SPACE: Above and Beyond
No infringement of the following characters and situations is intended. The Characters and situations of the TV program "SPACE: Above and Beyond" are the creations of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Fox Broadcasting and Hard Eight Productions, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning: Rated [MA] Mature Adults only. Contains strong m/m sexual scenes, violence, coarse language and adult themes.
The sickeningly sweet and sappy conclusion to "Fumbling Towards Ecstasy".
Warning: Naughty bits. Rated MA. m/m canoodling.
Not my universe, yadda yadda yadda. All my own perverse little fantasies though.
For Katy and Channing and all the other wicked girls who've enjoyed my stuff.
c May 1996
Sugar Sugar
Nathan heard the soft squirt of the gel onto fingers, and the next instant felt those fingers probing him, pushing into him, preparing him. A second hand pumped him precisely, with perfect rhythm, until he could no longer contain himself, and he came. While still shuddering from his orgasm, he was impaled, opened wide, and the hard thrusting began. He was pulled up by his hips, and his commanding officer took him, doggy style.
When he was done, McQueen let him drop against the bed, McQueen himself rolling on his side, his back to Nathan.
That was it. No afterplay. Barely any foreplay. No entreaties to stay the night. No conversation. Just great, hard sex.
It was what Nathan thought he had wanted.
The cool, distant, coldly handsome McQueen had always fascinated him. The pale smooth skin, the ice blue eyes, the alieness of his Invitro origins, it all made for one very alluring package. That tied up with the mystique of command, and a dash of hero worship. And when he'd come onto Nathan, Nathan had been overwhelmed.
He'd rushed headlong into this affair with McQueen, hurting his best friend in the process. But that's all this was, an affair. McQueen's aloofness, he'd discovered, was not an act. He'd seen McQueen loosen up around Hawkes, but he seemed to deliberately hold West at arms reach, as if he was uncomfortable with the idea of screwing a natural born. McQueen seemed to have a personal code of keeping himself apart from natural borns, and even when he was inside him, Nathan knew he could never touch him, never connect with him, never communicate with him.
Not like he had with Cooper, he thought miserably.
He pulled on his clothes and left the Colonel to his own private thoughts, slinking back into his quarters, sneaking one long look at Cooper, sleeping, as he walked past.
It had been hate at first sight, him and Cooper. But the hate had hidden an unspoken connection, until he had severed it, unspoken feelings left unsaid until that night on the Bacchus, now never to be spoken of again.
He hugged his thin frame tight, mourning what he had lost, thrown away; Cooper's love, friendship and trust. Only now, when they were no longer his for the taking, did he realise how important they had been to him, how important Cooper was to him, how much he loved Cooper. It did him no good now. Cooper hated him. He'd hurt Cooper in the worst way, and the six year old man would never forgive him.
Nathan couldn't help himself but be drawn to the spectacle of Cooper draped languorously across the pool table, all animal heat, angling for a shot, Vansen twined around him, whispering in his ear, coaxing him, brushing against his strong muscular arm. She was allegedly teaching him how to play pool. To Nathan's jaded eyes they were practically having sex upon the green felt, her hips pressed tight against Cooper's as she lent over him, her body in close contact with the hot, muscular body that moved beneath her.
"Like this," she purred.
Cooper pulled back to take his shot.
"Yes," she breathed, as he plunged the cue forward.
The brightly coloured ball rolled across the table, hovered at the brink like a little tease, then fell in the hole with a satisfying plunk.
"See, it's all in the way you move," she caressed his cheek.
Nathan suddenly found himself in direct eye contact with Cooper, the bastard smiling across the table at him, smugness curling his lips, his eyes burning with malevolence.
Nathan twisted away, breaking eye contact, sipping at his beer miserably, pride keeping him rooted to the spot, otherwise he would have gotten up and left.
Cooper's Invitro learning curve had kicked in at double speed, the bastard mastering the arts of jealousy, spite and sexual war games, flaunting himself with Vansen, so that every move, every gesture stung Nathan more deeply than he ever thought they could.
Sweet, gentle, fumbling Cooper had turned into a malicious, hateful little fuck who spent every waking moment making Nathan's life a living hell. This was worse than when he'd first been barracked with the tank, far worse. Back then he'd blamed Cooper for all his misfortunes. Now he had no one to blame but himself.
They kept him awake by having noisy sex on Cooper's bunk, shamelessly, with the lights on, so Nathan couldn't help but see. He tried to turn away, to roll on his side, but he couldn't tear himself away from watching Cooper's muscular back and buttocks rising and falling as he pumped Vansen savagely. And when he finished, he'd always turn and look right at Nathan, and the searing malice in his eyes made Nathan squirm, inspite of his own hardness pressed against his mattress.
Cooper hunched over as another mortar pounded into the ground some 50 metres shy of their foxhole, splattering the both of them with mud and the stink of chig weaponry.
"Just my frigging luck to spend my last hours alive getting bombed in a friggin foxhole with you," he sneered at West, his mud covered face under his helmet looking all the more malevolent. Hawkes always seemed to look so much older in the field, closer to his true physical age, acting on instinct and training, covered in muck and killing without thought.
Nathan turned his face away, Cooper's open hostility wounding him deeper than any Chig gun ever could.
"I'm sorry," Nathan offered at last.
"Sorry for what," Cooper spat back, hefting up his gun. Nathan was unsure whether he or the chigs were the target.
Cooper pooped up over the edge and fired off three rounds before crouching down again as retaliatory fire rained down on them.
"Sorry for hurting you. Sorry for dumping you for McQueen."
"You want to work your way up the ranks, nothing to do with me," Cooper shot back, spitefully.
Nathan turned away again as if slapped. He turned back only when he heard Cooper pop about again, screaming as he poured heat on the chigs.
A bullet caught Hawkes, and he fell back into their ditch. For an instant, Nathan could only see Neil, lying dead in that trench.
"Cooper!" he screamed.
He threw himself forward, shaking the Invitro, who opened annoyed blue eyes at him.
"Let go," he snarled.
Nathan let him go, staring down at the blood on his hand. Ignoring the dangerous look in Hawkes' eyes, he pressed forward, investigating the bloody tear in the Tank's uniform.
"It's just a graze," he announced, relieved.
"I could have told you that. Now leave me alone."
Nathan withdrew a little, still shaken by the image of his dead brother that haunted him. Worse was the split second he thought Hawkes was dead, the knowledge of how that felt seared on his brain forever.
"I thought they'd got you," he spoke quietly, quiet enough that anyone but an Invitro wouldn't have heard him over the battle.
"Yeah, well what do you care," spat Hawkes, fumbling in his kit for a field dressing. Nathan knew enough not to attempt to assist Hawkes in any way.
"That's just it, Coop," he replied, using the fond diminutive inspite of Hawkes' glare. "I do care. I know you don't believe me, but I do."
He found it difficult to meet the hostility in Hawkes' eyes, and instead focused on the missiles streaking through the sky behind him.
"I made a mistake with McQueen. I got in over my head. I realise now, I don't want him. I want you. I love you, you stupid tank."
Hawkes didn't say anything. Nor did he move. Nathan had to sneak a look at him eventually, just to make sure he was still alive.
"Why'd you dump me, then," Hawkes asked at last.
"Because I'm an idiot." Nathan answered honestly.
"You got that right." muttered Cooper, twisting away to check on the battle that raged about them.
They heard the whistle, for at least four or five seconds, that awful descending note, before it hit, slamming into the earth less than two metres from the lip of their foxhole.
Cooper sat up, shaking dirt from himself like a dog. He glanced across to Nathan. He wasn't moving.
"West!" he growled, dragging an extra three syllables into the name. "You better not be faking," he threatened, crawling over to where Nathan's body lay.
"West?" he asked again, this time betraying real worry in his voice.
Nathan had caught more of the blast than he had, and worse. His fatigues were ripped up from flying shrapnel, dark and wet. Bright red blood trickled down his face from underneath his helmet.
Hawkes sat back on his haunches, relieved for a moment. West was bleeding. That meant he was alive.
He pushed off West's helmet, digging amongst his kit for a field dressing, binding the wound with automatic, skilled hands.
Nathan woke, his head still cradled in Cooper's hands.
"Hawkes?" he asked.
"We took a hit. You're hurt. I've got to get us out of here," Cooper summarised.
He slapped West's helmet back on his head, scrambling back to his radio to call for a medical evac.
Nathan waited blearily, half watching Hawkes until he crawled back towards him.
"McQueen's on the other side of the ridge. They're going to give us 5 minutes of covering fire.
"We'll never make it," Nathan complained with fatalistic clarity.
Cooper pulled open the tear in West's pants, peeking at the bloody laceration down his leg.
"I'll carry you out," Cooper promised.
"No. Leave me. You go. Save yourself."
"Don't tempt me," grumbled Hawkes, shifting his gun under his arm, swivelling around so he could pull West over his shoulder in a fireman's hold at a moment's notice.
They sat, waiting for the artillery fire that would mark the start of their dash to the evac site.
McQueen hung onto the side of the open hatch of the APC, scanning the area for any sign of his personnel.
"Two more minutes,"Colonel," warned the pilot, and he nodded tightly. He could feel Vansen's pleading eyes boring into his back, begging him not to leave them.
The artillery barrage stopped, and he hung his head, defeated.
"Now, Colonel," demanded the pilot.
"One more minute," McQueen yelled back, determined to keep the man to his promise.
"It's gonna get hairy," the pilot warned.
McQueen glanced back to the warzone, and couldn't believe what he saw. Out of nowhere, there was West, held up by Hawkes, the two of them in the dust clouds looking like one, shambling, two headed person, West half stumbling, half walking from an obvious injury, Hawkes half carrying, half dragging him towards the APC.
"Come on!" he called out to them, as if his command could make them move any faster. He waved them forward, half leaning out of the APC.
Hawkes pushed on the speed, moving with desperate urgency towards McQueen's outstretched arm, reaching up and taking his hand, clambering up into the APC, still holding onto West, who had to be torn away from his arms and lain down on a stretcher.
"He okay?" asked Hawkes, hovering close by his side, only then noticing there was a bright light in his face, from a TV camera.
McQueen had to restrain his punch, catching his fist with reflexes only another Invitro could match.
He pulled Hawkes away and sat him down against the wall as the APC's door slammed shut and the whole ship groaned, taking off.
Hawkes sat down sullenly, but never took his eyes from West as the Medic patched him up as best he could.
McQueen noticed the intensity and single-mindedness of Hawkes' attention, and settled back in his own space against the wall, his mouth in a thin tight line, the only clue as to what he might have been thinking.
Nathan woke, slowly, pleasantly, the painkillers still bringing him an artificial peace and contentedness. The reason for his soul's ease was immediately apparent. As he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Cooper's anxious, handsome little face, close to his, as he sat hunched towards Nathan, waiting for him to wake up.
Nate smiled, and Cooper reflected that smile, the wariness in his eyes receding, but never disappearing. Cooper always looked like he was afraid of losing the 58th, like if he turned around to fast, they'd be gone. It wasn't just the war. He'd always been twitchy around people. It wasn't just being an Invitro. He knew he'd hurt Hawkes, but somehow he didn't think he was the first, as Shane had accused him of being.
He reached out and ruffled Cooper's hair fondly, and was rewarded with a quick grin, and an even quicker glance sideways, and it was then and only then that he realised Paul Wang stood at the foot of his bed.
Paul tossed a copy of Stars and Stripes onto Nathan's bed.
"You and GIGQ there made the front cover."
Cooper twisted his head to see, and the hostility of his glare was enough to send Paul into immediate retreat.
"Oh, man," Hawkes muttered. "It was all over the TV, too. They used our moment."
Nathan picked up the paper and had a closer look. It was a classic wartime photo. It reminded him of ones he'd seen, from past conflicts. He looked up and carefully noted the intensity of Cooper's scowl. Cooper didn't like having his picture taken, any picture taken, still smarting over being manipulated in that awful piece of filmic shit. West had winced for him then. He remembered the damned journalist at the extraction site. Cooper would had killed that guy with his bare hands, had he not already had his hands full with carrying Nate.
Nathan laid the paper down. "It's just good propaganda," he began carefully, trying to defuse Hawkes before he exploded.
"I don't want to be propaganda." sulked Hawkes. "And why are you defending them? You study journalism at college?"
"No," Nathan smiled. "But it's a good shot. Invitro carrying his natural born buddy out of the field. It looks good to the folks at home."
"Well, if it'd been any other natural born, I'd have left them there," growled Hawkes.
Nathan grinned. It had been a close thing. Hawkes had still been mad enough at him to leave him there.
"I ain't no stretcher bearer." Hawkes continued.
"I wonder if that's how Simpson's donkey felt, or the fuzzy wuzzy angels." murmured Nathan, amused.
"What? What?" demanded Cooper, agitated.
"Never mind." He reached for Cooper, smiling. "No one can take away our moment." he promised.
Cooper leant forward into the touch, resting his head against the side of the bed as Nathan's fingers slipped through his hair, down the back of his neck, to circle his naval.
Cooper made a low sound in the back of his throat, which could have almost have been a purr. He relaxed under Nathan's touch, just like a cat, smile curling his lips as he was petted and teased, Nathan's finger skipping over and swirling around that odd little raised circle of flesh. Nathan wished he'd known this months ago, as a way of calming Cooper down. His hand slipped down the back of Cooper's T-shirt, feeling the soft warm skin under his fingertips. Cooper purred again, sliding just a little closer over Nathan on the bed, inching his way into Nathan's arms until he was half on the bed, enfolded in Nathan's embrace, eyes closed, smiling.
McQueen paused at the doorway, mouth tight. He'd suspected, the way Cooper had fussed on the ISSV, never leaving West's side. Now he had visual confirmation that the two young men had once more sought comfort in each other's company. He turned sharply on his heel, beating down the jealous monster that howled for release.
He wasn't just jealous that he'd been left in the cold, as he later confided to Ross over one scotch too many, the honesty of his revelations making Ross shift uncomfortably under that unblinking stare. It was the knowledge that he would never, had never, could never have that closeness that he saw between Hawkes and West that caused him the most pain.
All Ross could do was pour McQueen another measure of scotch and push it towards him. McQueen had been not that much older than Cooper when they'd first met, and just as stubborn as high strung. He'd had to prove himself in a fire fight before even Ross had treated him like anything approaching human. He'd latched onto Ross after that, and the two men had developed an uneasy friendship, marked by their differences as much as anything. But Ross had been a poor role model, a loner, a hard task master. As had been all the men McQueen had ever known. He knew it cut McQueen as sharp as a knife sometimes to see Cooper being adopted and included by the rest of the 58th. And never more so than when watching the 58th support Cooper over his addiction, when McQueen had had to drag himself through it by himself. He was hard on Cooper, resenting his friendships, and wanting Cooper to do it tough like he had, wanting to mould the boy in his image, like any father. Ross himself still found it hard not to treat McQueen like an annoying kid brother, even in the Command centre, at times.
"It's for the best, Ty," he offered at last, knowing that this latest development would remove the need to censure McQueen over his chain of command transgressions. Not that he ever would, formally. That would be the pot calling the kettle black, he smiled to himself. Everyone called McQueen the Commodore's lap dog behind his back (it would be a brave and foolhardy soul who would call him that to his face); it was not one of the best kept secrets on the 'Toga.
Nathan leant heavily on Cooper as they made their way slowly towards the 58th quarters. Nathan had only minutes ago been released from the med. unit; Cooper had been waiting for him. He hung onto Cooper, his arm around his rib cage, Cooper being just that little bit too tall for him to comfortably slide his arm around his shoulders.
As Cooper paused to fumble with the door lock, Nathan snuggled further against him, still a little high on his last shot of medication.
"Mmm, you smell nice," he mumbled. He didn't know whether it was the smell of the freshly laundered T-shirt, soft under his cheek, or the smell of Cooper's soap scrubbed skin, or Cooper's own, masculine, Invitro smell, or a combination that delighted him, he just wished he could bottle it, or dab a little on a handkerchief, to take out and sniff, to remember how happy he was right at this moment. His tongue darted out and licked Cooper. "Mmmm, taste nice, too."
Cooper froze the moment he felt West's tongue dart across his skin. He was suddenly acutely aware of every pressure point where West's body touched his. And when West followed up with a slow, sucking kiss against the side of his neck, Cooper lost almost all muscle control, fumbling with the door; they half fell, half stumbled into their barracks together.
Cooper carefully set Nathan down on his own bunk, kneeling to take off Nathan's boots like the most diligent houseboy.
Paul watched over the top of his book, amused.
"Hey, Paul," Nathan grinned. "Get lost. For a while."
Paul quirked an eyebrow, dragging up himself and his book towards the door.
"I can take a hint," he quipped. "But It'll cost you extra to keep the rest away."'
"Get out of here." Nathan grinned further, then turned his attention back fully to Cooper, who knelt before him expectantly.
He pulled Cooper up onto the rack with him, pulling off that wonderful smelling T-shirt, bending his head to lick and kiss his way across that golden, perfect chest. Cooper tilted his head back, eyes closed, making a tiny noise as Nathan found a nipple.
He pushed Cooper back against the bunk, sliding over him, exploring him with slow and deepening kisses.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," he gasped, propped up on his elbows, trying to favour his still bandaged knee.
Cooper immediately sensed the difficulty, and rolled on his side, taking Nathan with him, sliding his thigh between Nathan's, taking the initiative in kissing him, taking the pressure off Nathan's still healing injuries. He pulled away Nathan's shirt, and they pressed skin to skin, fingers running down smooth backs, to cup well formed buttocks.
Cooper's hand slid around Nathan's hips, sliding down between Nate's skin and the material. Nathan held his breath, exhaling with a sigh as Cooper skilfully undid his fly, touching him further in the freedom that it allowed.
Cooper buried his face against Nathan's throat, kissing him as he pulled him tight against him, holding his hips, grinding into him in a dark, primal rhythm. West went with it, holding onto Hawkes tight, rubbing against him, harder, faster, until with one final push, he found release.
Cooper snatched up his discarded T-shirt, wiped away their spent seed, dropping the shirt to the floor again. He lay back, taking Nathan with him. Nathan settled down into the position most comfortable, curled against Hawkes, his head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, the constant, reliable sound sending him off to a contented sleep.
McQueen found them like that, asleep like children, Nathan wrapped in Cooper's perfect arms, snuggled against his chest, his right hand lazily draped across Cooper's hip.
McQueen smiled softly to himself, no longer able to begrudge his kids' happiness. He switched off the light and slowly backed out of the room.
~
This marks the passing into history of my most favourite TV show of all time.
Age shall not weary them...(unless we get a 15 years later TV movie). ;)
"It's like I miss you...what's all that about?" Lt. C Hawkes
"Who was he, and who was she, and what was the point." - Lt Col T.C. McQueen
-00001683/JHR
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