Page 5 of Semper Fi

T he bristles of his stained toothbrush bent at impossible angles as Cal scrubbed the toilet bowl. He tried his best to keep the splashing to a minimum, but if he was going to get the latrines, sinks and showers clean by the time taps rang out across the base, he needed to put some muscle into it.

At least he wasn’t marching or engaged in endless calisthenics. And he was actually alone for the first time in weeks, so that was something.

“Cal?” Jim called out.

His pulse spiked as Jim approached. Here was the one man in the platoon whose company he didn’t mind at all. “The one and only. I wouldn’t get too close if I were you.”

Jim appeared. “I didn’t see you in the barracks. I thought you might be sick.” He took in the sight of Cal on his knees in front of the toilet and frowned. “Are you all right?”

“Yep. Just peachy.” He held up the ruined toothbrush. “Partaking in a little light cleaning.”

“Ah. What did you do this time?”

Cal nodded to the weapon leaning against the wall. “What’s that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what is that piece of equipment right there?”

Jim examined it as if there was some trick he was missing. “It’s a rifle.”

“That’s correct, recruit. Unfortunately, I made the unforgivable mistake of referring to it as my gun.

” Cal couldn’t quite keep the bitterness from his tone.

“But it is not a gun, it is a rifle. I have to carry the damn thing everywhere I go for a week. Even to bed.” He lowered his voice, speaking from the back of his throat.

“Because the rifle is a Marine’s best friend. ”

After glancing over his shoulder, Jim laughed softly. “Careful. If Tyrell hears that impression—”

“He’ll stick his boot so far up my ass I’ll need a surgeon to get it out!” Cal growled, jutting his jaw forward.

Still laughing, Jim shushed him. “Aren’t you in enough trouble?”

Cal dropped the impression and winked. “Trouble’s my middle name.”

“I thought it was Robert.”

“No, no, it’s trouble. It’s right there on my birth certificate in black and white.”

Jim’s smile faded as he glanced at the row of toilets. “How many have you done?”

“Not enough.” Cal went back to scrubbing, wincing as he angled the toothbrush under the stained rim.

“At least I’ve had the place to myself.” As with everything at Parris Island, there was no privacy to be found in the bathroom, and Cal didn’t fancy having to clean while fellow recruits did their business.

“Can I help? You’re going to miss chow at this rate.” Jim kneeled beside him and peered around, as if looking for another toothbrush.

“Nah, you’d better not. Don’t want to get you in the dog house. Go on and eat. I need to have this bathroom—no, I’m sorry, this head —clean by taps or God knows what other punishment Tyrell has in mind.”

Although he was clearly reluctant to go, Jim stood. “Okay. See you later.”

Cal couldn’t resist watching him leave, admiring the way the uniform trousers showed off Jim’s firm ass.

Then he gave his head a shake and went back to his task.

The last thing he needed was to get caught giving Jim the eye.

He could only imagine what Tyrell would do then, and none of the options were remotely pleasant.

As if conjured by the mere thought, strident footsteps announced Tyrell’s arrival.

Lips narrowed, he watched Cal for a long moment before Cal remembered he was supposed to stand at attention.

Hopping to his feet, he clicked his heels, stuck out his chest, raised his chin and snapped off a salute, toothbrush still in hand.

Seconds ticked by as Tyrell stared him down. Although he was shorter than Cal, he was a force of nature, his presence oppressively filling the corners of the room. Finally he barked, “At ease!”

Cal stood with his hands behind his back, the disgusting toothbrush between his fingers.

Tyrell surveyed Cal’s progress with steely eyes.

He marched slowly from one end of the room to the other, steps so measured and exact that Cal was sure they were precisely six inches apart.

He returned and stood so close that Cal had to stop himself from backing up. He kept his eyes focused on the wall.

“Cunningham, I ordered you to have this head clean by taps, did I not?” His drawl made the last word sound more like nawt .

“You did, sir.”

“And I instructed you to use your toothbrush, did I not?”

“Yes, sir. I—this recruit has, sir.” Cal held up the brush.

“It’s chow time now. You’re gonna miss it if you want to finish on time.”

“Yes, sir.” His stomach growled as if in protest.

“You hungry, Cunningham?”

Cal hesitated before going with the truth, since any answer he gave would undoubtedly be the wrong one. “Yes, sir.”

Squinting, Tyrell leaned in even closer, his fetid breath on Cal’s face. “Bet you had a maid to clean for you. Bet you never cleaned a damn thing in your whole sorry, useless life.”

Even if Cal could argue, he wouldn’t. “That’s correct, sir.” He resisted the urge to add that his family had a whole household staff, not just a maid. Even at Princeton, he and his roommate in the dorm had secretly hired a local cleaning woman.

“Finish the job or you’ll be eating that there toothbrush, recruit.”

Stomach heaving at the thought, Cal jerked out a nod. “Permission to get back to work, sir.”

Tyrell’s features arranged themselves into a smile. “Permission granted.” He did an about face, pausing in the doorway. “Oh, and Cunningham?”

Cal braced. “Yes, sir?”

“Tomorrow mornin’ you’ll make sure this head is still gleaming before you hit the mess hall.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jaw clenched, Cal pivoted on his heel and started on the next toilet, thrusting his arm in and scrubbing. The tile was hard beneath his knees. He could sense Tyrell lingering in the doorway, so he pursed his lips and began whistling a merry tune. If Tyrell made any response, Cal didn’t hear it.

As taps rang out a couple of hours later, he raced to the barracks.

He’d scrubbed his hands raw, but still didn’t think he’d feel clean for some time.

In the darkness, he stripped off his sweaty, rank uniform and collapsed onto his bed, which he had to remember to call a “rack.” He carefully pulled his rifle under the covers with him.

Moonlight streamed through the small windows, and he could see Jim watching him from the next bed.

With a small smile, Jim pointed to Cal’s pillow and mimed lifting it up.

After a glance around, Cal pulled out a piece of bread and hunk of meat wrapped in a thin paper napkin.

He grinned and wolfed them down before anyone was the wiser.

The last thought he had before falling into a deep sleep was how lucky he was to have a friend like Jim.

194 8

The rooster hadn’t even crowed yet, but Cal was wide awake. He’d never had trouble sleeping, even after he joined up, and had always been able to go back under quite easily. But after the constant noise of war and a few years in civilization again, it was far too quiet in Clover Grove.

He watched the sky lighten inch by inch through the window, telling himself he should get another hour or so of rest. Yet his eyes remained stubbornly open. At the back of his mind was the constant reminder that Jim slept at the end of the hall.

Sighing, Cal rolled over. He wasn’t sure why he continued torturing himself.

Jim could have hired anyone to replace Eddie, but as soon as Cal had heard the man left, he’d insisted on taking over.

First there had been business in London he had to finish, but Jim had seemed happy to wait for him.

There wasn’t as much to do around an orchard in winter, he’d said.

As much as Cal would have liked to leave his father high and dry, he’d given fair notice and trained his replacement. He didn’t miss the job one bit. After fighting the Japs and watching too many good men die, the chicanery of international banking seemed so meaningless.

Of course his father had blown his lid when Cal told him he was leaving to work on an orchard. But he’d missed Jim so much, and maybe…

No.

Flipping onto his other side, Cal told himself sternly to stop thinking Jim could ever feel the same way. Jesus, Jim had just lost his wife, and more than that, he wasn’t queer. Cal needed to go back to sleep and stop daydreaming.

Yet when he closed his eyes, the longing was an ache.

After the war, he’d refused to allow himself the fantasies that had kept him going during the endless nights in the stink of the jungle.

A few times beneath his blanket, with death all around, he’d taken himself in hand with thoughts of Jim running riot through his mind, clinging to scant moments of release and escape .

Now, under Jim’s roof, Cal’s body came alive and he gave up on sleep.

He slept shirtless, and quickly kicked off his boxers before licking his palm and grasping his shaft.

Just as he had on the islands, he turned onto his stomach, muffling his low moans as he stroked his swelling cock.

Only this time there was a soft pillow beneath him instead of a folded-up raincoat.

He flicked his thumb over the head of his dick, sending a bolt of electricity through his body. Bracing himself on his left elbow, he thrust his hips, fucking his own hand. In his mind, it was Jim on his knees before him, mouth open wide, taking every inch of Cal and wanting more.

Groaning, Cal could almost feel Jim’s fine hair as he reached out in his imagination, holding Jim’s head, caressing him as he told him how good he was.

Jim would pull off, a long string of saliva hanging from his lips.

He’d suck his index finger and reach between Cal’s legs, pushing it deep inside him as he took Cal into his mouth again.