Why'd you come back?
I wanted to meet the Grim Reaper.
I hope that sounded the way I meant it to. Casual. Even from the air the city looked like the worst war zone I had ever seen. Bosnia didn't even come close. They briefed us about this… warned us about disavowal, acceptable losses, the possibility of mass casualty. This was the fifth flyover, and I hadn't seen a single survivor; shit was as far from casual as it could possibly be, but I hoped that's how I sounded anyway.
The things that you could mistake for people, or at least looked the most similar – stumbling or crawling through the ruins and flaming wreckage in the streets – were usually missing limbs or jaws. Easy to tell apart, even from a distance. Then there were other things that were harder to describe. The kind of impossible that didn't even need a non-disclosure agreement; there was no fucking way anyone would believe what you saw, and if they did, they were probably crazier than you were. That's what we were currently looking at, plus at least a dozen of the people-looking things crowding at the gates to the RPD. In front, the lone survivor of alpha team, looking like he took a shower in a meat processing plant: head-to-toe gore. Must've really been in the shit.
"Yo… I guess I owe you five dollars." Pelayo wasn't easily impressed, but her mic picked up the long exhalation that followed that statement.
"No shit. I guess the stories are true." We were muttering to each other, even though he was still on the ground and he didn't even have access to this channel- like he might hear us if we spoke too loud. We could both see him there, and despite the countdown ticking on our monitor, we had to take a second to make sure it was clear - clear enough - to drop the ladder. No time to land.
To our credit, he was already dropping body armour and satchels before we even got close. Fuck it though, that shit wasn't ours and Umbrella could spare the pocket change it would take to get newer, less-contaminated gear. No time for a hose off either… well fuck that too, there was no way I was leaving this one behind.
Go, Nighthawk. Get out.
Not today. Not this time. And never again, if I could help it.
I think Pelayo must have agreed, because she spoke up next, "Targets at his ten, just behind that bus. He better move his ass- I don't want any extra passengers."
"Hunk, I'm dropping the ladder. We're out of here as soon as you're on." Between the apartment building and the tiny parking lot, this was going to be tight. I could see what my co-pilot was seeing now, and it wasn't pretty. Twenty, maybe thirty more bodies reeling around to the noise from the rotor, then after a second's pause, ambling and shuffling with their mouths open toward the promise of a nice canned meal.
Keeping the bird steady wouldn't normally be a problem, but steady enough to dust off without throwing our VIP? I was already barely keeping cool. I saw what these things did to bravo team, within five minutes of deployment. As a pilot you rarely see combat unless there's a dog fight, but if so much as one managed to grab on… Come on stow your shit, Jason! You're better than this. Don't let it get to you.
I won't lie, though. When we got close enough to really get a good look at what was trying to break down the gate, and the stream of bodies stumbling toward Hunk, reaching and snarling… clouded eyes, rotting faces, limbs jerking and clawing the air… A few of them got close enough to make a lunge for the ladder and fell back with bullet holes ripped into their chests. They were still moving when they hit the ground, already getting up again in seconds. I definitely felt my heart stop the second the bird lurched.
"I'm on. Go." I barely heard it. My brain registered those words before my head did, because my hands felt like they were moving before I even told them to. I don't think I ever took off so fast in my entire damn life, and I've probably never been that spooked either.
Pelayo, my goddamn spirit animal, said exactly what I was thinking, "Jesus fuck. You saw that, right? Fuck."
"Yeah." All I could muster for a few long seconds as I remembered to slow our ascent a little. Give Hunk a chance to get on board. Try to get my head right: there was protocol to follow, even if we had to haul ass now.
Of course, I could use the chance to cool down too. As much as I was trying to play it off, my hands were shaking and my thoughts were all over the place. I needed to concentrate on anything else besides what was out that window, and what was in my head.
"Damn it, Hawk." Good ol' Pelayo, already taking the controls before I even asked her, though she was rolling her eyes at me to make sure I knew what she thought of it.
"Come on, Raptor. Or what, you thinking about switching teams now?" We were tight, me and Pelayo. So tight, I'd been to her house for the last three Christmases since her folks didn't know about her strict fish taco diet. Playing her boyfriend had its benefits; she got to avoid family drama, and in return I got a wing man to keep watch for five minutes every now and again when I needed to blow off steam and there was nowhere else to go but the back of the chopper.
"For that guy? I dunno, maybe. Hell of a reputation." It was a joke, but not much of one. They didn't call him the Grim Reaper for nothing. Neither of us had ever really worked with the guy directly, but there were stories floating around since the day he signed his contract.
"Well you just say the word…" I was already heading back to give him a hand up. He could probably use one by now, and protocol was protocol. "I'm cool with making this a threesome."
"Yeah, nah." Her tone said everything it needed to: Pelayo would be sticking to pussy for now, "Why can't we ever get any hot female VIPs, huh?" One last lament, and she shut up just before I finally caught sight of the gloved hand I was expecting, and caught it to pull him in.
"Welcome back Mr. Rea- Jesus!" I was expecting the gore and blood. I was not expecting the smell. "What did you do? Roll in them?"
"My primary route was a no-go. Had to take the sewers." If that last encounter had shaken the the Grim Reaper at all, he wasn't showing it. He sounded cold as ice under the gas mask. …I don't know what I was expecting, really, but he was living up to it already.
"Well, you know the drill. Bite check." The science guys who conferenced in to brief us on it called it something more euphemistic - penetrating injury inspection - but we knew exactly what they were getting at. This whole nightmare still didn't quite feel real, but they made it abundantly clear that if we didn't do it and sign off for the medics who would do their own inspection after, we wouldn't be making it back to base. They'd shoot us out of the air if it came down to it.
"Mm." Hunk, on the other hand, didn't seem to care. I didn't blame him. As covered in filth as he was, I'd be ready to strip out of my gear too. The back of the helo was all set up with decontamination stations… more than were needed now. The contaminated gear all went into double layer bright orange biohazardous waste bags. I had to glove up to help him dump it all in, weapons included.
Truth was, according to protocol there was some spray I was supposed to hose him down with before he even got on the bird… but there wasn't any time for it, so fuck it. This would have to do.
"Got a shot ready if you need it." With the outer layers off and the gas mask gone, the man in front of me looked a lot less intimidating. No less calm, but a lot more tired. I'm not a medic, but I was inspecting him all the same. I had gel and wipes on hand, and we were supposed to clean anything that even looked like a bruise. It was dark as hell in the back of the bird though, and it was hard trying to figure out what was a bruise and what was a shadow. Half the tube was gone before he even took off his shirt, and I couldn't help but whistle. Something had kicked his ass pretty hard- his whole back was going to be black and blue tomorrow. "Shit… you might want it just to be safe."
Or, I might. There were a few marks that looked like bites - a real nasty one on his shoulder that had gone red with a bunch of scratch marks around it - but the skin wasn't broken. Not that I could tell, anyway. I nearly gagged when I leaned closer for a better look - even with his shirt off he smelled like shit, rot, and a half gallon of hand sanitizer.
"Ugh, Christ. I've seen dead hookers that smelled better than you." That got a chuckle, finally. Not that I'd been trying too hard, but it was nice. Mr. Reaper didn't look half bad when he smiled.
"How's my neck? One of those plant things tried to chew on me, but I don't think it got through…" He craned his head to the side and instinctively I leaned in to look closer, only to jump back about five inches when he opened his mouth and bit the air next to my cheek. I heard the click of his teeth and just about coughed up my heart… about a second before he started to laugh - really laugh - this time. I had to sit there with my face red until I calmed down enough to punch him in the shoulder.
"What the fuck. That wasn't funny." Clearly, I was alone in that opinion, because I could hear Pelayo snickering in the front.
"It was a little." Hunk's eyes were glittering as his pants came off. All the clothing tossed directly into the orange bags along with the gear.
His legs weren't as bad as his torso. …Aside from smelling worse than the rest of him, there was no sign of damage. I did my duty all the same, and they got the same dose of sanitizer that the rest of him had; if there were any microbes left on him at all after this was through, it would be some kind of record.
When I suddenly felt his hand close around my arm I looked up from my work, startled at the interruption. "…I was serious about the neck." He'd stopped laughing now, expression calculating. I could tell what he was thinking: if there was a chance it did get through his body armour, he'd need to use the syringe, but if he did that he'd be in quarantine for the next week. We all would.
"I can't see anything. It looks clean to me, but I'm not a medic." That was the truth. But… if it were me, I'd be scared as hell at even the chance of being infected. Even if Hunk seemed cool as ice on the surface, maybe at the back of his mind that's what he was thinking too.
This is war. Survival is your responsibility.
He hadn't let go of my arm yet, and he wasn't speaking either. There was a kind of uncomfortable tension building- my face felt warmer than it had a second ago, and I was still a little red from the stunt he pulled earlier. This was probably a bad idea… but that flush was working its way down into the pit of my stomach, twisting as it went. He still looked calculating; searching my face for something. I wasn't sure if he was finding it.
I don't know which of us moved first: our eyes locked, a second passed, and then something broke. My tongue was in his mouth. Or vice versa. It was hard to tell between the instant jolt of electricity and the way my head was reeling. His hand was still fixed around my arm but the other found the back of my hair. Everything felt dizzyingly hot, and this was probably a really fucking bad idea, but neither of us were slowing down. I still had the tube of sanitizer in my hand, and my rational mind told me I should probably finish the job, so in another moment I squeezed the rest of it into my free palm, found the waistband of his boxers, and reached in to start cleaning up. It made for shitty lube, but that first few seconds of feeling him squirm and shift his legs apart was pure gold. His cock was already getting hard before I even got it in my hand, so … I couldn't really be blamed for this, could I? I knew exactly what Pelayo was going to say later, but fuck her. I really didn't start it this time.
In case I needed proof, Mr. Reaper was on it- yanking open my pants to return the favour. I couldn't help grinning, expecting a quick hand job and a 'thanks for everything'- shit, half of the guys on contract must have known I was good for it at this point - but in another second his lips left mine and the hand in my hair shifted to my waist so he could move down to get his mouth around my dick. So. Not his first rodeo. I wasn't expecting it, but I sure as hell wasn't going to turn it down, even if he still stank like an alcoholic's toilet; those lips were good and tight, and he wasn't fucking around - I was throbbing hard in seconds from how fast and deep he was sucking me. Probably conscious of the limited time frame, but if I knew Raptor, she'd be a bro- probably already slowed our roll just to let us have a little personal time.
That didn't mean I was going to ask him to stop, though. Hell, he might not even if I did. It had been a long damn time since someone made my knees go weak, and he'd only been at it a few seconds, but he already had me clutching the rigging to stay on my feet and groaning at the ceiling. If I felt dizzy before, now my head was spinning like I'd drunk half a bottle of tequila, and he wasn't letting up. There was sweat on my face by now, I was gritting my teeth to try to keep the noise to a minimum and I was pretty sure I was going to feel my soul leave my body in another second if he didn't slow down, so I yanked on his hair - as sharply as I dared - to try to make him let go.
It had the exact opposite effect. The fingers around my arm dug in, he wrapped his arm around my waist, and he held me in place as he swallowed my cock right down to the root. I felt myself hit the back of his throat, the short, blissful pressure of it closing around the tip, and that was all I could handle- I came so hard I nearly blacked out, and by the time I got a hold of myself I was collapsed into his lap, panting, with my head on his shoulder. Holy. Shit. It wasn't an exaggeration to say I hadn't gotten it that good in years.
The only thing I could think to say, with my head still reeling and my thighs still vaguely sore from tensing so hard, was, "You didn't have to do that." Most guys would have already been pushing my head down to have their turn. Hunk was relaxed enough to give me a minute to recover, though he was clearly still hard.
He just shrugged after a moment. "You didn't have to come back."
As if that was all the explanation needed. Maybe it was, for him.
It wasn't good enough for me, but now probably wasn't the time to argue. Pelayo was a bro, but she wasn't a miracle worker. She could stall for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and I wasn't the type of guy to accept a blow n' go just for doing my job. I sank to my knees as soon as I had caught my breath, even though Hunk was still holding onto my arm.
Well, let him. I just let it rest on his stomach as I spit on my palm and did my best to clean off some of the sanitizer before I let his cock slide down my throat. It still tasted like alcohol and moisturizer, and the smell of sewer wasn't completely gone, but I can't honestly say I haven't had worse. All it meant was when I came back up to spit out the saliva in my mouth, I couldn't help laughing a bit, "You know, I went gay to avoid the smell of rotting pussy. …This sure isn't helping."
"You're still down there, though." It was so low I barely heard it, but I heard the grin in it all the same - it was just as evident in the way he shifted his knees apart expectantly. And he was right. He had me pegged from the beginning, maybe. Just looking up at that cock glistening in the low light had my mouth watering, and I wasn't wasting any more time. There was still the faint hint of chemicals on it, but I could work past it now, and I was determined to give as good as I got. Hunk might have his tricks, but I had mine.
His cock was thick, curved, and a little harder to swallow than usual, but with effort I could still get my nose to touch his hair and my chin to rest on his balls - which I did as soon as I got it in my mouth - to the satisfying tune of an ecstatic groan. When I was sure he was rock hard and throbbing once more, I let myself pull back to concentrate on slicking down the head until I could feel his abs start tensing and his breaths start coming in gasps. If we had more time, I would have started to jerk myself off again at how hot he looked laid out against the seat with his head tossed back, but we probably only had minutes to finish this, and I wasn't going to let him go without getting him off.
Again, Hunk managed to surprise me. His hand came to rest in my hair, but instead of clamping onto the back of my head to force it lower he simply ran his fingers through it in time with his moans, tugging it gently when I did something he really liked. There was only one other person who ever did something like that; the memory of it simultaneously twisted my gut into knots and made me lose my breath with old lust. It was all I could do not to climb into his lap right then and there; instead I felt his heels scrape the floor with how tight and desperate I had suddenly gotten. It was his turn to pant and kick and squirm under me, and now I was the one clinging to his waist… but it probably wasn't for the same reason as before.
I just didn't want to think about it anymore. Any of this. Just let me lose myself for a few seconds, and not remember. Words that were too similar for me to leave this time. Words I just wanted to forget.
Nighthawk, go. Get out, Jason. Leave.
I nearly choked, then. On emotion, or because Hunk was close to coming, it was hard to say which. I wasn't stopping, though. The fingers twisting in my hair grew more insistent - as good as any other way of telling me he was close - so I did the only thing I could to keep it together: brought my face down low again to let him back into my throat. Let him fuck it if he wanted to, to bring himself over the edge. Maybe he was too polite to do it without an invitation, but the second he hit my throat, as close to losing it as he was… I felt those few, satisfying thrusts I was looking for and that hand clamped down hard in the back of my hair just like I was used to.
There. No mistaking this for anything else, now. Just a quick one for the road, right? We'll never have to talk about this again. I could go back to bitter misery, and the Grim Reaper would live to see another day.
When he pulled me to my feet, I thought he was just going to say thank you. Maybe try to make awkward conversation for a minute before letting me go to fly the bird. His hand hadn't left my arm this whole time… maybe that was just his way of making sure I wasn't going to do something he didn't want. I thought he was going to do anything except what he did: held me by my arm, and the back of my head, and kissed me. Not just a quick peck to say thanks… something far more dangerous. Lingering.
It wasn't a lie, exactly. Part of me really did want to meet death that day. Part of me knew all it would take would be to go back for a survivor, stay a little too long in the blast zone… watch the city turn to glass before being flung out of the air. It wouldn't be today, I guess. We all heard the explosion behind us, and Pelayo swore over the radio as the helicopter swung in the air, but we stayed aloft. Hunk still hadn't let me go.
Why'd you come back?
Maybe some other day, Mr. Reaper.