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I will put a reference note before each chapter where it seems relevant so you'll know where it was cut from and why.

Love, OZ

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Reference; This was actually written as a bit of a flashback insert for Chapter 35 of Fast Cars. It was supposed to go right after the line ("…He beat up this idiot who stole his glasses one day. I mean really just beat the fear of God out of this guy, then came back to the room wearing them looking like Don Johnson or some shit—it must be genetic or something 'cause Malik's the same way. Whenever he gets into a fight and wins, afterward he wants sex and…" His lips compressed.) Before Altair talks about Kadar's death. I changed it simply because it made no sense to have a random graphic sex scene in the middle of what was supposed to be a meaningful conversation.

Kadar/Altair

Yes, you read that correctly. *smirk*

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Chapter 1; Aviators

It wasn't often that a day came around where they weren't patrolling or drilling or policing the area, but on the odd chance that it happened Altair had a stash of books in his trunk.

They were small things, paperbacks and hand-me-downs he got in a care package from home every few weeks. But, Altair liked books… more specifically, he liked horror novels… And his older brothers liked sending him Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Altair liked to pretend he was Angel sometimes, just for the hell of it.

Broke up the monotony of the day anyway.

He was lying there on his bunk sweating and tired but unable to sleep and trying to discretely enjoy the crushed and crumbled peanut butter cookies his mother had sent him when the door banged open.

He would later wonder why he chose to hide the cookies first instead of the fact he was reading a fifteen-year-old girls' cheesy Buffy novel, maybe it was the knowledge that if anybody knew he had cookies they'd sneak them and leave him only crumbs, or maybe it was because he knew if Malik came back and discovered he'd been hiding sweets in his trunk the older boy would punch him in the shoulders until he bruised and then go tell the CO that it really was Altair's fault they had ants in their barracks and they could politely give back his goddamned potted plants.

But, it wasn't Malik standing there… Although at first glance he had thought it was.

No, nobody else would be behind those ass ugly mirrored Aviators.

"Kadar, get the fuck out, you nosy piece of shit!" And he threw his book at him, scowling severely because not only had he just been scared enough to possibly ruin his shorts, he'd been scared by the one person in the whole company who couldn't sneak up on you if you paid him to.

Kadar didn't move though, just swaggered in with a crooked grin on his face, knocking the door shut behind him with a kick of his heel.

Altair flopped back over like a fish on the docks and glared up at him. Even more irritated now that all he could see was his own reflection in the younger man's sunglasses; "What do you want?" He tugged the box of cookies half under himself; "Don't even think about it! I shared with you and Malik last time and you fuckin' ate 'em all!"

"Just one?" He grabbed at the box playfully, still just a smiling face and reflective lenses.

Altair shoved his hand away and rolled over again, hugging the box to his chest; "Fuck off. I didn't try to take that jelly your dad sent you."

"Marmalade, get it right. Orange Marmalade." His hand shot out again, like a cobra on the attack, but Altair deflected him. "Come oooon. If you give me one, I won't tell Malik you've got 'em."

"You tell him and I'll break your fuckin' sunglasses."

Kadar snorted and brandished his bruised knuckles; "If I can take Jefferson I can take you asshole." He was on the bed in a second, tickling and pinching and pulling, trying to get the box away.

Altair punched at him a few times, and in a move of utter desperation to please god no more tickles, he started shoving the cookies two at a time into his mouth.

Rationality dictated that if there were no more cookies Kadar couldn't take one from him, and coldn't tell Malik either.

It worked… that is until the hands tickling him and pulling halfheartedly at the cookie box, started pulling at his shirt, and the laughing mouth near his ear slipped and latched onto the side of his throat.

Altair froze, six cookies in his mouth, four more in his hands, eyes wide and staring at the far wall. In his mind little sirens were going off, and an annoying little soldier had built a rather hasty tent in his pants.

"Kadar?" Or at least that's what he tried to say, it came out muffled and completely indecipherable.

And then one of the hands yanking at his shirt found a nipple, and pulled—

He arched into it, confused and a little humiliated at the same time, dropped the cookies back into the box and gave the younger man a single hard shove off of him.

Kadar landed in the floor on his back with a loud thud. He cursed and levered himself up on his elbows, sunglasses askew. "What's your problem!"

Altair would have answered, would have shouted that he wasn't the one doing the groping, but it wouldn't come out around a mouthful of cookies. So instead he scowled severely, hoping to convey the hate and anger through his gaze, and began chewing quickly.

Kadar laughed at him and plucked his sunglasses off, folding them and setting them carefully on his bunk. He stood and seemed to ignore Altair as he went about slowly, and carefully preening in the mirror near the door, rubbing a reddened bruising spot under his eye, and pinching at his hair, trying to make the shortened top fan out like he was used to. Twisting this bit or that bit until it made fashionable little spikes at the back of his head.

Altair swallowed with some difficulty, practically gagging because he'd tried to force it all down at once, then growled miserably and started chewing again, raising a hand to point at the younger man just to let him know that he intended to say something scathing and generally mean spirited to avenge his bruised pride.

Those blue eyes met his in the mirror, and there was something about the way they shone, something hungry and commanding and ALIVE in them. Something he'd never really seen before.

Altair finally got the cookies down and was opening his mouth to tell him to fuck off, that it's not funny and it was just fucking mean to do something like that just to get a goddamned cookie! To not do something like that unless he meant it!

But Altair's mouth flapped a few times because something inside of him was telling him in a rather sassy little condescending voice that Kadar had meant it… And that changed everything.

"That… that's not fair, Kadar… Don't do that."

Kadar was grinning, showing off his dimples, and his eyes flashed; "You think it's fair to me when you come in here from the latrine and walk around in nothin' but a towel? Think it's fair to me when Malik makes me leave because you're too immodest to get dressed where nobody can watch you? Or that you lay there at night masturbating to a fictional character when I'm right there?" He chuckled, the sound somehow dark and dangerous even in the light tone of his voice.

"Oh?" And a slick thrill ran up his spine. A little surprised though why he didn't know. "Do you think you can do better?"

He chuckled again. And the very soft, rumbling sound of it made Altair realize that this kid meant business.

He snorted and looked Kadar up and down with a critical eye; "That's the best news I've heard all day," He didn't bother closing the box of cookies, or even putting them aside, just planted his feet on the mattress and arched his hips up so he could work his belt off.

Kadar seemed to pounce on him like a jungle cat, one second he was by the flimsy door, the next he'd slammed the lock into place yanked the makeshift curtain closed over the window and launched himself at the bed.

There was no finesse to it really, just a quick shedding of uniforms, Pausing every so often when fingers tangled, slapping and pinching trying to get the other out of the way. Cursing and a few 'Are you stupid? FUCK! BE CAREFUL!' And the next thing Altair knew his t-shirt was bunched around his throat, Kadar had his left nipple trapped between pearly white teeth and his fatigues were somewhere across the room on Malik's bed, his underwear caught on a loose nail in the rafters… And there were two long, probing fingers pushing roughly into him.

In his head he was chanting that the little shit wasn't using proper lube and it kinda hurt, but his mouth was open, growling out encouragements. Did you lock the door? Don't want Malik walkin' in on this, and this better not be just so you can steal those fucking cookies.

Kadar just grinned and fumbled in one of the pockets of his pants, dropping a little sandwich baggie filled with assorted cheap condoms the Medic passed out regularly with the standard verbal warning ground out in that nasally voice of his 'don't be stupid guys… really, don't be stupid. You knock a girl up over here you gotta marry her.'

Altair always laughed when the poor schmuck came to their barracks. Malik would blush and hide his face in a National Geographic, Altair wouldn't bother to look up from the latest book his family had sent, just send the guy his standard noncommittal grunt, and Kadar would spring to his feet and ask the poor medic why they couldn't get the 'ribbed for her pleasure' kind, and stuff one or two into his pocket.

Judging from how many were in that bag, Altair was willing to bet he hadn't used very many of them, if any.

There was a moment, a brief thing, when Kadar shoved his pants down and palmed himself that Altair realized he was just plainly staring.

He'd expected, from the way Kadar had grinned, that the younger man was hung like a fucking horse or something, it was a relief and maybe even a little disappointment that everything looked normal.

Damn…

He reigned himself in, shaking off a little of the mindless arousal and focusing on Kadar instead of his wants. It was more than likely that this would fall short of his expectations, just like his first time. It was more than likely that this would be that boring, fashionably beautiful sex from the romance novels he'd secretly borrowed from his mother. He figured it would look pretty on paper, but in practice wouldn't be all that great…

He shouldn't have worried.

Rough sex, to Altair, was the best kind of sex. It wasn't that he was a masochist, though he would delve into that off and on just for the thrill of it. No, Altair just craved those all too brief moments when sensation became so razor sharp, when his senses just became so completely overloaded, that there was nothing else. No worry, no anger, no need to prove himself or forget… Just mind blowing, fasthothardrightnow sensation.

And that… that slick hard burn of penetration without enough lube, and the fuckfuckfuck pounding against that oh so sensitive place inside him and the sharp slap of skin against the backs of his thighs—the breath knocked out of his lungs at every thrust, drawn back in as a gasp because he needed air and had to get it quick before it was gone again… THIS, was probably the ugliest most unattractive sex he'd ever had— and that included sloppily kissing James Hawkins and letting the asshole take his virginity in the back of a Cutlass —but it felt fucking fantastic!

Altair wondered absently in the back of his mind where Kadar had learned to fuck like this, images of their childhood flashing behind his eyes of how many times he and Malik had teased the younger boy and made him do such dumb things to 'prove he was man enough'. He wondered briefly if this was some kind of revenge, learning to fuck like a god and then making him beg for more just so he could laugh and tell his brother; 'I fucked Altair… And he begged for it like a whore.'

There was nothing worse for one brother to do to another than fuck his best friend. Absolutely nothing worse… And seeing as none of them were married, it would probably always be the worst.

What a jerk— Teeth on his ear, tugging, whispering filthy— hot— filthy things— don't stop, please GOD don't stop!

He wanted to move his hands, do anything other than just gripping at Kadar's ear and shoulder like he was drowning. Wanted his voice to actually come up with something more to say than; 'Oh-oh-oh god—Ah-ah—ha-har-harder harder—AH! Yes!' and that all too shrill moan as he bared his neck, eyes squeezed closed because he knew if he opened them all he'd be able to see would be Kadar's dog tags swinging back and forth in hectic time with their rhythm and his own feet locked behind the younger man's head. And it was a hard enough hit to his pride realizing he had his legs over Malik's little brother's shoulders and the little pipsqueak was fucking him quite spectacularly. He could feel all of it, he didn't need visual evidence that he was loving every second of it.

"Y-you bastard… I-if you tell M-malik about thi-this—"

Kadar just smiled into his neck; "Never in a million years."

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