Are We There Yet?

Chapter Three: No Cause for Alarm

Fear coiled and exploded deep in Church’s chest.

“Tucker!” he cried, struggling with the warped latch of the seat-belt. Panicked and frightened for the state of his idiot friend, Church finally grit his teeth and wrenched off the military-strength plastic that held the metal clip. It gave with a crunch, freeing him of the restraint.

There was a gaping hole in the windshield where Church presumed Tucker had been thrown. Shaking, the Spartan clambered out of the Hog and pressed his left hand to the metal, leaning heavily against it as he limped around the side of the vehicle. He rounded the grill of the car, stepped behind the tree, and sucked in a harsh gasp.

Tucker was sprawled a few meters away, face down in the sand. Church nearly tripped over his wobbly legs as he ran over and dropped to his knees beside the unconscious Private.

“Tucker? Oh fuck, are you okay?” Not quite sure if he should touch the man or not, the Blue placed his hands tentatively on Tucker’s shoulders and turned him over.

“Mmnnnoooooo.” Tucker groaned, coughing and struggling to sit up. The older man pushed him back into the sand.

“Don’t move, dumbass. Something could be broken. Do you hurt anywhere?” Church asked, brow furrowed tightly beneath his gold face-plate.

“My head,” Tucker whined. Church grasped the soldier’s helmet in his hands and inspected the armor. Not a single chip or crack graced the metallic casings.

“Nothing’s busted out here. You don’t smell or taste blood?” The private inquired. Tucker gingerly shook his head no, then gently lifted Church’s gloved hands off his head and leaned up.

“Help me,” he pouted. The soldier waved his hands at Church, who rolled his eyes and, feeling much more steady, reached down to pull the aqua soldier into a standing position next to him.

“Are you sure you’re fine? Nothing more than a couple bruises?”

“Yeah, man. Sheesh. The sand’s pretty soft, you know.”

“Good.” Church sighed.

With a nearly silent woosh of air, Church smacked Tucker solidly upside the head.

“OW!” Tucker stumbled away from his attacker and landed hard on his ass. “What the fuck!? I just got my head put through a windshield, you chode!”

“You put your own fucking head through the windshield, fucktard! Look at that! You manage to find the one fucking tree in the desert and HIT IT!” Church bellowed, then stalked over to the smoking car and, deftly, dragged the entire thing a good three feet backwards through the sand.

“Woah.” Again, Tucker forgot about the suits and their whole tenfold-increase-of-strength deal. “Um…?”

“ ‘Um’ is right,” Church circled to the front of the car and eased up the dented hood. He squinted at the engine, then snorted in disgust. “Uhg, and I can’t see shit with this sorry excuse for night vision. Way to go, command. Way to supply even *more* useless crap to this crappy outpost for this crappy fuckin’ war.” Growling and spitting, Church pulled out the survival pack, the heavy case landing in the sand with a small puff. “Looks like we’re actually going to have to make use of this thing after all.” He unhooked the latches and lifted the lid. “We’re just-”

He paused. Tucker cocked his head curiously and watched Church’s back go rigid.

“Church? What is it?”

The Spartan slowly turned his head and pinned the younger man with a frigid stare.

“Caboose packed the wrong case.”

Panic surged through Tucker’s veins and he scuttled to join other Spartan. He thumbed past the tire, the tools, the food, ammo and extra guns, then sat back and peered curiously into the box.

“Uh, I don’t really see what the problem is,” he shrugged, completely bewildered. Church shoved his hand into the depths of the case and retrieved a very small bundle of fabric.

“This is our tent.”

The two stared down at the folded pup tent in trepid silence.

“Oh. OHHHHHHhhhhhhh, nooooooooooooooo.” Tucker nearly sobbed. “You mean I have to cuddle with your stupid ass? Oh man, this sucks.”

“There will be no cuddling.” Church snarled. He pressed a button nestled in the fabric and tossed the tent over his shoulder. It unfolded and righted itself into a tiny dome of heavily insulated mesh.

Tucker quickly sized up their sleeping place for the night. Squeezing two full grown men inside was gonna be a fuckin’ bitch, he could tell. But if they sucked it up and got a little closer than they wanted to, chances were they could probably get pretty comfortable.

“Look on the bright side,” Tucker chuckled, reaching into the box. “At least Caboose *did* pack his blankey.” The soldier held up a pale blue comforter. “Ooo, and it looks so soft.”

“I…we…we’re not taking off our suits.” Church sputtered. “That tent will help a shitload, and so will that damn blanket, but since we’re stranded in the DESERT-” he glared menacingly at Tucker, “-it’s going to get pretty damn cold in there. These things stay on.”

Tucker looked at the tent, then looked back at his cobalt leader.

“Dude, we are so gonna have to cuddle if we don’t take this shit off.”

Church made a few popping noises, then grunted and clicked on the com to the third member of their team.

“Caboose, this is Church. You awake?”

A disgruntled chuffing came over the receiver, followed by a yawn. “Yes, Churchsir. How goes it?”

“It goes bad. Tucker crashed the Warthog. We’re okay, but we’ll be out in the desert until I can get some light and fix the thing.”

“No! Oh, the desert is so lonely and cold and big! I WILL COME FIND YOU! FEAR NOT, MY TEAM MATES!!” Caboose wailed.

Church sighed, wishing he could rub the bridge of his nose. Or wrap his hands around Tucker’s throat.

“Caboose, we’re *fine*, okay? And we’re using your blanket. If that helps in any way.”

Tucker watched quietly as Church clenched his fists in annoyance, noticing a strange pulse in his shoulders and chest. The pulse grew to a slam, suddenly throwing the soldier into a spasm of pain as the injured muscles convulsed under his armor. He bit his lip and clutched his shoulder, waiting as Church tried to pacify the distraught Private. Eventually he had to cut off the connection due to the rookie’s incoherence.

“Arg! Goodnight, Caboose!” The channel closed with a snap and the two Blues were left kneeling in the sand.

“Church?” Tucker whispered, another jolt of pain making him arch his back. Church noted the motion immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone giving away his concern.

“Uhg, I don’t know. Feels like my shoulders are fucked. It’s not agony, but-" he convulsed and yelped as another flex caught him by surprise. “- it’s fucking annoying!”

“Hang on, we’ve got painkillers in here someplace.” Church rifled through the laptop-sized first aid kit before surfacing with a small bottle of pills. He rolled the canister in his hand to check the label and shrugged. “I guess this’ll have to do. Not really sure what it is, but it was next to the morphine, so it’s gotta be good stuff.”

“I love that logic.” Tucker rolled his eyes.

“It also says ‘for extreme muscle pain’ on the bottle, douche. Hmm. I don’t know, Tucker. Would you describe your condition as ‘extreme’?”

In response, Tucker gasped and clutched his shoulder through another wave, squeezing Caboose’s blanket tightly to his stomach. “Fuck. You.” he hissed between clenched teeth.

“Well, here. Take one and see if it does anything.” Church shook out a capsule into his palm and handed it to his teammate, along with one of the bottled waters and food rations from the case. The two slid up their visors and ate the bland tasting nutrient bars in silence before shifting their eyes back to the tent.

“Shall we?”

“Just get in the damn tent, Tucker.” Church closed their survival pack and pushed it underneath the Hog.

Snorting, Tucker did as he was told, crawling into the dome and bundling the blanket around him.

“God, it’s so small. And I bet it smells, too.”

“Oh quitcherbitchin.” Church wormed inside the tent and pressed the flap closed. “And scoot over. I’m tired and my damn neck hurts because of you.”

Tucker grumbled and shifted as Church settled down and yanked some of the blanket away from him. Their armor panels scraped and clinked as they rubbed against each other, causing both men to wince.

“Fuck it, dude. I’m taking some of this off. The sand really isn’t as soft as I thought,” the younger man mumbled.

“Same. Just keep the chest piece attached – all the temperature control gear is inside. You know, in case you forgot.”

“Fuck yooooou,” Tucker sing-songed and happily unsnapped the stiff back panel, the offensive codpiece, and a few random bits and pieces around his chest and thighs, careful not to bend to far or strain his shoulders. Church removed similar parts, tossing the pieces down near their booted feet. The Blues wiggled, adjusted, and eventually stilled in the surprisingly warm tent.

As soon as the silence struck, Tucker was bored. Now that he didn’t have the peaceful monotony of the terrain whizzing by, the gentle shift of g-force as he turned, all he was doing was thinking about it. How much he wanted to be back behind the wheel, back with the music blaring and Church trying to hide his singing and that throat-tightening feeling of being home again.

His eyes scrolled over the tent walls, Caboose’s blanket, and the man next to him, the entire scene washed in the light blue color his visor supplied. They settled on Church’s back. It was awkward, being pressed so close against someone he’d grown to share a mutual, playful disdain with. Church was warm and breathing deeply next to him, making soft grunting noises as he molded the covered sand with his thigh.

Tucker watched his teammate’s hips dip and roll against the ground, swallowed, and reached down to rub himself through the thick fabric of his bodysuit. It was more of a comforting action, to feel his cock slowly thicken under the black material. He traced the slowly expanding head, flicking and pinching the tip through the barrier, offering the gorging shaft light strokes. As it often happened, without even noticing Tucker had himself hard past the point of ignoring it.

‘Aw shiiiiit,’ he cursed. He’d do this at the base sometimes, even with everyone around – except he’d push his fist inconspicuously against his codpiece until the pressure had him panting and running off behind his rock or to the bathroom to take care of it. Glancing at Church’s unmoving back, Tucker decided the pleasure would be worth the risk of discovery. Slowly, Tucker unclipped the gauntlet on his right hand. With the other he lifted the blanket up and away from his crotch to prevent the friction from alerting Church to what he was . . . hah, what he was actually going to do.

It was pretty cold outside of the armor, the young Blue found when he released his aching cock from its black lacquered prison. His dick jumped in his hand, pushing wantonly into his palm. Tucker purred and squeezed, letting out a small sigh as he set up a gentle rhythm.

He built the pace steadily, and after a few minutes not only was he surprised that Church hadn’t noticed the sound of his hand sliding over flesh, he was also ready to blow. He swallowed down his gasps, bit his lip, and was seconds away from an orgasm when both of his shoulders locked up, stilling his arm and causing a silent wail of frustration to trail from Tucker’s throat.

No, no, no, no! Oh my GOD, why? So close, so close, so close, fuck, so fucking close…

Tucker lay there, breathing heavily, cock leaking over his covered stomach in messy drips. Try as he might, he couldn’t move his hand fast enough, and he couldn’t move his other arm high enough to reach his pleading erection. Drugged on arousal and the painkillers that were kicking into action, Tucker did the only thing his frazzled mind could think of.

“Church,” he whispered, voice rough with pleasure.

“Yeah?” Church answered, startled out of his half-asleep haze by the throaty rasp.

“I – I need to ask you a favor,” the younger Spartan moaned, embarrassed and horny and out of his mind with lust.

“Sure, what do you need?” Church rolled over and faced the smaller man, assuming he wanted another pill. He kept hearing the sharp rustle of armor against the tent floor, so he figured the spasms were still bothering him.

“My shoulders. They won’t let me . . .I can’t. . .” he paused and took a small breath. “Church,” his head turned, visor settling on the other’s helmet. “I need to come.”

* * *

Church blinked rapidly behind and arched an eyebrow, not exactly sure why Tucker was alerting him to his, ah, condition.

“So? What do you-” he cut himself off, the answer jumping at him so fast it stole his breath. “Oh, don’t fucking tell me you’ve been. . .this whole time-”

“Church, please,” Tucker begged, lifting his head weakly and letting it thump to the ground in frustration. “The medication kicked in and I was so close, and it hurts so bad. . .”

“No way. There’s no way you’re ever going to get me to touch your cock, let alone get me to jerk you off.”

“It wouldn’t take more than a few good pulls, I promise.”

“Fuck you!” The cobalt Spartan sputtered. “For all I know you’re trying to get me to do it just so you can take it to Tex! ‘Hey, guess what? Church jacked me off the other night. Yeah, we should totally go have sex now.’"

The silence was heavy.

“No,” Tucker finally said. “I wasn’t thinking that at all. But that’s a great fuckin’ idea,” he chuckled, despite how horribly erect he still was. Church gave a growl, which, not at all to his surprise, sent a flutter of pleasure through Tucker’s stomach. “I won’t,” he gasped. “I swear to god that’s not why I’m asking. Please, Church. Please, please, please. I feel so stupid, but I’m so hard and it hurts so fucking much, just . . . if you could just touch me, I’d be gone. I’ll do anything. Anything. I’m begging you. Please?”

A few seconds passed, the sound of Church’s teeth grinding together perfectly audible in the quiet tent. “You mean that, asshole? Anything?”

“Anything.”

Church let out a long–suffering sigh.

“Okay.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. I’ll do it. And I’m,” he gulped, voice getting a little husky despite himself. “I’m holding you to that, fucker.”

“Okay,” Tucker whispered, watching intently as Church cursed, went to reach under the cover, then pulled back and begrudgingly removed his glove.

“You owe me big for this.”

Church slid his bare hand slowly under the edge of the blanket. His fingers journeyed over Tucker’s arm, over his side and onto the flat expanse of his stomach. Steeling himself, Church inched down, only to recoil at the slickness he found on the Blue’s suit.

“You’re wet,” Church murmured, rubbing the fluid between his fingers.

“Yeah,” whimpered Tucker, goosebumps dancing along his flesh when Church’s fingertips bumped the tip of his cock. He wrapped his hand carefully around Tucker’s length and started to stroke, unsure of how the younger man liked it but not quite queer enough to ask. Church burned scarlet when the younger Spartan let out a moan of appreciation. “Oh yes. Oh fuck yes, this is so wrong but it already feels so good.”

“You’re not really making this any easier for me,” Church sneered, even though his eyes were pinned to the spot where he knew his hand was working over Tucker’s shaft, watching the blanket lift with each upward pull.

“But you’re making this really easy for me,” Tucker breathed, in blatant awe of how fucking good it felt to be touched by another person again. The younger Blue let go of the base of his cock and moved his fingers to the back of Church’s hand, brushing lightly over the soft skin. Tucker let his thumb rub small circles on the inside of Church’s wrist, gently encouraging the bigger soldier to keep going.

The commanding Spartan let his head drop, the touch affecting him in a way he hadn’t thought possible. Ridiculous as it sounded, Church considered the gentle press and swirl of Tucker’s thumb on his wrist and the flutter of soft fingertips on his knuckles a more intimate touch than what he was doing to the other man. Without thinking, Church curled his other arm around his teammate’s shoulder, pushed flush against him, and increased the speed of his strokes.

“Oh shit, just like that. Perfect.”

Tucker kicked down the blanket, exposing himself to the cool air of the room. Church’s eyes danced around the tent, desperate to avoid looking at his hand on his friend’s cock. In contrast, the turquoise Marine was staring, captivated as he watched the purpling head pop over and over through the tight circle of Church’s fist.

Finally, Church’s curiosity got the best of him and he glanced down. His hand faltered slightly as he took in the sight of the leaking, pulsing dick that wasn’t his, a pleasant flutter coursing up and down his rippling stomach muscles. Tucker was hot and silky and so hard against his palm, and he was so ashamed of actually noticing that, that he closed his eyes and pumped faster. Tucker moaned throatily and dug his nails into the back of his hand.

He hadn’t been lying. Only minutes after Church had started masturbating him, Tucker gave a sharp cry of warning, latched into his leader’s wrist, and came. Church watched through half lidded eyes as thick spurts of semen landed on the armored stomach and coated his fingers. There was a lot. He tore his eyes away and groped blindly for the cover.

“Sorry, Caboose,” he mumbled and wiped away the jizz with a corner of the blanket, mopping it off of his huffing, shaking comrade as well. Unsure of whether he should ask if Tucker could tuck himself away, Church did it anyway, closing the suit’s seal. Clearing his throat, he turned back on his side and faced the tent wall.

He didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but Tucker’s fingers rubbed along his spine as the private slowly regained the use of his brain. It felt like one of those touches where the one owning the fingers doesn’t want the other person to know that it’s a deliberate action, something that is supposed to remain under the radar.

“Thank you. You have no idea how long that’s been building up.”

“Three hours isn’t exactly a drought, Tucker.”

“It is when you’re me,” came the cheeky reply. Church smirked, unseen. “But really, that was better than anything I’ve ever fucking done for myself, which is pretty fucking sad considering I’m all I’ve had for the past, what, year?”

“Yeah.”

“You have nice hands,” Tucker stage whispered. Church sputtered, his stomach doing an odd flop.

“Shut it. And just. . just please don’t tell Tex. Unlike you, I have a good chance of getting laid sometime in the next week.”

“Hey, I totally count what just happened as getting laid.”

“You would.”

Tucker shrugged, unashamed. “It met my requirements; it felt better than what I do on my own and someone else was involved." He yawned, the thrum of the drugs beginning to blur the edges of his vision.

“Uhg. Just go to sleep already.”

“Fine.”

The tent quieted once more.

“You know if you wanted to, uh . . . do . . .yourself, I wouldn’t mind, um, giving you. . .uh . . .”

“A helping hand?” Church snorted and flipped over to face him again. The aqua soldier gave a small chuckle.

“Well, yeah. Seems a fitting repayment. A sexual favor for a sexual favor.”

“You couldn’t even get yourself off, what are you proposing to do for me?”

Another layer of silence peppered the air, thick with something Church was afraid to acknowledge. Shyly, gently, Tucker’s fingers grazed the front of his suit, tracing the bulge Church had hoped to god wouldn’t be there.

“What, you want to touch?” Church licked his lips nervously.

“Maybe.” The hand got a little bolder, fingers pressing harder against his crotch, gripping him through the material. Tucker eased open the seal, ignoring Church’s twitch of surprise, and pulled him out.

“Oh no, Tucker. Don’t-” Church moaned and covered his face. Tucker grabbed the wrist he’d been holding earlier and guided Church’s hand to his cock, coaxing him to wrap his fingers around the base. “The fuck?” his voice wavered as he caught site of the curved smile of his grinning teammate. He blinked. Why was his visor up?

Tucker pushed at his hips, shoving him against the wall of the tent as he sidled down.

Oh.

Oh god, he couldn’t be serious.

“Are you gonna fucking suck me?” Church choked, a shiver rolling along his shoulder blades and the back of his thighs.

“I . . . yeah, if it’s okay. Is it okay?” Tucker looked up, unable to see much but the outline of Church’s armored face and body. Church, however, could see the unsure dart of the smaller Spartan’s eyes, which only added tinder to the low flame of lust burning in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah,” he rumbled. “It’s okay.”

Tucker’s lips touched his dick tentatively, running over the tear-shaped slit and smoothing over the swollen head.

‘Tucker’s sucking my cock.’ Church squeezed down hard to stop himself from coming at the thought, a strangled whimper bubbling from his throat. When Tucker’s tongue came down on him he nearly came again. Flushed from holding back, Church grabbed at the younger man’s head with his free hand and pushed him further down on his length.

Tucker made a sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper and let Church control the bob of his head, flicking and swirling his tongue the same way that he liked to be blown. His eyes closed of their own accord as he fell into the motion, focusing on the heady sounds he was causing Church to make.

Tucker groaned as he felt his cock re-awaken, pressing stiffly against the suit seal, yearning for the attention he was giving the other man. And fuck, how hot and wrong was this, sucking on Church’s *dick*, panting and choking on it like he was some cheap ten-dollar whore.

But it felt good to have his superior buck into his mouth, to feel the thick twitch of muscle against his tongue, and fuck, Church was *bigger* than him and it might have bothered him if he were currently inclined to give a damn. And, currently, he really fucking wasn’t.

He sucked desperately, nipping lightly and sucking harder than he thought he should. Church yanked on his head, pulling him off of his shaft.

“If you don’t want it in the mouth,” Church ground out, “then I suggest you back off *now*.”

He didn’t back off. Instead he sucked his friend’s cock greedily back into his mouth and nipped gently at the bulbous head. He felt the swell, felt him go rigid between his lips, and knew exactly what was going to happen.

“FUCK!” The cobalt Spartan arched his back and came with a shout, heavy strands of bitter fluid slapping onto his teammate’s tongue. Tucker swallowed, surprised at the spicy tang and slightly ashamed for enjoying the taste.

Before he even had time to gulp all of it down, Church was hauling him up by the back of his neck and smashing their helmeted foreheads together.

“I. Can’t. Fucking. Believe. You did that.” The older Spartan panted, teeth clenched behind his visor.

Tucker nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, neither can I.”

“Why?”

The aqua Spartan blinked. “Why? Well…well, I, uh. I guess-”

Before he could even start explaining, there were fingers pressed painfully against his lips. Church signaled for him to be quiet, suddenly so alert it was frightening.

And that’s when Tucker heard it.

The rumble of an engine.