Page 11

Story: Men of Fort Dale

“That’s why I got another one.”

“Mmm, and yet you elected to go over your chest,” Dean pointed out.

“I mean, there’s space there, it works,” Sloane said.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he pressed his fingers to Sloane’s wrist and counted. He didn’t need to track the clock's second hand over the bed, but he watched it anyway to be more precise than simply making a trained guess. Sloane remained still as Dean pressed his fingers beneath the man’s defined jaw, opened for Dean to inspect his mouth and throat, and allowed himself to be carefully manhandled while Dean checked him over.

“Is this exam part of the list they love so much?” Sloane asked.

Dean laughed softly, listening to Sloane’s breathing. “You know it.”

Sloane rolled his eyes, waiting until Dean was done before speaking again. “Doesn’t inspire confidence, though, does it?”

Dean looked up, bemused. “How so?”

“Well, if their whole thing is ensuring we eat right and do our workouts, why the constant checkups?”

Dean chuckled. “Because General Winter loves his lists more than anyone, and he wants to make sure everyone is healthy.”

Admittedly, Dean wondered about the checkups, which were required more often than Dean thought necessary. Then again, without the frequent checkups, he wouldn’t have caught the first sign of melanoma on a captain a couple of months back.

“General Winter is just cautious,” Dean continued.

“Some might call that paranoid,” Sloane said with a grin.

Dean smirked. “Some, huh? Someone like you?”

“I would never have such an unkind thought about our General.”

“Just like you wouldn’t eat the last of my ice cream I accidentally left in your freezer,” Dean snorted.

“I’m telling you, there’s a thief on this base who’s out for nothing but ice cream...and cookies.”

Dean looked up, eyes widening. “You’re the one who ate the bag of cookies off my counter? I thought I did a bit of sleepwalking or night eating and didn’t remember.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sloane said in what Dean thought was the fakest of innocent voices.

Dean scowled. “You’re a shit. I’m going to put your charts back and try to forget you’re a dirty dessert thief. Get dressed, you animal.”

Sloane’s chuckle followed him out of the room. “Yeah, but I’m your animal.”

Didn’t Dean wish that were true?

Sloane had dressed by the time he returned, and only the slightest flicker of regret entered the back of Dean’s mind when he saw. It was gone just like that, and he held out his hand again to take Sloane’s arm.

Dean looked him over. “Just come off a double?”

“Shows, huh?”

“A bit, yeah.”

Sloane didn’t bat an eye when the needle drove beneath his skin. “Yeah, stuck with a jackass all night, too.”

“You always say that. Simmons?”

“Yeah. Jackass.”

Dean chuckled. “Going back to sleep, then?”

Table of Contents