What am I doing? Bull thought, kissing the young soldier harder, deeper, so deep he could taste his own body on Chris Hendricks' lips and tongue. The first load he'd dumped across the handsome soldier's unshaved cheek restored the memory of the events that led him to this point.

Bull struggled with the images. He wanted to bury himself in the hot, male-smelling richness of the young man's body, finding something like heaven in his armpits, toes, the heaviness of his full nuts, the thickness of his cock, and the tight, hairy asshole he had plundered like an invading army. Bull kissed Hendricks again, plunged his tongue to the back of the young soldier's mouth, savoring the bittersweetness of the oral sex they'd shared earlier while slowing his thrusts up the other man's fuck-trench. Hendricks had loosened some since the first time. Bull felt the old, slick spunk of his previous load as his rock-hard cock painted the service-hardened walls of the young soldier's hole with fresh precome.

'Fuck, dude-!' Hendricks growled around Bull's mouth. 'You're fuckin' awesome!'

Clenching his teeth, Bull growled and shoved in all the way to the hilt. Hendricks squirmed beneath him. The young soldier's hair-covered legs wrapped even tighter around his ass, sealing them together mouth to mouth, chest to chest, cock to ass.

Bull would have told him the same, though any confession like that would only crack the gap in his armor wider. He was an Army Ranger, not some queer who got off on fucking the cans of junior officers. Still, given everything he knew about the day and the young soldier pinned beneath his bone-hard cock, Bull couldn't deny it himself.

I could love you, Hendricks.. a voice in his head admitted. Truth is, you saved me today. Saved me from myself. Fuck, you're pretty damned awesome yourself, dude..

But then, just as his cock neared its inevitable, second fuck-squirt, the third total he would dump in one end of Private Chris Hendricks' perfect mass of muscles or the other, the young soldier did the unthinkable. He voiced what couldn't be spoken of.

'I love you, Sarge - '

Bull rose up off the other man's sweat-stained, hairy chest, balanced his weight on one arm, and to both their shock, he struck the twenty-two year old across the side of his painfully-handsome face.

'What-?' Hendricks gasped, pale blue eyes wide with disbelief.

Bull caught his own surprised expression in the young soldier's irises. Joined now only by the pole Bull had plugged into Hendricks' tight, slick asshole, they faced off. The sound of the cold March rain falling outside the motel room's windows and the intermittent droning of a car as it passed down the highway turned the silence in the room to a choking haze.

'I - ' Bull stuttered, still not understanding what it was he had done. The head of his cock, lodged in the young soldier's can, went from itchy to painful, paralyzed in a channel of his own stale load. 'Dude, I'm so sorry-!'

Hendricks' hairy throat knotted under the influence of a heavy swallow. Saying nothing, he seemed to freeze beneath Bull, his handsome face and toned hundred and ninety-five pounds tensing.

Soon after, Bull felt it, the constricting and dilating suction on his cock. The pressure intensified, and a wet slurping sound broke between Hendricks' legs. The young soldier, Bull realized, hadn't merely tensed just for the sake of it; he had focused his energy on exercising the soldier-toughened muscles of his ass, and that ass was now working to pleasure Bull's cock.

'You're good,' Bull growled, a semblance of the respect he expected by his subordinates restored.

The young grunt grunted, 'Yes, sir,' and opened his shithole wide, drawing Bull's cock deeper inside him.

The clammy sweat that covered Sergeant Thomas John Bullen shifted back to the warmth he'd known before the incident. Bull shoved in, accommodating the young soldier's efforts, and again his come-packed low-hangers skidded along Hendricks' hairy ass cheeks.

Noticing the red welt on the side of the young man's face, Bull leaned down and nuzzled his cheek against the twenty-two year old's. After a few tentative pecks, they were kissing hungrily once more.

It's true, I do, Bull thought, trying to ignore the voice in his head. I could love you, real fuckin' easy, even though you're only a few years older than my son. Any man would be proud to be your father, Chris. You've become a man, maybe one I could love beyond tonight..

'I'm glad I met you too,' Bull settled for instead, pushing in one last time. The room, already glowing slightly from neon signs visible through the slatted window blinds and the light of the muted television, erupted suddenly in a shower of stars. Bull moaned, howled, his voice rising to a shout of half-formed expletives. He was still coming up the young soldier's asshole when something hot and wet flared across his stomach. Hendricks had come with him, blasting nut juice like a hail of bullets.

Face stained in beads of sweat, Bull collapsed onto the twenty-two year old. He held Hendricks tightly and reveled in the warmth of their bodies. They kissed again, and in those stolen minutes, Bull didn't want to let go. The other man's perspiration and the unrivaled feel of his sperm on Bull's flat belly was so much kinder a finish to the day, which had begun dark, raw, seemingly hopeless.

Against his own wishes, as he hugged Hendricks in his arms, Bull remembered how it had all begun that morning, his first morning in the town of Seaside in over twenty years..

It was raining torrentially, a cold March downpour that soaked through Bull's army jacket and seemed to make the gray landscape even gloomier. He wasn't sure just what it was he'd been feeling as he stood before the granite headstone. The March rain had drowned Becky's name, making the letters barely legible. The petals of flowers left long ago at the grave had also gone gray beneath the freshly melted snow.

Bull studied the date of death carved beneath the temporary waterfall the rain had created - November 2, 1999 - and wondered who'd made the effort to mail the letter Becky had written to him only a month and a half earlier.

The wind rose while he stood beside the grave deep in thought, a wind so strong it turned the rain horizontally against him. The muck of open sod underfoot had soaked the toes of his boots, but hadn't yet worked through the well-made leather. Still, it was the one thing he was feeling that Bull could pinpoint, the cold. It had started in his toes and worked its way up the legs of his jeans, through his guts and chest, and had radiated out to arms, neck, fingers, face. The rain pouring off the bill of his baseball cap now stung at his eyes. Bull turned away, back to his Harley. It was time to go.

Shoving the ball cap into his coat pocket, he donned his helmet and angled the winding, narrow paths out of the remote cemetery. The roads, sloshing with melted snow and the result of the rainstorm, had mostly been abandoned at the outskirts of Seaside, Massachusetts. The town had changed much - hell, in the last twenty years, it had given rise to one of the baddest hockey teams in the Eastern Conference. Still, he remembered his way around. Twenty minutes and a lot of soul-searching later, he found himself on Pelham Street off Route 38, making his way toward what had been a red ranch house with white shutters back in 1979.

Heart beating rapidly, Bull counted off the familiar landmarks on his way to Number Eleven. The old barn on the corner of the field still stood, but the field itself had become a garrison house. Gone were the hedges of thick junipers and the stockade fence separating Becky's place from its nearest neighbor. The house had been painted gray. Its shutters were now black. But it was the FOR SALE sign hammered into the soggy, brown sod of its front yard that was the most telling about the changes that had taken place in the old neighborhood.

Bull locked the Harley's kickstand in place and dismounted. The rain had let up some, but not its chill. Peeling off his helmet, he approached the house's front door. Each step felt like twenty, the seconds weighing with the sluggishness of hours. Finally, he reached the steps. At the kitchen window, Bull peered in. The house was a shell, empty of any sign of life.

He wasn't sure how long he stood staring into the house. The carpets had been changed, probably more than a few times since he and Becky fucked bare-assed on them that summer when his life was forever changed. Everything except the layout of the rooms was different, too. Like ghosts, Bull imagined himself, then 19,and Becky as they moaned together from one room to the next, drunk on cheap beer. One of those fuck-fests had produced a son, Jason, a son Bull had run out of clues now on finding.

He'd gotten so involved in these thoughts he didn't hear the other man's approach until a cadence of sloppy footsteps though puddles sounded nearby. Bull spun around to see an older man - fifties, he guessed - marching up the drive.

'You here to see the house?' the man asked gruffly.

Bull shook his head. 'No, old friend of the family that used to live here.'

'Rebecca?' the man said, drawing in a deep breath and extending his hand. 'Yeah, real sad. I'm Dan Greenley - neighbor next door. Been looking after the place for the realtor since the family cleaned out of here late last year.'

Bull accepted the gesture and shook back, squeezing down hard enough to break the hands of lesser men. 'Thomas Bullen. You said family - you know where from?'

'West Coast. Didn't talk too much with them, though. Figured they needed some peace after their loss.'

Bull thought back to the letter. 'West Coast? San Diego?'

The older man nodded. 'Yup. Real good-looking young man with them, seemed to be taking things doubly hard. What a shame.'

'Jason,' Bull sighed under his breath. 'Do you have any forwarding info - a phone number or address? I need to contact the family. See, I'm an old friend.'

'Naw,' Greenley sighed, swiping the rain off his face. 'But the realtor would, since they're handling the sale of the house.'

Bull glanced toward the FOR SALE sign, then darted back to his hog. 'Thanks,' he called over his shoulder, a surge of warmth cracking the icy chill inside him.

The rain continued falling. Ten minutes later, Bull stood beneath the overhang of a pay phone, dialing the number he'd snagged from the realtor. On the third ring, a woman answered.

'Hello, Mattie?' Bull asked, his usually confident voice broken by uncertainty.

'Yes,' she replied. 'Who is this?'

'It's Thomas,' he said, forcing out the words. 'Bull. An old friend of Becky's.'

A second later, the line went dead. The dial tone droned against the sound of falling rain. Bull hung up and tried again, banging out the numbers on his phone card. This time, the line was busy. Two more attempts ended in the same results.

Bull never cried, and probably hadn't in the twenty years since he entered the service. With the rain falling everywhere around him, he felt the caustic first sting of a tear to the corner of one eye, and to his surprise, he didn't fight it.

The tears fell, spurred on by the downpour. By the time he gave up, it had gotten noticeably darker out, and much colder. Wiping his eyes, Bull mounted his motorcycle and started back to the motel, swearing out a long string of angry swears under his breath, all weakness again buried beneath the stone facade of his pissed-off, hard-assed Army game face.

He passed the car at the side of the highway a few miles down Interstate 213, but his head was so full of other things, he thought little of it until he caught sight of a lone, rain-drenched figure thumbing ahead. Bull noticed immediately that the hitchhiker, besides being soaked all the way through, was dressed in a camouflage jacket and pants and black boots. A waterlogged ball cap bearing the logo of Seaside's baseball team covered the stranded man's face. Bull figured it was his car he'd passed a minute earlier. Not knowing fully why, he pulled over.

'Hey,' the other man growled in a youthful, relieved voice, trotting over.

Bull tipped his head up as the soldier cut across the beams of his hog's headlights to stand close enough for a better view. He caught a flash of clean-buzzed dark blond hair under the ball cap, a day's worth of facial shag on a square-jawed, handsome face, and pale blue eyes. He pegged the young soldier at being somewhere in his early twenties, no older than twenty-four. The image of the other man, so cute, so lost in the downpour, sent a surge of fresh warmth through Bull's frozen insides. It was powerful enough to dispel the chill he'd been at the mercy of all day.

'What's up, guy?' Bull asked, extending his gloved hand.

The young soldier accepted and shook. 'You seen that piece of shit a mile back?' Bull nodded. 'Fucker left me stranded out in the middle of fuckin' nowhere, and I got a good hundred miles to go yet.'

Bull quickly thought it out. 'Cape Cod? You from Otis Airforce Base?'

'126th AVN,' the young soldier nodded, the barest trace of a proud smile on his handsome face. 'Chris Hendricks.'

'Sergeant Tom Bullen. Bull,' he corrected. 'When you due back on base?'

'O-Six hundred tomorrow, but wanted to get back early. Now I got this shit.'

Bull hesitated for a moment. He knew Hendricks could probably call a dozen people at the base, get his car towed, and be back on Otis by the skin of his ass. Still, he wouldn't leave the young soldier stranded out here on such a rotten, fucked-up night. 'I can give you a lift somewhere,' Bull said.

'Really?' Hendricks asked, his handsome blue eyes warming like an excited puppy dog's.

Bull fell deeper into the other man's baby blues, so deep, he could easily, he realized, spiral out of control. 'Yeah,' he nodded. 'Course, I don't got a helmet for you to wear. Breaking Mass law if you hop on back without one.'

'I'm freezing my nuts off,' Hendricks joked. 'I ain't worried about friggin' helmet laws at this point, Sarge.'

Bull nodded and waved the young soldier on. 'I'm not far away. Got a motel room about four miles up the road. We'll call you a tow truck, figure out how to get you down to Otis, and you can warm your ass, maybe take a hot shower if you want.'

The handsome young soldier mounted the bike. 'That would be great,' Hendricks enthused, sighing the words in a hot breath past Bull's ears. 'Thanks, Sarge. I can't believe I got so lucky to meet you out here tonight.'

'Yeah, it's like we're the only two people alive in the world tonight,' Bull huffed under his breath, trying his best not to think about the day and what he'd learned. 'Maybe both our luck's gonna change soon enough, guy.'

Hendricks wrapped one arm around Bull's taught, washboard stomach and held on. Bull started up the hog and pulled back onto the deserted highway. Darkness, rainy and miserable, streaked past them. The final leg of the journey back to the cheap but warm and dry room he'd rented at the motel seemed to pass much slower than the actual minutes it took. Finally, they pulled into the parking lot of the one story red brick building. Across the street, a brightly-lit service station and all-night diner sat nearly empty in the pouring rain.

Bull jiggled the key in the lock. 'While we're waiting for them to tow your shitbox, you want to grab a bite to eat?'

Hendricks shifted nervously in place. 'I'm kinda broke, Sarge.'

Bull forced a smile and pushed open the door. 'I got you covered.'

It wasn't much of a room - a double bed with an ugly pleated comforter, dresser, cable TV and bathroom. Bull's overnight clothes sat in a neat stack on top of the dresser, everything looking crisp and uniform.

'Old habits,' he said jokingly when the young soldier finished giving the room a quick once-over. Bull waved him toward the telephone atop a dog-eared phone book. 'Make your call then we can chow.'

Twenty minutes later, they sat alone at a booth in the diner, downing hot soup and roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy. Bull did little more than move the food around his plate with the fork.

'What's wrong, Sarge?' Hendricks asked.

Bull looked up. Even in the diner's pale lights, the beauty in the rugged face across from him was startling. 'Nothing,' he growled, turning toward the window and the rain-swept, desolate March night outside. At least here with the young soldier, he didn't feel so lost, so alone. Chris Hendricks, he admitted to himself, had helped dispel much of the gloom that had twisted his stomach into tight knots.

'It's cool,' Hendricks persisted. 'I mean, dude - er, Sergeant, Sir - '

Bull grinned. 'Sergeant Bullen's waiting back on that base in North Carolina. For now, I'm just Bull. Dude'll do.'

Hendricks flashed a four-alarm smile back across the table. 'Dude, you've treated me real good. If there's something you want to tell me, I'm okay with it.' The exuberance suddenly fled the other man's youthful face.

'What is it?' Bull asked.

Shaking his head and setting down his soupspoon, the young soldier said, 'I'm in deep shit if I don't make it back to Otis on time.'

Bull pushed his plate away. 'I told you not to worry. We'll take care of it, somehow.'

A slight curl twisted Hendricks' hairy mouth again. 'You'd help me like that?'

Bull pulled a twenty and a five from his wallet and tossed them on the table. 'Yeah. Finish your meal, Chris. I'll meet you back at the motel.'

He started for the door, but as he pushed it open and a blast of cold, raw air blew in, he heard the scuffle of boots and realized Hendricks was right behind him, a soldier to the end.

What am I doing? Bull wondered. Look at what I've already done..

As the sound of the shower drummed on in the background, Bull stretched out on the bed and wrestled with his confusion. Every few seconds, he heard a grunt or a shift in the continuous water spray - Hendricks clearing his throat or the shuffle of big bare feet in the tub, and the pang of guilt mixed with a tremor of anticipation flared again, worsening the chaos inside him.

Was it only his attraction to the young soldier, or the fact that the day's events had left him feeling so lost and alone in the world? I'm not using the boy, he told himself. I'd have helped him out even if he had two heads and no teeth. He's a fellow soldier. But, fuck, he's cute..

Bull shook his head and shifted on the double bed, absently flipping the channel from some dumb sitcom over to the sports channel for that day's sports highlights. Two sodas from the machine outside the motel's office sat half-consumed on the bed stand. Bull reached for his as the sound of the shower died and he heard the young soldier toweling off beyond the flimsy barrier of the bathroom door.

Bull's mouth had gone completely dry. He choked down a swig of bubbles, only to choke on the taste.

The bathroom door opened and an image from a dream strolled in, smelling clean and soapy and dressed only in a towel. Bull buried his focus on the TV, at first avoiding Hendricks' return to the motel room.

'You believe Seaside this year?' the young soldier sighed, one hand on his hip, the other scratching beneath the towel about his waist.

'You a hockey fan?' Bull asked.

Hendricks narrowed both eyes on him and let out a loud sigh. 'You kidding me? I'm a huge pucks nut.'

Bull glanced up, and to his shock and amazement, Hendricks' pale blue eyes sparkled even brighter. In that bottled gaze, he caught sight of the rest of the young man's body, his damp hair, perfect, sculpted chest, and the patch of dark blond fur at the base of his neck. Bull tried not to stare, but this proved impossible. Against his better judgement, he traveled down the happy trail that cut Hendricks from the top of his chest to his flat, hairy abdomen, and beyond that into the tangle of prickly man-hair jutting from the top of the towel. The rest of the young soldier was equally impressive; he had strong, hair-covered legs and big, sexy feet. The lump in Bull's throat worsened, and the uncomfortable heat between his own denim-covered legs intensified.

'Whaddaya think?' he half-heard Hendricks ask.

Bull shook out of the spell he'd fallen under and crossed his feet, hoping to shift his half-hard cock out of clear view. 'About what?' he countered dumbly.

'Seaside. This year's team,' Hendricks answered, again scratching his freshly showered crotch. 'Some of those guys are having career seasons, like Bruce Andreychuk. That dude is fuckin' amazing!'

Bull smiled to himself. 'Yeah, he's okay,' he chuckled. 'Look, kid, I called around. 'Til your car's fixed, I thought I'd rent a car from the motel office and drive you down early tomorrow.'

'No way-!' Hendricks said, smiling hopefully.

Bull nodded. 'It's already done. I don't' want you getting stuck. I've been there, and you can't imagine what it ended up costing me in the end.'

Hendricks looked thoughtfully from Bull to the TV, then back again. 'I'll pay you back. I got money coming in a few weeks.'

'I didn't ask you to pay me back,' Bull said, transfixing his eyes on the TV screen, afraid he'd already stared too long at the image of something divine.

The mattress sank suddenly near the fresh white socks on Bull's feet. The other man's bare back possessed his eyes. 'You're a good friend, Sarge.'

'Bull,' he corrected.

A strong hand unexpectedly gripped Bull's toes. Hendricks playfully toyed with his feet, massaging them in firm, but gentle strokes. Bull gave an unintentional moan. The feel of the young soldier's fingers upon him further dispelled the gloom and loneliness that had characterized his return to Seaside.

'What are you doing?' he laughed.

Hendricks tipped his face over his bare shoulder and flashed a smolderingly sexy grin from the foot of the bed. 'I'm gonna pay you back, Sarge, the only way I can.'

Saying nothing more, the young soldier stood, hooked the thumb of one hand into the towel tied to his waist, then let it drop. From the coarse tangle of man-hair covering Hendricks' crotch, a fat, thick six-incher jutted straight out. Two low-hanging, steam-loosened nuts in a meaty bag dangled below it.

Part of him didn't want to believe or trust the offer, not because of Hendricks, but because of his own confusion. He wanted the other man, wanted him bad, maybe more than he'd ever desired another person's before. There was no use denying his attraction further, so he didn't.

Bull nodded, reached out, and took hold of the young soldier's straining cock.

This was how it all began.

Bull stood at the toilet, trying to piss through the reawakened hard-on that woke him up somewhere shy of two a.m. He hadn't slept much, if at all, and knowing he would soon part company with the stranger in his bed only worsened his attempts to force the stream of liquid gold past the head of his boner. Eventually, like the raw March rain cascading beyond the bathroom's small fixed window, he found some relief.

He tapped out the last few drops and realized the young soldier's snores had stopped. Flushing, he strutted back to the bed, his cock tick-tocking between his legs the entire way there, like a metronome. The image of what awaited him made maintaining his hard-on worth it. Hendricks was sitting half-up in the bed, a pillow propped behind his back. Bull could tell by the rapid, desperate hand action under the sheet that the young soldier was masturbating.

Giving his eight-inch bone a firm squeeze in his trigger hand, Bull reached for the corner of the bed sheet and snapped it down with the other. The action confirmed Bull's suspicions. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, his stroke-hold full of six straining inches, Hendricks forced another pearl of precome out of his cock's piss slit.

'Didn't think you had any more of that left in you,' Bull laughed, growling out a sexy sigh as he pumped his own cock in unison with the young man on the bed.

Hendricks face twisted painfully. 'I want you, Sarge,' he groaned.

Bull could have said a number of things, but a quick glance at the clock on the cable box over the television silenced them all. Truth was, in less than three hours, he and Chris Hendricks would go their own ways, probably forever. So, saying nothing, Bull eased onto the bed and kissed the handsome private with a tenderness he didn't think himself capable of. They hadn't known each other long, but Bull realized they'd already attained an understanding of each other's bodies, their needs, wants. He motioned Hendricks up, then sprawled out on his back. The young soldier spread his big bare feet and hairy legs reverse-style on either side of Bull's chest and squatted back, dangling his swollen nuts and the well-fucked tightness of his hairy asshole above the veteran officer's face. Bull wasted no time; gripping Hendricks' rock-hard cock and giving it a few slow strokes, he sucked the other man's hairy nuts one at a time, tasting the stale sweat of man-sex on them. By the time Bull had moved on to Hendricks' asshole - where he recognized the tang of his own seed inside the young soldier's pucker - a set of warm lips and an even warmer tongue were raining butterfly kisses and licks across his pole.

'Yeah, Fucker,' Bull growled into the young man's butt, which he'd marked with his jizz like conquered territory. 'Get down on my dick with that mouth of yours, Private!'

Hendricks obliged and opened wider. The shower of kisses ended deep in the familiar pressure of the twenty-two year old's throat. Bull had had better, more skilled mouths on his cock over the last twenty years, but nothing yet like this, nothing so fulfilling, so comfortable. Snapping Hendricks' six-incher back between his legs, Bull sucked down the young soldier's cock. The heaviness of hot, young spunk hit his taste buds immediately. Hendricks' precome was thick and salty and dripped in torrents across his tongue.

Bull sucked harder, faster, wanting to savor each second they spent together. He had no idea how much time passed exactly, but soon after he gulped Hendricks down to his nuts, the young soldier bucked above him and discharged. A blast of clean, powerful soldier ball-snot fired against the roof of Bull's mouth. Not to be outdone by the other man's youth, Bull grabbed the twenty-two year old's head and held it in place until Hendricks choked, and every last drop of his baby-juice had been milked out and swallowed. From there, he pulled the young soldier's head up to the pillows and they kissed again.

They were still in that position, sharing the bounty of each other's maleness, when the alarm on Bull's watch beeped. They cleaned up, dressed, and were out the door into the dark, damp morning by three thirty.

'Here,' Bull said, pressing two folded one hundred dollar bills into the young soldier's palm.

Hendricks looked down, his pale blue eyes wide with disbelief. 'What's this for?'

'For towing and fixing that shitty car of yours.'

The twenty-two year old shook his head. 'I can't - '

'You can. That's an order.'

Hendricks drew in a deep breath. 'You're not my C.O.'

'No,' Bull said. 'But I'm your friend.'

In the poor glow of the street lamps at the gates guarding Otis Airforce Base, Bull's eyes met the pale blue gaze of the young man he'd met less than twelve hours before on a desolate stretch of highway. In some ways, he and Chris Hendricks had grown closer than anyone Bull had know over the last twenty years.

'Thanks, dude,' the young soldier said, flashing a sexy smile. 'I'll see you around, okay?'

'Hell, yeah,' Bull quipped back. The truth was, when the rental car's passenger door slammed in place, Bull knew he was alone once more and would most likely never see Hendricks again.

The journey ahead of him would demand all his time, all his energy. It was going to be a long one.

'California,' Bull sighed, pulling out onto the road. 'If that's where Jason is, that's where I have to go.'

The ride back to the motel in Seaside seemed to take forever. Once there, Bull packed his few things into the saddlebags of the hog, paid his bill, then hopped onto the motorcycle and started down the highway. From that point, there was only one direction to go.



the Hitman

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