A/N: Okay, now we have distinct citrusy (sexual) content, you have been warned. I've never actually sat down to write something like this before and I wanted to keep it well within the limits of the M rating, so it's not too intense. At least, not compared to some of the frankly scary stuff you can find in other more active fandoms.

I really wanted to get these chapters out before I go, so here you go but this really will (probably, :p) be the last update for probably at least a month.

And I realised I might have a bit of an obsession with Schofield in the shower but then again… who wouldn't?

Chapter 9

Schofield was awoken in the middle of the night by irrefutable evidence that his body would no longer co-operate if he was going to continue to deny himself any form of gratification. If he could control it when he was conscious, well then it was simply going to demonstrate that it had absolute control when it came to his subconscious dreams and reactions. He had woken up with his skin flushed and sticky, breathing hard and lying in an uncomfortable wet patch.

Shit, he thought to himself, it had been a long time since that had happened.

And just to top the entire embarrassing situation off, he was as still hard as a rock. Unfortunately for him, he tended to sleep on his stomach so there was no way he could manage to get back into a position he could fall asleep in without the friction driving him crazy.

He was going to need to wash the sheets in the morning anyway he reasoned, so he tentatively slid one hand down his stomach and under the waistband of his boxers, biting his lip at the pleasurable contact. He was already on the edge from his dreams, of which only fragments remained but he was fairly sure it had been fast and rough, there had been a cockpit involved and somehow they had both been soaking wet. Either way, he was already so damn close. His breathing sped up in time with the rhythm of the strokes and he was fast falling over the edge, trying desperately to withhold a moan which escaped, thankfully softly, through gritted teeth against his best efforts anyway. He felt his breath hitch as his body shook and he came over a clenched fist with Jack's name on his lips alongside the taste of blood where he'd bitten down.

His head felt foggy and his limbs heavy as he allowed himself to fall back into a now sated sleep.

Only to wake up a few hours later to the annoyingly bright sun peering in through the holes in the curtain, and seriously itchy.

He decided to skip breakfast that morning. It had been one thing to wake up hard every morning since Jack arrived primarily due to lustful fantasies about Jack – after all, most guys could dream about a literal plank of wood and still wake up in the morning with a metaphorical one – but to actually get off on dreaming about him, that crossed a line which meant he certainly couldn't look Jack in the eyes quite yet. Sunglasses or no, they wouldn't hide the blush.

Instead, he opted for another shower. He knew he should have gotten up and washed himself off last night before it all dried in every unimaginably awkward and uncomfortable place imaginable, but he also knew it's hard to be rational with your hand in your pants.

Thankfully this time, he was able to leave the water on hot. Stepping out though, he tried to dry himself ineffectively with the towel that was still damp from last night. Abandoning it as a hopeless job, he just pulled a fresh pair of boxers on even though he was still damp. Strolling back into his room, he threw upon the curtains and let the sunlight bathe the room. It felt wonderfully warm against his bare skin. It was mornings like this that just made him want to run for miles. A smile creased his face at that thought. He didn't have any plans set in stone for the day. Maybe a good cross-country run would be an excellent way to pass the morning. After all, the annual marine corp marathon was rapidly approaching and they really did need to start training if they didn't want to make fools of themselves. Having never been stationed in the capital before, it would also help to familiarise themselves with the course.

Abandoning his utility pants and combat boots, he reached instead for a pair of running shorts – camouflaged of course – and a T-shirt emblazoned with U.S.M.C. A further quick search eventually yielded a battered pair of sneakers, wedged right under the bed, and a map buried under a pile of books, photographs and the odd letter or two from his sister.

One final quick glance around the room and Schofield was resolved to tidy it up at some point. It had become a bit of a mess, as any room is prone to doing when it is a person's only available space, but all the same, it was going to make packing a nightmare in the state it was currently in. He hastily stripped the sheets and picked up a few days' worth of dirty clothes off the floor and shoved them into a laundry bag. Conveniently slipping out the back stairs and down the fire escape, he jogged to the Laundromat. Calling Book II and Mother on the way, he told them to meet the rest of the unit at the George Washington Memorial Parkway before heading over to the mess. All eyes turned to look at him when he entered but it didn't really bother him that much, he was in too good a mood. The other marines groaned and grumbled loudly when he handed them the maps but that was to be expected so he ignored them, helping himself to coffee and toast instead. He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of Jack sitting alone in the common room, undoubtedly waiting for him, so he sent Astro to go and let him know where to meet them.

When they'd finally all finished with the important business of breakfast, they ran at a fairly sedate pace – not wanting to tire themselves out completely before they even began – to the agreed meeting spot only to find Book II, Mother and Jack all already waiting for them.

Jack, it seemed, was not overly happy with him. Neither of them exchanged a single word as they set off. Schofield tried to convince himself that it was exactly what he wanted and what he had planned but something inside of him sank a little, especially knowing it was his fault. He had to admit though, he was a little surprised. Since his arrival, his own behaviour towards Jack had often been erratic and he knew, a little stupid at times. Yet all it took was him running out on their little breakfast ritual before Jack finally snapped at him.

He tried to clear his thoughts. After all, running wasn't meant to be about thinking. It was meant to be about helping him not think, forget about the harrowing couple of months he'd had and the rollercoaster of emotions he hadn't really been prepared for. Right now, it was meant to be just him and the wind through his dark, damp hair.

And the eight other marines all around him.

They took the marathon course fairly gently, being the first time any of them had run over thirty kilometres in one go for a while and – fit or not - most of their bodies were still sore from the gruelling combat training yesterday. The course took them along the river and past most of the major landmarks of Washington D.C.

The Jefferson Memorial

The Washington Monument

The Lincoln

Capitol

All of which, Schofield realised, Jack was seeing for the very first time. He deliberately tried to slow the group down as much as possible so he might enjoy it more.

In the end, the run took them the better half of the day and by the time they returned, they were all exhausted. Schofield decided that was enough for today and let them go to enjoy the balmy afternoon. They all returned to the barracks for a bit of rec time. It was a dirty, dishevelled and very tired bunch of marines that collapsed into various chairs in the common room. The room smelt strongly of grass and sweat. His own hair was still damp but now with sweat.

He had contemplated simply returning to his room and holing up again for the afternoon but soon thought better of it. If he spent any more time in the shower, his unit was going to start thinking he was trying to drown himself. Besides, it wasn't like he stank more than anybody else. Instead, he went up to his room briefly to retrieve a fresh shirt and an old but much loved chess set that had once belonged to his grandfather. Returning to the common room, he set himself up in his favourite battered couch tucked in the corner and right under a window, laughing slightly to himself at the antics of his team as they fought a tough foosball battle.

It was a small, well-travelled magnetic travel set. It had certainly been through the wars, both military and domestic. Given to him by his grandad, along with a quick ruffle of his hair and a gruff "you'll be right," right before he was torn from his real family; it had been to Japan, New York, Bosnia, Antarctica, Afghanistan and all over the States as well as on every sea and carrier ship he'd ever served on. The small wooden pieces sometimes, softened with age between his fingers, felt like best friends he could take with him.

After losing several games in a row to himself, he was contemplating calling David Fairfax and inviting him over for a game or two. Only that would involve explaining how and why he came to be living in the barracks and soft enough to let his marines have the afternoon off simply because a nice sunny morning had left him in a good mood. He was considering the pros and cons of each situation when a shadow fell across the board and distracted him. It was Jack, smelling of soap and still running a towel through unruly wet spikes of hair.
"You play?" He asked congenially.

"Evidently," Schofield replied, trying to encourage the man to leave him alone. Instead, he pulled over a chair and set himself up at the other end of the board, rearranging the pieces into their original positions from where Schofield had abandoned them, in check.
"You don't mind if I join do you?" He asked, whilst ducking down and searching the floor quickly for a missing white knight and black castle.

Schofield didn't say anything. He simply held out two clenched fists.

Jack smiled broadly and tapped the left. Schofield turned it over and opened it to reveal the missing white knight, which he handed to Jack before returning the black castle to its spot on the board and spinning the whole board around so the black pieces were in front of him. He gestured for Jack to begin and the game was on.

It was clear that Jack knew the basics of chess – he only tried to move the bishop in a straight line once – but his knowledge extended to being able to castle and no further. Shane ruthlessly demolished his pieces and had him in check within a few minutes. His evasive moves however, were much better. It took a further twenty minutes of chasing his king and single remaining pawn around the board before he actually managed to catch him in checkmate.

Jack had laughed as Schofield had casually pushed his king over.

"Didn't realise I was playing with somebody who actually knew what they were doing," he said. As he spoke, a shrill briiing came from his pocket.
"Sorry, mine," he pulled out the phone and flipped it open as Shane wordlessly reset the board, hoping he was up for another game. He knew it was against all his rules but sitting here, playing with Jack was just too damn nice to want to stop. He glanced up quickly at the others. They were still heavily, and noisily, involved in apparent tournament now underway. Sanchez appeared to be taking bets on whether or not Astro and Rebound could take down Mother and Bigfoot.

Snatches of Jack's conversation floated through his mind even though he was trying not to listen.

"Hi!"
He sounded sincerely excited to hear from whoever it was on the other end.

"Listen, I'm in the middle of something. Can I call you back-"

"I know it's 3am."

"Well then next time let me call you-"

"Sorry! I'll talk to you later."

"I love you," he added hastily.

Shane quickly added it all up and felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach.
A girlfriend then, probably still in Australia.

"Sorry about that," Jack said, slipping the phone back into his pocket and rubbing his hands together. "Now where were we? I was just lulling you into a false sense of security before, I'm going to kick your ass this time."

Schofield forced a grin. "You should call her back," he said.

Jack's smile on the other hand was genuine. "I don't think so," he said, "It's the middle of the night. I'd wake the kids up and she'd kill me."

Whatever it was that had hit his stomach, it now felt like it was twisting his insides all around into an awful knot.
"How old are they?" He asked from feigned politeness.

Jack looked far away and a bit wistful, remembering good times with his family Shane supposed.

"Annabelle just turned two and baby Joe is nearly four months now."

"You should call her back," Schofield repeated, beginning to pack the pieces up with perhaps more vigour than was necessary. After all, it wasn't the chessmen's fault that Jack had his own little happy family that would surely be joining him in America as soon as he'd found a place to live.
Schofield berated himself mentally for not seeing it coming.

A hand on his forearm stopped him.
"What are you doing?" Jack asked, amused.

"Leaving," Schofield answered bluntly, the beginnings of a blush starting to colour his cheeks.
How could he have been so stupid!

"Why?"

He didn't answer the question. Instead, he tried to shake his arm free but found that Jack had tightened his grip.

"Why?" He repeated more insistently.

Shane took a deep breath before saying as calmly as he could – whilst looking nervously at the others – "Can we not have this conversation here?"

Jack looked at him appraisingly for a minute but didn't loosen his hold.
"Are you gonna run away?"

Schofield just glared at him, not that Jack fully appreciated it, hidden as it was behind the icy reflective lenses but all the same he seemed to get the message. Letting go of his arm, he followed Schofield out on to the front porch.

The late afternoon was still warm and the sun was still just above the treetops. It helped to calm him down a little but couldn't fully mask the uncomfortable, jittery sensation that was currently pounding his insides. Even though he had sort of consented to having this conversation, now that it came down to it, he didn't actually know what to say. So he settled instead for leaning his elbows against the railing and looking out over the training compound, beyond which lay eight hectares of land. They were lucky, he thought, to have so much green space surrounding them in the middle of D.C.

He didn't have to wait long before Jack, standing slightly behind him, spoke up. For the first time ever, Schofield thought he heard a slight tinge of anger in the other man's voice.

"I don't understand you sometimes," he said. "I get that I'm taking your job and you don't like me. I get why in the first week, every time I entered a room, you left, but I really thought we were starting to make some progress here. Only, every time I think we're doing okay, every time I try to talk to you or get to know you better, you flip out! I just don't know what I'm doing wrong here and I'd be very grateful if you could let me know."

He ran a hand through his now short hair, the bristles feeling funny against his fingers, and paced a couple of steps before stepping up beside Schofield – who had still not said anything or even given any indication he had heard – he took a deep, slow breath before continuing.

"I don't have a lot of friends in this country. Hell, I didn't have that many friends in my own either, but hey," he shrugged. "There's got to be a reason that all those people in there practically worship you and I would like the chance to find out what it is."

He spoke clearly and formally, "I would appreciate it if you would accept my offer of friendship and my apologies for whatever it is I've done to so clearly piss you off."

Thoughts were whirling through Shane's head. Jack was apologising. He didn't need to apologise – he was perfect - when it was himself who had successfully fucked up the whole situation because he couldn't deal with how he felt. Jack wanted them to be close – that was a very bad idea and he'd known it from the start, should've fought it harder - but nowhere near close enough for what Schofield wanted. Maybe something was better than nothing. Or it might drive him insane. Fuck, wasn't he already?

He just didn't know how to cope with this sort of situation. He'd never been all that good at it. Give him a gun and tell him to stop World War Three, he could do that but whether it was kissing a girl goodnight; or even worse, trying to tell a guy he actually cared about that he didn't hate him – not at all - it always left him stumped.

Scarecrow, you know, every now and then, it's nice to see that you're human. You can leap off ice cliffs and swing across giant elevator shafts, but you still freeze up when it comes to kissing the girl.

Mother's words from that horror of a day sprung to his mind.

Not really helping, he thought. Those things were far less dangerous than what he was trying to screw himself up to do now.

Surely it wasn't meant to be this difficult.

Some things are worth fighting for.

He really needed to stop listening to Mother's advice.
Or start following it.

Unfortunately, by the time he had reached that conclusion, Jack had withdrawn his offered hand and was now staring coolly forward. Schofield realised he'd probably missed something fairly important. He didn't want to fuck it all up now, not when he was so close.

For once, giving in to pure instinct, he said the first thing that came to mind.

"I like you Jack."

He looked up with surprise written on his face, both that Schofield had spoken and at what he'd said.

"Well then what's the problem?" He asked incredulously.

"No," Schofield shook his head, half to himself. There was no stopping now. "No you don't understand. I really like you Jack."

He could have sworn he could see Jack's face start to furrow with confusion but he looked him in the eye anyway before confirming what Jack was only beginning to understand.
"Like that."

That was all he could think of and so he stood there then, surprisingly calm but also in mute fear of what was going to happen next.

When Jack said nothing either, didn't even look at him, the nervous feeling in his stomach returned full blast.

When the (slightly adorable) furrow lines around his brow increased, Schofield felt whatever remaining shred of confidence he had plummet to somewhere around his feet.

"I'm going to go now," he said sharply, dropping his gaze to his own feet before disappearing off into the surrounding trees.

Jack, struck dumb, didn't follow.