Hello to all my readers! I know it's been awhile since I last posted anything, but I promise I haven't stopped writing! And to that end, I present what I'm calling a 'joke-fic' inspired by AshleyBudrick, author of the VERY excellent "Love Of A Spartan" canon. It started as a joke, which morphed into a oneshot, and eventually turned into a two-part story: since the Master Chief is taken in the LOAS universe, I decided to explore a possible "unresolved sexual tension" issue between BLADE and Fred-104, stemming from the fact that she roundly kicked his behind in "The Secret Spartan." I also wrote this in a completely different form than my usual style: everything is written from BLADE's first person POV, and it might seem a little chaotic.
Okay, enough with the summary-on to the show!
Disclaimer: I don't own Halo. Sergeant Renee Kilburn belongs to AshleyBudrick.
Love of a Spartan: Frederic-104
Part One
Anyone that's ever seen me interact with the other SPARTAN-IIs can tell I have issues with them. Mostly trust issues—I still don't know if they have orders to terminate me or not—but occasionally it's just a case of egos. Where Frederic-104 was concerned, ego was EVERYTHING: I'd kicked his ass royally during a sparring session, and since hand-to-hand was kind of his specialty he took it a bit personally. And by a bit, I actually mean a lot; I never thought it was possible for a Spartan to hold a grudge! Unfortunately, grudges and suspicion seemed to be coming to the forefront more often than not lately.
Ever since the war ended I'd been cooling my heels at Camp Hayes, right up until the whole damn gang of Spartans showed up right on my doorstep: Twos, Threes, and a squad of Helljumpers to boot! It was funny in a way, since they needed my help with an old Forerunner message, and before you know it I'm on a ship heading off on yet another mission—probably my last hurrah before ONI finally gets their body (and by their body, I actually mean mine). Of course, it wasn't just me, I asked Kilburn to come along, for two reasons: A). I wanted someone there that I could trust with my life, and B). I didn't want to interrupt the hand-to-hand and knife lessons I'd been giving her. The kid was coming along beautifully, that was for sure.
The downside of continuing her hand-to-hand lessons on board the ship was that the Spartans tended to show up. I still hadn't figured out why they were all popping up at the same time, but I swear by every single divinity in the universe that it wasn't a coincidence; best guess, they're keeping an eye on Kilburn. Yeah, the Chief may have his head up his ass, but he's still very protective of his little sergeant. Honestly, I think he's still in love with her, but he still can't decide if he's all in or all out: and, as far as I'm concerned, if he can't make up his mind then he doesn't deserve her, but that's just me.
One thing I was pretty quick to notice was that Fred was showing up at every single session—though he kinda tipped me off when he decided to start trying to spar with me after "class." He was certainly a lot better than the last time I'd kicked his ass, and somewhere along the way he'd picked up a few surprise moves and a ruthlessness I admired. Unfortunately for him, I was still better, and if I really wanted to I could still pin him to the mat in a few moves—but, honestly, I kinda liked having a proper workout for once.
Unfortunately for me, I was starting to enjoy these sparring sessions a little too much. That was my best guess, at least, given the odd sensations I was feeling during grappling sessions: heat flashes, an overly high adrenaline surge, and a strange tingling sensation. Why, I have no idea, but the only other time I'd had any of those particular symptoms was when I was reading all those contraband novels—and it was nowhere near as intense as when I was grappling with Fred in the gym. I'm pretty sure the smart move would've been to avoid all contact with the Spartan and figure out what was going on, why I was suddenly feeling these sensations—though I was fairly sure it was a pretty good case of sexual attraction, if my various paperbacks were any indication—but I was never that smart. And, I was something of a habitual creature, so asking me to change my routine without a damn good reason is pretty much impossible.
Further proof that I was dumber than a box of rocks, in this case, was the fact that I was simultaneously trying to spar with an incredibly skilled SPARATN-II and puzzling out what in the hell was going on in my head—and anyone who knows me knows that's just not going to end well. That was the only reason Fred was getting the best of me—the sneaky bastard had already gotten some good hits, and I was starting to get extremely frustrated in EVERY sense of the word. Frustrated, horny, irritated with myself—yeah, I should've been avoiding this guy.
"Having problems there?" Fred smirked as I spun out of the way, narrowly dodging a strike.
"Maybe I just have a lot on my mind today," I grunted, hooking a leg behind his ankle and pulling forward. He still hadn't caught on to that trick, and I had him on his ass. Not one to let an advantage slide, I moved in for the "kill"—a simulated neck-break—but Fred was ready; the sneaky bastard swept a leg out and dropped me, coming from behind to pin me to the mat with his body weight. I'm sure it would have made an interesting picture: me on my stomach, arms pinned to the mat, and a male Spartan body all but squashing me. Interesting? I meant awkward, especially after I felt something hard against my ass….oh hell, there goes that tingling thing again!
"Must be something really important, I've never known you to throw a match," Fred's voice rumbled in my ear, a lot lower and darker than I had heard before. And oh my Lord, was it having an effect! How just speaking to someone could be that intense, I had no idea, but hopefully he didn't notice the hitch in my breathing. Shaking my head I broke my arms loose and pushed our combined bodies off the mat, throwing him off my back and whirling into a combat stance.
"The only thing I'm gonna be throwing today is you, dipshit!" Yeah, I was a bit pissed. Normally I don't start throwing kicks around during a sparring session, but this was far from a normal situation. Between the hormones and the fact that Fred was actually beating me at my own skill set, I was confused, angry, and out for blood. Bringing my right foot up, I launched a kick at his head, which he dodged and countered with a blow to my ribs. I spun out of the way, grabbed his hand, and yanked him off-balance, trying to bring my elbow down on the base of his skull—a crude combat move, at least compared to my usual methods, but fairly effective when properly applied. Sadly, today was one of my off days, and I found myself spun around and pinned to the wall, my arms above my head, and Fred too close for comfort. Usually when I get pinned like this I pull off some of my dirty tricks—oh, I have a whole mess of them—but against a Spartan it would have been difficult. That, and for some reason I wasn't able to do more than stare at him. Damn it, did he have to be good-looking? Yeah, sure, he was a bit scarred up, but it made him look rugged and manly….Snap out of it!
"I win," Fred rumbled, his voice still that low pitch that was doing strange things to my body: tingling all over, my legs were shaking, I couldn't breathe—this was like a scene from one of my novels! I swallowed, hoping to God I didn't look as uneasy as I felt, this was all really strange. I tried—really, I tried—to look anywhere else, but it was like my eyes were drawn up; I couldn't look anywhere but at his face.
"What do you win?" Oh God, did I really just say that? And it didn't even sound like me, my voice doesn't get like that! All low and breathy and….wait, why is he leaning forward? He's not….is he? I didn't even get a chance to react before he was kissing me. And oh my God, it was more incredible than anything I'd felt before—nothing like those trashy novels, there was no tongue, but WOW! Well, there wouldn't be no tongue for long: recalling one of many scenes I'd read, I slipped my tongue in his mouth and slid it along his. It didn't take long before he figured it out, and things were starting to REALLY heat up. The grip on my arms was loosening up, and I was beginning to think that trying to pull him closer was a good idea….
"Well, now, don't let me interrupt," a familiar sarcastic voice drawled from the doorway, snapping us both back to reality. Oh God, Buck! Of all the people….Fred backed up just enough for me to see him AND the Master Chief in the doorway; while John just looked surprised, Buck had the biggest grin on his face, and I swear he looked like Christmas had come early. As if things couldn't get any worse….Shoving my way out from between Fred and the wall, I got the hell out of the gym. I wasn't sure where I was going, but right now the last thing I needed was company.
Two hours and a cold shower later, I slipped into the mess hall and got into line to try and get some food—hopefully without being noticed by a certain group of Helljumpers. Knowing Buck, he'd most likely filled in the rest of his squad as soon as he could, if for no other reason than to embarrass the Spartans, and from what I had already seen of the man it would definitely NOT be forgotten anytime soon. Fortunately, I had a lot of experience with blending in—a natural consequence of SpecOps missions—and had made myself as inconspicuous as possible, trading in my usual blacksuit and braid for loose fatigues, a tank top, and a ponytail. If you ignored the fact that I was about two meters tall and considerably more built than the average Marine, not to mention more scarred, I looked just like one of them. And, to be honest, it felt good to shed my skin for a bit; I was still armed, of course, but my knives were concealed in my boots instead of at my waist.
Grabbing a tray of unidentifiable mystery food without incident, I retreated to a corner and ate, using the challenge of keeping my food down to think about what happened earlier with a clear head. Thanks to my minor—okay, not-so-minor—addiction to smut, I could recognize some of the signs of physical attraction, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out how it all started. Unless there was some truth to the phrase "opposites attract?" Trying not to gag on another mouthful of…stuff, I felt someone watching me; a brief glance up showed me a smirking Gunnery Sergeant Buck holding court with his squad. I nodded briefly before returning to my meal….ah hell, my appetite's shot anyway, this shit's just awful. I grabbed my tray and returned it to the kitchen (still half full, that was just embarrassing) before exiting the mess hall.
Since I'd given up on the mystery meal, I figured I'd head back to my quarters; my musings had left me a little, well, tense, and I was hoping that some stretches or meditation might help. Yes, I meditate occasionally, and it does help center me when I'm rattled. And actually, I was thinking less about meditation and a LOT about the box of dark chocolate caramels and cinnamon crème truffles Mom had slipped into my kit bag. How she managed it, I have no idea—probably with a little help from Lorienna.
Finally! Unlocking the door to my room, I shut and locked it as quickly as I could, and directed my attention towards my locker. I was too preoccupied with chocolate to notice the figure that was hiding in a corner and steadily moving up behind me—right up until I was grabbed from behind, spun around, and pinned to a wall. It was fast, really fast, and I didn't even have time to react as Fred kissed me soundly. Not that I was complaining, even if I could have said anything with his tongue doing wonderful things in my mouth. And by this point I had gone completely weak in the knees, to the point that the only things keeping me upright were Fred's body and the bulkhead.
Someone moaned, I wasn't sure who, but it was enough to halt the make-out session. We were both breathing heavily, his hands were around my waist, and my arms had somehow wound around his neck. The tingling sensation from before had multiplied substantially, and my underwear felt damp (which was something new), not to mention that I was having a hard time staying upright.
"Wow," I murmured breathlessly, trying to will some feeling back in my legs; I wasn't used to depending on people for support.
"Yeah," Fred replied, his voice low. He pressed his body against me—and me back into the bulkhead—and something hard was pushing against my stomach. Okay, he's aroused, so am I, and that bed is looking VERY tempting right now. Fred noticed my glance at the bed and pulled me away from the bulkhead, his mouth back on mine as he walked me backward. I felt a hand reaching into my hair, tugging the band out and loosening the ponytail, and my calves hit the mattress. I lost my balance and fell, pulling him down with me since I now had a death grip on his shirt; somehow Fred had the presence of mind to brace himself with his forearms so I wasn't squashed. The impact broke the kiss, and he took advantage of the pause to pin my arms out beside me. I glared at him, but try as I might he had a pretty good grip.
"What's wrong?" I asked, trying to keep the disappointment down. He started this, so why was he stopping me?
"Just assessing the situation," Fred muttered, his eyes looking me over. He certainly looked like he was still interested; bringing my legs up, I managed to flip him onto his back and straddled his waist, using my wrists (which he still had a grip on) to keep his arms down.
"The situation, Lieutenant, is that you've gotten me all hot and bothered. And I'm not about to take that lying down." I leaned down, brushing my breasts against his chest—I do love those novels, they've got so much useful information in them—and grinned as he inhaled sharply. "Last chance, Fred: all in or all out?"
He didn't bother answering, just brought his head up to kiss me again. For someone who probably had even less experience than I did, he was turning out to be a surprisingly good kisser; not that I should be surprised, Spartans tended to be overachievers, including me. I pulled away from the kiss and tugged his shirt up, making sure to touch as much as I could along the way, and he certainly seemed to enjoy it. An evil thought came to mind and I leaned forward, lightly pinching one of the nipples on his chest; Fred gasped, and I took that as encouragement to lean down and run my tongue around it, grinning as he moaned. He tried to sit up—I'm assuming he was trying to return the favor—but I pushed him back down.
"Ah, ah, Fred, you'll get your chance to explore." Laying down so that my body was completely covering his, I whispered, "Just think of this as mission prep," and bit lightly on his earlobe.
I didn't even get the chance to start exploring him, because as soon I did that he sat up and pulled me tight against him—not a move I'd been expecting, but I seemed to really have my guard down at the moment. He had me in what could only have been a bear hug, which meant I was completely trapped and defenseless, but for some reason it only turned me on more. One hand came up and snaked through my hair, keeping my head still.
"I've had more than enough prep already," he growled—I mean actually growled—and thrust his hips up. I gasped as a rush of something went through me, something unknown that only made me want more. My head lolled back, and Fred started kissing my throat; I don't know how he knew to do that, but in my head I was going don't stop, don't stop, oh God don't stop.
"Wasn't planning on it," he chuckled—oh hell, did I actually say that?—and continued his assault. I felt a hand slip under my tank top and run along my ribs, along the scars from my capture several years ago. His thumb swiped across the tip of one breast and I actually whimpered, a sound that is practically IMPOSSIBLE to get outta me. He chuckled again and moved his mouth down to my collarbone, all while continuing to thrust his hips upwards. Instinctively I rolled my hips in response, trying to get more of that wonderful feeling. Fred moaned and pulled his face back up to mine, his tongue thrusting and sliding, and oh God did it feel good!
Somehow I managed to get my hands loose and went after his pants, trying desperately to get them open. For some reason it was taking a lot of effort—did he have them welded shut or something? I heard him gasp as I bumped…well, I wasn't quite sure what I bumped, but it seemed to have an effect: he reached up, grabbed my tank top, and literally tore it off of me. I giggled, wondering how he was going to handle the bra, until he pulled his boot knife and made a neat little slice right up the middle.
"Could've let me handle it," I giggled again, then moaned when he gripped my breast. It was rough, it was sudden, it was HOT, and I wanted more; I pushed my chest out in invitation, and felt one nipple engulfed in wet heat.
"Oh God," I moaned, just completely lost in feeling. Fred chuckled, the vibrations going right through me. He picked up his head and grinned.
"Enjoying yourself?"
I reached back to his pants, fumbling with the fasteners. "Enough teasing, Fred. These. Have. Got. To. Go. NOW!"
It took some fumbling, and a lot of swearing, but the pants and underwear finally vanished, and I was staring. I couldn't help it, honest—he was HUGE! Suddenly I was feeling a little intimidated, I mean, seriously—how would that thing even fit?
"Not scared, are you?" Fred grinned, rolling me onto my back.
"Just a little," I admitted quietly. "I wasn't expecting quite that much."
Slightly intimidated, I backed up, but he grabbed my ankles and pulled me back, positioning himself between my legs. I felt a cross between fear and anticipation, and braced myself as he entered. It hurt, but not as bad as I thought it would, and after awhile I was impatient for him to move.
"Just gonna lay there, Lieutenant?" I teased, rocking my hips.
"I was waiting for orders," Fred gasped as I moved—oh God, I'm not sure who was enjoying this more, me or him.
"Then, Lieutenant, I order you to fuck me as hard as you can." That was the last thing I remembered.
When I came to I was covered in bruises, my entire body ached, and there was a dull burning sensation in my groin. Memories of the previous night's activities—at least, I think it was last night—started coming back, helped by the torn clothing on my floor and the fact that I felt like I'd been through a war zone. Though I wasn't expecting to wake up alone….spotting a hastily-scrawled note on my desk, I picked it up and shook my head, grinning.
'Round two is a go at your discretion.'
Cocky bastard.