Clayton dumped his gear on the end of his bunk and stripped off his utility uniform. It was stiff and grimy with a week's worth of dried sweat and blowing sand. He got a clean pair of skivvies out of his bag and set them on his pillow, grabbed a towel and the bar of soap out of his kit.
Luke must already be in the shower. A clean T-shirt was folded on his pillow, and his gear was neatly stowed under his cot. A pocket knife lay on the olive-green sleeping bag, with a little carving in dark red wood. Clayton picked it up.
Luke was carving a fallen angel, a man with wings spread and torn by the wind, tumbling from the sky.
Clayton walked down to the shower room. Luke was letting the water spill down over his head and back, his blond hair plastered to his skull. It had been a miserable patrol. They'd taken small arms fire from three directions, and their lead Humvee had rolled over a piece of red det cord attached to a mortar buried in the road. The heat and the noise, and the weight of their flak jackets and Kevlar helmets left them all with headaches and stiff necks.
Luke had both hands braced against the tile wall in front of him. Clayton studied the long line of his back, the strong muscles of his thighs. He turned the water on and stepped under the shower head, soaped his underarms, his chest, the creases down between his legs where the sand liked to migrate. Luke turned to watch him, and his strange blue eyes followed Clayton's hands as they traveled down his body.
Clayton reached for him, tugged him by the wrist until they stood together under the same showerhead. He took Luke's hand and put it flat against his chest. Can you feel my heart? Do you know what's in my heart?
Luke stepped into him, slid one hand down between Clayton's legs. The water from the showerhead was cool, drenching them, cooling their overheated skin. Luke opened his mouth to Clayton's tongue, hands sliding down over dark, soapy skin.
"Clayton." Luke's voice was a whisper. He sank to his knees, his mouth moving down over Clayton's belly. It was their first time, and the cool water poured over Clayton's shoulders. Then he felt the heat of Luke's mouth moving across his cock. Clayton gasped out loud and reached for Luke's head.
His heart was lodged in his throat, choking him. Luke was nuzzling him gently, his mouth hot against the cool water from the shower, his tongue sliding underneath Clayton's cock. Luke, you love me. You love me, right?
Clayton felt the pressure building low in his belly, felt his thighs tighten and his balls clench as pleasure swept across his skin. Then Luke was falling, falling out of a white-hot sky, his body on fire, huge wings the color of blood sprouting from his back. He tumbled from the sky, his face destroyed by the gods.