>BLACKBOX >ALASKA >1400.../// Queen stood in the bathroom, holding toilet paper to his nose, his head tilted down. The blood that had dripped down was hidden by the dark navy of the UNF t-shirt he wore. It had been a mistake to snort the oxycodone, he should have smoked it but carrying around a glass pipe or weed was a little more risky. He pulled the paper back, the bright red soaking through it and it tossed it in the toilet, flushing it with his foot. He took a bit more paper and rolled it up, shoving it impatiently into his nostrils. He leaned against the sink, holding his head lower, staring down into the drain. It was quiet but for the rushing of blood in his ears, the sound of distant water in the pipes. For a moment he saw pale stone walls, the hiss of water shifting to sand and the hard bright stars were strange in his mind’s eye, twisting and changing. Queen snapped his head up, blowing the small wads of toilet paper out of his nostrils as he breathed out sharply. Queen ran a hand over his sandy blonde hair, grown out almost to his shoulders now. The beard was scruffy but he left it alone, it suited Alaska. He reached into the sink, picking up the bloody pieces of tissue and turned the water on, letting it rush out to hear it run and forget the sounds in the sand. He splashed it on his face and rubbed his eyes before checking to see if he was still bleeding. “They jump you or something?” Donnelley asked, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed and smirking. He watched Queen while he tended to his nose, knowing that the blood definitely wasn’t gotten during the fight. He’d have seen it when they were running drills in the shoothouse. It was the drugs, Donnelley knew. As long as he’d known Queen, it was the drugs. Queen sniffed hard and coughed, spitting a mix of blood and phlegm into the sink that washed away with the running water. He gave Donnelley a lopsided grin, “Ain’t none of them jumping me, I’m too sneaky. I’d just run through a narrow doorway. ‘Sides, it’s just that dry heated air in here.” He looked down at his shirt, despite the dark color hiding the blood stains he could feel them and he peeled it off, sticking it under the faucet to rinse it. Rust colored water appeared until it ran clear and Queen turned the handle and wrung out the shirt. His lean body was covered in both colorful and black ink tattoos, no real pattern or reason could be discerned yet the swirling chaos suited him. Queen eyed Donnelley, leaving his t-shirt hanging over the sink and he leaned a hand against it, his other hand resting halfway in his pocket. He seemed more wiry, his muscles standing out in sharper relief without added weight. “Looks like you might be getting rusty, hanging out with the nerds,” he chuckled, reaching up to scratch at his arm. “We need to get into some more scrapes, keep you limber.” Donnelley chuckled, looking away from Queen and shaking his head with that smile of his. His eyes settled on Queen again, the smile taking a while to fade, “Wouldn’a been a fight if you hadn’t picked on that Ranger like an asshole,” Donnelley looked Queen up and down, even now being with Laine he couldn’t deny that Queen didn’t have his charm. He looked into Queen’s eyes again, speaking softer, “[i]Asshole.[/i]” Queen’s impish grin grew, his eyes twinkling as he looked Donnelley over, “I thought you liked it when I’m an asshole.” He shrugged one shoulder, then ran a hand through his hair, leaving it tousled, “Besides, how was [i]I[/i] to know there was an airborne ranger on that team. I just wanted to express how much I missed out on being a part of the big green machine.” He giggled like a boy caught in a prank, standing up straight and he crossed his arms, “Come on, you can’t tell me that wasn’t funny. Those TRIHARDS.” Queen brushed under his nose, checking surreptitiously to see if he was still bleeding but it had seemed to stop. “Missed out on takin’ the Big Green Weenie too. Not as fun as it sounds.” He shrugged, sighing at Queen’s antics, a mainstay of who he was ever since they’d met. He smiled softly at him, “It was funny, though, I ain’t gonna lie. Ranger gettin’ his shit pushed in by Ghost was nice to watch.” He looked around the bathroom, the moment growing silent for a few moments,”So, you gonna share, or what?” Queen clapped his hands together once, “When have I ever held out on you?” He reached into the deep pocket of his gray camouflage TRU-SPEC pants that hung low on his hips, showing the lines of his pelvis and the slight trail of hair from his navel. The pants were the smallest size they had at the base, full of men competing to be Ghost large. The baggy was twisted around and knotted, Queen prying it open to open a couple of brown prescription vials. “I got a new order of oxycodone, some Valium and Xanax. And good ol’ Peruvian snow.” “Left the weed, the smell you know?” he reasoned, tossing the bag to Donnelley to take his pick. He looked over the older warrior, at the scar and his familiar features. “Is that all you’re looking to share with me?” His sea colored eyes gleamed with interest, Queen had noticed the increase in muscle mass that caused the t-shirt to pull tighter on Donnelley’s biceps. He reminded himself he should hit the weights when he had free time, rather than sleeping. Donnelley snatched the bag out of the air and looked at the assortment of fun, eyes picking through the selection. “Should probably stick with the coke, haven’t been sleepin’ too much past couple days, though.” He shrugged, “Oxy’s will help me sleep.” He avoided Queen’s insinuating question for a few seconds as he rifled for the Oxy’s, popping two in his mouth and the crunch of them was heard. He pulled his flask from his thigh pocket and dangled it about, “Got this too.” He uncapped it and took a few sips, grimacing slightly. He offered the flask over, hoping that would satisfy his question and eyed the THUNDER unit insignia inked on Queen. He pointed at it with his chin, “Still got mine too.” Queen took the flask, not bothering to sniff it, he knew what it held. The taste of whiskey was as much a part of Donnelley as punk music in a pickup truck. He stepped closer to him, glancing once at the closed bathroom door and a sly grin appeared on his face as he grazed his teeth against his lower lip. “Yeah, I still got mine. It ain’t going anywhere. I still remember when we gave you yours, once you stopped being such a brooding asshole.” He grinned and looked thoughtful, the scent of whiskey and the reflection of his own tattoos in the mirror, THUNDER’s insignia on his bicep brought him back to that night. ::2016:: The rest of the team had all gone to sleep, or off to do their own things. Ghost went off to do whatever he usually did, Donnelley didn’t know any of them that well yet, Ghost least of all. Maui was alright, the big Hawaiian who loved to laugh, his high pitched screams of laughter being so contagious to Donnelley that even he couldn’t help but crack a grin. Poker was Poker, a shifty-eyed killer, the very picture of a Program Wetwork Operator. Honestly, not too different from himself. Queen though, Queen was different. In all the ways that were right, he was different. Donnelley lay on his back, getting the cracked skull and crossed thunderbolts that was THUNDER’s unit patch tattooed along his ribs. They didn’t get to display it often, but a lot of the other Wetwork Teams had their own hanging over their barracks door here at the CIA. The only place that could or would house the redheaded step-children of America’s clandestine paramilitary operators. “Always liked the feelin’ of tattoos. Got a few yourself,” He looked at the other man steadily concentrating on the shading. The same man only a few nights ago who’d shown him the Amsterdam streets while they were on Leave, “They got a story?” Queen's hand was steady as he filled the shadows of the skull, not answering until he had to pause to refill his gun. "All these? Sure they do, some are epic journeys, some are memories." He gestured to the rose tattoo on his hand. "Some were even for a cover. And a couple are just me liking how it looked." A grin flickered across his face as he glanced up at Donnelley. "I'm a real man of mystery, Tex." He went back to work, keeping his eyes on the guidelines. "It's addictive you know, get one tattoo or get a dozen. There's not much in between." “I’ll say,” Donnelley lifted his head to peer at the other tattoos, markedly lower quality and faded, all memories of old times and old friends, “Maybe that’s why I like you. Fuckin’ [i]Tex[/i].” He snorted at the new nickname, dropping his head back on the arm of the couch. He was shirtless, and being honest, it made him feel nice whenever he caught Queen’s eyes roaming while he worked. Their time in Amsterdam was secret, just for them. “Tex…” he gave a small nod, finally accepting the name, wasn’t the worst. “Amsterdam was fun.” Donnelley smirked, looking down again at Queen working, the tattoo starting to become even more fleshed out with the lighting and shadow. Donnelley didn’t know that side of himself for more than a few days now, but it felt true and it felt right. And Queen was someone who understood his life without even being there. Two of a kind, “Really fun.” He smiled. ::...:: He took a sip from the flask, his own buzz wearing off and he felt the tug of weariness but the interest was more in the man before him. “You gonna get one for your new team?” he asked, a hint of mockery but he still smiled, “Big boss man. Daddy Donnelley, now huh?” Donnelley snorted, rolling his eyes at Queen, “Yeah, that’s what I am now, I guess. I miss the days of the hardest cases bein’ shootin’ or blackbaggin’ some poor bastard.” He shook his head and smirked, “Then again, I don’t know where they’d get a better team lead than me.” “I don’t think they could,” Queen admitted, looking at him over again. His interest was stirring to places that did not involve their jobs. He took another sip of whiskey and moved in closer, handing back the flask. “You know, I got a tour of the facilities, I wasn’t joking about that. Just traded some pills to a dude that works here, knows the place well. Places even more private than an empty bathroom.” Queen felt his face flush warm, the whiskey and the idea of having Donnelley in some hidden corner of the base full of the biggest, baddest pipe hitters around. “Whattya think? Ain’t much else to do while we sit around and wait.” He raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile crossing his face. Donnelley felt his smile grow too, an almost Pavlovian response to that mischievous smile of Queen’s. It reminded him of older times. And as he took a long swig from his flask and capped it off, there wasn’t much else to do but follow Queen, “Lead the way, [i]Ranger.[/i]” Donnelley teased. Queen grinned and flipped him off, then grunted deeply, “[i]Huh-raah![/i]” “Shit,” he grabbed his shirt, still wet from rinsing it and grimaced at the thought of putting it on. “Let me borrow your jacket. I don’t want all the security guards getting their dicks hard seeing me walking around half naked.” A pause as he thought about it. “Might look funny.” He took the jacket and flung it over his shoulders, then put his arms through and popped his hair over the collar. “Damn, this looks good on me.” He ran his hand down his bare stomach, his nails grazing below his navel. Queen led the way out of the restroom, noting the silence of the range. It was empty, TRIDENT had retreated and THUNDER and the couple of shooters of UMBRA had finally left. He reached into Donnelley’s coat and found the map he had stashed there himself and unrolled it. “I marked all the spots, some of them are well known, you know? Just that agreement that no one bothers when it’s occupied.” There was one such place on the range, he pointed it out to Donnelley, “He said put the wet floor sign outside the door and no one will barge into that closet. But I think we’d better find something even more secluded.” Queen glanced at Donnelley, feeling the stirring below again. They had always been secret, it was between them and them alone. Especially Donnelley was wary about anyone finding out, it had taken enough for him to admit it not just to Queen but to himself. “Round the corner, there,” Queen said, gesturing at the map. “A storage of backup generators, fuse boxes and shit, unless we have a big storm and the power goes out, no one goes there but there’s room. A whole wall where nothing is stored against, enough room to roll out a sleeping bag.” He shrugged, then grinned slightly, “There’s supposed to be a key. My source said it’s been broken for months though, no one has bothered to fix it so you can get in and move something in front of the door from the inside.” “There’s a couple spots between the armory and library, and another storage unit in the cellar,” Queen finished, handing over the map. He had memorized the places, made a copy of the wall map. Donnelley took a look at the map, whistling his appreciation and clucking his tongue. Queen could always come through with the intel. “I been doin’ a little recon myself, casin’ this joint. I found this one,” He pointed at one of the ones between the armory and the Library, “I don’t know how you do it, Queen. I owe you a cigarette. A real man’s cigarette, not those fuckin’ Kools.” Donnelley winked. “Let’s check out the cellar.” Donnelley offered the map back. “How they gonna know I’m cool if I’m not smoking Kools,” Queen scoffed, “Alright, follow me Marlboro Man.” The cellar in the underground facility was mostly used for storage of huge metal cases full of old files locked with padlocks and locked inside caged off areas. Beyond the forgotten files there were stacks of broken desks and chairs, even an old sofa with worn cushions and missing a leg. Queen had wondered why they did not just throw them out but laziness was efficient in some eyes. Left alone in the deep cellar, they were out of sight out of mind, along with an alcove set into the back wall, deep in shadows. A few old blankets and an old Hustler magazine with curling pages was tossed aside. “This ain’t the most popular hangout place it seems,” he said after they stood in the silence for some time looking around in the dim light of a few overhead fluorescent bulbs, several burned out. Donnelley bent down and plucked a tiny roll of paper from the floor, sniffing it. His suspicions were correct, “Fuckin’ stoners guardin’ one of the most classified bases in the world.” He flicked it away, standing and fishing his pack of cigarettes from his hoodie pocket, lighting up and offering one to Queen, “Think you can still get a hard-on with those downers, Opie?” It was a cheeky joke, but a tiny voice in the back of his head was telling him that Laine wouldn’t be too pleased to know he was inside someone else. What happened in Vegas, as the saying goes, stayed there. But he made a silent promise to himself the morning after that he wouldn’t live like he was going to die tomorrow anymore. He flopped down into the couch, legs spread wide and arms out along the back of the couch, “Or is it all about me today?” Queen took the cigarette, flashing an amused if sheepish grin at his question. He put it between his lips, letting it dangle a bit before he pushed it up slowly and bounced it a bit in a mockery of his question about the strength of his erections. Peering through the smoke at Tex, he smiled at his friend and reached down to grope himself through his pants. “I think I could wake him up,” he chuckled, then knelt on the couch with one leg, the other foot braced against the ground. He was casually positioned between Donnelley’s legs, reaching up to pinch the cigarette between two fingers, blowing a smoke ring over his head. “It’s all about you, cowboy,” Queen replied, unable to keep from grinning. “Then it can be about me. Just like the playground, we both get our turns.” He laughed a bit, taking a drag then put his free hand on Donnelley’s thigh, rubbing it along the taut muscle just up to where he would brush against pelvic bone. “I got some other party favors, if you got time.” “For you, Queen?” Donnelley let his head roll back as Queen massaged the muscles in his legs, groaning his pleasure. He was like a coiled spring mentally, and physically. The tension there wherever Queen touched seemed to soften with his kneading fingers, sending tingling waves of euphoria up to flush his face, “I always have time for you.” “Because I’m me,” Queen chuckled and kept the cigarette between his lips, the plump lower lip almost pouting with the action. He ran his hand over his thigh again, leaning closer, letting his other hand fall on Donnelley’s thigh sprawled against the back of the sofa. Each pass of his hands got closer to the center, the ash growing on his cigarette as he looked up at Donnelley’s face. “Same here, you know? I always got time for you, even if we’re...doing our own things,” he muttered around the cigarette. Queen removed the cigarette, tossing it on the ground and he stomped and twisted it his boot against it. He breathed out the smoke, narrowing his eyes as his hand passed over Donnelley’s crotch, brushing against the buckle of his belt before reaching under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. The muscles there reacted to his touch and he grinned a bit, biting his lip before shifting so he could get closer. Donnelley bit his lower lip, letting out a deep, slow chuckle at the feeling of Queen’s fingers over his skin. He shimmied his hips to come closer towards him, “Makin’ me melt, Billy.” ...Donnelley sighed, at this point growing embarrassed at his failure to stand it up. He lay a hand on Queen’s shoulder, knowing anything else would be wasted time and effort. “I think it’s the whiskey, or somethin’. Stressed about bullshit.” It’d never stopped him before, but that’s what he wanted to believe. What he wanted Queen to believe. He said weakly, “I don’t know, Billy, sorry.” Queen lifted his head, glancing at Donnelley then nodded, “Sure, whiskey dick.” It was a lie, and it made his own arousal dampen but he smiled and shrugged, "No big deal, we'll have another time. I'll take the coke and poppers and make it a real party." Queen adjusted himself and looked around the cellar. He clapped Donnelley on the thigh, "I think I need to catch some sleep anyway. You know, oxy wore off." He stood up putting Donnelley's jacket and ruminated over what he wanted to say but then looked down at his friend with a half smile, "You know if you need to vent some stress, I'm good at keeping secrets." “Yeah.” Donnelley smirked at Queen, getting another cigarette out of his pack and lighting it up. He looked away from him, knowing that he knew this was a lie. He contemplated coming clean, but decided against it. He took a long drag off his cigarette, “I’ll meet you in the bunks. Or wherever. You got my number, or one of ‘em.” Queen nodded, sniffing a bit, "Yep, I got your number." He took his own cigarettes, the half empty pack of Kools and struck his own light. "And your jacket, so now you're obligated to find me." He flashed his cheeky grin around the cigarette "Catch you later, Donnelley." Queen headed back through the cellar, a confusion and weariness pulling at him and he just wanted his bed right now.