Title: Maybe Next Time
Chapter: Oneshot
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Strike Back: Project Dawn
Pairing: Michael Stonebridge/Damien Scott
Warnings: Language, sexual content, some spoilers
Summary: Scott is notorious for his love of women. What about men?
Length: 4989
Author's Note: I like their dynamic too much not to add subtext.
Disclaimer: Just my imagination.
_

Celebratory drinks were always in order whenever they caught a bad guy. It meant Section 20 was one step closer to Latif, which meant they were one step closer to saving the world, which meant Scott was one step closer to getting his money and fucking all the women he saw fit. He'd be lying if he said this job wasn't a thrill, but he'd also be lying if he said it wasn't tiresome. It was, it was damn right exhausting, but he stuck with it to honor the request of his friend and ex-partner, John Porter.

And he couldn't let Stonebridge have all the fun now.

Where is that guys anyway? Downing another shot, Scott's liquor-hazy eyes searched the moderately crowded bar from his perch on a stool only to find the man in question sharing a toast with Sergeant… The dark-skinned chick who always had a headset and sat at a computer and monitored his calls with the Colonel. He couldn't remember her name right at this moment, but she was nice with a disarming smile albeit a bit too quiet for his tastes. She was really pretty to look at too. Prettier than Kate, although he kept that tidbit to himself since that topic was still sensitive with his current partner. All he was saying was that if was going to cheat on his wife with a coworker, Scott would pick her.

He decided to go over and say hello. And was surprised when his equilibrium didn't throw him to the floor. Either he hadn't drunk as much as he thought or his tolerance was better than he gave it credit. However, his grinning face didn't seem well received when she caught him walking over. Scott heard the last bit of an excuse before she fled.

His head turned, watching her retreat as his brow furrowed. He turned back to Stonebridge, who was sipping from his glass, and pointed a thumb in her direction. "What was that about? What's-Her-Face doesn't like me?"

"Richmond?" Stonebridge glanced to his partner, then where his comrade ran off. A half-smirk appeared as he chuckled, shrugging. "Dunno."

"Bullshit," he growled, slumping down next to the blonde man. "You know somethin' and you're gonna tell me."

Stonebridge arched an eyebrow, amused. "I am, am I?"

Scott nodded. "Hell yeah," He nodded again, then hailed the barkeep for a double shot of Scotch.

With a laugh, his partner acquiesced but had another sip before he answered. "She doesn't want to shag you." Stonebridge laughed again at that bewildered look he received. "Well, she does, but she doesn't want to be another number. Or compromise her position with Section Twenty."

Sighing, the American shook his head. "Fuuuck me," He downed his drink, asked for another.

"I just said she doesn't want to," Stonebridge teased, which got him a glare from the other man as he smiled cheekily. "Why?"

"Why what?" Scott made a face as the alcohol burned down his throat.

"Why's it matter?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't," A careless, exaggerated frown curled his lips. "I mean, it sucks—not the way I want it to, but I'll live." His shrug revealed he truly could give a shit less, so Stonebridge let it go. But he did have another question.

"If she wanted to and didn't care about the consequences, you'd shag her, yeah?" Maybe he hadn't let it go.

Scott nodded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. But then he paused and rethought about it. "Actually… Don't think I would. Shit gets messy when you fuck the people you work with. I've done it enough to know to stay the hell away," Realizing his words, Scott looked over at Stonebridge, saw him masking his emotions about what he'd said, and honestly frowned. "No offense. Sorry."

Stonebridge shook his head shortly, shrugged a little. "It's fine, don't worry. Kate and I should've never happened in the first place."

"Yeah…" he mumbled, not in agreement but to acknowledge his partner's revelation and offer an ear if the guy wanted to talk. Which clearly he wouldn't because that wasn't how Michael Stonebridge was. He denied shit several times over until finally admitting it to himself or confronted too many times to keep up the charade. Instead he kept the subject on Scott, something the cocky soldier had no qualms with.

"So," Stonebridge began, finishing the amber liquid in his glass, "how many women have you slept with?"

"I lost count after two hundred and sixteen."

"You keep track?" the older man blurted, awed.

Scott gave a noncommittal shrug of one shoulder and grinned wide. "Not anymore," He slammed back another shot. "I know I'm a whore, I just don't get paid, so if I can admit that then no point in having tally marks. Know what I mean?"

"No, not really," he laughed. There was a short pause. "… What about men?"

"What about 'em?"

"Have you… y'know," Stonebridge made a motion with his eyes, brow hiked high, as if that indicated what he was trying to say.

Luckily Scott caught on. "Oh!" he said a little too loudly, then again a bit quieter. "I have, yeah. And before you ask, it was three. Technically two since it was with the same guy twice."

He wasn't sure how to respond to that. It had been a joke, so he wasn't expecting there to be an answer, much less one that confirmed it as true. Knowing this had Stonebridge look at Scott in a different light, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. "I dunno what to say."

"One of 'im was Porter. The guy I did it with twice."

Now he really didn't know what to say because he never pegged John Porter, a decorated soldier, as an ass bandit.

"Did you enjoy it?" Stonebridge finally asked.

Scott grimaced slightly. "More or less. It's… Well, it's awkward actually. 'Cause you don't know what you're doin' half the time—at least I didn't. You gotta rely on your bed buddy to guide you and help not make a fool of yourself. Doesn't always work though." Chuckling, he took a drink of Scotch.

Stonebridge was beginning to feel awkward now if he was honest with himself. The thought of two men together, particularly ones he knew, particularly Damien Scott and John fucking Porter, was hard to wrap his head around. He wasn't drunk enough to be so open about it, thus he asked for a refill and immediately almost drank it all in one gulp. "Did you cum?" He had to know. Didn't know why he needed to know, just knew that it was essential knowledge to have.

Brown eyes met green. "Not at first," Scott continued, "not with the first first guy. I got soft 'cause I didn't really feel a thing. His dick was tiny. With Porter? Whew, yeah I did. I had a feeling it wasn't his first rodeo, if you know what I mean."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Stonebridge dragged his hands down his face, then held his palms together as if in prayer and rested his mouth against the tips of his forefingers. "Lemme get this straight," He ignored Scott's immature interjection of It wasn't very straight at all and took a deep breath. "John Porter was gay?"

"I don't think so."

"But you just said—"

"I think he was bi and knew that I was curious."

"Curious about what?"

"Fuckin' a guy," Scott rolled his eyes. "That is what we've been talking about, isn't it?"

"Yeah, yeah it is…" Stonebridge agreed quietly, hands falling to the bar. "Sorry, it's just a lot to digest."

Scott smirked. "I know why," When he got a look that asked to explain he finished with, "You're not drunk enough."

Stonebridge laughed, instantly feeling the tension leaving his shoulders, but he had to agree on that too. As Scott ordered another round, he let the conversation slide, so they talked about other useless things that they'd probably forget by morning.

The next time they got drinks was after Colonel Grant's funeral and it was just Stonebridge and Scott by their lonesome. Everyone else had gone home early, but they had stayed to talk some more. About Eleanor Grant, about the blue file she kept of Scott, about Stonebridge's decision to become a family man, which didn't work out too well. They were still discussing the latter topic.

"She doesn't understand my need to help others. To protect them. I need to be out there were the action is, knowing I'm making a difference because it makes me feel better. Not just that, it makes me a better person I think."

An understanding nod was all he needed, but when Scott said, "I get you, man, I really do. Once you've had a taste of what being a hero is like, it's addictive." he felt as if he'd found a kindred spirit. Stonebridge's smile was so wide he feared his face might break in two. He clapped Scott on the back, hard, curled his fingers around the rope of muscle that made a shoulder and squeezed.

"It was great working with you, Scott. I'm gonna miss you, mate."

The American smiled at those sincere words. "Yeah, you too, bud," They both toasted to their partnership before tossing back their drinks. "But just 'cause we're not part of Section 20 anymore doesn't mean we can't still hang, right? I could be little Jimmy's godfather! Think about it."

Stonebridge laughed. "That's not his name."

"Whatever, you know what I'm sayin'."

"I'll think about it, yeah?"

"That's a no if I ever heard one."

"Shut up and drink."

Drink they did. They consumed so much alcohol it was a wonder neither obtained liver failure. After awhile, Scott decided he had to sober up to be the designated driver and stuck to water; Stonebridge was set on getting shitfaced, though. He wanted to stop the older man, but Brits were stubborn people, so he just stayed out of the way of the booze. Several hours later the two were being kicked out because the bar was closing. The blonde seemed to have forgotten how to walk, leaving it up to Scott to be his crutch. "Time to get you home." he murmured to himself while watching his partner giggle and laugh at whatever it was he found amusing.

Scott remembered from the last time he showed up unannounced where Michael Stonebridge stayed. Nothing had changed much, although it seemed less… full. Probably because Kerry had left again and his friend now lived alone.

He adjusted his grip on the other since Stonebridge thought it funny to let his feet drag. And face it, the man wasn't exactly a feather, not from all those workouts needed for being in shape. "Hey," Scott called, interrupting the incoherent slurs tumbling from the drunkard's mouth, "hey, where's the bedroom at? You gotta get some sleep, man."

A finger pointed lazily toward the hall, coupled with some more gibberish, and off they went. They collided into walls on numerous occasions thanks to the blonde idiot yet somehow Scott managed to drop him on his mattress, face up. He left for a short moment to return with a glass of water and held it out.

"Drink this. All of it."

His response was delayed, but the cup was grabbed and pressed to his lips, head tilting back to swallow its contents. The consecutive roll of Stonebridge's adam's apple let his younger companion know he was following orders. A grateful sigh parted his lips and after setting the empty glass on the nightstand, Stonebridge fell back into the soft pillows and smooth duvet spread beneath.

Scott kind of smiled, then after stretching his arms with a loud yawn, he nodded toward the door behind him. "I'mma head off now. Take care, Stonehenge." Wow, he hadn't used that name since they first met.

When he turned he hadn't expected the Englishman to jolt up straight and shout, "Wait!" It automatically spun him back around, froze him to his spot. "What?" Scott yelled, ready to kill an imaginary intruder.

"D-don't. Don't go," Stonebridge rasped. Coughing once, he shook his head and said clearer, "Stay."

"But—"

"Please," The desperation in that word had the American taken back. Since when did this by-the-book retired soldier beg? Coffee eyes glanced around, noticing how impersonal the room was for a bedroom. Since he became lonely. was his answer to his own question.

Holding up his hands, palms up, so as to not startle the inebriated older man, Scott nodded slowly. "Okay, I'm not goin' anywhere. I'll bunk on the couch."

Stonebridge's brow furrowed, head shaking again. "No."

"No?" His tone was mildly confused. "Then where, the garage?"

"Here," He patted a spot beside him.

"I can't sleep in the bed, Michael." Rarely did they ever use first names, but when they did it was serious or contrite. Now was a mix of both.

Stonebridge stared at him and for a moment Scott couldn't tell that he was drunk. "You can and you will," He slowly rose to his feet, tried to take a step but wavered and Scott rushed to grab his arms, righting him.

"Take it easy, you had a lot tonight. You're not thinking clear." he tried to reason.

But that wasn't what the blonde wanted to hear. "I need you to just… I want… Scott, will you—"

"Michael. Just say it." He had no patience for drunken tongue ties. He heard a deep inhale and they stared each other in the eye for a silent moment. This time when Stonebridge reacted Scott was prepared, he'd been expecting it. The sides of his head were grabbed, fingers curling at the back of his skull, buried within his short bistre tresses, and a hot mouth doused in liquor covered his. The kiss commanded his attention from the passion behind it. The hunger, the need to taste someone, to be close. It wasn't sloppy, but thorough and oddly controlled. Scott couldn't help but wonder who else the older man had given this kiss to.

However, he couldn't hold it for long and ended up stepping back, turning his head away. "I can't. You're dr—"

"Of course I am. I couldn't do this if I were sober," Stonebridge explained. "It doesn't mean I don't want to."

Scott said nothing.

Then it dawned on him. "But you don't want to…"

"No, I do! I fucking do," Scott quickly assured, looking to the Brit. "I wanted you sober when it happened, though."

Stonebridge smirked. "Perhaps next time."

"There's gonna be a next time?"

"Let's find out."

When he went after Scott again there was nothing more to discuss. He accepted him just as eagerly and was the one to use tongue. He pried open Stonebridge's lips to delve inside the contours of his mouth, finding an impatient tongue waiting for him. They fought for dominance, each twisting and slinking together, both not ready to give up power. All the alcohol almost hid the blonde's actual flavor from him, but Scott found it lurking somewhere in that wet heat and declared it one of his favorite tastes of all time. Their hands clutched at fabric as two bodies pressed together, sharing heartbeats, creating friction.

For his first time, Stonebridge was a natural: his touches weren't timid or unsure, but firm and had purpose. He reached under Scott's shirt, felt the dark bristles coating his partner's stomach, and followed it up toward his chest. A moan broke the kiss when the younger man's nipple was pinched. He did it again, got a gasp instead. Stonebridge ran his thumb over it as he gently sucked Scott's bottom lip, green eyes watching as brown irises hid behind peachy eyelids. He smirked a little and changed focus to his neck, biting a groan out of his partner. The hand cupping the back of his head encouraged Stonebridge further, so he licked and he sucked a sensitive spot he'd found, relishing in the intimate noises that he was rewarded.

While Stonebridge assaulted his neck, Scott went straight for the pants. He managed to snap him free with just five fingers, wrapped them around the hardening flesh hidden from sight, and tugged. It put a hiccup in the Englishman's cares and he just stroked him slowly, found a tedious pace that would drive anybody mad. Not enough to bring him to the edge, but enough to keep pleasure flowing and blood rushing south. Stonebridge laid his head on Scott's shoulder as he enjoyed the ride, mouth agape and eyes half-mast. His lips opened to let out soft panting breaths and he said something that wasn't quite heard, yet it didn't matter as he rocked his hips into that skilled hand, warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach.

Moaning, the Brit's head lolled to the side, his breath tickled the collarbones protruding from his partner's shirt. "S-Scott…" he nearly whimpered, if not for the low gruff of his plea.

Scott lowered his head to draw the older man's earlobe into his mouth, tongue quickly sweeping against the space behind it. "Call me Damien." He trailed blunt nails up the length of Stonebridge's cock and couldn't contain a grin when watching emerald hues disappear into back of his head.

It unleashed something within his partner because no sooner than after he'd done it, the Yank found himself staring at the ceiling. Momentary confusion faded as he figured out he'd been tossed on the bed and was currently being divested of his clothes. Stonebridge was a like a demon tearing denim from his legs, then cotton from his torso—boxers were the last to go. In return, Stonebridge took off his socks and shoes and added his shirt to the growing pile. But Scott lay bare for all his friend to see, although he was no stranger to seeing the younger man's body. This was, however, the first time he wasn't watching him fuck some random slag and it felt oddly great to be a part of it rather than the outsider looking in. He eyed each tattoo (the ones in sight) with quiet appreciation of the simplistic yet symbolic art. Careful, as if afraid of breaking him, Stonebridge laid his fingertips against Scott's sides to observe by touch only. He noticed the change of Scott's breath when his nails flicked across skin or how the rise and fall of his chest stumbled with a bit more pressure there or his face collapsing in barely controlled bliss from his palms travelling up to his shoulders.

Fuck, you're amazing…

Crawling forward, Stonebridge aligned their bodies to be perfect puzzle pieces, but didn't make contact just yet. Like a good little pet, Scott waited despite his want to cling to his partner and never part from him ever again; he gripped the bed sheets to stifle the urge, turning his knuckles white. Then finally, finally their groins met in a delicious grind that had them both moan in harmony. Dark golden locks fell from its tidy display as Stonebridge snapped his head back, tendons straining in his neck. He repeated the motion of his hips, curved his back into an elegant arc, and trembled so subtly he wondered if he trembled at all.

A leg hooked around his waist, drew him closer, while a hand slid in his hair, destroying whatever semblance of style remained. "C'mon, do something." Scott begged against his lips, licked his pout away, and snaked his tongue into a second home. Stonebridge devoured his companion—heart and soul if possible—and they rocked together, making a steady rhythm that built their desires to near breaking point. As they did, Scott painted the older man's physique with ten brushes mixing new colors that triggered many different sounds of approval, all of which he branded to memory. He left his signature in several places: on Stonebridge's throat right beside his adam's apple; again on one of his pecs below a clavicle; the last one he marked halfway between shoulder and the camber of a bicep.

Impossibly hard and beyond ready, Scott was eager to push the other's jeans down and smirked when it was kicked off. He shoved briefs out the way, squeezed pert muscles that shaped his friend's ass, then held onto a hip while cupping his nape for another kiss. Stonebridge rose up to get rid of his last garment and mounted above the younger man, but hesitated, seemingly uneasy about something.

When he tried to meet his eyes and couldn't, the American frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I don't… know what to do next." Stonebridge admitted softly.

Scott chuckled lightly, rubbing tension from his shoulders. "Sure you do. But I think you're scared," The blonde kept silent as he neither denied nor affirmed the accusation. "What's the matter, Stonehenge? 'Fraid my dick's too big for your mouth?"

It would have been funny had Scott's voice not dropped an octave, making its natural husk more prominent. Regardless, the taunt worked; his partner rose to the challenge. Grabbing the other's hands, Stonebridge slammed his wrists down and kept them there for a moment, giving him a look that demanded that he not move. He ducked his head then to hover precariously close the leaking tip of long, pink, swollen flesh. Eyeing it like he didn't trust the thing, the Brit wet his lips nervously and opened wide, slowly, slooowly sealing his mouth around his blunt crown right along the ridge. He waited a second, shifted his stance to kneel better, and swiped his tongue against it. Scott was like a bittersweet tang, not quite salty but nowhere near sugary. He concluded it was an acquired taste before trudging onward. Stonebridge spread the flat of his tongue on velvet steel as he took in another inch and finally sucked. His companion's hip twitched, but he paid it no heed when sucking harder. It was when he bobbed his head two times that he wished he listened to the warning. Scott bucked high (whether involuntary or not, he didn't know), both choking and alarming the older man.

Immediately Stonebridge pulled away coughing, wiping his mouth roughly with his arm. "Christ, Scott, what the fuck!"

Being laughed at was not the response he wanted, but it was the one he got. "Sorry, sorry, I got excited," He sat up and scooted forward. "And I told you to call me Damien."

"Old habits." Stonebridge grumbled, massaging his throat.

Scott slung an arm across his friend's shoulder. "Here, I'll do you. I've had more experience." He maneuvered him on his back, then situated himself between his legs. Unlike Stonebridge's wary approach, Scott being Scott just went for it. Set his hands on the creases where thighs met waist and gobbled him right up, engulfed him whole.

"Shit!" the blonde hissed, head punching into the pillows and eyes screwing shut.

With a hand clutching dark hair, Scott got to work quickly, sucking as if his life depended on it. Up down, up down, up down, up down with no rest in between. The pace almost made Stonebridge dizzy and he propped his weight on his forearms to watch, fascinated and so aroused he didn't know why he hadn't burst already. He never thought the sight of a man swallowing his cock would turn him on—hell, he never thought he'd even see it! But Scott was like a pro, hitting all the right spots, using his tongue for bonus pleasure, his hand for what didn't fit, and he never thought teeth on his foreskin would feel as good as Scott made it feel right now. All he heard aside from his own noises was the faint succulence Scott's mouth produced and the mild shifting of fabric whenever Scott moved to get comfortable. Stonebridge wanted to fuck that hot, moist orifice but remembered his little mishap earlier and miraculously kept still.

He knew if his partner continued the way he did, that restraint would soon be gone.

Reluctant, Stonebridge pushed him away to drag him atop his body and shared a greedy kiss that was more teeth and tongue than lips. "You're incredible," he gasped against the Yank's jawline. Scott let out a breathy chuckle of thanks, then straddled his partner. He pinned him back on the bed, rich mocha hues peering down at him.

"Ready?" he whispered.

Stonebridge nodded, not trusting his voice.

"How do you want to do this?" At the confusion the query garnered, he elaborated. "I mean, who gets to be the girl."

"Oh," He rubbed his hands over Scott's thighs, thinking. "I want to fuck you."

The younger man was unfazed. "Got any lube? Or lotion, maybe?"

"Bathroom. Cabinet. Top shelf."

Getting the bottle of Aveeno took two seconds. Scott lathered his fingers to prep himself first, which his partner watched with poorly concealed intrigue. He smirked, finding the Brit's naivety adorable. When they did this next time (because he knew damn well there'd be a next time) he'd have to teach him some things. Satisfied, Scott slicked Stonebridge with the lotion too and positioned him against his entrance. They held each other's gaze while he lowered onto the older man, stopping when Stonebridge was fully sheathed.

Sweat glazed his body as he lay there, just soaking it all in. He was grateful for the few minutes pause to get adjusted to that tight suffocation, then gripping Scott's hips, he drew back. The trembles started again, so Scott pushed down at the same tantalizing stride that Stonebridge had set. Fingers curled against his chest when he pulled back up, a shaky breath freeing itself while he closed his eyes. Scott held the power for a moment as he continued impaling himself and gradually built up speed. Eventually Stonebridge got with the program, taking the reins from his companion easily for someone new to this kind of thing.

Scott cursed under his breath at the sudden rapid thrusting, not expecting it so soon. But he wasn't complaining seeing as he rode the horse like it was his life's calling. Leaning back a little for better purchase, the American grinded and bounced, encouraged Stonebridge to give all he was worth. As always, the blonde took the bait and changed their positions where they stretched diagonal across, heads at the end of the bed. He flipped Scott over and re-entered him with renewed enthusiasm, immobilizing both hands to the dip of his lower back.

The slap of naked skin on skin filled the air, mingling with the lewd shouts spilling from the younger man shamelessly. Stonebridge's vigor left Scott unable to process a single thought, his sole focus preoccupied on the ins and outs of the beautiful, glorious cock striking that special place right on the dot over and over again. He felt pressure building and wished he had something to subdue his approaching orgasm.

"Fuck! Goddamn, Michael!"

He struggled to get himself free, only managed one arm, and forgot why he wanted his hands available. Instead Scott clung to the blanket and muffled his cries by biting the thick fabric. But Stonebridge yanked his head up and cupped the underside of his jaw to prevent him from lowering it, mouth moving to abuse the flesh open to his cravings. It was his turn roll his eyes in the back of his head while having his sanity pounded out of him.

"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, fuck me, I'm gonna cum!"

He didn't care if he sounded like a cheap slut, he was too concerned about busting a nut all over Stonebridge's fancy sheets. Which apparently was a silly thing to fret about because when he heard Scott's warning, his partner sat up, jacked his hips back, and thrust harder. Without touching his dick once since this fiasco started, Scott exploded with such intensity he feared he might faint. Ivory fluid shot out in swift bursts, dripping into little pools below and staining into rivers on his stomach. Stonebridge lasted a bit longer, fucking his oversensitized body, until he came in hot white ribbons that trickled down Scott's thighs.

Pulling out, the Brit eyed his companion as he turned over and finally buckled atop him, laughing his exhaustion that Scott joined in on. After a short rest Stonebridge rolled off to lie beside him, arm thrown over his eyes, knee pointed skyward. He peeked out at the other's abrupt explicative.

"Holy shit, man. Where did that come from? Goddamn."

Stonebridge shrugged. "Dunno," He smiled. "I was good, yeah?"

"Fuck yeah! Michael, you shouldn't hold back so much. That was fucking great."

He laughed, wondering which part was genuine or if everything he'd said was honest.

Scott sighed as he folded his hands behind his head. "Maybe next time—"

"Are you sure there's going to be a next time?" Stonebridge met his stare.

"Do you want there to be?"

"Do you?"

"Answer the fucking question, Stonebridge."

"Yes, Damien. I want there to be a next time."

"Then it's settled," Scott leaned in, caught his lips in a slow kiss, a tender one compared to previous they shared tonight. "I'll see you tomorrow, but I gotta some sleep first. You wore me out, man."

"Sorry." Stonebridge laughed, although that gleam in his eye revealed he wasn't really apologetic.

The two righted themselves on the bed and pulled the blankets up after settling in. Scott was out in a matter of minutes while Stonebridge stayed awake a few minutes more, watching his peaceful face as he slumbered. It was bizarre how a joking question had led to this moment. All because Julia Richmond ran from Damien Scott's company. Laying there now, Michael Stonebridge pondered how many threesomes his partner had been in and if his coworker was open enough to explore. He shook his head and turned over, shutting his eyes.

Maybe next time.