“Do you think it wise to involve the American Government in our own untidiness?” Ariston asked Hatshepsut.
“I do,” she answered, walking side by side with her other two associates. “We do not have the man power to cover this city with so many in Europe looking for Léonide, if indeed, he is still in Europe.”
“Is there any proof that it actually is Léonide?”
“With the captured few that I have been able to interview, they all have described him perfectly,” the regal woman stated.
“Acht, I am sorry for Vincent,” Mathghamhain said, shaking his head. “Vincent does not deserve this shame thrust upon him.”
“I think we all concur, Mathghamhain,” Ariston agreed. “However, I do not think that there will be many who will hold this against him. How was he to know that after all these centuries that Léonide would go in this direction, if indeed it is him? I still have my doubts that it is.”
“No matter, he, or whoever it is must be caught.” Hatshepsut sighed. “Justice must be served so that others will know that this behavior will not be tolerated. I also agree that Vincent shall not be held responsible for the actions of his offspring. I feel that he did everything in his power to control the boy, to no avail.”
Ariston stopped and looked at the other two Committee members. “The French Royalists will be outraged if he is sentenced to death, which is the only punishment allowable for such atrocities.”
“They will just have to be outraged, Ariston, there is no other choice in this,” Hatshepsut snapped. “The Royalists are the least of our worries right now. There is an outbreak of freaks running around the world endangering us all, after centuries of having security among our community! This we cannot tolerate.”
“Yes, I agree, Hatshepsut. However, those who insist that a Royal have a seat on The Committee will object in not having a voice, even though he is not on The Committee as was intended.” Ariston pushed.
“Tis a problem is true,” Mathghamhain interjected. “I suggest we find a replacement to pacify the purists.”
“An excellent suggestion, Mathghamhain,” Hatshepsut said. “Although, that would be the obvious solution, in this day and age of information, that is not as easy as it would have been in decades past, but it is worth looking into. Let us put a contingent together to visit the Royal Families of Europe and see whether they will offer up one of their own? It would have to be done quietly, so it cannot be one who is so visibly public. Perhaps that Prince from Spain would be the solution? He is far removed from any chance of sitting on the throne.”
“Acht, that would be the perfect choice, Your Highness.” The tall Scotsman rubbed his hands together. “I personally will seek a group willing to take on this challenge.”
“Thank you, Mathghamhain.” Hatshepsut readily agreed to his volunteering, as she trusted him implicitly. “We still have the at large seat that needs to be filled, and that would work out perfectly.”
* * * * *
Bronson woke up with a start. The nightmarish dream, the lingering memory of being transported in a Humvee through the siege of Fallujah, Iraq, under gun fire haunted him. Still, some five years later, that was the one time when he felt certain he was going to die. Sure, he had been in other situations where the thought that he might not make it out of this one crossed his mind. However, that particular day, he was sure he was a dead man. Even now, that one day haunts him like no other.
He looked out the window and saw intermittent flakes of snow falling. Tossing the blankets back, thanking the powers that be that he was home and warm. He went and relieved his full bladder, pushing down his morning erection aiming into the bowl. Now that the duties of nature were satisfied, it was time for some coffee. It was a good thing that coffee had a long shelf life.
Opening the cabinets, he was welcomed by a thin layer of dust…and empty shelves. Then he remembered that he had put the coffee in the freezer. Sometimes he wondered why he kept an apartment at all. The past year he was only home, if you can even call it that, four and a half weeks total. It would make more sense for him to stay in a hotel when in town. As quickly as the thought came into his mind, he just as quickly dismissed it. There was something about being able to call at least one place his, and having his own bed.
A cup of hot steaming coffee in hand, Bronson walked into his small living room, his semi-erect dick leading the way. This was yet another benefit of having your own place, he thought— never having to put clothes on if you didn’t want to.
Smiling, Bronson sat on his leather sofa, the cold leather shocking his system for a moment, then turned on the television. The channel was still on CNN from the last time he had been home. Scratching his nuts, he settled in with his coffee, enjoying the comforts of western civilization, the dust and cold of Afghanistan only a memory right now.
After an hour, and one full circuit of news, Bronson grew bored. He pulled out his laptop and went to work, putting together all the bits and pieces he had of the story that had been floating around in his head for the last few weeks. The way to wrap it up was still an issue, but he had an idea that might pan out. For now, a good solid outline is what he needed. Another hour gone, his stomach let him know that it was time for more fuel.
He reached for his cell phone, ready to order a pizza,when it rang.
“Hello?”
“Bron, it’s Tom,” The tinny voice was obviously on speaker phone.
Bronson really disliked the abbreviation of his name, but had given up long ago in trying to break his editor from using it. “Yeah, what’s up, Tom?”
“I just wanted to remind you of…”
“I’m already on it, Tom,” Bronson interrupted the editor.
“Okay, good. You know who has already stopped by my office this morning asking what you had.”
“Don’t worry, Tom,” Bronson assured the former reporter. “When have I ever disappointed you? But it stinks that that bitch is always riding my ass after all stuff I’ve given her.” Bronson frowned as he looked down at the work on his laptop. "Next time I just might go talk to the WSJ when they call again, and they will call.”
“I know. I know, Bron, but you know how it can be around here, and it wouldn’t be much better there.” Tom sighed. “So, how’s the story shaping up?”
“Oh, I think that you’ll be pleased well enough, Tom.”
“Great, thanks, Bron, I’ll look forward to seeing you on Monday then. I’ll take you to lunch afterwards, how’s that?”
“That’d be great, Tom,” Bronson lied. Actually, he hated having lunch with Tom. Inevitably the conversation would turn to when Tom was a war correspondent, reliving his brightest moments, which were few and far between. Bronson had enough respect for the guy to go along with it, suffering through the meal. There was a bond between those reporters who had been there and done that. It was a small group, and there was a certain respect that came with belonging in that fraternity.
“Great, I’ll see you then.” Then he was gone.
The phone still in hand, Bronson dialed up for a pie.
The rest of the afternoon went by quickly. He was finally satisfied with how the story was coming together, but still not happy with the ending, or lack thereof. Looking out the window, the sun almost gone, he decided it was time for some fresh air and a decent meal.
* * * * *
Sarge walked through the dark and quiet barracks, the rest of the unit still in their racks. It would not be long before they arose, ready for the night. He enjoyed this quiet time, able to take a scalding hot shower, warming his cold skin. That would be his only major complaint about being undead. He disliked touching himself when his body was as cold as a marble statue.
The hot water cascaded down his body, warming him, while plastering his body hair flat to his skin. Steam filled the white subway tiled room, the echo of the water pelting the ceramic, the drain gurgling like a happy baby, all simple things, but things that Sarge enjoyed. The water cleansed not only his body, but his soul as well, taking away the pain that lurked there, even if for a brief time.
“Morning, Sarge,” Clifton Cates greeted his Commanding Officer, going to another shower head in the large tiled room. There were twelve showerheads in all, enough for all the men to shower at once if they shared.
“Hey, morning, Cates,” Sarge greeted the handsome, well-built man. Through squinted eyes, he could see the kid’s large morning erection still sticking out in front of him.
Since they’d returned to D.C., the men had already established a routine. Cates always was up soon after he was, and following Cates was his shadow, Keith Aquilar, the hot tamale of the group. The two friends couldn’t be more opposite. Cates was six feet four while Aquilar was only five-foot ten, making the six inch difference more noticeable when standing next to each other. Cates had sandy blonde hair, where Aquilar’s Hispanic heritage was apparent with his dark hair that also covered most of his body. Cates had almost no body hair. Cates had a big fat circumcised dick, and Aquilar’s was big and fat, but uncut. The biggest difference between these two hot men was their personalities. Cates was more the quiet and laid-back type and Aquilar was almost hyper active, ready for a new challenge and ready to take on the world.
Sarge smiled at the two as they jostled each other under the showerhead they shared, even though they were the only ones in the shower room at the time. These two shared most everything, including each other.
Sarge turned his back to the jostling pair, washing his short hair. He heard several other of his men come into the shower room, returning greetings when appropriate. Rinsing his head and face, he turned his back to the water once again. Upon opening his eyes, he saw Cates’ fat pink dick pounding into Aquilar’s tight round butt, and Smith’s shorter, but fat dick disappear into the dark-skinned man’s mouth. He wasn’t surprised. Hell, he’d have been surprised if they hadn’t been going at it like dogs in heat. He wasn’t kidding when he told Woody that these two would drop and fuck at a moment’s notice, just about anywhere and anytime.
The other men in the shower room looked on as if it were an everyday occurrence, which it pretty much was. There wasn’t a man in the unit that had not joined in at one time or another. Being young, randy men while alive had carried over to their new immortal lives, if not intensifying their desires. It was common knowledge, among some, that Marines would drill about any hole available and while out in the field, that hole usually belonged to a fellow Marine.
Sarge watched fascinated at his men, these men whom he loved like brothers, as they interacted with each other, loved one another, physically as well as mentally. He knew that each and every one of them would lay down their lives for the other. So it was no surprise to him to watch as Cates’s mouth was taken hostage by Johnson, kissing him almost brutally, the big black man’s skin made even darker by the pinkish-white skin of Cates.
Soon Johnson had Cates bent over Aquilar, whose hard cock was still embedded in his buddy’s dark hairy ass. Johnson pushed his hard, eleven-incher into Cates and Cates’ face screwed up in pain, but he never made a sound as that telephone pole was pushed into him. Johnson held still, waiting for the pink hole he had just invaded to relax enough for him to continue.
Aquilar was pushing back and forth, fucking himself on Cates dick, never losing pace, as that fat potato shaped looking dick of Smith’s pushed in and out of his mouth. Aquilar would be the first one to admit he liked sex, and he liked it often, and it didn’t matter to him what gender it happened to be with.
Johnson started to move, that thick black dick disappearing into Cates’ stretched pink hole, only to reappear again seconds later. It didn’t take long for the four men to find a rhythm that they all agreed on, pumping and grunting together.
Down a few shower heads, two other men lay on the floor in a sixty-nine position, going at it, swallowing each other’s dicks down to the root. There were others who were taking their showers ignoring the action of their bunk mates, acting as if nothing were going on at all, conversing with each other casually.
Watching the action going on, Sarge couldn’t help but notice that his own dick had plumped up a bit. He made it a rule not to have ‘relations’ with men under his command. The only exception to that rule had been with Burrows, which he truly regretted. However, that brief encounter had been when Burrows was in another unit, and long before they had agreed to take on this life changing, or ending, assignment. He was still the average enlisted grunt back then. Still, he had his own needs, and they weren’t being met like his men' needs were.
Sarge’s thoughts were interrupted by Cates as he reached orgasm, hammering his cock in and out of Aquilar like a jack rabbit. As he pushed his thick hot rod into his best bud Aquilar, Johnson’s enormous black cock pulled almost out of Cates’ ass. The muscles of his ass that gripped Johnson’s unbelievable big cock must have gotten to Johnson, as he soon repeated Cates’ cry, emptying his fat nuts into Cates’ bowels. The two on the floor must have been close also, as they were grunting, and thrusting into each other erratically, evidently feeding each other their own loads.
Smith was the next to lose it. His hands were on either side of Aquilar’s head as he shot his heavy load into his mouth, a drop trickled out of the side of the Latino’s mouth as he plowed on. Not to be outdone, Aquilar started spraying his load, catching Smith’s legs with part of the enormous load he was pumping out.
Sarge quickly rinsed off and left, trying to hide his own erection. Yeah, he needed to get laid and soon.
Burrows was on his way to the showers as Sarge was coming out.
“Need some help with that, Sarge?” Burrows leered at him, indicating the towel jutting out from his groin area.
“Naw, I’m good, Burrows.” Sarge side-stepped the Sergeant, making a bee-line for his own private quarters to get dressed, thus avoiding any such contact…again.
It was becoming increasingly more difficult for him to avoid Burrows’ advances. As much as he didn’t want to, he was going to have to confront the problem and Burrows. His biggest concern with doing this, was that Burrows was a hot head, and would have to be handled with kid gloves.