Useful

Title: Useful

Pairing(s): A surprise in the nature of the cold end of the color spectrum :3

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Nothing any of you can't handle. Vulgarity and gratuitous sex.

Summary: It breaks, he fixes it. ~4,000 words.



Church has been pretty much avoiding me for the past week and a half, which is fine. I don't really have any desire to run into him after my stupid ass let slip that one damning sound. Hallways blur into each other as I wander aimlessly around the base, banging my head against the closest walls at random intervals in an attempt to punish my idiocy. It's not working.



“Tucker. It broke again. Are you seriously that fucking worthless?”



Damn. Here I thought I wouldn't have to see the cunt for at least another week. His tone isn't as biting as it usually is, though, and he's got his arms folded tightly over his chest. The gesture used to look domineering. Right now it looks oddly defensive. Ch, I wonder why.



Sighing heavily, I let Church's sneer slide off and head down towards the basement showers. To fix, once more, the pipe that is plotting so steadily against me. Stupid fucking pipe.



I pray the entire way down that Caboose isn't there, and find my desperate pleas answered. The tools are right where I left them, so I grab the nearest one and throw myself at the spitting pipe. Please stay fixed, you bastard. Just this once, don't pop open and make Church tackle my ass again. I don't think I could handle it.



The pipe creaks and flexes, and with one final shove against the wrench the last washer grinds into place tighter than I've ever had it before.



“There, you fucking piece of shit. STAY!” I yell at the ring of metal, throw the wrench back in the toolbox, and slam down the lid.



The door to the showers clangs shut behind me. I spin around on the slick floor, nearly falling over at the site of a determined looking Caboose blocking my only escape. Oh please, please don't tell me he's here to –



“You are too stressed,” he states simply, idly twiddling his thumbs over each other as his peanut brain struggles to keep up with his words. I gawk, mind clicking over the statement but not necessarily making the connection with my stress and him standing there. “I think you could use a shower. It is what I do when I am feeling...un-nice. O'Malley hated showers. They made him go away. He said they made him itchy.”



A moment of silence passes, my mouth moving incredulously over silent words.



“Ca-Caboose! O'Malley is not my problem!” I grit, clenching my teeth to keep them from chattering with the sudden nervousness that's washed over me. Caboose rubs a hand over his padded forearm and shrugs.



“But Church is. I know how he is to you. Please, Tucker. You'll like it. I'll- I'll help you.”



Fuck, why does he have to be so god damned ridiculously innocent and kind hearted and standing there offering to help me shower, like he thinks I've forgotten how. It's such a dipshit Caboose thing to do, and for some reason it's more endearing than annoying. Maybe it's because I know there's an endless plain of golden skin lurking under that black rubber lining.



Shut up, Tucker. Just shut up.



He takes a step closer and I take a step back. He lifts his hands in front of him, then lets them sadly drop to his sides.



“Come on, Tucker. I know you've forgotten how to take off your armor. You couldn't even clean out your air filter without watching Church do it, first.”



And fuck him for being so observant.



“I...I don't...look, it doesn't matter if I've forgotten how to take this shit off. I'm not taking a shower, asshat. So stop trying to coddle me.”



His hands curl at his sides, balling into fists while his shoulders hunch. Like he's ready to either cry or attack. It freaks me out, because, loathe as I am to admit it, this motherfucker could lay me flat with his pinkie.



“Caboose?” I whisper tentatively. The soldier's fists tighten in response and he takes a long stride forward, towering over me as his hands close so hard around my biceps the armor cries out in alarm. He whips me around and forces my chest against a row of lockers with a resonating bang.



'Hm, this feels familiar,' my brain purrs at me before I stuff the voice away and try not to focus on how much god damned stronger Caboose is than Church. He draws a small breath and pushes closer, leveling his mouthpiece with the audio intake of my helmet.



Don't get hard, don't get hard, don't get hard. Fuck, Tucker, think of something other than how much bigger he is than you...



“I don't want to be a Church to you,” he says.



'Oh really? But your body is a temple, baby.'



NOT NOW, BRAIN! NOT. NOW.



“But I know that this is how he gets you to do stuff. And you need this, I think. So I'm going to make you do it, because it will be good for you.” He pauses. “And you will not smell anymore,” he adds in a whisper, as if he's talking to himself. Which he probably is.



I bonk my head softly against the locker in front of my face.



“Alright. Fine. Fuck, fine. I'll take a stupid shower, rookie. And I don't smell,” I grumble.



You know, I've kind of come to terms with the fact that I'm the bitch in this base. I mean, Jesus, every time I think of my superior wrestling me to the ground I have to smack my head against something, and now Caboose, of all people, has me flushing inside my armor and thinking of sagging grandma titties to make the ache in my cock go away. This is fucking ridiculous.



Caboose sighs happily and turns me around, then reaches out to unhook the shoulder pieces and shove them into a locker. I blink. That looked easy. Maybe I should actually pay attention to what he's doing instead of just standing here, horrified that my dick is going to jump out of my armor when he starts peeling off the under layer.



My brain goes kinda numb as that thought flutters over me.



“Don't-" I have to swallow to get the rest of the words out. “Don't take it all off. Just do what...what you do.”



He nods emphatically and hums some off pitch tune as he lifts away the heavy chestpiece, His hands move down my arms, scraping off each shard of aqua alloy as they pass over them. Part of me wants me to ask him to slow down so I can see what clasps he's unhitching, but the other really doesn't mind that the only way I can get out of this suit is through his touch.



His hands hover at the base of my helmet and my breath catches.



“No, Caboose.” I snatch his gauntlets, pulling them away from my head. “Not the helmet. It...I...” I don't even know how to say what I'm thinking, a frustrating and embarrassing thing considering who I'm talking to.



“Oh, you thought I was going to take it off?” He shakes his head and places the tips of his fingers at the base of my skull. “This is your face, Tucker. I wouldn't know who you are without it.”



Something about that seems creepily philosophical, but I don't have much time to dwell on it as he drags his hands until they're beneath my chin. The seal releases and he pushes his fingers underneath the lining to collide, smooth and cool, against the skin of my neck.



If I wasn't hard before, I'm fucking steel right now. Holy mother of god, I haven't felt anything other than the velvet-soft interior of the suit for months. So his fingers, gloved as they are, are still more solid and real than anything I can remember.



I toss my head back and pathetically stifle a moan. Caboose wrenches his hands away and I...well, I just want to go curl up and die somewhere.



“Oh, um, I'm sorry. Does it hurt? Here, this will make it better.” He quickly unclips the gauntlets and slides off his gloves.



Oh you glorious, stupid bastard. That's not going to help at all. He grabs the open lip of the suit and I prepare myself for the shock of his bare fingers, but instead he pulls me under one of the large showerheads in the middle of the room. Once he has me situated under a spout, he runs his thumb down my chest. The suit peels open behind it, all the way down to the top of the codpiece. Thank every fucking deity in existence that he hasn't tried to take it off yet. Gives me more time to focus on, you know, not being revoltingly aroused.



And then he actually pushes his hands underneath the fabric, over my shoulders and yeah, fuck it, I can't breathe let alone make any incriminating noises. Without warning, he circles behind me and, much to my dismay, unhooks the remaining slabs of armor, including the codpiece, and slides them across the floor to the locker.



At this point I'm pretty much panicking, but he's behind me now so there's no possible way he can see the thick bulge straining helplessly against my suit, right?



For a moment I almost think he can as he slides his fingers over my rhythmically clenching stomach muscles, under my bellybutton and holy shit, if he goes one millimeter lower his thumb is going to bump into the head of my cock.



And I really wouldn't mind if it does.



But he stops, I hold my breath, and he peels open the suit like it's some kind of jacket. Suddenly, I've never felt more vulnerable in my life. I don't even have body hair to protect me. None of us do. The suit dissolves dead skin cells, including the ones that create hair. That's how I've been able to escape showers until this fucking day. Damnit, Caboose.



I want to pull my hands to my chest to try to cover...something. Fuck, anything. But at this point I'm afraid that even my own touch is going to be enough to get my dick so swollen it juts from the top of where the suit cuts off, which is way, way too low to be comfortable right now.



Caboose doesn't make mention of how ridged my back has become. A bronze hand reaches around my arm to turn on the spray. Hot water hisses forth, rushing over my helmet and falling over my collarbones, down my chest and into the suit. The material sucks up the liquid and lets it float from its textured surface as steam. It's an...uh...interesting sensation that does nothing to lessen the hypersensitive state of my body.



My head falls forward with the sheer pleasure of being doused in warm water. I'll admit it. It does feel really, really good. Caboose claps excitedly and nudges me further under the showerhead.



“See, see? I told you it feels nice,” his voice drops an octave and he purrs. “It only gets better.”



Before I even have the chance to be wary of what he just said, soap covered hands smooth up my spine, over my shoulders, and his palms brush solidly over my nipples. The touch is like lightning, sending a swift shock of yes straight to my dick that involuntarily makes me leap back into Caboose's chest.



Caboose's hard, naked chest. That fuckin' ninja. Without a sound he's just as god damned shirtless as I am. And where the shit did he get the soap?



Millions of questions flicker in front of my eyes, overshadowed by the millions of nerves being set on fire as Caboose's hands glide slowly and thoroughly over my torso, cleaning me, slowly breaking down whatever remains of my pride.



The hands travel lower, my stomach clenches and flutters like mad, and fuck everything in existence, his fingers slip over the spongy, exposed head of my cock.



Yeah, it pushed out. Stupid penis.



“What is-" Caboose presses close and peeks over my shoulder. A dark flush of shame and want creeps from under my helmet and pools below my sternum, staining the pale flesh pink. I feel like I'm going to either pass out or fall over. “Oh,” he whispers and rubs his thumb gently over the leaking slit.



That's it. My knees give out in a rush but his arm snaps around my chest and holds me tight against him, the rapid pound of my heart pressing into his wrist. His thumb keeps rubbing, circling me lightly. He hums in consideration while I take deep, jagged breaths and try not to blow my load all over his fingers.



“Yes!” he exclaims. “I shall clean this as well!”



Brain is mush. What? All I know is that hot water is rushing over my junk and the ribbed surface of Caboose's suit is pressed hard against my bare ass. The piece of fabric between my legs lands on the wet tile at my feet, leaving me in what are essentially hip high boots and a helmet.



Heh. This is kinda sexy.



THANK YOU, brain. Good to know at least some of you still works.



“Caboose,” I wheeze, fingers clutching those sinewed forearms hard enough to bruise. The other Private doesn't take any heed of my grip, instead putting his free, soapy hand between my thighs, rubbing my dick in slow, easy pulls. All I can do is take gasping breaths and try to stay conscious as the fucker works his hand over me, not quite rough enough to make me come. Thank god. Christ, how embarrassing would it be to shoot all over him when the stupid bastard is just trying to fucking clean me?



But I want to. So bad.



“There, that's better.” I can barely hear him over the pound of blood in my ears. “And now the rest of you.”



Huh?



He releases my cock and moves his hand lower, fingers sliding between my cheeks to brush firmly over my opening. The tight ring of muscle flinches reflexively in shock and my eyes roll back into my head. Oh wow. This has definitely gone beyond the point of 'cleaning', but the sexiologist in me is telling me to just shut up and enjoy his 'innocent' attention. So I take advantage of Caboose's ignorance. I bite my lip behind the helmet and nod, eyes fluttering closed as the bigger man pulls me closer and rolls a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.



And that's when it clicks.



The fingers pushing insistently into my ass, the other hand pulling at my nipple, and the hot press of Caboose's cock against my lower back.



Oh. My. Fucking. God.



He's wanted this since the beginning. Since the very fucking beginning.



“You son of a bitch,” I rasp and let out a loud groan as one of the fingers pushing against me slips inside. I can't fucking believe it. I just let myself be duped by the dupe. Who's the retard now, Tucker?



“Yeah,” he agrees, voice so thick with lust he almost sounds like Church. “You want me to stop?” he asks silkily, the side of his helmet pressed against mine. A second finger joins the first and he scissors them, stretching me. My back arches. Holy shiiiiiiit, who could have ever guessed that this knucklehead has prostate-seeking fingertips?



Fuck it, dude. I abandoned my dignity the second he slammed me against the lockers.



“N-no.”



There it is, that dark chuckle that sounds nothing like Caboose. The soldier pulls me from beneath the water and leads me over to one of the benches. He takes his fingers from my ass just long enough to twist me around and lay me over the smooth wooden surface, then straddles the bench and pushes them roughly back in place.



Fuck me, the front of him is even more gorgeous than the back. The rolling crease of his abs, the droplet-covered wonders that are his pectorals, the round curve of his broad shoulders and the severe jut of his defined hipbones. I want to run my tongue all along that glowing skin and let him fuck me until I can't walk straight.



'Tucker, you're a filthy little fag.'

I know, self. I know. Now shut up and pay attention to the cockhead pushing up against your asshole.



Caboose moves fast for an idiot, knowing the exact amount of pressure to apply to make my body want to suck him in. Damnit, I wish this would hurt more so I could focus on the pain instead of the exquisite burn of him shoving deeper and deeper inside of me. My hand snakes down to wrap around neglected prick, but Caboose growls, snaps forward, and hauls my wrists above my head. One hand locks them tightly in place, the other curls onto my hip and holds me steady while he rocks forward.



Let's pause this scene for a moment, Tucker. You're sprawled under your younger teammate, taking his cock, taking his small, persuasive thrusts. You're being fucked by Caboose. You're being fucked by Caboose, Tucker.



And you like it. A lot.



“Harder,” I hiss, feeling the echo of the word in each pulse of my straining erection. Caboose whimpers, thighs clenching as he picks up the pace, a myriad of pleased little sounds pouring from his mouth. I've given up on holding back my voice, letting my moans ring loud in the empty showers.



“I always knew you were a whore, Tucker.”



Oh. Shit.



You're kidding me. No way. This isn't happening. This is NOT happening right now.



Church stands calmly above me, looking down with a cocked head and crossed arms. Fear lances down my spine. Caught. Caught being fucked up the ass by Caboose. How humiliating.



“I...Churchsir, I...I...” Caboose squeaks, trembling lightly in fear and still buried to the hilt.



“Can it, Caboose,” he barks, snapping out and grabbing onto the Private's helmet. The bigger soldier keens softly in submission, tilting his head into the grasp and letting Church tip his face to meet his own.



“Keep going.”



What?



“Keep fucking him.”



Wow. I can't – I can't believe he just said that. I'm breathless. I can't breathe. I can't breath, my god, I can't-



Caboose sighs and flexes his hips, pulling out and driving back in, following Church's instructions. Our leader shifts, and a click and rustle later his dick is in his hand and inches from my face.



I want to say 'HA! Looks like I'm not the only whore here, asshole!' but I can't find the strength. I'm shaking and weak, and my hard-on is smearing wet trails of salty fluid over my belly.



Church's knee comes to rest beside my head as his hand works steadily on his cock. It's right there, so close I can see the skin shift as he works his hand softly up and down the shaft. His knuckles rasp against the bill of my helmet, and spare drops of precome dot the gold shield over my eyes.



“Fuck...fuck you both.” I nearly sob, looking up into their bent, gold veiled faces. Caboose's rippled stomach flexes with each thrust of his hips, not an inch from my bouncing, leaking erection. I want to rub against it and somehow the bastard knows this, so he tightens his grip and arches away from me.



“Please, oh fuck please Church please let me, let me, let me...” I wail, frustrated and hard and on the verge of tears.



“Let you what? Let you suck my dick?” he smirks.



I nod, head bouncing and armor scraping along the wood as Caboose pounds me.



“Yes.”



“Give me his hands,” Church demands, and my wrists are casually transferred to the cobalt officer. Caboose instinctively latches on to my hips and pulls me down to meet his thrusts. “Good, Caboose. Good. Now fuck the shit out of him.”



It's like Church just took the leash off the blue soldier. He moves his hands beneath my knees, lifts them up and apart, and slams into my raised ass without restraint.



“Aw, yeah, that's it, rookie. Just like that. Come in him for me, Caboose. Come in that tight little-” Church's commentary sends him over the edge. Caboose lets go with a shout, orgasm rocking through his body, sending thick gushes of heat deep in my ass. His hips jerk with each jump of his cock, coming so far inside me I swear I can taste it.



Quivering with release and fatigue, Caboose gently slips free and kneels on the floor a few feet away, hands braced against the tile as he watches Church take over.



“Someone-” I whine, the lack of stimulation driving me to beg. “Someone, please, can you please touch-”



“No.” Church growls. “Not yet.”



This is so fucking unfair. What gives this shithead the right to-



Oh.



Church crawls over me, rubbing his erection where Caboose just shot his load. He smears the other man's seed over my crack as he wets his cock with it, and slips the tip of his dick into my abused hole. He's thicker, stretching the slick ring of muscle with his girth as he bears down relentlessly. Taking what he wants.



The officer rubs his hands over my sides as if he can feel the skin underneath his gloves and levels his face with mine.



“Mn, this...this won't take long.” He whispers his admission. It's the fucking sexiest thing I've heard all night. That Church is so eager to screw me and add his own jizz to what’s already inside my-



He's already close, I can feel it in how rock fucking hard he is. With a massive show of self control, Church holds himself absolutely still and gazes down at me with a superior lilt of his head.



“Caboose,” he moans and hooks his fingers under the chin of the nearby Private, dragging him forward. Caboose crawls across the floor to my side, staring up at Church curiously. Glancing between us, Church fiddles with a button beneath a groove in Caboose's helmet, and the soldier's visor hisses at it slides away from his face.



“Suck him.”



That's all the warning I get before Church shoves the other Private's head over my crotch. Full lips part with a gasp and I watch, in wide-eyed disbelief, as the purpling head of my cock slides into Caboose's mouth.



“Nnnn, good boy,” Church whispers.



I swear to god my helmet splits the wood of the bench as the back of my head crashes into it. A scream tears out of my throat as I empty myself into the sheer heat that is my teammate's throat. I can't see, I can't hear, I can't feel anything other than jet after jet of semen barreling out of my cock and into Caboose's gently suckling mouth. What I do register is a soft moan from Church and then another sharp rush of warmth spills inside me.



It's so good, fuck it's all so good that there are tears mixed with the sweat plastered at my temples. The fuzzy black frame around the edge of my vision fades, and all three of us are left panting loudly in the cold locker room.



Caboose swallows timidly and licks his lips. With a hum of appreciation, Church smooths his thumb over the younger man's mouth, then presses the button that slides Caboose's visor back in place. I'm trembling so badly I'm surprised I'm still on the bench. Church bends over me and supports his weight with his elbows, nuzzling his mouthpiece over the jaw of my helmet.



I shouldn't feel this happy.



Right on que, the pipe lets out a squeal and bursts open.



Of fucking course it does. Its job is to make my life miserable. I hold my breath as Church stares down at me. Please no yelling, please no yelling-



He throws back his head and lets a beautifully clear bout of laughter roll from his throat. Caboose breathes a sigh of relief and gives me a nudge that says 'I told you so'.



You're right, Caboose. Showers are the shit.



But as soon as I can feel my legs, I'm gonna kick your ass.



*End*