Wheels Up (Out of Uniform 4)

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An extensive debriefing with the folks from training missions, the jump crew, the LT, and some upper team leadership had Dustin rolling into his place far later than he’d intended. His fridge was a barren wasteland as usual, and he was debating between a freezer meal and making the effort to call for delivery when a knock sounded at the door.

Huh. His brother or his friends would call first, and the last thing he needed was a neighbor needing a favor. Steeling himself to be polite, he opened the door to find Wes lounging against the rail, holding a six-pack of beer and a grocery bag.

“You can’t be here.” Keeping his voice down, he barked out the words, even as his pulse sped up. “What are you doing?”

“Once when I desperately needed a friend and a distraction, you came through for me. I’m just returning the favor.” Wes didn’t wait for an invite, striding into Dustin’s living room.

“I mean it. If we get caught...” Warmth spread over Dustin’s chest even as his brain rebelled. Wes cared about him, cared enough to make sure he was okay after his shit day.

“I parked three complexes over, left my music playing on low so people will think I’m in my room, and used a grocery store away from base. Relax. I know how to use stealth.”

“You are a SEAL,” Dustin grudgingly allowed.

“Ha.” Wes laughed at that as he headed toward Dustin’s kitchen area. “More like I was once a sixteen-year-old desperate to get laid. I know all the tricks for sneaking around.”

“At least I’m not making you climb the trellis.” Dustin groaned because Wes had already won. “This is dangerous—”

“I know. But I’m being careful, okay? Trust me. And let me be your friend tonight. You can go back to boundaries and rules tomorrow.”

“Not sure I have much choice.” Dustin watched as Wes unpacked food—like real food, steaks and vegetables, not pre-cooked stuff like he was used to.

“You always have a choice.” Wes leaned for a quick kiss. “Now, you gonna let me cook you dinner?”

“Steak does sound good.” Dustin sighed. “There’s a grill on the patio—”

“I noticed last time I was here.” Wes smiled at him, the sun Dustin so desperately needed right then. “Now, you go and take that long shower the universe owes you, and I’ll worry about dinner. I’m not as good a cook as my dad, but it’ll be edible. Promise.”

“Okay.” It was easier to agree when he wanted this so much his teeth hurt with the force of his need. “You want...” He wasn’t sure if it would be polite to offer to share the shower.

“I showered at base. Now go.” Wes made a shooing motion with his hand. “And no jerking it in the shower.”

Sex had been the furthest thing from Dustin’s brain, but Wes’s dirty command brought it front and center with a rush. He grabbed a towel and some clothes and headed to the shower, heart jumping like he was eighteen with more terror than experience again. He let the hot water pound his tight shoulders and neck, trying to leave the shit day behind. The LT didn’t mean to be an ass—it was his job to ride every one of them hard and ensure their safety.

And truth was, Dustin wasn’t entirely sure what had happened in the air, but he wasn’t about to let a green SEAL take the blame when it was his job to make sure everyone in his group landed safely, and that hadn’t happened. He’d deserved the chewing-out, but he wouldn’t have minded if the LT had waited until Wes and others were out of earshot.

Soaping up, his mind shifted from the dressing-down to what might happen later. Wes might have come over as a buddy bearing food and beer, but the look in his eyes had been anything but just friends. He had plans, and Dustin couldn’t wait to see what they were. He rinsed quickly, then dried off and pulled on a pair of shorts. No shirt. Wes seemed to have a thing for him shirtless, and he was more than happy to indulge him.

When he got back to the living area, the scent of searing meat wafted through the open patio doors, and Wes was tossing a salad at the island. The scene was so damn domestic and homey that Dustin’s chest clenched hard and his eyes fucking burned. Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to want such things. Homey had always been Dylan’s shtick, not his.

“Smells good.” He gave in to the impulse to wrap Wes up from behind. They were already screwed. Might as well enjoy the fall before the landing did them both in.

“Thanks.” Wes leaned into the embrace even as he continued to work. “It’s just steak, salad and potatoes—”

“Real potatoes,” Dustin said reverently, spying them bubbling away on the stovetop. “So tired of the powdered stuff.”