Rich Boy: Growing Pains - 16. Chapter 16

He always wanted to be a Marine, just like his father and his grandfather. As a child he would listen to his grandfather's stories and dreamed of one day being a Marine himself, defending his country from evil gooks and others who would try to harm her. Other kids played soldier for fun, but for him it was to learn; to one day be a Marine.

When he got his acceptance letter to the Naval Academy in Annapolis, he had never been prouder. His father's approving grin and even his grandfather's grumpy comment about his grandson becoming an idiot officer told him that they too were proud of him. Like most children of military families, he had grown up on one base or another, moving every few years as his father's duty station changed. He had seen how it had affected his mother, and the strain it had put on his parents. That was why he'd never really dated, although he'd had his share of girls, and then women along the way.

Annapolis was where he learned that there was far more to being a good Marine officer than just knowing how to shoot. He'd read all about the major battles of the Marine Corp as a kid, but it was at Annapolis that he learned to study them for what they could teach him about tactics and strategy. Even the oldest battles of history, from the time before muskets, much less machine guns, rockets, and guided missiles offered lessons for the future officers at that hallowed institution.

He had been part of that class that graduated the year after terrorists struck at his beloved country, and he had enthusiastically joined his first active-duty as a young lieutenant with the certain knowledge that one day soon he'd be able to strike back at the terrorists. One training program after another seemed to delay that ‘one day' but eventually it came and he was a freshly promoted 1^st Lieutenant, the shiny silver bar still fresh from its first polishing when he'd packed his bags for Iraq.

There he'd learned that his grandfather's stories were just that, stories. Reality was something far different, or this modern war was far different than what his father and grandfather had known. The daily tension of driving down streets, never knowing when that mound of dirt on the side of the road would explode because it was a bomb, or if the local with an assault rifle was just a man guarding his home or a terrorist about to shoot at him, left its mark on him.

It was his fourth tour, this one nearly a year and a half long, and he had the double silver bars of a Marine Captain when the tension finally got to him, and his men. The easiest explanation for what had happened was that they broke under too much pressure, too much stress. That wouldn't bring back the innocents that died that day or assuage the guilt he felt over it afterward.

He and his Marines had been lucky, in the end. The incident was brushed over by bigger, more interesting news, and the whole matter was dealt with far more quietly than other incidents like Haditha. There was no criminal trial, no front-page news, and he tendered his resignation from the beloved Marine Corps, ashamed that he had let it, and his country down. It had been difficult to explain to his father what had happened, but at least his grandfather was no longer alive to bear the shame of the family.

The offer of service as a private contractor had been all that saved him from using his sidearm to end the shame in one last shameful act. At first, he'd been disbelieving of the purpose of this special unit, all former military men, but he'd learned the truth and learned to deal with its implications as well. The new service wasn't as honorable as what he'd left, but it was honorable enough, and it allowed him to regain some of the pride he had lost on that one day.

Worthington grunted as the former Marine's body sagged against his. They were in his bedroom, late at night nearly a month after they had begun training the government mages and soldiers. The handsome man in his late twenties had just had his orgasm inside Worthington and was still breathing heavy even as they lay there, both covered in sweat and other fluids. Worthington had shot his load on his chest a moment before the former Marine officer and could feel the swirl of the man's memories, and his unique skills as a soldier and officer settle into his mind.

Guilt rose in him, and he ruthlessly suppressed it as quickly as it appeared. Yes, he'd sworn to never do this again, but it was necessary, not only for Worthington's life but for the lives of others, including this Marine whose mind was starting to recover from the glamour of sexual lust Worthington had used to draw him to his bed. Allan Weatherby was not gay, in fact, he was not the least bit interested in other men sexually, and already he was filling with disgust at the realization of what he'd done.

We just talked about how I've been working too hard in the morning runs. Worthington inserted into the man's mind, wiping all memories that would disturb the man. The government blocks and telltales had been easy to overcome after nearly a month of experience with the government mages, and he replaced them easily as he wiped the man's memories and inserted new ones. For a man in his late twenties, the Marine was quite handsome, but it had been his skills and knowledge Worthington wanted more than his body, although that had been pleasurable enough. As the Marine got dressed in his uniform pants and red t-shirt with the Marine logo, Worthington laid back in his bed and closed his eyes, letting the memories and skills he'd just stolen settle into place.

This was the first time he'd done this since he'd fully woken to the knowledge of his mage abilities and swore to never do it again, but like he'd told himself a dozen times over the last week, he needed the information. The truth was he was just not learning it fast enough from running and exercising with the mercenaries, no, the private contractors as they thought of themselves. Now though, he understood them in ways he never had before and knew he could depend on them in ways he could never depend on anyone else.

Rob needs to spend a few years in the Marines. Worthington decided. The blond mage probably wouldn't argue with that too much, as long as he could find a way to spend time with his half-elven lover. Like most of the Riders, members of the motorcycle gang that Worthington belonged to and used in many ways, Rob had become enamored of the former soldiers turned private contractors. He'd love the opportunity to be one for real.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jamie's harsh voice woke him out of his reverie, and Worthington looked up to see his brother, wearing only a pair of cargo shorts and looking very angry standing at the side of his bed.

"It was necessary," Worthington said defensively.

"I thought you had decided against it!" Jamie snarled angrily. "What if you took too much of his skills and that gets him killed?"

"What if I didn't understand how these soldiers behave, what they really can and cannot do, and they end up getting killed?" Worthington snapped back defensively. "You know what we're getting into here as well as I do."

"This is part your fault for insisting we had time to wait." Jamie snarled.

"Don't you think I know that?" Worthington snapped back. They'd been fighting for a week now, ever since the over flight of the Northern Arizona tribal lands had sent the plane's detectors screaming at maximum volume, and the soldier and two Riders inside had nearly fainted from the coldness of their demon-detecting anklets.

"But you're still insisting I stay here?" Jamie asked with an eyebrow.

"Are you still saying if you go you won't take Carl?" Worthington retorted, and Jamie frowned before looking down.

"He's too young." Jamie's voice was softer and less determined.

"So is Colin." Worthington retorted, reminding Jamie why he'd refused the option of Jamie and Colin coming along instead of Jamie and Carl.

"But you're not objecting to Rob going?" Jamie asserted.

"He's old enough to understand the risks, and he's fought demons before too," Worthington said. "If you go, you're going to jump in the deep end with me. Rob's smart enough to stay in the shallow end where he won't get in over his head."

"Or so you hope." Jamie murmured. "You should let me go, that way you will have someone at your back."

"If I die, I'd rather know you were here to make sure my Uncle doesn't get everything, that one of us is still around to carry on our vision," Worthington said gently. "Look, I'll make sure Allan is okay. I know what I've done, after all, and he's still a good soldier, a good officer. Just, he's not as good as he was before."

"I know." Jamie sighed and crawled into the bed. Worthington opened his arms and put them around his brother, enjoying the feel of their flesh touching. "You are sticky."

"I just had sex with this hot former Marine." Worthington laughed.

"Well, was that at least good?" Jamie asked with a laugh.

"Yeah, it's too bad he's terminally straight." Worthington chuckled. "I haven't had a good fuck like that since the last time you graced me with your cock."

"Gee, thanks." Jamie was chuckling too and relaxing. "You should take a shower, you know."

"I know." Worthington sighed. "I'm just trying to get up the energy to move. That, and well, trying to deal with the guilt."

"So you do feel guilty." Jamie murmured and sounded happy.

"That makes you happy?" Worthington asked, feeling slightly miffed.

"Yes, and that's a good thing, you stubborn idiot," Jamie said gently. "It means you still have a conscience, and that I can still trust you; that you're not going back to how you were before we met."

"Oh." Worthington murmured.

"I know how tempting some of the Dark things are, Worthington." Jamie said just as gently as before. "It is so easy to just forget about ethics, forget about what is right or wrong and just take what you want. This time, well you had a good reason for doing what you did, and yes, it might just save his life instead of endangering it, and I can live with what you did. I was just worried you'd be tempted again, and keep doing it – say, when you decide you'd like to play baseball in your last year of school."

"You're the one with the hots for baseball players." Worthington laughed. No, a football player would be much more tempting for him. Except that football conflicted with wrestling. Another wave of pain shot through him at the thought of wrestling. He had met Jeremy on the wrestling team, and he missed Jeremy who had been killed in an auto accident. Jamie sensed the direction of his thoughts and held him tighter for a moment.

"Oh great, now I smell like sweat and cum." Jamie laughed when Worthington smiled at him.

"Okay, okay, I'm taking a shower," Worthington said with a chuckle and got out of his bed.

The sun had not even risen the next morning when he woke. One of the house staff had brought up a tray for him already, and so he sipped coffee and nibbled on a croissant while he got ready for the day. Another shower was the first order of business, and he took his time drying off before standing in front of the mirror. His light blond hair was cut in a short crew cut.

His plans for the summer had included letting it grow out until the initiation of new riders in the MR at the beginning of the school year. Yesterday though, he'd gone to the new barber in town and gotten it cut short. Taking a deep breath, he brushed his teeth, shaved (which was now becoming something he had to do every few days), and exited his bathroom after putting on some deodorant.

While he'd been showering, one of the house staff had come up to his room, taken the tray of food and left a set of clothes out on his freshly made bed. How they knew when he was in or out of his room, he had not yet figured out. Whether it was dwarven magic, spy holes in a secret corridor, or an impeccable sense of timing, all he knew was that they took excellent care of him here and he enjoyed that.

The clothing waiting for him was laid out in order that he would put it on, and he began with the underpants that had been specially made in the last few weeks. These were long pants, almost like long johns, meant to be worn under his regular clothes, and they felt like very light spandex as he put them on. They were a dark gunmetal color, and fit his body tightly, being made of the same material as the armored shirts he often wore. In fact, a matching shirt of that same material was the next thing he put on, and he looked at his reflection in a full-length mirror. From his ankles to his wrists, he was covered in the soft, flexible protective material. The bulge at his crotch was huge, but he felt less confined than he would have in a jock or cup. Somehow the dwarven tailor had built a pouch into the material that fit his four and a half inches soft length perfectly.

After checking out his appearance, he put on two pairs of socks, both made of the same dark material as his other clothes, although these were more pliant. Then he began to put on the uniform that he'd been given the other day. It was similar to the digital camouflage pattern of soldiers, but now he could tell the slight differences quite easily. When he had those on, he finished by putting on black boots and tucking the pant legs into the boots by a habit that hadn't been his the day before.

On the second floor, he found the larger office that had been turned into a briefing room already full. With a nod to the two men standing at the front of the room he crossed to the empty seat in the first row and took his place. Worthington refused to be embarrassed about being the last to arrive for the morning's briefing. He was exactly on time, not late.

"Now that we are all here, we will get started." Allan Weatherby said in clear, crisp tones that assured Worthington there was no immediate ill effects from his experiences the night before. In fact, he handled the beginning of the briefing exactly as he had over the last few days and Worthington relaxed a bit. "Six days ago, a reconnaissance team overflying the Virgin River discovered demon traces about ninety miles south by south-west from St. George Utah. This is a remote section of Northwestern Arizona between the tri-state border areas. Further reconnaissance patrols over the area have pinpointed an area twenty miles south of the river as being the focal point of demon activity in the area."

"From information provided by Mage Sinclair, we believe the demons are attempting to build a place where they can stay within our world for more than a few hours at a time." Marcus de la Plane continued the briefing after a brief nod from Weatherby. "We do not know how many demons are involved, although we do know from recent reports that a large number of people have gone missing from nearby towns and that a major accident two days ago on I-15 resulted in the disappearance of at least thirty people. This information leads us to believe that the demons are collecting innocent people for a mass slaughter that will enable them to bring a pocket of their dimension into our world. We cannot allow that to happen."

"Five mages have been selected to head into the area and take out the demons before they are able to complete the process of doing this." Weatherby took over the briefing again as he clicked a button and a projector in the ceiling showed a map of the region. With the push of the button he zoomed into a satellite picture of the target area. "As we have learned, magic can conceal an area from satellite or aerial photography. In this case we are most interested in the geographical formations of the area. This is high country, with an elevation of about four thousand feet. It is mostly pine forest with low amounts of underbrush to hinder movement. The strike team will be dropped off ten miles from the suspected location of the demon encampment and proceed on foot to their target destination. Once a basic reconnoiter has been completed, a strike plan will be developed on location and executed at the earliest opportunity. No air reinforcements or aerial bombing is possible because of magical protections that are likely in place."

"Sir, don't they have at least twenty mages?" One of the mercenary soldiers asked.

"Yes, but we do not believe they are all in one location," De la Plane answered the question.

"Why not?" The man asked. "I mean, we've got at least that many mages here, and no offense, but shouldn't we take as many as we can?"

"If we find that there are more mages in the area than can be handled safely, we will retreat and seek reinforcements," Weatherby assured the man. "We won't take all of them on at one time. Mr. Sinclair, will you please explain your reasoning in this?"

"Yes, sir." Worthington said as he stood up and turned to face the group of men. Most of them were experienced, hardened combat veterans. Even two of the three mages going with them were military combat veterans who had been discovered by the government mages while they were on duty in combat zones overseas. The other two mages going were Brandon and de la Plane himself. "During the Demon Wars, the Demon Lords fighting human mages established five compounds where their kind could exist in our world for periods of longer than a few hours or days. It took the slaughter of a half-dozen mages, and at least a hundred non-mages to create each compound.

"The demon dimension is heavier than ours, and has a more concentrated atmosphere than we have here on Earth. Most humans cannot survive long in such a place without magical support. This is not true for demon summoners who are part of the process creating the demon environment on this plane of existence. They are able to exist in both planes without any trouble afterwards. However, other mages who are in the area at the time, and not involved in the process risk having their power sucked into the process and dying. Therefore the demons will only keep the mages they are going to sacrifice, and the mages summoning them in the area."

"If we're going into the area, and they start performing this process, won't we risk being sucked dry?" Michael Lowenthal, the youngest of the former military men who was a mage asked with a pale face. He was probably the most ruggedly handsome of the government mages, with short, crew cut brown hair, hazel eyes, and nearly as tall as Worthington. He still had a physique every bit as toned as it had been in the military, and often exercised with the mercenary soldiers. Michael was approaching his twenty-fifth birthday, and also had a sense of humor that often left Worthington laughing as the man resisted another of his advances and walked away.

"Yes, we will." Worthington admitted. "Fortunately for us, there will be signs in the physical world that the ceremony has started. The first sign will be clouds gathering over the area. When the human sacrifices start, the clouds will turn a blood-red color. That color will deepen as they continue sacrificing the non-mages, and will turn black when they sacrifice the first of the mages. It takes six hours, approximately, to reach that point. Once they begin sacrificing the mages, we have six more hours to leave the area or we will die after the last mage is sacrificed and the demon plane merges with our own."

"How far away do we have to be?" Tony Angroselli, the dark-haired Italian that was the other mage going along asked in a tight voice. He was just twenty-one, rather thin but still in good physical condition. In fact, out of those going, Brandon was the only one whose physical condition Worthington had any concerns about.

"Twenty miles," Worthington lied and hoped it wasn't too much of a lie. The truth was he had no idea. Nothing he'd ever been told provided an answer to that question, but in this situation, a lie was better than the truth. An honest answer would have done nothing but given everyone another reason to worry, and they already had enough to worry about.

"Fuck," Michael cursed. Twenty miles was a long way to hike in just six hours, but most everyone here could manage that, except maybe Brandon.

"It's doable," Weatherby said as he motioned for Worthington to sit down. "We are wheels up in one-five minutes from the helipad. Grab your gear, the new weapons from the dwarves, and be on the pad ready to go."

The room quickly cleared of men, but Worthington sat in his chair, waiting. As soon as most everyone was gone, Weatherby and de la Plane stood in front of him. Brandon had remained in his seat, three places down, looking at his hands nervously.

"Twenty miles?" Weatherby asked.

"I made it up," Worthington admitted. There was no need to lie to these two.

"You sure you want your man along?" de la Plane asked with a nod towards Brandon.

"I'll be fine," Brandon said bravely as he stood up. "If you don't mind, I'll grab my gear and get going to the pad."

"I'll see you there." Worthington smiled at him, and Brandon nodded nervously before heading out. He turned back to the two men. "He's carrying less than anyone else, and he's in good enough shape for the hike in. If we have to run for it, well I have no idea if a mile or twenty miles will be enough. We'd be better off calling in the helo to pick us up."

"Which would guarantee they knew we were there," Weatherby stated. "I wish you'd been right that they would take longer than this."

"The only way they could be doing this is if they're going to sacrifice an Adept-level mage," Worthington said with a frown.

"That means Benjamin's in the camp." De la Plane sounded hopeful. "You said the mages they sacrifice couldn't be under mind control, right?"

"Yes." Worthington agreed. "They have to be free from demon control for the sacrifice to work."

"So if we catch them at the right moment, we can break him free." De la Plane said with a smile. "That would help all of us, you understand. The people back in Washington trust him a lot more than they trust you, or me for that matter."

"I know." Worthington frowned. "If it's possible, we'll save him, but we cannot let that endanger those of us on the mission. Losing any of the mages, or soldiers because we tried to rescue someone and failed is paying too high a price."

"Is it always about cost and benefit to you?" de la Plane's voice sounded critical.

"If you've already lost a million dollars, and you have to risk two million to get back that one million, it's not worth the risk," Worthington said. "It's better to take your two million and invest it elsewhere so that maybe you'll eventually recover the losses from your earlier venture. We're not talking about money here though, we're talking about lives, and those are far more valuable."

"I'm glad to hear you think that way since my soldiers and I are the most vulnerable here," Weatherby said with a nod of approval. Marcus was frowning still, but he nodded as well.

"Given enough training, Michael Lowenthal just might eventually become a low-level Adept." Worthington pointed out to the older mage.

"You've said that before." Marcus's voice held a hint of sourness.

"Would you sacrifice the potential Adept for one who is already lost, without any real chance that you will get both back or even the more powerful Adept back?" Worthington asked.

"It still feels like I'm abandoning a friend," Marcus said with a sigh.

"If it's possible to save him, I promise I will find a way," Worthington said firmly. "But I am not going to risk any of our mages, or soldiers without some reasonable hope of success."

"Which is a good commitment to make." Weatherby approved. "We have ten minutes left."

"I'll see you on the pad," Worthington said as he stood and left the room. Downstairs, as he reached the main hall, he found his backpack already waiting, with the combat helmet and other gear he'd need on top. Jamie was standing next to it, dressed in a tank top and shorts, with a frown on his face.

"I wish you would reconsider," Jamie said with a frown.

"You know I won't," Worthington said.

"Come back, brother," Jamie said and gave him a very tight hug. When they broke the hug, they stared at each other with tears in their eyes before Jamie kissed him on the cheek and walked up the stairs. Worthington sighed, gathered his gear and left the castle.

He was the last passenger in the van that was waiting to take them outside the Clairville gates to the helicopter pad. The ride was a quiet one as the soldiers sat silently until they reached the helipad where an Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft sat with its propellers already turning. The plane would carry all of them and could take off vertically like a helicopter. He knew it would have to refuel once along the way, but in doing that, they would not need to change aircraft.

"You're handling that today like you actually know how to use it." Jerome Houston, the tall, black-skinned former Army Ranger said with a laugh as they exited the van and Worthington shouldered the dwarven-made assault rifle. The short, squat weapon reminded him of something he'd seen on a television show that Brandon watched a few times, but was hand-made by the dwarves. The soldiers liked them, even without the demon-piercing bullets, calling them rugged, easy to use, easier to maintain, and extremely accurate. He'd heard a few of them telling the dwarves that they should mass-produce them and get an Army contract.

Unfortunately for the dwarves, they couldn't mass-produce the weapons. They were made by hand, and required magic to complete. Even more importantly, something the soldiers had been told but did not quite understand, they required nearly constant ‘recharging' of their magical energy by regular contact with the person that the rifle was bonded with. They weren't sentient by any means, but unless they were handled at least once a month by the person the weapon was made for, they would cease to function. Worthington understood it was because the rifle fed on the life energy of the user, not enough to harm the user, most certainly, but still required that contact with their energy to replenish the magical components that kept it operating.

"You know us mages, we can do anything," Worthington retorted after the briefest of pauses. He did handle the weapon better than he had the last time, but now he knew it in the same way he'd learned riding a motorcycle, by taking it from someone else.

"Let me help you secure your gear," Michael Lowenthal said as they entered the cargo area of the Osprey. Worthington let the man help him, and then help Brandon get things secured, even though he didn't really need the help himself. It pretty much guaranteed the man would be sitting next to Worthington, and he realized he would have a few hours of flying time to further work on seducing the mage.

"Thanks for the help," Worthington said over the noise of the propellers as the last two, Allan Weatherby and Marcus de la Plane strapped in, and Weatherby signaled the crewmember who signaled the pilot. Brandon was white with fear as the plane shook slightly during takeoff, and slipped sideways before pulling forwards and upwards as the engines tilted downwards so that they were flying like a normal airplane.

The nice thing about all this magic shit is not having to try and talk over the noise of the propellers. Michael said to him mentally. His mental touch was a little uncertain as if he wasn't sure how hard to project his thoughts.

True. Worthington sent back with a smile on his face. You might want to tamp it down a bit unless you're intending everyone in the plane who is gifted to hear your thoughts.

Oh. Michael sent back in a slightly embarrassed tone, and in a much more private mode.

Don't worry, it takes some people a while to figure out how to talk this way without broadcasting it to everyone in the vicinity. Worthington replied as the plane reached its cruising altitude and his ears popped.

Some things are easier to learn, I guess. Lowenthal replied. Look at that smug bastard. He knows how much I hate flying. When I first got to the unit, and we flew over to Iraq, he laughed when I admitted how much I hated the flight.

Who? Worthington asked but noticed the shorter mercenary soldier across from them who was grinning at Lowenthal. You mean Collins?

Yeah, Collins. Lowenthal laughed mentally. I've known him for a long time now. He was there, that day.

What day? Worthington asked. He liked this, getting to know the man better.

It was a couple of days actually, but he was there both times. Lowenthal replied in a more hushed tone. The first time, we were at a checkpoint together, and as soon as the car pulled up I knew what the guy was planning to do, so I shot him. We were lucky ‘cause he didn't have time to detonate the car bomb. Command got their feathers ruffled though because there was no way in hell I should have been able to tell he was a car bomber, but I'd been right so three days later we were back on checkpoint duty. A couple of guys were still freaked out by the other day, so Collins volunteered to work with me.

We weren't so lucky that day. Lowenthal's mind voice was edgy now, and laced with grief as he continued. This time they used a remote activation trigger for the bomb. The driver was just a stooge, but I felt him just the same. I'd always gotten those flashes about people, knew who I could trust and who I couldn't but it got really sharp over there where anyone could have been trying to kill us. A couple of times I ducked at just the right time, or knocked someone out of the way just as a sniper took a shot. Collins said I was lucky and stuck by me. That last time though, the car blew right in front of me and I threw my arms up, just thinking about blocking the explosion from hitting me. Collins was behind me, and both of us came through it without a scratch.

You created a shield. Worthington said. Lowenthal could shield like crazy, which was one of the reasons why he was on this trip.

That's what I was told when the Lead Psionic showed up later. Lowenthal said with a slight smile on his face. Everyone in the unit thought I was fucking jinxed, but Collins called me his good-luck charm. He was actually upset when I got transferred out, to the Department. Later, when the recruiter approached him after his tour was up, he volunteered for the job right off the bat after hearing that's where I went. At first, when he showed up there, I thought he was in love with me, but it's not that.

What is it? Worthington asked, surprised about the casual reference to Collins being in love with the man. He had started to think the guy might be extremely closeted, or unwilling to admit he was gay, but he'd seen the way the man looked at him at times and knew Lowenthal was at least interested in him. He just couldn't understand why the man was ignoring Worthington's hints that he was interested back.

I'm his lucky-charm. The mental voice was filled with suppressed laughter. After I left, he was convinced he'd end up dying. Then when he got back and found out the unit would be going again in eight months; he became convinced he wouldn't survive, so when he found out where his lucky charm went, he followed. Bet he never imagined he'd be heading into a demon pit because of that.

He'd probably say he'd be fine as long as his lucky charm is there. Worthington laughed softly, but he could feel the sudden sobriety from Lowenthal. Don't worry, if we're lucky we'll hit them before they even know we're in the area.

The last time you faced them, you lost people, didn't you? Lowenthal asked.

I know I mentioned that a few times while working with you and the others. Worthington responded.

So you know we'll probably lose people now. Lowenthal said grimly.

Yes. Worthington closed his eyes. I try not to think about that though.

I can't help it sometimes. Lowenthal's thoughts were barely audible.

How about we talk about something else? Worthington offered. Like, if you thought Collins was in love with you, how did that make you feel?

You would go there. The laughter was back, and he was smiling. You don't give up, do you?

Not when it's something I want. Worthington smiled back.

Sorry kid, I'm not interested in what you're offering. Lowenthal said seriously, but he was smiling, and his thoughts had the overtone of trying to be firm yet gentle at the same time. You're a persistent guy though. Maybe you should try Collins. He talks the game about women, but I've never seen him with one. Or he might just be horny enough.

I'm not interested in him. Worthington shrugged.

But you are interested in me? Lowenthal's mind was still laughing. I really am flattered, but sorry kid.

Why not? Worthington asked. You worried about others finding out you're gay? It's not like you're in the military anymore. It doesn't matter. What's so funny?

"Hey Collins, the kid thinks I'm worried about you guys finding out I'm gay," Lowenthal yelled out as he was laughing and Worthington started blushing when several other guys including Collins started laughing.

"Shit, Lowenthal," Collins snorted. "Everyone in the damn unit knew you were queer, but you still ain't sucked my dick."

"I haven't been able to find a magnifying glass big enough," Lowenthal shot back.

"I see learning magic ain't made you any smarter with the comebacks, Lowenthal," Collins shouted back and then he looked thoughtful. "Wait a minute! You two just been looking at each other, not talking! No fair, man! I've been sitting here thinking you actually are keeping your mouth shut on a plane for once and you've been yapping at him with your mind! That ain't fair!"

"Maybe I have gotten smarter." Lowenthal shot back with a smile as he grinned at Worthington. See, it's not that.

Then why not? Worthington asked. I've seen you looking at me. You have to find me attractive as much as you look at my bulge.

It's a big bulge. Lowenthal shrugged. It's hard not to look at it when you always wear tight fucking pants. There was a long pause, and the man physically sighed. Okay, yes, I think you're a fucking stud, and I'm physically attracted to you, but nothing's going to happen.

"Why not?" Worthington asked aloud, shocked by the blunt statement.

One, because you're a kid, and I'm eight years older than you. Lowenthal pointed out, holding out a hand with one finger raised. Then a second. Two, you're a stuck up rich boy whose had everything in life he's ever wanted. I'm not a notch in someone's bedpost. You can't buy me with good looks, your money, or any combination of that. If I sleep with someone it's because I like them as a person, not just physically. Three, you're basically an officer and I'm not. Enlisted and officers don't mix that way.

Yes, you are. Worthington snorted mentally, choosing the one point that he could argue directly. You're not an enlisted man anymore. You're a mage, and that makes you an officer even if you haven't gone to college. Hell, look at me. I'm in high school still, and you're calling me an officer.

Which brings us back to point one. Lowenthal was far too smug, and Worthington's growl of frustration was vocal enough that Collins started laughing.

"Shit, I can't hear what they're saying to each other, but just watching them is like watching a tennis match," Collins laughed, and Worthington glared at him before sighing with defeat. He'd find something else to talk about.

I don't put notches in my bedpost!