NC-17, m/m, angst
Crazy Eddie's Private Journals: Red Flag
By Tiriel
So once again he spent days mostly out of touch, taking insane risks. I'm starting to feel like I'm on the Enterprise. I'm Scotty, telling him that we're doomed, it's too dangerous, and so on. "I canna hold her together much longer, Captain." But Foster, he just keeps on going like Captain Kirk, full speed ahead, damn the torpedoes, as if his own safety is irrelevant, and somehow the ship always holds together and we all live to see another day. Except for the guy in the red shirt.
Sometimes I wonder if he has a death wish, if losing Hannah made him cease to care if he lives or dies. But he has to know how important he is. We had a messenger from the future tell us just how much of a difference his death made in the original timeline. He probably prefers to forget it. I think the whole "Twice-Blessed Man" thing creeps him out. I just wish he'd keep in mind how important he is to the cause. I know he has no idea how important he is to me.
And what gods did I piss off to get stuck with this? The whole playing second banana to the man who's trying to save the planet thing, that I can handle. The wanting his body thing I can't. And he has no fucking clue. The S.O.B. calls me from the shower the other day. The shower! He of course had no clue what that did to me. After we got off the phone, I knew that I had to either get off or go crazy.
So I leaned back in my chair and let myself picture it. Cade in the shower, wearing only a towel and the dogtags I came up with for his latest fake identity. They make a little noise as they move against his muscular chest, the chest I dream about so often. Body like his, he could be a model. I'm sure he fits right in with all those military types, physically, anyway. So he drops the towel and steps under the spray of water. Now I can see his perfect ass and his legs and his cock, which is long but a little slender. It looks somehow graceful. Perfect for a thief. He tilts his head back, enjoying the sensation of the water beating against his skin. He's in great shape, but they're working him hard at this military thing, the way those gung-ho G.I. Joe psycho types always do, and his muscles are tense. He kneads his neck with his hands, eyes closing as he begins to relax.
His hands move down. One pinches a nipple hard and he gasps. The other continues down to that graceful cock and begins to stroke, setting a rhythm that will give him what he craves quickly, before anyone else shows up. The fear of discovery must make him even hotter. He's a thief, if he didn't get off on that kind of rush, he'd never have enjoyed stealing as much as he did. Here it comes. Another gasp and a twitch and he comes hard, breathing a name. "Eddie." The shower washes him clean, and he steps out and dries off.
I take my hand out of my pants and hunt for a clean towel. If only it were my name on his lips when he comes. But I know that it isn't, and it never will be. Only in my wet dreams and my hot fantasies. I can't take this any longer. I have got to take my mind off of him. I need a distraction. I need to get laid. It's stupid to moon over him, as if I have a snowball's chance in hell of landing him. Even if he were gay, or even bi, which he's not, guys like me just don't bag guys like him. I have got to move on.
-More later, Eddie