He saved me.
The thought was strange and distant and yet it rolled around my skull and out of my sticky mouth as a hoarse whisper. After that samurai burst from the shack, sword piercing my skin like my scream pierced the night, I thought I was going to die. The blade slid through my shoulder as I gazed into his cold, bloodshot eyes. But then, like wind, Roebuck was there, tearing the soldier off me, ending his life with a blade of his own. I gripped the sand in pain, looking up at Roebuck and he smiled down at me.
Miller!" he screamed above the din, "We're going!" and he took me by the collar and dragged me across the shore. As he threw me headlong into the raft, it was upon me.
"He saved me." No one heard me say it, least of all him; there was too much gunfire, too much noise in the air. But the fact remained and persisted, pervading each and every numb thought. I barely heard the water against our raft and the explosion that rocketed from that godforsaken beach was nothing compared to the ringing in my ears. All I could hear, all I could see, was him.
"He saved me…" I whispered. "Again."
Twice now I owed Roebuck my life. The POW camp was my own brief, personal hell, and I only live through it because he had saved me. His arm brushed against my wounded shoulder as he turned for a final glance at the devastated beach, but I did not flinch. I did not feel the cut – I only felt him.
We floated down the dark river for awhile, Roebuck, me, and half a dozen other soldiers. All around us were black trees, glowing strangely in the lunar light. Eventually, our rafts bumped against another shore and we disembarked in complete silence. My stab wound made its presence known by then, aching rhythmically with my heart beat. I must have winced or cringed or shown some other sign of my suffering because Roebuck, after meeting my eyes for a fleeting instant, shouldered his pack and mine. Not a word was exchanged between us, save for the gratefulness of my smile and the affirmation of his nod.
We took a lightly worn path into the muggy forest, eyes narrowed in the darkness. Fifteen minutes our trek lasted before we emerged into a freshly cut clearing. Before us lay clumsily assembled tents arranged in a crude circle with a wooden structure sitting squarely in the middle. His hand rested on my uninjured shoulder as we entered camp. Some of the men walked toward the tents, weary minds bent on sleep. When I made to follow, Roebuck stopped me and led me inside of the rough wooden building instead. The interior was simple and clean, with three little rows of white, plain cots. Three of the walls had counters, which all had labeled drawers. Roebuck guided me to the closest cot and gestured for me to sit down.
"This is a field clinic," he explained when he noticed my furrowed brow.
"Oh, of course it is," I muttered lamely. I sat down and swung my legs, boots and all, onto the bed. I did not lie down, but propped my back against the metal headboard. Roebuck opened a drawer at one of the counters and busied himself.
"No doctors around right now," he called over his shoulder as he scrubbed the grime off his hands. "We'll have to fix that cut ourselves." He turned around with a brown bottle in one hands, and a towel and a sewing kit in the other. He wore an apologetic expression on his face.
"I appreciate it," I responded quietly. I removed my coat carefully, avoiding the wound. My undershirt slid off next, and I gingerly and slowly removed the fabric, leaving my torso exposed. Roebuck pulled a chair to the bedside and began to work. He poured a little of the liquid from the brown bottle onto the towel and dabbed at the cut. My arm exploded into a stinging sensation and I hissed at the pain.
"Fight through it," Roebuck encouraged, "You're stronger than this." Then he threaded the needle and began to stitch the wound.
"This is gonna hurt," he warned as the needle entered my skin. I shivered suddenly, not from the rubbing alcohol, and not from the cold needle, but from his hot rough hands. As he stitched, his face inched closer to mine, eyes always focused on the needlework. I could feel his breath on my neck, laced with cigarette smoke. He smelled like dirt and sweat and I reeled at the very scent.
I felt as if somebody poured water over me during a pleasant dream when Roebuck jerked away and broke the thread, tying a strong knot.
"There," he sighed examining his handiwork, "I think that's the best I can do." He wiped his hands on the towel and I looked at him.
"Thanks, Roebuck," I said gratefully. He winked at me playfully.
"Ah, what are friends for?" he said, smiling. "I've never left a man on the battlefield, not if he was breathing."
"Well," I said, flushing faintly, "I meant about before." He frowned at me.
"What do you mean?" he asked. I blushed a little deeper.
"I just wanted to say thanks for… you know," I mumbled as I fidgeted, "saving me out there. I owe you my life, Roebuck." He waved his hand dismissively at me.
"Nonsense. You would have done the same for me. I'm sure of it." I shrugged, forgetting momentarily about my shoulder, and winced as I stretched the stitches.
"Careful now," he said, leaning over close to me. "You don't want to rip 'em out." His face was only an inch away, so close that I could see the rough stubble forming on his chin. Abruptly, for he wasn't expecting it and neither was I, I leaned forward and kissed him. Our lips met for a second too long before he pushed me back.
"What the hell was that?" he growled at me.
"I said I was thankful. And I didn't really know how else to express it." It was a lame excuse, but it was at the same time very true. The room was quiet for a few moments before I spoke again.
"You didn't pull away," I said, half teasing, half serious. His expression was exasperated, but he broke into a grin.
"That's… true," he admitted sheepishly. I stood up and he stepped forward so that our chests were almost touching. He looked me over for a moment, and I couldn't read his thoughts from his clouded eyes. But then he raised his arms and allowed his hands to trace shapes on my bare chest. I trembled at his touch, and he leaned forward when he heard me gasp. Again our lips met, but this time, passion and want were present. His rough hands gripped me tight, pulling my frame into his arms. His teeth crawled along my collarbone and his tongue trailed lightly on my skin. He kissed my neck, then my chest, then my stomach and paused for an instant at my belt. He looked up at me, his eyes shining mischievously, and spoke in barely a whisper.
"Ready for this?" he asked. I nodded stiffly and his deft hands soon had my pants around my knees. His mouth teased me through the fabric of my boxers, and I ran my hands across his short hair. He pulled the cloth away and made a very approving noise as he stared at my manhood. Slowly, painfully slow, his warm, wet mouth engulfed my member and my knees buckled. His tongue moved expertly along my shaft, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. I thrust impulsively into his mouth and he pulled me in, wanting more. I moaned softly and he chuckled, the vibrations in his throat creating an unbearable sensation on my cock. I held his face in my hands as I fucked his mouth, exploding into his throat. He gurgled his approval and swallowed nosily with my member still in his mouth. I was gasping for air when he stood and he bit his lip as he looked at me.
"Your turn, Miller," he whispered into my ear. I lay back down on the bed as Roebuck stood by the cot, placing my ankles on his shoulders. He held my thighs in his hands and his hips moved forward slowly. His member slid into me and we groaned in unison when he had fully entered. He pulled almost all the way out and then entered again. Each time he increased the tempo I was begging him to go faster. His cock was created something unlike any feeling that I had ever felt before. Upon each entry, his manhood would brush against a certain area that soon had me hard again. As he pumped into me, I began working my own member to the same pulse. I felt my climax coming again and I fought for control as I neared it. Another helping splattered onto my stomach and chest, spilling onto my hands. At the same time, Roebuck growled loudly and I felt him spill into my insides, coating everything with semen.
He collapsed on top of me, kissing my face and neck and licking at the wet spots on my chest.
"You tightened up," he gasped, "and I couldn't take it anymore." I let out a short laugh and hugged him, returning his kisses. I barely felt my shoulder. All I felt was Roebuck and our throbbing shafts that were hard and wedged between our tightly pressed bodies.