Date: Sun, 21 Sep 2003 17:34:57 +0800
From: paul sung <psun@hotmail.com>
Subject: My Marine Part 6

DISCLAIMER
==========
This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to persons living or dead is
entirely coincidental. The author asserts all legal and moral rights
(copyright (c) 2003 - psun@hotmail.com) to this work and you may not
copy it or transmit it in any way except in its entirety and with this
disclaimer. This story features descriptions of sex between males:
- if such material is prohibited in your jurisdiction, please DO NOT READ ON,
- if you're under the legal age to read such material, please DO NOT READ ON,
- if you don't like, or are offended by such material, please DO NOT READ ON.

And any comments - brickbats or bouquets, send them over to
psun@hotmail.com And if you find that you like what you're reading, visit
my page at http://www.geocities.com/savante_2002


The bastard. Even more than 24 hours later, I could still feel the taste
of his lips on mine.

Tapping her cinnamon stick softly on my forehead, Cassandra interrupted
me with a smile. "Honey, you're brooding again and you know I don't do
homo Heathcliffs."

"What?" I looked away from my cup of coffee and faced my friend. It was
the morning after the date. The venue was one of the classiest
restaurants in the city, an exclusive little trattoria tucked away with
candlelight and music. The timing was perfect with a cool evening breeze
and a full moon. Dressed to kill, and hopeful with a thick packet of
condoms ready, I sat there waiting for an hour only to receive an urgent
message from a certain Navy Commander.

"Not that it isn't terribly fetching on you, Cam, but what is it?"
Cassandra pressed me. Earlier in the morning, she'd dropped by for our
usual Sunday morning chats with a box of heavenly baked goods and coffee
from Starbucks. Brought up with cooks, both of us had similar unfounded
fears of the kitchen and its evils. Hoping to catch me en deshabille with
the sexy Muldoon, she was disappointed to find me up and early flipping
through the morning paper, grumpy, sleepy and unshaven without the golden
afterglow of good sex to offset the rawness of it all.

It wasn't the fact that he'd failed to appear for the date. Founded on my
own experience, I knew what it was like to have to leave at a moment's
notice and break all future engagements. It was part and parcel of the
job. Unfortunately, during that one hour in the restaurant alone with my
thoghts, I had started thinking. "It's..."

"It's that marine guy? Mike, wasn't it?" she said as she took a delicate
bite of her cream-filled doughnut. "The gorgeous man with the magnificent
arse."

"Yeah, that's true and he's in the Navy actually." I grinned as she
raised her eyebrows in surprise. Giving a helpless gesture, I explained
myself. "What can I say? Been reading up on that."

"Marine. Navy." Licking her lips as she feasted on the doughnut,
Cassandra shook her blond head. "Hot guys in tight uniforms look alike to
me. Sorry, darling, can't tell the difference but what's the problem? He
asked you out, didn't he?"

Part of me wondered whether I should have confessed the whole to
Cassandra but then again, I didn't have much of a choice since she'd
guessed the whole all by herself. Anyway, she was the daughter of a
diplomat and she certainly knew how to keep a secret. "That's the problem
actually. He's in the navy. You know the adage, 'Don't ask, don't tell'."

Understanding where this was going, she nodded. "Wait, is he making it a
problem?"

"No. But it would be a problem. Before this, it was just sex and I could
just shrug it away but now we're going on a date.."

"Sweetheart, trust me no one would ever know," she assured me
confidently. Yawning, she waved off my problem. "He might be a
beathtakingly beautiful man but it's a big town."

"Where is this going?"

Fixing me with her intent blue gaze, Cassandra said seriously. "Darling,
you haven't encountered the problem yet so don't blow things out of
proportion. You sound like a melodramatic Bridget Jones, darling. Just
relax."


Having a light dinner by myself had been on my schedule but the sudden
appearance of a black-suited man on my balcony changed all that. Barely
stifling a shocked gasp and reaching for the phone, I looked out in alarm
and realized that Marine Ken had decided to pull a Mission Impossible on
me.

"Talk about making an entrance," I commented dryly. Keeping it cool was
the hallmark of the Kincaid family but I could barely contain myself.
Keeping a throbbing hard-on confined in my pants was difficult enough
especially when a irresistible six foot hunk of man - all dressed in a
sleek midnight blue jumpsuit - had just dropped in unexpectedly onto my
balcony. It was simple, he came and my hard-on inevitably appeared.
Hoping against hope that he wore only silky-smooth skin and tight muscle
under that suit, I slowly slid the balcony door open.

As usual, the man made quite a picture standing against the backdrop of
the Washington skyline. No doubt Time magazine would kill for a shot of
Mr All-Americana looking drop-dead gorgeous and subtly dangerous in
black. The slash of his dark brows, the glitter of his brilliantly blue
eyes under those long, lickable lashes, the slightly pouty yet
oh-so-masculine lips, the promise of a five-o-clock shadow on his firm,
movie-star jaw. And that tight, jaw-dropping physique in black. Dropping
the backpack he slung behind him onto the floor, Michael turned to me
with a flash of a smile. "Impressed?"

"I always am." Whether he flew in, climbed up or used whatever odd tricks
there were up his sleeve, I couldn't care less. All I cared was that he
was here. And I could finally use up the stock of condoms I had stashed
in my bedroom drawer since he made that date a month ago. In moments I
would have dragged him into my king-sized bed and yet the man stood at
the edge of the balcony.

"You're glad I'm here?" For a man who had singlehandedly squashed a gang
of religious zealots - according to his men - he looked curiously full of
nerves. Squatting down beside his backpack he carried, he fiddled around
with the straps. Anxiously biting his full lower lip, he looked at me
with a hopeful gleam in those baby blues. "Does that mean you're not mad
then?"

"Mad?" No doubt he was afraid that I might bite him - which I had been
thinking of for the past month. I couldn't help it. Succulent Grade A
American beef just made me hungry. As he shook his head slowly in reply,
I recalled the evening he'd bailed out on our purported date. "Oh, you
mean could I be possibly be mad at you for making me wait alone in a
swanky restaurant while everyone - including the maitre'd stares at me
like I was a damned lonesome fool?"

"Yeah, that about sums it up," he replied, a twinkle in his deep-set
eyes.

Finally realizing what he meant, I laughed. "Relax, Michael. If anyone
should know about missing appointments, it's me. Believe me, I
understand."

"Whew." Faking an exaggerated sigh of relief, he took a step closer. "If
it makes you feel better, I felt like a shit leaving you like that."

It had made me feel like a fool but I understood the demands of his
occupation since it wasn't all that different from my own. Haven't I
given the same lame excuse countless times before? Caught up in my work,
being paged again and again by the ward staff, it was nearly impossible
to keep up an uninterrupted schedule. Recalling the assortment of
complaints I'd gotten from some of my more vocal dates and painfully
wincing, I assured him wholeheartedly. "Really, it's not a problem.
You're here now and that's all that matters."

Giving a quick sigh of relief, he started unbuttoning his jumpsuit. In
gay porno, it would mean he'd whip off the suit to reveal that he was
naked underneath, only glorious, sun-burnished skin and tight, sculpted
muscle, and ready to play but I seriously doubted my Marine Ken would do
any such thing. Oops, Navy Ken. Casually with an eye trained on his
titillating stripshow, I began. "By the way, this place is installed with
a million-dollar security installation, how the hell.."

Pausing at my entrance with an arm against the doorjamb, he grinned. "If
I told you my secrets, doc, I'd have to kill you." The top buttons pulled
open to reveal a snowy white collar and black tie.

"It might be worth it." As we walked into the small living room, I
noticed the time on the antique grandfather's clock. Remembering the
manners drilled into me, I offered to take him out for dinner. "Wait, you
hungry? I'll just get changed and we can go.."

"Actually I thought of staying in."

Letting my imagination run wild by imagining him totally naked underneath
the jumpsuit seemed futile as he stripped it off to reveal a formal black
tux. Of course the man looked as good in a suit as he did naked. Running
my finger up his shiny lapel, I smiled slowly. "Staying in? Well, yes,
sir. Always ready and willing to do my duty, sir." I let out a soft
growl.

"Naughty." Laughing, Michael caught my wandering hand in his larger one
and shook his head. "And I'm not that easy, sir. You can at least buy me
dinner first."

"Before dessert, you mean?" As he released my hands, I let them slowly
venture down his form, skimming down the nifty suit over his shiny belt
buckle and down to cup the mound of his well-endowed crotch. God, I'd
forgotten how big he was. Sure, I was no drooling size queen and we all
know that the wielder is of more importance than the size of the bat but
it always impresses me to find a man with a sizeable piece of meat. Of
course it was even better when the meat came attached to a hard, muscular
physique and that amazing face.

With a raise of his dark brow, he looked at me sternly. "Your hands,
m'sieur?"

Dropping my gaze down a few feet to the man's crotch, I smiled as I
groped him and felt something hard stirring. Gleaned from touch and my
memories, I could pull out an image - hard, thick, longer than I'd
imagined. "Forget about dessert, I think I just got to the main course."

"You really are getting worse, pervert." He laughed, a deep, warm sound
that I remembered. Cautiously maneuvering my hand away and depriving me
of my prize, he caught my wrists in his own. "Later, I promise." Turning
my hands over in his own, he pressed a warm kiss on them - very much in
the grand style which surprised me.

"Okay, dinner first," I compromised but I knew he was already hard.
Thinking of what Muldoon could do with that extremely versatile dick had
the blood pooling down in my groin. Although he claimed to be a novice to
man-to-man sex, he certainly had gotten the hang of it soon enough. "You
want me to order something? Or get Simmons to bring something up from the
kitchen?"

"Simmons?" he said softly, tilting his head to look at me.

"Family butler. Don't get jealous."

"And here I was thinking of knocking a few heads together." Grinning, he
flexed his arms threateningly, making a show of rippling biceps and
triceps.

Of course that certainly wouldn't impress Simmons. Although I had good
reason to believe that Simmons had a heart beneath that prickly exterior,
anyone outside of the family circle usually received a social snub that
he reserved for his inferiors. Already a name to be feared in certain
Washington social circles, Simmons, the dour, sour-faced gentleman would
just stare down his patrician nose and shake his silver-haired head.
"Believe me, one stare from Simmons and you'd be quivering in fear,
soldier."

The description made him laugh. "Really? Sounds like someone I'd like to
meet."

"He'd chew you up and spit you out," I warned him.

"Nah, I doubt it." Beaming an aw-shucks smile at me, he shoved his hands
in his pockets and leaned back on his heels. "I can be pretty charming
when I want to be."

With that smile and the twinkle in his eye, it was easy enough to imagine
him in denim and a cowboy hat back on the ranch. Thinking back on the way
he'd charmed me onto my back in Afghanistan, I guess I really was a true
believer in his abilities. "Yes, you can. So how about dinner?"

"Don't worry about it. I've got it covered." Leaving my side, he crossed
over to the balcony and shouldered the bag he'd brought in. It looked
heavy and the metal clang of the utensils inside had me guessing cooking
materials.

"You're cooking?" I should have guessed earlier. A man who took the time
to prepare a meal in the middle of nowhere certainly wouldn't be
satisfied with anything less back in civilization.

"Yeah."

Deciding to tease him, I hazarded. "Instant noodles?"

Looking coolly down at me, he raised a dark brow. "Please. Don't insult
me."

Shrugging off the tailored jacket, he tossed it over the sofa and started
working on his bow. It surprised me to see an exclusive Italian brand
label and I thought to ask him but changed my mind. After all, I had all
the time in the world to find out all Muldoon's secrets.

"My parents made a small kitchenette on the back but I don't know if
it's.." It always made me curious why my parents ever added the
kitchenette to my rooms since they obviously knew that none of the
Kincaids could cook. Had they foreseen me picking a guy who could cook?
The thought made me smile to myself. Half the time, I think my parents
expected me to date a tattooed, beringed goth-rock maniac with jailtime
just to shock them. Wouldn't they be surprised that I'd gone for a
down-home, wholesome-yet-sexy country boy like Muldoon! He was so
clean-cut All-American that he could have been a poster boy for the Navy.

"No problem." With a shrug of his broad shoulders, he picked up his
utensils again and followed me. I couldn't deny the quick flex and ripple
of muscle and bicep gave me a cheap thrill.

The small suite of rooms I lived in had a small kitchenette down from my
bedroom. Showing him the way to the kitchenette and showing him around,
he seemed pleasantly impressed. As he pointed out the appliances hidden,
so was I actually. Since I only used the stove to boil coffee and an
occasional badly tossed together omelette, I hardly noticed that my
parents had as usual equipped the kitchenette with the best eventhough
they couldn't cook to save their lives. Cosy, small, intimate but it was
enough for someone like Michael, a man who could cook wonders in the
rough, to ooh and aah over - which was quite enough for me. Too bad the
only thing I'd added to the kitchenette was the small radio I'd squeezed
next to the toaster.

The fact that the space looked daintily Liliputian next to his sheer size
didn't deter him. Turning to me with a wide grin, he exclaimed. "This is
great!"

"If you like what you see here, you should see what I've got back home,"
I responded with a salacious wink. It had certainly surprised my friends
when they'd seen the newly installed kitchen back home. For years, I'd
lived with a tiny cooking space just enough for to heat up my spicy
Chinese takeaways but the week I returned from Afghanistan, I'd
commissioned the renovation of the back room into a huge,
no-expenses-spared kitchen, expanding my mini-kitchen to something worthy
of a five-star restaurant. Placing bait for the the gourmet-cooking Navy
SEAL? Recalling the meal he'd cooked for us in the wilds, I thought to
ask. "What are you cooking?"

"I promise you'll love it, Kincaid." Making himself at home, he dropped
his bag to the floor and started on his business. Rummaging in his bag
and placing some of the utensils he'd brought onto the counter, he
mumbled a reply to me. "Something Italian."

"There's nothing Italian that I don't love," I said honestly. Although I
had a feeling dark-haired Irishmen from Montana were getting to me too.
The sheer white shirt that he wore stretched across the broad,
well-muscled expanse of his back providing me with an unexceptionable
view. My covetous eyes followed the sinuous curve of his spine down the
deep valley made by the sculpted muscles on his back to his undeniably
impressive butt and I realized that I was no longer hungry only for food.
"Especially the shoes - and the men."

"Really?" Pleased with the spread on the counter, Michael finally got up
and turned to me, a laugh in his dark blue eyes. "I'm one-quarter Italian
actually."

That explains the hot Italian salami in his pants. "Well, there you go."

Arranging the pots and pans he'd brought on the counter, he opened a
canister and poured the contents into an empty bowl. The sweet aroma of
meat, cheese and spice filled the air in the kitchen. As he turned up his
collar to remove his tie, I asked hopefully, "You gonna cook naked?"

Stunned, he turned to me, his blue eyes dilated with surprise. "Good God.
No."

"Maybe later?" I pressed on. The very idea of Muldoon dressed only in an
apron and holding a ladle...

"You're a depraved sex maniac," he sighed with a mournful shake of his
handsome head. Then with a quick, disarming grin, he gave me a chuck on
the chin. "I like that in a man."

"What can I do?" Laughing, I caught his hand and gave it a warm squeeze.
"Come on, give me a break. You know you're a walking orgasm."

"Good God," he balked with a painful wince, backing away into the
kitchen. Lifting his cool blue gaze to look at mine, he spoke softly. "I
am not even going to dignify that with a response."

When I gave him a light shove, he laughed and returned to his work.
Watching him move about the room preparing the ingredients in a quick,
efficient way, I was reluctantly impressed. In my family, we never had a
chance to even cook and later in life, we never even bothered. "Where the
hell did you learn to cook? I can barely boil water."

Listening to my questions, he turned to me with a sneer. The man had a
damned sexy sneer. "Poor little rich boy."

"Wise-ass." Giving him a light punch on his arm that had him playfully
wincing again, I pressed him. "Come on."

He gave me a helpless gesture. "It was a survival skill."

"Survival?" I echoed incredulously. The image of the hard, tough soldiers
bonding together in the jungle over shared home recipes amused me.
Grunting, cursing and sweating over casseroles and pies. It was hardly
the all-male macho image that they portrayed to the world. "SEALs learn
survival gourmet cooking? What next, ikebana and flower arranging?"

"Not that." He shot me a pained look. Outraged by the insult, he turned
swiftly and gave me a swat with the tablecloth. "Learnt it from home. It
was either learn how to cook or starve."

I realized then that I didn't know anything about his family life. Sure
after my talk with Cass, I had toyed with the idea of tracking down
information on a certain Michael Muldoon but I restrained myself. There
was no way I was gonna turn into my suspicious grandfather who kept tabs
on everyone, including everyone they were seeing. "Your mother?"

Adding some small packets of spice into the mixing bowl, he listened
absently and gave a shrug. "My mother? Don't remember much about her. She
passed away when I was about eight."

"I'm sorry."

"Not a problem." Shifting his attention to me, he smiled. "Nothing you
could have done about it."

Although my mother was a handful all by herself, I couldn't imagine being
without her. Meddlesome, inquisitive and endlessly opinionated, she spent
her time trying to marry me off to some wealthy cattle baron. Or to some
sopisticated, suited Washington congressman. Or any available gay man she
could get her hands on. "Wow, I never knew that about you."

"Don't imagine us as starved orphans. We never lacked for anything. My
father is the best. Still is. Best foreman in the county, could tame a
wild stallion with just his touch, kept four rambunctious brats in order
but the man couldn't cook worth a damn. Swear he almost blew up the
toaster once." Reminiscing, he smiled to himself. As he spoke of his
family, his dark, handsome face took on a softer, almost tender look.
"For months, my brothers and I lived on baked beans, bacon grits and
canned food. Until now, I can't look at spam without feeling slightly
queasy. Till Grandma - that's the Italian side - took pity on us and came
by one summer. I practically got down on my knees to beg her to teach
me."

Imagining the serious-eyed, dark-haired boy with his grubby hands in the
mixing bowl had me smiling. Probably causing havoc and raising hell in
the kitchen to the despair of his hapless granny wringing her hands and
muttering in Italian. It was difficult trying to reconcile the idea of
the earnest lil kid who wanted good food for dinner and the sexy,
broad-shouldered man standing in my kitchen.

"From that time on, I've ruled over the Muldoon kitchen." My silence had
him glancing over with a quick wink. "Can't imagine such a life huh,
Kincaid?"

"No rich guy jokes, please." Raising my hand to stop him before he could
go further, I told him. "And you can't say that till you've tried my
mother's cooking."

It would be useless trying to describe what he was doing with the pots
and pans that I had in the surprisingly efficient little kitchenette.
After throwing in some of the prepared ingredients he'd brought into a
large pot, he turned to me with a wink. "That good?"

I snorted. "It can't be better than your father's."

He laughed.

"Let's say, she has been banned from the kitchen for the rest of her
life. The poisoning attempt on the British Ambassador is still a legend
in some circles."

Leaning over to turn the radio on, he flipped over the channels to find
the one that he wanted. Expecting the jazzy music I usually tuned in to,
I found myself slightly taken aback when the soft, lilting baritone of a
lonesome cowboy filled the small space with his woes.

Country music had never been my style and I winced painfully. "Muldoon,
seriously?"

"Come on, Doc." His blue eyes twinkled with humour. "Don't knock it till
you try it."

When he started singing to the first few bars and doing a little shimmy,
I groaned. "Oh, please."

"Don't knock one of the cornerstones of the nation. Expand your
horizons," he advised me. With one large spoon in hand, he crossed his
hands over his broad chest and gave me a long, cool stare. "And you know
something, Kincaid, before I met you I never thought I'd like kissing a
guy till I tried it."

It was an argument that I couldn't win. "Point for you, Muldoon."

The resignation in my voice was enough to bring a smile to his face.
Turning back to the bubbling pot, he gave it a slow stir with the large
spoon. "Come, try this." He held out the spoon. "I made this before I
came."

Eventhough I saw him do it, I still never expected magic. And that was
exactly what he did with that tiny bunch of ingredients, some sauce and
the tools he brought. Pepper, tomato, spices and meat. "My god, what did
you do? It's great."

Satisfied with my response, he leaned back on the counter and smiled.
"Wait, Cam, you've got some sauce on your lip."

Picking up the cloth on the table, I wiped my lips. "Gone?"

"No, like this." Showing me the spot he meant, he did a slow and erotic
tongue thing that looked illegal.

"How was that?" The way he worked that hot tongue would have gotten him
places in the porn department. My dick got hard in seconds. "I think
you've got to show me again."

Noticing my reaction, he arched his dark brows and let out a soft
chuckle. "Maybe later."

As he turned back to his work, I decided to make myself useful and
searched the kitchen for some plates and eating utensils. The moment
could be described as perfect. Although I had never in a serious
long-term relationship with a man before, I always imagined it to be like
this. Lazy evenings, spending our time getting a meal together. A
gorgeous man, dark-furred, sculpted forearms showing through his folded
up sleeves, his tight butt clenching and flexing as he moved to the
music. Except without the twangy country music of course but I could
certainly grow used to it with a man like this.

I certainly didn't want to jinx the moment but I had to know. As coolly
as I could, I commented. "Muldoon, you certainly don't seem all that
freaked out about having dinner with a man."

Keeping his attention on the stove, he said in a teasing manner. "I don't
know if you've noticed but I actually have dinner with almost ten other
men all the time. Half of them are slobs who can't cook just like you."

"You know what I mean." Talking about the rest of the men in his team
would have me hard again in seconds. That yummy blond Paul Walker-Brad
Pitt lieutenant of his. The sweet, brown-eyed Latino captain with the big
guns for arms. Imagining what they did in the showers together had been
food for the imagination for days in Kandahar. Who cares if they couldn't
cook? They were already sizzling hot just standing in their fatigues.

Shifting his gaze from the stove, he gave me his familiar half-grin.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. After you left Kandahar, I was pretty
freaked out as you said. I could have dealt with it by either going with
the flow or plain going crazy. I could have either one of those reactions
but ultimately I decided that going plain ballistic and blowing my brains
out wouldn't solve anything. And it would be seriously detrimental to my
health of course."

"Blowing your brains out?" I paused in my search, momentarily frozen by
his outburst and stared at him, my eyes wide.

Patiently wiping his hands on the cloth I'd used before, he turned around
and faced me. "Sure, it's not a big thing in your world, Kincaid, going
around sucking cock and fucking around with men. It's different for me.
If anyone had suggested to me before that I'd be sticking my tongue down
another man's throat and enjoying it, I would have to kill them. Problem
is I actually liked it."

"Seriously, Doc, I've had sex before with dozens of women.." Seeing the
forbidding expression on my face, he laughed. "But I bet you wouldn't
want to know that. Things are different with you. Since the first time we
met, I guess you could say that I was a little blown away by you. Your
attitude drove me crazy - and it still does - but there was a connection
between us, maybe it's only on my side but I wanted to know you better
despite your arrogant, piss-poor attitude. Unfortunately, turning on the
charm with you then obviously didn't work out cause it got me that
painful knee in the groin."

"But then later when we were alone and you turned those eyes on me, I
knew." Taking the few steps to me, he reached out and ran a warm,
caressing hand down my cheek. The tender expression in his deep-set blue
eyes spoke more of his feelings than any words ever could. "Cameron
Kincaid, you turned me on like hell, staring at me like you wanted to
swallow me whole. I don't think anyone's ever looked at me like that
before."

As he gazed at me with those hypnotic blue eyes, my tongue was tied but I
managed to unfurl it enough to croak out a reply. "You haven't been
looking around, have you?"

"Well, maybe you're right." He laughed again. Then his expression
softened and he continued seriously. "But I believe I don't have to look
around anymore."