BLACK HAWK DOWN Fic: The Watchers -- K/D
Title: The Watchers
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kurt 'Doc' Schmid/Dale Sizemore
Summary: Kurt and Dale keep looking at each other. After the battle, they're done with just eyefucks.
Author's Notes: Thanks to perseph2hades, who kept poking at me to write this. And to elaur, whose double-drabble helped me when I got utterly stuck a page and a half into this thing. This veers sharply off from What Really Happened At The Crash Site, in order to preserve the sanity of myself, and of the fandom as a whole.
THE WATCHERS
Here's the thing you've gotta understand: Kurt didn't mean to keep running into Sizemore. The kid just kept being in the area when Kurt was passing through.
First time he saw him, he'd looked everywhere at once. Sizemore'd been sweat-shiny, squinting into the bright Somalian sun. There was a canteen in his left hand and his right hand was blocking out some of the brightness so he could watch the trucks roll in and out of the base. His hip was cocked.
Then he'd turned around and Kurt nearly dropped whatever it was he'd been holding -- gauze, Ace bandage, he couldn't really recall -- because holy fuckin' Moses, the kid had the ripest, reddest lips Kurt had ever seen on a Ranger, and damned if that mouth wouldn't look beautiful wrapped around his cock.
And Sizemore'd caught him staring. He stared right back for all of two seconds, then smiled a little. And then he turned back into the sun, lifting his face to it like he was some sort of god.
Kurt had quick-stepped it to the tent to drop off his supplies, sprinted to the showers, and jerked off so hard he could barely stand after he came. He noticed later, when he was dressing again, that he'd gnawed on his lip so hard, it was bleeding a little.
There'd been a couple moments in the barracks, close to lights-out, when Kurt was in the process of beating his pillow into submission or stripping down to his shorts for bed, when he could've sworn he saw the kid, but he chalked it up to tricks of light. One day, about a half-hour before dusk, Kurt had nearly tripped over the kid on the beach when he was coming back from a five-mile run. He'd been shirtless, sprawled out on his back, basking in the fading daylight. Kurt had almost fallen flat on his face in the sand, but managed to regain his balance just in time for the kid to look at him again.
Kurt often wondered if he meant it when he looked at him like that.
Then the kid had gotten injured when Kurt was on duty. Ping-pong accident, he said, but Kurt had seen him wrestling with one of the D-boys earlier that day, and figured it was only a matter of time before Sizemore came in nursing a wound of some sort. His wrist was swollen and mottled purple. Kurt looked it over, felt a weird squeezing in his chest when he touched it and the kid cried out.
Felt the same thing, only sort of in reverse, when he realized the kid had missed out on the brunt of the fighting.
Dale's wrist hurt. He'd cut the cast off like an idiot, because he'd had enough of just standing and listening to transmissions of the battle over the radio when he should've been out there with everyone else, fighting. He hadn't exactly come to Somalia to sit back and relax.
The messy splint he'd made out of a ripped-up shirt and a couple spare pieces of wood wasn't helping, but there were people that were hurt a lot more than just a sprain, and he didn't want to take any of the medics away from them. They were stressed enough as it was, he reasoned. His reluctance to get patched up had nothing at all to do with not wanting to sit down in close-quarters with Doc Schmid, who thought he'd got him all figured out. Really.
What the hell did he know about it, anyway?
And it wasn't as if Dale was the only Ranger to stare at Shug. Half the guys he'd arrived with followed the Delta sniper around with their eyes. Dale had just never been good at doing things in subtle ways. The guy was a damn tease, so it wasn't his fault. But every guy on the base knew, whether they wanted to or not, that the minute another of the men tried to make a move on Shug, Gordon would break him in half.
Besides, lately when Dale closed his eyes, he'd been thinking of someone. Else.
Without his left hand, he couldn't do much of anything. He'd tried to write a letter to his parents earlier, when word had gotten around that they were leaving soon, but his right-handed writing was shit, so he crumpled the letter up and stuffed it into his pack. Then he'd fished it out, folded it up, and put it back in.
Now he was sitting on his cot, staring off into space, and he was so tired. His father had always told him it wasn't any use to dwell on things, but he kept thinking maybe if he hadn't gotten hurt, he could've gone in. Maybe he could've saved someone. Maybe Smitty might still be alive, or Casey, or -
Suddenly he wasn't looking across the hangar, but at a camo shirt in close range. "Sizemore?"
Dale got to his feet, straightened his spine, saluted. "Captain Steele," he said.
"At ease, son," Steele said. Dale thought it was sort of comforting that even though the captain looked every bit as in-control as usual, he sounded as tired as Dale felt. "You alright?"
"Yes, sir," Dale replied.
"What in the hell's that on your arm, Sizemore?" asked the captain, with one eyebrow slightly raised.
Damn. Dale had hoped he wouldn't notice. But then, not noticing was hardly Captain Steele's style. "A splint, sir?"
"That a question, or an answer?" Steele smiled a little.
"An answer, sir."
"Well," said the captain, "go on, get yourself checked out by a medic, son. Looks like you could use more than a splint."
"Yes, sir."
Steele clapped him lightly on the shoulder of his good arm, then nodded and walked away. "Next time I see that wrist, it'd better be in plaster," he said as he left.
Dale wondered what Steele would do to him if he claimed temporary amnesia.
After a minute, he decided he didn't really want to find out.
"Is this going to be a daily thing?" Kurt asked when Dale walked into the tent. Dale held up his arm with a wry smile. "Jesus Christ, what's that thing made of?"
"A tee shirt and plywood," Dale replied. "I tried to remember how to do it from Boy Scouts, but... didn't work so well."
"Sit," Kurt said. He pulled a box of supplies off a shelf and then picked up some scissors.
Dale sat on a vacant stool and offered his arm to the medic. He glanced around the tent, but looked back at Doc's hands on his wrist when he started cutting through the tee shirt.
"Better hope you haven't fucked your wrist up too badly with your splint, or you'll have to learn how to write with your other hand." Kurt tossed the ratty, now destroyed shirt and handful of wood aside and pulled a big roll of soft gauze out of the box.
"Tried that already," Dale said, and wondered how Doc knew he was left-handed. He was pretty sure that hadn't been one of the questions on the paperwork he'd had to fill out when he'd applied for Ranger School.
"Hmm," said Kurt, and then he moved Dale's arm up to a level where it would be easiest to wrap, in preparation for a cast. His fingers flew as he passed the roll over and under Dale's wrist, careful not to touch him directly. "You're not gonna cut this off as soon as I'm done, are you?"
Dale shook his head.
"Good."
Within a few minutes, Dale had been fixed up with a new cast. He tested its weight, found it to be lighter than the first one, and said, "Thanks, Doc."
"Now, no contact sports for at least -- " Kurt broke off on a yawn and swayed on his feet. " -- two weeks," he finished. And yawned again.
"I don't think that'll be a problem," Dale said. When the medic yawned a third time, he frowned. "Have you even slept since -- "
"Can't," Kurt interjected, and Dale understood. "Haven't since we got in. I'm supposed to be sleeping right now, but..."
Dale nodded. Then he sat up a little straighter. He looked at Kurt for a minute. "Come on," he said, and grabbed the medic by the arm with his good hand. He started walking toward the hangar, Kurt in tow.
"Hey," Kurt protested, and pulled his arm from Dale's grip. "Nobody drags a Delta."
"Fine," Dale said. "Have it your way, just come with me."
They ended up outside, in the shade between two buildings. It was Dale's favorite spot when he wanted to be alone -- he'd never seen anyone else in the area. "Wait here," Dale said.
Kurt wondered why he was taking orders from a Ranger, but stayed put. His eyes widened a bit when Dale came back dragging a cot and a pillow.
"Lie down," Dale said, and pointed at the cot.
"I told you -- in fact, I'm not sure why I told you, but I can't," Kurt replied. The last thing he wanted was to wake up screaming himself hoarse, like he had when he'd tried to sleep at the stadium.
"I need some time to think," Dale said, "and this place is as good as any. I can wake you up if -- you know."
Dale was true to his word. When, a little over an hour later, Kurt began to thrash in his sleep, Dale knelt next to the cot and shook his shoulder. "Hey, Doc. Wake up."
Kurt's brow creased and he batted at Dale's hand, then wrapped his fingers around it and gripped it tightly. He thrashed again, but remained asleep.
"Come on, Doc," Dale said again, louder this time. He shook him harder. "Wake up."
Kurt sat straight up, his eyes wide, and gasped for air. "Jesus Christ," he choked.
"You alright?"
Nodding jerkily, Kurt replied, "Yeah." He squeezed Dale's hand. Then he seemed to notice that the hand was attached to someone. "Sizemore?"
"Yeah?"
"Wanna tell me why I'm holding your hand?"
"Um," Dale said. "You were having a -- " he cut off. Started again. "I tried to wake you up, and you just grabbed it and held on." His thumb skittered absently over Kurt's knuckles.
"Oh," Kurt replied. He chewed his lip for a minute. "Do you mind?"
Dale let go, lightning-fast. "Sorry. I... sorry." He stood up. Turned away. Felt himself turning red. Then there were two strong hands on his shoulders, turning him around and shoving him up against a wall.
"Not what I meant," Kurt said, and then he dove for Dale's mouth and kissed him until the only thing Dale knew was the wet, biting pressure of Kurt's lips. Fingers tightening on Dale's shoulders, Kurt snapped his hips in close and aligned the rest of his body up with the smooth planes of Dale's. He licked the inside of Dale's lips, plunged his tongue in deep, drank down Dale's soft moan.
The kiss broke with a loud, wet sound. Kurt shoved Dale's shirt aside and mouthed his collarbone, then pulled back. Dale's eyes were still closed.
"I watched you," Kurt whispered roughly against Dale's cheek. He braced one hand flat on the wall next to Dale's head. "You were outside, soaking the sun in like you were hungry for it. Fucking gorgeous. I wanted you."
Dale opened his eyes. "I know."
Kurt's nostrils flared. He stared at Dale for a long moment, stared at that beautiful mouth. Moved his hand a little, felt Dale's pulse tremble under his thumb. Watched the very tip of Dale's tongue slide out and lick his lips. Wanted. Darted forward and licked at that pink sliver of tongue.
Dale's mouth opened up under Kurt's and he moaned again, a little sound that made Kurt's cock throb and press against his fly. His good hand wrapped around the back of Kurt's neck, fingers flexing and pressing in the way his toes were flexing in his boots. His injured arm raised and draped lightly across Kurt's lower back.
Their tongues slid wetly together and then apart, over and over until Kurt knew that the only thing that was holding the both of them up was the treads of their boots and the wall against Dale's back. Dale sucked on Kurt's tongue and Christ, Kurt knew he'd been right about that mouth. His hand clenched on Dale's shoulder, then slid down his side while he bit lightly along the edge of Dale's jaw.
"Doc," Dale moaned, when Kurt tugged his tee-shirt out of the waistband of his pants and pushed it up past his belly.
"Kurt," the medic corrected. "Call me -- " He was cut short by Dale's lips seeking his for another hot kiss. The hand under Dale's shirt spread out against his skin and then moved up, and he brushed his fingertips over a hard nipple.
Panting, Dale drew away again, licked a bead of sweat from Kurt's temple, and leaned back. "Kurt," he repeated.
"Shh," Kurt said, and pressed two fingers to Dale's lips. "Don't want anyone to hear." Then Dale's tongue came out, and flicked over the tips of those fingers, and Kurt's eyes closed for a minute. He drew his hand away and pressed it to Dale's hip, then worked his damp fingertips under his waistband. Wiggled them down in there until he was rubbing his fingers over the crease of Dale's hip.
Suddenly he really needed to see that fold of flesh. He had Dale's fly open with two short flicks of his wrist, and he shoved the cloth aside, moaned low at the sight of the smooth, naked skin before him. Dale shuddered under his hands.
Kurt's palm skimmed across Dale's bare hip and then lifted, and he dragged his fingertips through the wiry hair that surrounded the base of his cock. He brushed his hand over the wet cock-head straining toward him, wrapped his hand firmly around it, and stroked up and up. Watched him rise up onto the balls of his feet and bite his lip. Rolled his nipple between two fingers. Tasted his jaw again when he gasped.
When Kurt's hand twisted and moved back down his cock, Dale let go of his neck in favor of pressing his hand against the wall behind him in the hopes that he'd be able to keep himself from sliding down it. His hips twitched and he rolled his head back, then moaned again when Kurt licked at his Adam's apple.
"That noise," Kurt said. "Make it again." He twisted his hand and started to slowly jerk Dale off.
Dale took a deep breath, let it out, pushed his hips into Kurt's hand. "What -- what noise?" he asked. Whimpered.
Kurt rubbed his thumb under the head of Dale's cock. "That little moan. The one you made when I..." he swiped the pad of a finger over Dale's weeping slit. He was rewarded with a full-body shudder and a soft groan.
The hand on Dale's chest moved to his lower back, little finger slipping into the dark crease between Dale's ass cheeks. "Please," Dale said, and the hand on his cock sped up. Squeezed the tip a little, slid back down, updown, until Dale was shaking all over.
"I want to watch you when you come," Kurt whispered. "Can you be quiet?" He squeezed Dale's ass lightly, petted the smooth flesh, slipped his hand around quickly to cup and stroke Dale's heavy sac.
Dale nodded. Bit his lip again, afraid that if he opened his mouth he'd start yowling and never stop. Breathed hard through his teeth. His eyes were wide and dark.
"Keep looking at me." Kurt rolled Dale's balls between gentle fingers, felt them tightening. Put his whole body into the twist-pulls on Dale's cock. Stared at him while he stared right back, watched his orgasm flow across his face before it even hit his groin. Dale's eyelids fluttered but remained open. He let out a soft, wheezing noise, and then his thighs trembled and his balls clenched, and he was coming, hard and hot in Kurt's hand. "Gorgeous," Kurt murmured.
Dale's eyes closed. Kurt wiped his hand on the side of the building, unsnapped his fly, eased down the zipper, and palmed his cock. One stroke, two, three, and he was done. He looked at Dale, who was looking at him, and his whole body turned liquid. He sat down hard on the cot, feeling his knees about to buckle. He had a feeling he wouldn't live it down if he fell over with his fly undone and Little Kurt hanging out. "That was hot, Sizemore." He smiled when, a moment later, he was corrected.
"Dale."
"Dale. That was hot. I needed that."
Dale fastened his fly and sat down next to him. "So did I," he said. He licked his lips. "Listen, I -- "
Kurt kissed him.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kurt 'Doc' Schmid/Dale Sizemore
Summary: Kurt and Dale keep looking at each other. After the battle, they're done with just eyefucks.
Author's Notes: Thanks to perseph2hades, who kept poking at me to write this. And to elaur, whose double-drabble helped me when I got utterly stuck a page and a half into this thing. This veers sharply off from What Really Happened At The Crash Site, in order to preserve the sanity of myself, and of the fandom as a whole.
THE WATCHERS
Here's the thing you've gotta understand: Kurt didn't mean to keep running into Sizemore. The kid just kept being in the area when Kurt was passing through.
First time he saw him, he'd looked everywhere at once. Sizemore'd been sweat-shiny, squinting into the bright Somalian sun. There was a canteen in his left hand and his right hand was blocking out some of the brightness so he could watch the trucks roll in and out of the base. His hip was cocked.
Then he'd turned around and Kurt nearly dropped whatever it was he'd been holding -- gauze, Ace bandage, he couldn't really recall -- because holy fuckin' Moses, the kid had the ripest, reddest lips Kurt had ever seen on a Ranger, and damned if that mouth wouldn't look beautiful wrapped around his cock.
And Sizemore'd caught him staring. He stared right back for all of two seconds, then smiled a little. And then he turned back into the sun, lifting his face to it like he was some sort of god.
Kurt had quick-stepped it to the tent to drop off his supplies, sprinted to the showers, and jerked off so hard he could barely stand after he came. He noticed later, when he was dressing again, that he'd gnawed on his lip so hard, it was bleeding a little.
There'd been a couple moments in the barracks, close to lights-out, when Kurt was in the process of beating his pillow into submission or stripping down to his shorts for bed, when he could've sworn he saw the kid, but he chalked it up to tricks of light. One day, about a half-hour before dusk, Kurt had nearly tripped over the kid on the beach when he was coming back from a five-mile run. He'd been shirtless, sprawled out on his back, basking in the fading daylight. Kurt had almost fallen flat on his face in the sand, but managed to regain his balance just in time for the kid to look at him again.
Kurt often wondered if he meant it when he looked at him like that.
Then the kid had gotten injured when Kurt was on duty. Ping-pong accident, he said, but Kurt had seen him wrestling with one of the D-boys earlier that day, and figured it was only a matter of time before Sizemore came in nursing a wound of some sort. His wrist was swollen and mottled purple. Kurt looked it over, felt a weird squeezing in his chest when he touched it and the kid cried out.
Felt the same thing, only sort of in reverse, when he realized the kid had missed out on the brunt of the fighting.
Dale's wrist hurt. He'd cut the cast off like an idiot, because he'd had enough of just standing and listening to transmissions of the battle over the radio when he should've been out there with everyone else, fighting. He hadn't exactly come to Somalia to sit back and relax.
The messy splint he'd made out of a ripped-up shirt and a couple spare pieces of wood wasn't helping, but there were people that were hurt a lot more than just a sprain, and he didn't want to take any of the medics away from them. They were stressed enough as it was, he reasoned. His reluctance to get patched up had nothing at all to do with not wanting to sit down in close-quarters with Doc Schmid, who thought he'd got him all figured out. Really.
What the hell did he know about it, anyway?
And it wasn't as if Dale was the only Ranger to stare at Shug. Half the guys he'd arrived with followed the Delta sniper around with their eyes. Dale had just never been good at doing things in subtle ways. The guy was a damn tease, so it wasn't his fault. But every guy on the base knew, whether they wanted to or not, that the minute another of the men tried to make a move on Shug, Gordon would break him in half.
Besides, lately when Dale closed his eyes, he'd been thinking of someone. Else.
Without his left hand, he couldn't do much of anything. He'd tried to write a letter to his parents earlier, when word had gotten around that they were leaving soon, but his right-handed writing was shit, so he crumpled the letter up and stuffed it into his pack. Then he'd fished it out, folded it up, and put it back in.
Now he was sitting on his cot, staring off into space, and he was so tired. His father had always told him it wasn't any use to dwell on things, but he kept thinking maybe if he hadn't gotten hurt, he could've gone in. Maybe he could've saved someone. Maybe Smitty might still be alive, or Casey, or -
Suddenly he wasn't looking across the hangar, but at a camo shirt in close range. "Sizemore?"
Dale got to his feet, straightened his spine, saluted. "Captain Steele," he said.
"At ease, son," Steele said. Dale thought it was sort of comforting that even though the captain looked every bit as in-control as usual, he sounded as tired as Dale felt. "You alright?"
"Yes, sir," Dale replied.
"What in the hell's that on your arm, Sizemore?" asked the captain, with one eyebrow slightly raised.
Damn. Dale had hoped he wouldn't notice. But then, not noticing was hardly Captain Steele's style. "A splint, sir?"
"That a question, or an answer?" Steele smiled a little.
"An answer, sir."
"Well," said the captain, "go on, get yourself checked out by a medic, son. Looks like you could use more than a splint."
"Yes, sir."
Steele clapped him lightly on the shoulder of his good arm, then nodded and walked away. "Next time I see that wrist, it'd better be in plaster," he said as he left.
Dale wondered what Steele would do to him if he claimed temporary amnesia.
After a minute, he decided he didn't really want to find out.
"Is this going to be a daily thing?" Kurt asked when Dale walked into the tent. Dale held up his arm with a wry smile. "Jesus Christ, what's that thing made of?"
"A tee shirt and plywood," Dale replied. "I tried to remember how to do it from Boy Scouts, but... didn't work so well."
"Sit," Kurt said. He pulled a box of supplies off a shelf and then picked up some scissors.
Dale sat on a vacant stool and offered his arm to the medic. He glanced around the tent, but looked back at Doc's hands on his wrist when he started cutting through the tee shirt.
"Better hope you haven't fucked your wrist up too badly with your splint, or you'll have to learn how to write with your other hand." Kurt tossed the ratty, now destroyed shirt and handful of wood aside and pulled a big roll of soft gauze out of the box.
"Tried that already," Dale said, and wondered how Doc knew he was left-handed. He was pretty sure that hadn't been one of the questions on the paperwork he'd had to fill out when he'd applied for Ranger School.
"Hmm," said Kurt, and then he moved Dale's arm up to a level where it would be easiest to wrap, in preparation for a cast. His fingers flew as he passed the roll over and under Dale's wrist, careful not to touch him directly. "You're not gonna cut this off as soon as I'm done, are you?"
Dale shook his head.
"Good."
Within a few minutes, Dale had been fixed up with a new cast. He tested its weight, found it to be lighter than the first one, and said, "Thanks, Doc."
"Now, no contact sports for at least -- " Kurt broke off on a yawn and swayed on his feet. " -- two weeks," he finished. And yawned again.
"I don't think that'll be a problem," Dale said. When the medic yawned a third time, he frowned. "Have you even slept since -- "
"Can't," Kurt interjected, and Dale understood. "Haven't since we got in. I'm supposed to be sleeping right now, but..."
Dale nodded. Then he sat up a little straighter. He looked at Kurt for a minute. "Come on," he said, and grabbed the medic by the arm with his good hand. He started walking toward the hangar, Kurt in tow.
"Hey," Kurt protested, and pulled his arm from Dale's grip. "Nobody drags a Delta."
"Fine," Dale said. "Have it your way, just come with me."
They ended up outside, in the shade between two buildings. It was Dale's favorite spot when he wanted to be alone -- he'd never seen anyone else in the area. "Wait here," Dale said.
Kurt wondered why he was taking orders from a Ranger, but stayed put. His eyes widened a bit when Dale came back dragging a cot and a pillow.
"Lie down," Dale said, and pointed at the cot.
"I told you -- in fact, I'm not sure why I told you, but I can't," Kurt replied. The last thing he wanted was to wake up screaming himself hoarse, like he had when he'd tried to sleep at the stadium.
"I need some time to think," Dale said, "and this place is as good as any. I can wake you up if -- you know."
Dale was true to his word. When, a little over an hour later, Kurt began to thrash in his sleep, Dale knelt next to the cot and shook his shoulder. "Hey, Doc. Wake up."
Kurt's brow creased and he batted at Dale's hand, then wrapped his fingers around it and gripped it tightly. He thrashed again, but remained asleep.
"Come on, Doc," Dale said again, louder this time. He shook him harder. "Wake up."
Kurt sat straight up, his eyes wide, and gasped for air. "Jesus Christ," he choked.
"You alright?"
Nodding jerkily, Kurt replied, "Yeah." He squeezed Dale's hand. Then he seemed to notice that the hand was attached to someone. "Sizemore?"
"Yeah?"
"Wanna tell me why I'm holding your hand?"
"Um," Dale said. "You were having a -- " he cut off. Started again. "I tried to wake you up, and you just grabbed it and held on." His thumb skittered absently over Kurt's knuckles.
"Oh," Kurt replied. He chewed his lip for a minute. "Do you mind?"
Dale let go, lightning-fast. "Sorry. I... sorry." He stood up. Turned away. Felt himself turning red. Then there were two strong hands on his shoulders, turning him around and shoving him up against a wall.
"Not what I meant," Kurt said, and then he dove for Dale's mouth and kissed him until the only thing Dale knew was the wet, biting pressure of Kurt's lips. Fingers tightening on Dale's shoulders, Kurt snapped his hips in close and aligned the rest of his body up with the smooth planes of Dale's. He licked the inside of Dale's lips, plunged his tongue in deep, drank down Dale's soft moan.
The kiss broke with a loud, wet sound. Kurt shoved Dale's shirt aside and mouthed his collarbone, then pulled back. Dale's eyes were still closed.
"I watched you," Kurt whispered roughly against Dale's cheek. He braced one hand flat on the wall next to Dale's head. "You were outside, soaking the sun in like you were hungry for it. Fucking gorgeous. I wanted you."
Dale opened his eyes. "I know."
Kurt's nostrils flared. He stared at Dale for a long moment, stared at that beautiful mouth. Moved his hand a little, felt Dale's pulse tremble under his thumb. Watched the very tip of Dale's tongue slide out and lick his lips. Wanted. Darted forward and licked at that pink sliver of tongue.
Dale's mouth opened up under Kurt's and he moaned again, a little sound that made Kurt's cock throb and press against his fly. His good hand wrapped around the back of Kurt's neck, fingers flexing and pressing in the way his toes were flexing in his boots. His injured arm raised and draped lightly across Kurt's lower back.
Their tongues slid wetly together and then apart, over and over until Kurt knew that the only thing that was holding the both of them up was the treads of their boots and the wall against Dale's back. Dale sucked on Kurt's tongue and Christ, Kurt knew he'd been right about that mouth. His hand clenched on Dale's shoulder, then slid down his side while he bit lightly along the edge of Dale's jaw.
"Doc," Dale moaned, when Kurt tugged his tee-shirt out of the waistband of his pants and pushed it up past his belly.
"Kurt," the medic corrected. "Call me -- " He was cut short by Dale's lips seeking his for another hot kiss. The hand under Dale's shirt spread out against his skin and then moved up, and he brushed his fingertips over a hard nipple.
Panting, Dale drew away again, licked a bead of sweat from Kurt's temple, and leaned back. "Kurt," he repeated.
"Shh," Kurt said, and pressed two fingers to Dale's lips. "Don't want anyone to hear." Then Dale's tongue came out, and flicked over the tips of those fingers, and Kurt's eyes closed for a minute. He drew his hand away and pressed it to Dale's hip, then worked his damp fingertips under his waistband. Wiggled them down in there until he was rubbing his fingers over the crease of Dale's hip.
Suddenly he really needed to see that fold of flesh. He had Dale's fly open with two short flicks of his wrist, and he shoved the cloth aside, moaned low at the sight of the smooth, naked skin before him. Dale shuddered under his hands.
Kurt's palm skimmed across Dale's bare hip and then lifted, and he dragged his fingertips through the wiry hair that surrounded the base of his cock. He brushed his hand over the wet cock-head straining toward him, wrapped his hand firmly around it, and stroked up and up. Watched him rise up onto the balls of his feet and bite his lip. Rolled his nipple between two fingers. Tasted his jaw again when he gasped.
When Kurt's hand twisted and moved back down his cock, Dale let go of his neck in favor of pressing his hand against the wall behind him in the hopes that he'd be able to keep himself from sliding down it. His hips twitched and he rolled his head back, then moaned again when Kurt licked at his Adam's apple.
"That noise," Kurt said. "Make it again." He twisted his hand and started to slowly jerk Dale off.
Dale took a deep breath, let it out, pushed his hips into Kurt's hand. "What -- what noise?" he asked. Whimpered.
Kurt rubbed his thumb under the head of Dale's cock. "That little moan. The one you made when I..." he swiped the pad of a finger over Dale's weeping slit. He was rewarded with a full-body shudder and a soft groan.
The hand on Dale's chest moved to his lower back, little finger slipping into the dark crease between Dale's ass cheeks. "Please," Dale said, and the hand on his cock sped up. Squeezed the tip a little, slid back down, updown, until Dale was shaking all over.
"I want to watch you when you come," Kurt whispered. "Can you be quiet?" He squeezed Dale's ass lightly, petted the smooth flesh, slipped his hand around quickly to cup and stroke Dale's heavy sac.
Dale nodded. Bit his lip again, afraid that if he opened his mouth he'd start yowling and never stop. Breathed hard through his teeth. His eyes were wide and dark.
"Keep looking at me." Kurt rolled Dale's balls between gentle fingers, felt them tightening. Put his whole body into the twist-pulls on Dale's cock. Stared at him while he stared right back, watched his orgasm flow across his face before it even hit his groin. Dale's eyelids fluttered but remained open. He let out a soft, wheezing noise, and then his thighs trembled and his balls clenched, and he was coming, hard and hot in Kurt's hand. "Gorgeous," Kurt murmured.
Dale's eyes closed. Kurt wiped his hand on the side of the building, unsnapped his fly, eased down the zipper, and palmed his cock. One stroke, two, three, and he was done. He looked at Dale, who was looking at him, and his whole body turned liquid. He sat down hard on the cot, feeling his knees about to buckle. He had a feeling he wouldn't live it down if he fell over with his fly undone and Little Kurt hanging out. "That was hot, Sizemore." He smiled when, a moment later, he was corrected.
"Dale."
"Dale. That was hot. I needed that."
Dale fastened his fly and sat down next to him. "So did I," he said. He licked his lips. "Listen, I -- "
Kurt kissed him.