Chief's Mess

by L. A. Witt

  “Are you kidding?” I ran my fingertips up his sides, making him squirm. “Your neighbors can’t hog all the noise complaints.”

  He laughed. “Fair enough.”

  “But maybe we should give them more reasons to complain tonight.”

  His laughter shifted to a gasp, and he arched as I ran my hand down his muscled torso. “I’m totally on board with that.”

  “Are you?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Good.” I leaned in and kissed the side of his neck.

  And then lower.

  And lower still.

  And when he went into his meeting tomorrow?

  There’d be a nice little bite on his inner thigh.

  I’d long ago come to the conclusion that meetings were a special kind of hell, but this one was worse than usual.

  On a normal day, I could sit through the command master chief droning on about . . . whatever it was he was talking about. I’d tune it out not long after I’d reached the bottom of my coffee cup. He’d email us a summary of everything he’d said anyway—which meant there was really no point in doing this at all, but it wasn’t my decision—so zoning out wouldn’t be the end of the world. I’d be fine trying to sit still when I was in that twitchy, barely awake state that came with the territory of waking up at 0330 and being forced to stay conscious at an 0500 meeting with the CMC.

  On a normal day, though, I wouldn’t have been distracted by a particularly sore spot on my inner thigh. Any other day, it might’ve been a dull twinge like any other post-sex ache or bruise, but Anthony’s dirty little suggestion kept my mind on that hot, throbbing spot where he’d sunk in his teeth. Like it wouldn’t have been any more or less erotic than the usual delicious collateral damage, but because he’d told me how distracting it would be, it was.

  Every time it hurt—whether from brushing against my pants, or when I absently crossed my legs and bumped it, or was just throbbing because why the hell not—my mind went back to last night. To the way he’d been kissing up and down my thighs, inching closer to my hard cock before backing off like the relentless tease he was, and the way he’d looked me right in the eyes before he’d bitten my thigh.

  That bite had hurt like hell, digging sharply into sensitive skin, and I’d instantly been on the edge of an orgasm. Just thinking about it now brought my cock to half-mast, and I shifted as much as I could without drawing attention. Thank God for these somewhat loose uniform trousers.

  “What about you, Chief Jackson?” The CMC looked at me. So did everyone else.

  “Um . . .” I blinked, heat rushing into my cheeks. “Sorry, what?”

  He scowled. Beside him, Will smothered a snicker.

  The CMC sighed heavily. “I asked, Chief Jackson, what you think about Chief Mason’s suggestion about dividing the Harbor Patrol sections into six instead of four? So that they’re operating on shorter shifts and we don’t have another incident?”

  Oh. Right. The incident. A couple of the guys on Harbor Patrol had dozed off the other day, and their boat had drifted into the pier where the carrier would normally be moored. Fortunately, the damage had been minor, though the boys on the boat were going to Captain’s Mast over it. Their supervisor had insisted the guys down in Harbor had been spread too thin and hadn’t been able to sleep nearly as much as they should’ve in order to stay awake and alert.

  I cleared my throat and sat up, ignoring—yeah right—the fresh throbbing in my thigh. “Well, I’m not sure we really have the manpower. I’d say, if anything, we need to look at the scheduling for those guys. When we do training on Tuesdays, the night shift guys have to come in at 0900 like everyone else, even though their shifts end at 0730.” I shook my head. “They’re not getting sleep because we keep pulling them back in at the convenience of day shift rather than accommodating their night schedules.”

  The CMC blinked.

  Will gave me a slight nod and a smile. Almost like he was impressed I’d pulled my shit together despite spacing out. I’d hear about this later, but at least I wouldn’t be getting reamed out for practically nodding off.

  The CMC went on talking, droning on about something I really, seriously did not give a fuck about right then, and Will and I locked eyes over the table again. He looked about as bored as I felt, but not nearly as distracted.

  Funny—in past meetings, especially when he’d first transferred here a few months back, he’d been the source of my distraction. We’d never done anything, but if ever I’d had an office crush, it would have been Will. He only had a couple of years on me, but he was already graying enough that he was creeping into silver fox territory. It didn’t hurt that we’d both made a point of staying fit after we’d been promoted to chief—there was a running joke that chiefs were issued a gut—and he’d done better than I had.

  But, now, looking at him didn’t do a thing for me. He was still hot, but he wasn’t Anthony. He wasn’t the reason for that damn bite on my leg.

  Fuck . . .

  After the meeting was over, Will met my gaze with a smirk. “Good save, Chief.”

  “Oh, like you’ve never spaced out during a meeting.”

  “Usually not with a gigantic grin on my face, though.”

  I covered my face with one hand. “Oh God.”

  “And now you’re blushing again.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Ahem. What?”

  I lowered my hand and glared at him. “With all due respect, Senior Chief, fuck you.”

  He just chuckled. As we headed toward our offices, he wagged a playful finger at me. “I know that look.”

  “What look?”

  “Oh shut up. What’s his name?”

  Well, it wasn’t like I could get anything past him. “Anthony.”

  Will flinched, his humor fading a bit, and I cringed inwardly. It was almost like he’d been okay with ribbing me right up until I’d confirmed that there was indeed someone, and that someone had a name.

  I didn’t have to ask why. It hadn’t been more than a month since his boyfriend of several years had moved back to California. Will had been tight-lipped about what exactly had happened, but he hadn’t been able to hide how much it hurt. Maybe when there were junior Sailors around, he could keep it under his hat. Maybe when he was focused on his job.

  But behind closed doors? When we were Noah and Will instead of Chief and Senior Chief? He’d admitted it had been harder than he’d expected. They’d been on the rocks for a while, but finally calling time on it had been hell. He’d been a wreck the day we’d loaded his boyfriend’s things onto the U-Haul, though. As soon as that truck had rounded the bend, and there’d been no one left but me and him, he’d actually cried on my shoulder right there on his front lawn. First time I’d ever seen the man shed a tear, and it had been heartbreaking.

  I kept my voice down even though the hallway was empty. “Uh, how are you doing, by the way? After . . .”

  He exhaled. “I’ll get over him. Man, it’s been a hell of a year for this command.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “MA3 Gibson is getting a divorce now too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. His wife turned in her dependent ID yesterday.”

  I whistled. That was the fifth divorce this year—even the XO and his wife had separated—and God knew how many breakups there’d been. Such was life in the military. “Shit. Let’s hope that’s it for this year.”

  He held up his crossed fingers. “And to answer your question, I’m doing all right. As well as can be expected, I guess.”

  “Well, that’s something.” We kept walking, and as we turned the corner that would take us to our respective offices, I said, “Oh hey, do you have any objection to me taking leave next Monday?”

  “Not unless Chief Davis suddenly drops a chit for the same day.”

  “Didn’t she just get back off leave?”

  “I think so, yeah. So you’re probably fine.” He paused. “Where you headed?”

  “Denver. To see Anthony again.
”

  He grunted softly. “Long-distance thing? That’s rough.”

  “Eh.” I shrugged, following him into his office. “He’d probably kill me if he was here all the time.”

  Will laughed as he eased himself into his desk chair. “But what a way to go, am I right?”

  I shivered at the memory of Anthony saying almost those exact words, and I couldn’t help smiling. “Something like that.” I paused. “Hey, you going out with everyone tonight for MA1 Robbins’s birthday?”

  “To Shamrock’s?”

  I nodded.

  Something unreadable creased Will’s brow and tightened his lips. “Are you?”

  “I was planning on it.” I grinned. “Why would I pass up a night out with everyone?”

  That unreadable thing intensified, but didn’t get any easier to parse. “You riding in with anyone?”

  “Chief Clay lives in my complex. He was going to drive tonight.”

  “Oh.” Will relaxed slightly. “I’m, uh . . .” He absently played with a pen beside his keyboard. “I’ll probably sit this one out. But anyway, get that leave chit on my desk, and I’ll make sure it’s signed off in time.”

  “Great. Thanks. And if you change your mind about tonight—”

  “Yeah, we’ll see. Have a good time.” His eyes added something unspoken, but I couldn’t quite make it out. He always seemed apprehensive when the precinct got together outside of work. Which I understood—technically, he and I couldn’t just go out with anyone below chief because it was fraternization, but as long as the invitation was extended to everyone in the command, it was allowed.

  “Well,” I said on my way to the door. “Have a good one. You know where to find us if you want to join us.”

  He smiled tightly and nodded, but said nothing.

  As soon as the wheels touched the runway in Denver, I turned my phone off airplane mode. The flight attendant was saying something about waiting to switch on phones until we reached the gate, but I swore half the plane was already returning texts and checking email.

  I immediately went to Anthony’s texts, and . . . nothing?

  That was weird. I’d texted him after I’d gotten to my gate, and when we were boarding, and he hadn’t responded. I’d assumed he was in a meeting or driving or something, but that had been a couple of hours ago.

  Something knotted in my stomach. Shit. He knew I was coming in today, right? We’d been talking about it last night, and this morning before I’d left for Portland.

  Gut clenched, I wrote, Wheels down—see you soon.

  If he’d forgotten, that would jog his memory. I hoped. And now that I thought about it, I really, really hoped he’d forgotten, because that would be a lot easier to swallow—and resolve—than any of the worst-case disaster scenarios bombarding my brain right now. What if he’d been in a wreck? What if—

  Don’t think about it. You’ll only drive yourself crazy.

  I focused on getting my things together as the plane taxied. I put a couple of drops of Visine in my eyes to make sure there was no evidence of the Jack and Coke I’d had at the airport and the second much weaker one I’d had on the plane.

  When we reached the gate, people began the aggravatingly slow exodus from the plane. Seriously, how fucking long did it take to pull a suitcase out of an overhead bin? Did these people not realize I hadn’t seen my boyfriend in a couple of weeks?

  And that I haven’t heard from him at all in a few hours?

  My skin crawled. Fuck. I prayed like hell he was in baggage claim—our usual meeting spot—with a wild story about dropping his phone in the toilet or accidentally running it over with the car. Or forgetting to charge it. Something.

  I’d find out soon enough.

  The passengers in front of me were finally moving, and I already had my carry-on in hand. As soon as I was off the plane and in the terminal, I did my usual speed walk all the way to baggage claim. The sense of urgency was different this time. I didn’t just need to see Anthony—I needed to make sure he was okay. That something terrible hadn’t happened.

  In baggage claim, I looked around, and my heart sank. No Anthony.

  “Noah?” A voice, but it wasn’t his.

  I turned to see Jay, his roommate, striding toward me. Okay, that was weird.

  “Hey,” I said. “Uh, where’s Anthony?”

  He grimaced. “At home sleeping. The flu knocked him on his ass.”

  “Oh. Really?” We’d chatted on the webcam last night, and he’d looked and sounded perfectly normal. Though now that I thought about it, his voice had been a tiny bit scratchy. But still. “He seemed fine last night.”

  Jay laughed and rolled his eyes. “That’s quintessential Anthony right there. He’ll insist he’s fine until he is one hundred percent not fine.” He motioned for me to follow him, and we started on the familiar trajectory toward short-term parking. “In his mind, if he ignores it long enough and hard enough, it’ll go away.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like him.” I fell into step beside Jay. “Is he all right? I mean, he’s not in the hospital or anything, is he?”

  “No, no. It’s not that bad. He made it to work this morning and everything, but then I guess it just hit him like a ton of bricks. He came home during lunch, said he’d sleep for a couple of hours, and then go pick you up. When I went in to let him know he needed to get going, he was pretty much passed out and burning up.”

  “Jesus.” I adjusted my bag’s strap on my shoulder. Slowly, the panic that had been building in my chest subsided. Anthony hadn’t stood me up, and he was okay. Crisis averted. Thank God. “Well, uh, thanks for coming to get me.”

  “No sweat.” He paused, spinning his keys on his finger. “And I’ll probably crash at my girlfriend’s place tonight, so if you want to sleep in my room, you’re more than welcome.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. The couch is probably fine if Anthony’s too sick for me to stay with him.”

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “Offer’s open either way.”

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

  Jay wasn’t kidding—Anthony was out cold. I’d gone into his bedroom to say hello, and he was sprawled under his covers, snoring like anyone would if they were that congested. His fever practically radiated off him.

  I decided not to wake him up, and slipped back down to the kitchen, where Jay was pouring us a couple of cups of coffee.

  He slid one across the counter. “Still asleep?”

  “Racked out.” I shook my head as I wrapped my hands around the cup. “I’m kind of concerned now. With a fever like that, should he see a doctor?”

  A bark of laughter burst out of Jay. “Good luck with that.”

  “Not a fan of doctors?”

  “Going to a doctor would mean admitting he’s sick enough to need one.” He tilted his coffee cup toward the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. “That dude could have a limb hanging off and he’d still insist he just needs to rub some dirt on it.”

  “So, the Black Knight from Monty Python?”

  “Yes!” Jay threw his head back and laughed. “Oh my God. Totally.”

  I chuckled as I sipped my coffee.

  Sobering a bit, Jay glanced toward the stairs. “I was honestly surprised when he came home early from work.”

  “He must be really sick, then.”

  “Or he was just that determined to be back to normal before you got here.” Jay rolled his eyes. “I could see power napping a cold away, but not this.”

  “Apparently not.”

  My mom often joked that my dad and brother—and yeah, me—were prone to the man flu. One sniffle, and we were down for the count. The Navy had forced me to get over that. You couldn’t exactly call in sick unless you were sick enough to be confined to bed or medical. But I could still be miserable and somewhat pathetic about it.

  The man flu didn’t include a fever that was nearly visible to the naked eye. Anthony was sick as a dog. No doubt about it.

  Jay’s girlfriend w
asn’t off work for a couple more hours, so we hung around and shot the shit over coffee. He was a nice guy. Managed a sporting goods store not far from here, and somehow found the time to go to school in between. No wonder he needed a roommate to stay afloat. Though he and Anthony seemed to have a good thing going. They didn’t squabble over household things, took turns taking out the trash and doing the grocery shopping, and had similar tastes in everything from décor to music.

  Around five, Jay drove me to the supermarket to grab a few things, and he gave me a quick tour of the kitchen so I could cook. Then he took off to meet his girlfriend, reminding me again that I could sleep in his bed if the couch wasn’t comfortable.

  After he’d gone, I went to work in the kitchen—chopping vegetables, cooking a couple of chicken breasts, seasoning the thin broth and hoping I wasn’t fucking it up.

  A hacking cough occasionally came from upstairs, but that was about it. Then a door opened. Quiet footsteps made the hallway above my head creak, and to my surprise, they started down the stairs.

  Anthony appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing nothing but a pair of black sweats. His hair was rumpled, and his fair skin was somehow both flushed and pale at the same time.

  His sleepy eyes widened. “Noah. You’re—” He blinked, and horror filled his expression. “Oh God. I completely—”

  “Relax.” I gave the pot a glance, then came around the kitchen island. “Jay told me this thing kicked your ass.”

  “Jay . . .” He blinked again, like he was struggling to put the pieces together.

  “He picked me up at the airport.”

  “Oh. Jesus.” Slowly, like it took a lot of effort, he scrubbed his hands over his face. “I am so sorry.”

  “Sorry? You’re sick, Anthony.” I put an arm around his shoulders and gently drew him in. “Unless you poisoned yourself to avoid me, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  He laughed halfheartedly, and muffled a cough. He put his other hand on my chest. “You don’t want to catch this. Trust me.”

  “The Navy makes me get a flu shot. I’ll take my chances.” I drew him the rest of the way into a hug, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. His skin was cooler now. Still warm, but not enough to blister my lips or something. “Your fever’s come down.”