  Luke winked. “Sometimes, depends on his mood.”

  * * * *

  Deacon wasn’t surprised to find Aaron on the floor of the barn surrounded by a litter of playful kittens. However, he certainly didn’t expect the scene to be so damn heart-warming. One kitten in particular seemed to love the taste of Aaron’s earlobe—he could relate. The black and white kitten instantly became Deacon’s favourite. “Having fun?”

  Beaming, Aaron looked up at Deacon. “I think your store needs a cat. I’d take one in a heartbeat, but there’s a no pet policy at the apartments.”

  “I agree,” Priest chimed in from off to the side.

  “I had a tabby up until a couple months ago.”

  “Really? You never told me that. What was his name?” Aaron shook one of the kittens off his arm when it began to play too rough.

  “Her,” Deacon corrected. “Tabby. She was the laziest cat you’ve ever met. The only time she got up was to eat or move to another sunny spot in the apartment. One day she just didn’t wake up.” Deacon shrugged. “I guess if you’re gonna go, dying in a warm sunny spot is the place to do it.”

  “I’m sorry. Do you think about getting another one?”

  “I’d consider it, but what if I have to go out of town for something?”

  “Well, if we’re still…” Aaron cut himself off and pulled the black and white kitten from his ear. “I’m sure you could find someone willing to cat sit.”

  Deacon wasn’t sure why Aaron had stopped short of offering his services, but he knew it was something they’d need to discuss without an audience. “Luke needs your help in the kitchen.”

  “Now?” Aaron asked, stroking the jumble of kittens.

  “That’s what he said.” Deacon stooped to snag the little black and white with his hand. He held the cat up and stared into his blue eyes. Noticing his markings, Deacon chuckled. “You’re too young to have a moustache.”

  Aaron got to his feet and brushed the dust off his jeans. He scratched the cat behind the ears. “He’s my favourite.”

  “Yeah, he’s pretty cute.”

  “Just think about it.” Aaron gave the kitten one last cuddle before leaving the barn.

  Deacon took over rubbing Groucho’s ears. Ahh, shit, he thought. He swore after Tabby died he’d never let another animal own him. “When’ll they be ready to take home?” he asked Priest.

  Priest tried to hide a grin behind his beer bottle. “I reckon he’s ready. I haven’t forced the issue because the longer momma feeds them the less I have to.”

  “Have you had them in the house at all?” Sure, he was trying to talk
himself out of getting the kitten, but if it hadn’t been for that damn moustache and those big hopeful eyes of Aaron’s, he wouldn’t have considered it in the first place.

  “Luke moved them out here this afternoon. I’ve been tiptoeing around the little peckers for nine weeks.”

  Deacon held Groucho up to his face. “You want to come home with me?”

  Priest cleared his throat. “Did you really come out here to pick out a kitten? Because I happen to know Luke hates help in the kitchen.”

  Deacon set the baby down to play with his brothers and sisters for a while longer. “I think the two of us should talk.”

  “Okay.” Priest gestured to a bale of straw. “Have a seat.”

  Deacon was grateful for the rest. He settled on the straw and stared at the kittens while trying to figure out how to begin the conversation. Glancing up, he found Priest staring at him through a narrow-eyed gaze. He knows. “Have you been to the hardware store lately?”

  Priest slowly nodded his head in understanding. “Yeah, bought a box of shells earlier today as a matter of fact.” He sat there for several moments before jumping to his feet.

  Deacon braced himself, prepared for whatever Priest threw his way. In a surprising move, Priest stalked over to Deacon and dropped to his knees. “You saved Luke’s life. If there’s ever anything, and I mean anything, you need, I’ll be there.”

  “Glad to see you’re not angry.” Deacon lightly jabbed Priest with his cane. “But get up, you’re making me nervous.”

  It was as if Priest hadn’t realised what he’d done. With a loud grunt, he got to his feet. “You ever tell anyone I did that, I’ll deny it.”

  Deacon grinned. It seemed Priest wasn’t as untouchable as everyone in the agency believed. It was nice to see the black giant had a soft spot, even if it was only for Luke. Once again, Deacon worried about bringing Aaron into the dangerous world he lived in. He’d already told Midnight he was planning to quit. Maybe it was time to make that trip to Washington. “As soon as Midnight returns, he’ll take over my position. In the meantime, I have to deal with the formality of handing my resignation directly to the President. I’d appreciate it if you could keep an eye on Aaron while I’m gone.”

  Priest nodded. “Just tell me when.”

  “I’ll let you know.” Deacon watched Groucho tackle one of the others. “Groucho’s gonna be a handful, I can tell already.”

  “Groucho?” Priest shook his head. “At least it’s more original than Tabby.”

  “Tabby came to me as a stray. I didn’t know how long she’d stick around so I didn’t want to get too attached. After a while, the name stuck and so did she.” Deacon reached down and scooped the kitten up. Groucho climbed Deacon’s chest and perched precariously on his shoulder.

  Priest chuckled and tossed his empty bottle into the trashcan. “You look like a gay pirate.”

  Deacon growled at the insult, giving his best pirate imitation in the process. He held onto Groucho and got to his feet. “You think Luke will allow this one back inside until we leave?”

  Priest turned off the main overhead lights, leaving on one bare bulb beside the door. “It’s not bringing him back in that’s the problem. You may have to do some fast talking to get outta here with that one.”

  Deacon walked out of the barn carrying Groucho. “I’m not worried. He owes me.”

  * * * *

  With the bodies of his fallen comrades grotesquely seated in front of him, Aaron struggled to keep pressure on the young boy’s shoulder wound. He closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the cruel jeers hurled his way from the men he’d considered friends. Whoever said the dead couldn’t speak had never spent two full days watching them slowly decompose while having guns trained on them by their murderers.

  “Look at what you’ve done to us. Is the boy worth it?” Private First Class Miller asked, half his face missing.

  “No!” Aaron screamed. One of his captors grabbed him, and Aaron did his best to fight the man off with one hand while the other continued to try and save the boy’s life.

  “Aaron!”

  Aaron heard Deacon’s voice and tried to warn him. “Get out, they’ll kill you!”

  “Aaron, it’s okay, it’s just a dream.”

  Aaron gasped and opened his eyes. He continued to struggle against Deacon’s hold for several seconds before realising he was at home in his bed. Pulling his arm out of Deacon’s grip, he wiped the sweat and tears from his face. “I need something to drink,” he said, throwing back the covers.

  “I’ll get it,” Deacon offered.

  “No!” he barked. He slid off the mattress and stood. “Sorry,” he mumbled, leaving the room. Naked, Aaron opened the refrigerator and withdrew a bottle of apple juice. He opened the top and drank the sweet beverage while standing with the door open, letting the refrigerator air cool his overheated body.

  The dream wasn’t new, just a variation of the same nightmare he had every time he fell asleep. Aaron finished the juice and closed the fridge, setting the bottle on the counter. The overwhelming desire to document the nightmare prompted him towards the small kitchen table. Pulling a blank sheet of paper out of the binder, he stared at the crayon wheel. As he stared at the hues of red, Aaron tried to remember the drying blood on the side of Miller’s face. He withdrew two crayons—mahogany and jazzberry jam.

  The thud of Deacon’s rubber-tipped cane against the laminate floor caught Aaron’s attention. “You can go on back to bed. It’ll take me a while before I’m ready to sleep again.”

  Deacon pulled out a chair and sat next to Aaron. He sat quietly for about ten minutes while Aaron put his dream on paper. “Tell me about it.”

  Aaron glanced at Deacon before going back to his drawing. “You told me you already knew what happened.”

  “I know what the report says, but the official version doesn’t mean anything to me. I want you to trust me enough to talk to me.”

  Although Aaron had confessed certain things to his superiors, and then again to Dr Pritchard, he’d never told the complete and humiliating truth about what had happened that day. “You won’t look at me the same.”

  Deacon pried the crayon out of Aaron’s hand and set it on the table before cradling Aaron’s much smaller hand in both of his. “If it helps, I’ll tell you the truth about the things I’ve done.”

  “Why would you do that?” Deacon was a decorated Marine. Aaron doubted anything Deacon had done in the line-of-duty could be considered cowardice.

  “Because I think you need to understand that not everyone comes away from war a hero, and that there’s absolutely no shame in being afraid.”

  “I can’t imagine you ever being afraid.”

  Deacon smiled. “Then you’d be wrong.” He took a deep breath, clearly building up to tell his story. “I grew up hunting with my dad. A rifle in my hands was as comfortable as breathing, so I figured I’d be the perfect Marine. Unfortunately, hunting and shooting at targets on a firing range doesn’t in any way prepare you for the real thing. I found that out the hard way, and it nearly destroyed me the first few times I was faced with a situation that went against my natural instincts to run.”

  Deacon drew Aaron’s hand up and kissed it. “What I’m trying to say is firing a gun at another human being doesn’t come naturally, not to anyone who’s sane anyway.”

  “But you did it,” Aaron said.

  “According to the report I read, you, and the soldiers you were with, were ambushed while trying to help an injured civilian. Even though the others died, you were held for three days before being rescued. How can you find shame in that?”

  Aaron curled his hand into a fist. “Because they didn’t want to go inside the building when the mother of the boy came running out to ask for our help. I begged them, finally telling them I’d go in without them if I needed to.” He stared at the partial drawing. “PFC Miller was the first to step forward, agreeing to go in with me. Corporal Valentine said he’d keep watch outside and urged
the others to follow us in.”

  Aaron cleared his throat, remembering the musty smell of the old building. “The woman led us to a boy of around nine who’d been shot. I rushed over and started to do what I could. I was yelling at the others to find me something clean enough to spread out my supplies on.” He shook his head. “That’s why they weren’t prepared when the men came into the room and immediately started shooting. In a matter of seconds, I watched my friends cut down while doing absolutely nothing to try and save them. Hell, for all I know, the boy was shot on purpose.”

  “Probably,” Deacon agreed. “But PFC Miller and the others were doing their job, just like you were doing yours. I’ve known a lot of medics over the years, and I’ve seen miracles performed right in front of my eyes, and never once did I wish those men and women were better soldiers.” Deacon pointed towards the drawing. “Do you honestly believe this is the way Miller would want to be remembered? Because each time you draw these pictures, that’s exactly what you’re doing. If illustrating their lives is the way you keep their memory alive, give them the decency to document their triumphs.”

  Aaron wiped away his tears before they could fall. “They talk to me in my dreams.” He picked up the picture and crumpled it in his hands. “I don’t know how to make them shut up.”

  Deacon scooted his chair closer to Aaron and wrapped an arm around him. “You shut them up by forgiving yourself for a situation you weren’t prepared to handle.”

  “Tell me how to do that?” Aaron begged. “Tell me how to go to sleep at night and not wake up screaming.”

  “I wish I could tell you there was a magic potion you could drink and all of this would go away, but it doesn’t work like that. I can tell you how I dealt with the guilt, but everyone’s different.”

  “How?” Aaron needed to know even if it didn’t help him.

  “I started a list. Well, not really a list, but a series of hash marks. Every time I returned from a mission, I’d get out my journal and record what I’d accomplished, lives lost in one column and lives saved in another. It cut me to the bone each time I had to put a check in the lives lost column, but when I compared it to how many lives I’d directly saved because of that hash mark, I began to see what my purpose was.”