She spent the rest of the day interviewing the other soldiers, learning how things ran, who did what, tidbits of history here and there, but avoided speaking to the Second Lieutenant until the end of the day.
She pocketed her notebook, stepping out into the glaring sunlight, and walked up to Havoc. He was slouched slightly, his hands shoved in his pockets, smoking a cigarette.
"Afternoon," she said, smiling.
He exhaled a streamer of smoke and grunted in acknowledgement.
She leaned against the wall next to him, mimicking his surly expression. "Pissed off about earlier?"
"Yeah, actually."
"It was a bitchy thing to do, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"But are you up for it?"
He sighed and ran a hand back through his hair. "Look, lady, my luck with women has been terrible. I'm willing to try almost any-fuckin'-thing."
She smiled brightly. "I'm sure I can help with that. Let's walk and talk, yeah?"
He nodded, and she set off at a brisk pace, falling into step with him. She rattled off questions like a machine gun.
"Age?"
"24."
"Height, weight, chest-neck-waist-hips?"
"Err, 6'4", 220 pounds, 42-18-37-38."
She looked him over. "Looks about right. How much can you bench?"
"Err, about my own weight or so…"
"Yeah, you look strapping. What kind of women do you prefer?" She rubbed her chin thoughtfully.
"Busty."
"Is that all? Because I know this single grandmother who--"
He backpedalled rapidly. "And around my age! Jesus!" He shook his head, lighting another cigarette. 'A pretty face, too…redhead. With lots of freckles. Kinda like you, but ehhh, you're into girls, aren't you?"
She smirked. "Yes and no."
He paused. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Hima polished her nails against her sleeve and studied them intently. "Oh, nothing, really. Hobbies, interests?"
He thought for a moment. "Err…cooking. And rugby. Movies, for sure."
"Good, good, a broad spectrum, girls like that. Education?"
"High school."
"Right, right. How much do you make in a year? Gotta weed out them golddiggers."
"Not a whole lot. Somethin' like 25 000, but since I live on the patch, I get free housing." He shrugged. "I'm supposedly due for promotion to full Lieutenant soon."
She flicked a page over in her notebook. "Length and girth of penis?"
He stopped dead. "What the hell kind of a question is that?!"
She smirked slightly and tucked her pen behind her ear. "I was kidding."
He frowned, shaking his head. "Anyways, we're here."
The patch wasn't very impressive. In fact, everything about it was rather run down and vaguely depressing. "These are technically PMQ's, but most of the guys here are bachelors." He strode up to the house on the very end of the street and unlocked the door.
There was a strong scent of cigarettes in the air. He rapped the radiator with his knuckles, grunting in displeasure. "Fuckin' heat's turned itself off again. You make yourself at home, and I'll go turn it on."
He headed upstairs. She watched him for a brief second, then wandered into the living room.
Typical bachelor. Cheap rabbit-eared television set perched precariously on a box in the corner, newspaper from this morning draped over a coffee-ringed table. Ashtray dangerously close to overflowing. Radio on the shelf tuned to a rock and roll network, scant few books neighbouring it.
He came back downstairs, sat on the steps, and began untying his boots. "Yeah yeah, it's not very clean, but I had no warning I was going to be getting a roommate, so whatever."
"I've seen messier," she drawled, noting the cobwebs up in the corners of the ceiling. She leaned over and picked up a magazine. " 'Busty or Bust, the only magazine for the boob aficionado…?"
He coloured immediately. She flicked it open, cocked her head to one side. "Haven't seen this one," she said. "Yeah, she's a cutie, with the short hair."
His brow was furrowed as he pulled off his other boot and began taking off his uniform jacket. "Do you mind not humiliating me while we're sharing this house?!" he snapped, throwing his jacket over the banister with unneeded venom.
"I don't see what's so humiliating about….wow, now SHE'S hot. Completely smoking'." She shut the magazine and put it back onto the table. "Being sexually aroused by titsy women is not an uncommon thing, you know."
He ran a hand back through his hair, taking out yet another cigarette. "That is not the fucking point," he growled.
"What is, then?" She paused as he flicked open his lighter, coming towards him. As he took a drag, she grabbed his collar and pulled his face down to hers. "Maybe, she murmured, the point is what will be standing up right here…?"
She slipped her free hand into his pants and cupped his member, squeezing gently. She grinned. "Now, this is something to be proud of."
He let out a small hiss of air, and she felt him twitch within her hand. She brought his lips back to hers and kissed him, pulling him backwards towards the couch.
She pushed him onto it and kissed him again, slipping her tongue into his mouth, and he was already erect, his cock jutting out from under his pants. When she paused for a moment, he gasped, his eyes going wide.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he said, watching in awe as she determinedly yanked his belt off and popped open his fly.
"What the fuck do you think I'm doing?" she growled in reply, as she slipped down between his legs. With delicacy, she pulled down the waistband of his boxers and extracted his member, a grin spreading across her face. Shocked fascination stamped on his face, he looked on as she licked both of her palms, grabbed his cock, and began to slowly but strongly jerk him off. He gasped again, sparkles of pleasure already spreading up his body.
"Harder or softer?" she said, squinting upwards at his face.
"Harder," he said, giving up on comprehension and relaxing back against the couch.
Immediately her grip became tighter and he groaned. "Faster or slower?"
"Faster," and as the pace picked up, "faster!"
A feverish blush spread across his face, hot, blazing pleasure gathering and intensifying at his crotch. She regarded him with a look of intense concentration; only the slight tinge of red over her cheeks indicating her excitement.
She hit a high spot, and he moaned, his head rolling back. Her second hand rose and began drawing circles on the head of his cock, her first hand pulling back his foreskin, and his hips rose upwards, toes curling. He scrabbled for a moment at the hem of his shirt, and he pulled it off, tossing it aside, his hand rising to pluck at his nipples, sending sharp sparks down his side. She gazed admiringly at his sculpted pecs and toned abs for a moment, noting the rugged landscape of old scars lining his stomach, chest and arms; and then his hips bucked upwards and she pulled her face back as he came. White as snow, it erupted from him in thick streamers, dropping onto his chest and spattering onto his wiry blonde pubes. He panted, shuddered all over, wiping his forehead.
She leaned back and grabbed some tissue off of the table, gently cleaning him and then tucking him back into his pants. He sighed, took the tissue from her and began to wipe off the residual semen from his chest. She rose slightly and took a drop of it onto her finger, tasted it.
"I see you enjoy having your nipples stimulated," she said, licked her lips.
He blinked. "I thought all guys did."
"You missed a spot." She dabbed at his collarbone. "All guys like different things, same as all girls. 's why you need to talk to your partner and learn what they enjoy." She stood up, glancing around. "Where's your bathroom?"
He pointed back towards the stairs. "Just to the right of the front door."
"Thanks." She went to the sink and washed her hands, whistling. He zipped his pants back up and pulled his shirt on, lit a cigarette. She returned a moment later, wiping her hands on her sweatshirt.
"Why did you do that?" he said, and took a pull of smoke.
"Because I think you're insanely sexy," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"You do?"
She rolled her eyes. "Would I have given you a hand job if I'd thought you were a sleazy bastard riddled with disease? No! I gave you one because you are a handsome, down-to-earth young man who needs some lovin'." She thought for a moment. "And I love blonde men."
He blushed. "You think I'm handsome?"
"Yeah. I do. Very handsome." She smiled. "That's why I was so surprised that you didn't have a girlfriend."
"I thought you were a lesbian." He tipped his head back and blew smoke rings, closing his eyes. He was feeling worn out.
"I do like chicks, and I dress like a dyke, but my preference is men." She slumped beside him, folding her hands behind her head. "Never jump to conclusions, Jean Havoc."
He chuckled. "Yeah…but most of the time it's safe to assume." He took a final drag of smoke and stubbed out his cigarette. "Did you only give me a hand job because you think I'm hot?"
She shrugged. "I haven't had time to learn much about you. But I like what I know so far."
"Do you always move this fast when you like someone?"
"You're the farthest I've gotten with anyone."
He sat up. "What, seriously?"
She turned and gave him a bored look. "Yeah. I did say not to jump to conclusions."
"That was the best hand job I've had in my life."
"That was the only hand job you've had in your life."
He laughed, shaking his head. "Christ, you're a piece of work." He scratched the back of his neck, thinking, and decided upon the direct approach. "Would you like to sleep with me tonight?"
She grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."
