[F.oxtrot U.niform C.harlie K.ilo] (Warning-Explicit Content)

“Dark, three hundred hours. Target is asleep. Mission is go,” she whispered and eased her squeaking dresser drawer open. She sifted blindly, fingertips grazing over plastic boxes jammed in the small confines, a set of headphones she’d stolen from him, a spindle of blank discs, and settled on her small silver camera. Bingo.

She crept from her room on socked tiptoes, holding her breath as she nudged her notoriously squealing door open and made it out into the living room. Safe. She exhaled, skipped over the floorboard that cracked under the large blue area rug, and when she finally made it into the clear, twisted his doorknob until she heard its gentle click.

“Inside the enemy fortress. Execute Alpha Bravo.”

Her camera made its tinkling menu noise, the LCD screen lighting her face from underneath. She carefully slunk over the treacherous terrain also known as yesterday’s clothes, mingled with hidden high school baseball trophies and assorted tools that, from experience, hurt like a mother to stumble over.

At the side of the bed, she focused the lens on his sleeping form, cozily wrapped in a blanket and two sheets, with a thermal socked foot hanging out. The red light sparked alive, allowing the camera to read the light, and adjust. She pressed the shutter button. The room sparked alive with four rapid-fire flashes, then dark again.

“Alpha Bravo successful. Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo is a go,” she whispered, and snapped another photo, this time much closer to his face.

She laughed evilly, examining her shot. Now for the money. She sprung upward, his mattress catching only half her weight, the rest of it on top of him. His eyes shot open as she snapped the photo.

“Augh!” he uttered, closing his eyes tight against the spots like bright white pond skaters across the inside of his eyelids.

“What the fuck?” he groaned.

He rubbed his eyes firmly, while she got into a more comfortable position over him and flicked on his bedside lamp. She took another picture and set the camera down to lean over his chest and trace her lips against his throat.

“Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo accomplished,” she breathed, lightly enveloping his collarbone.

He blinked forcefully, checked the big green digital numbers on his clock, and asked, still partially asleep, “F-U-C-K?”

“Yep,” in between planting her soft pink lips evenly down the center of his chest.

“Mm. You couldn’a done this four hours ago?”

“Nope. I was given orders to wait until you were asleep, Sergeant.”

She was one crafty operative. The lower she traveled, and the softer her touch became, the more his tension faded toward oblivion. Her smooth nails brushed his hips and hooked into his olive green shorts, delicately pulling them down. Her lower lip dragged feather light up from the crook of his thigh to his stomach, where she settled for the moment, ears pricking at the catch of his breath.

“I missed you,” she admitted in a whisper, and worked her way from his navel over the trail of hair down. He opened his mouth to return the sentiment, but the tip of her tongue ran up his length and his stuck.

She smirked, kissing his tip, and asked playfully, “How do you want it?”

When he didn’t answer, she touched him again with her lips, encompassing him with tender pressure—a taste of what she could do. “Like that?”

But she never intended for him to respond. She slid upward, level with his chest again, and snaked her right hand down while she traced small circles on his shoulder with her left. Her fingers cupped underneath his sac, her thumb massaging, while she kissed his Adam’s apple. “Or maybe like that?”

A moan bristled across his lips. She nuzzled his neck, content in her game. She laid her lips light at the corner of his jaw and arched back. His eyes fluttered open, taking in her sweet, soft face.

“How about this?” She asked, crossing her arms over her waist and lifting her shirt over her head. His eyes, the same color as his t-shirt, and the shorts long gone, traced the curve of her breasts, waist, and hips. She winked and distracted him with her mouth, her tongue on his, while she lifted away from him to tug her lavender panties down.

When she settled back over him, he cupped a strong hand over the back of her thigh, his sinewy arm curled around her back.

His gaze met hers, and he whispered, “I missed you, too.”

With that, he took control, touching his lips in a line down her neck, and coming back up for more, luring her mouth forward with his, and interlocking. Her fingertips brushed against the closely shaved hair at his temple, and pressed back over his crown, holding close while their bodies rearranged, flipped, and he took his position over her. His kisses deepened, sucking her away from everything but them, and the achingly satisfying sensation of his weight on her. Or his fingers’ gentle probing, and the sweet tightening of fitting together.

She moved her hands under his shirt, rubbing along the painstakingly crafted muscles of his back, feeling them work, steadying his thick arms while his hips rocked. The iron cross, dangling from his neck, danced on her skin. His body spoke to her.

I want you. . .

She mewled. His hand lowered, clutching her mid-thigh while her supple ivory calf caressed his butt. She worked with him, contracting on the backward slip, her spine bending into a rainbow over his crumpled gray sheets. His consistent, circling rhythm sustained the intensity of a year’s worth of longing.

I need you. . .

She exhaled his name as he kissed her ear, teeth grazing her lobe. She couldn’t see the smile she gave him. He tempted her with the lightest friction between their waists, his firm chest sweeping over her breasts, exciting her tiny nerve endings. As his hand, the pillar of his body, dug into the bed, she felt a shiver wind through him. And the wet warmth of him filled her.

He then marked a trail of invisible lip prints down her body. At the hollow of her throat, the top of her rising and falling chest, venturing over each nipple, and curving to embrace the heaviness of her breast. Following the crevice interrupted by her navel, hands trailing dutifully like guards at each side of her waist, and finally hooking at her most tender point.

She shook while he quietly worked, indulging in touching his tongue to her thigh, and kissing her leg reverently. His thumb knuckle rubbed up against her, middle finger circled lower. When he spoke, his voice was hushed, and he didn’t bother to pull away; rather, he spoke into her, through her.

“I love you.”

A pang went off in her. Her limbs and core flexed and relaxed, like a full body stretch, and she moaned. His smile fell past her pink knee, and she could feel the curl of his lips meeting her velvety flesh. He knelt over her, her foot in his palm, his other catching at the bend of her knee, the round top of her calf, and worshipped at the shrine of her. She reached forward to smooth her fingers over his soft blonde crew cut, and tell him, voice weak, that she loved him, too.

A warm quiet wrapped around them while they relaxed; sunk into the tumble of linens and the mattress below. Every so often he would tip his head to the side and kiss her thigh, keeping her other leg securely bent over his stomach. His eyelids drooped drowsily, and she maintained the silence as she watched him fall back asleep.

She examined him openly during his discovery of peace in the night. A peace she was sure he hadn’t had in a long time, shattered by the sound of mortars exploding, crashing into concrete walls. The wails of innocent people mourning, dying through the crystalline desert night. He looked the same, full of aplomb, just as attractive as ever—maybe more so. She craved him like a drug. And now that she had him, she tried not to think about the time ticking away, and how the week they had was already two days less.