"Hey Judas," one of the teens shouted, pointing a mag pistol down range, "Where's the safety on this thing?"
"First of all," I snapped, coming out from behind a barrel I was setting up as a target, "I don't know how you learned my first name, but if you say it again, I will shoot you myself!"
I tromped up the range. "Secondly, it's
'Jay Arr'
. Not Judas, not Rostbane. J-R. My initials. And third...actually this is the most important and I probably should have led with it..." I mumbled, "The first rule of gun safety is: don't
ever
point a gun at something you don't intend to shoot. And that includes me!" I snatched the gun from the teen's hand. "Go sit down!"
Nineteen-year-old Kolby gave me a hard, aggressive stare, only to meet my harder, aggressiver (more aggressive?) one, honed by age and years of bad attitude. Finally, he huffed a, "Fine!" and dropped his gaze, storming to a seat on one of the upturned crates.
"Anyone else wanna fuck around and find out?" I growled, looking over the assembled teenagers, anger radiating through my Aurawave. They looked at me with wide eyes, but no one responded.
"I wasn't gonna hit you," Kolby mumbled, "I'm a Timeseer..." he finished, referring to the type of savant who could see into the future.
"I don't care," I said, casting my eyes at Sam, off to the side and on a range of his own. It was only his first day and the kid had already laid more bullets on the bullseye than I had in my entire life. "Doesn't mean you know how to use a gun."
I glanced at Sam again. It didn't help that in addition to his Timseer Skill, he was also a Mechanic like his dad—and that man could use any gun without instruction and hit the eye of a needle from 50 yards.
It was bloody unfair, that's what it was. Stupid Mechanics.
"All right," I said to the group, "Before I tell you where the safety is, I'm gonna tell you about gun safety."
I rattled out the rules, "Number two: Treat all guns as though they are loaded. Number three: Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot. And number four: always be aware of your target and
what's behind it.
WHICH INCLUDES ME!" I gave Kolby another hard stare and the teen scowled.
Honestly, I found my appointment as "firearms instructor" laughable. There were handfuls of people in the base who were far better shots than me, but for some reason I'd been General Helmsley's first choice. While he told me it was because I had the best form and more extensive firearms knowledge than most, I still wondered what I'd done to piss him off.
Mostly, I thought it was because no one else wanted to do it.
Only once I made sure Liam, Isolde, Ryann, Orlene and yes, even Kolby could spout those rules back to me, then I gave them back their guns.
"Okay, y'all see this little gray switch? That's the safety. Now flick it off and for the love of God,
don't shoot me."
#
"I can't believe you got yourself shot," the doctor, Karl, said in his infuriatingly sexy British accent that was a thousand years too old for him.
"It's not like it's the first time," I grunted as the man dabbed at the wound on my arm with an antiseptic cloth. "This is nothin'."
Karl snuffed.
"Seriously," I said, trying to display my machismo to the handsome doctor on whom I've always had a crush. "This one was worse." I pointed at a much deeper puckered scar just below my final rib on the left side of my abdomen. "Then there's the one on my leg. Haven't walked right since."
"I see," Karl said, washing the wound.
"Wanna see?" I asked through teeth gritted against the pain.
The doctor chuckled. "I'm sure you'd love nothing more than to show me, Rostbane," he said.
"I would," I leaned close, whispering that phrase in Karl's ear. "Also, it's JR," I said for the millionth time in my life. Why was it so hard to get people to call me that?
The man's eyes twinkled, though he pushed me away just slightly. "Why, Lieutenant Rostbane," Karl said, "You're a touch more friendly than usual. The pain meds making you feel
that
good?"
"What?" I asked innocently, screwing my face into a pout, despite the burning in my arm. "Can't a guy engage in a little harmless flirting to pass the time?"
Karl picked up a length of gauze and folded it into a square. The shallow wound had already stopped bleeding, but I supposed the dressing was still a good idea. "Is it harmless, though? I know your tastes swing wide."
I shrugged. "It can be," then I licked my lips, "But it doesn't have to." I winked.
Karl was so close I could pick up his scents despite the overwhelming smell of antiseptic. He smelled clean—he was always so clean—with citrusy soap and a touch of some cologne that reminded me of springtime. Of all the people in the rebel base, Karl was the first one I knew to wear cologne.
And it drove me crazy.
The doctor looked up from his bandaging, gray eyes meeting mine.
"And if it
wasn't
harmless, what would it be, hmm?" he asked with a mysterious little smile on his lips.
I touched his fingertips with my uninjured hand, "Whatever you want it to be."
Karl smirked but didn't pull away. I could see the longing in his eyes, tinged with lust, and a healthy amount of curiosity. Everyone knew Karl was married, but no one knew to whom. And it was clearly not someone in the base. I'd been to his room.
The doctor had a cozy set up, but believe me, it screamed "sophisticated bachelor." Though some people speculated that his husband was made up—part of some grand joke the doctor was playing on the base, I believed him to be real.
Hell, with how mysterious the bugger was, I wouldn't be surprised if Karl's husband was some type of British spy, like 007 or something. Or, maybe he was a POW in some far away prison camp? Either way, that thought only made the doctor more attractive. Yet, I am a man of my morals, however few they were, so I pulled away.
"Would I be...offending the dubious existence of your husband...if I told you I found you very attractive?"
The doctor laughed at my awkwardness. He full on
laughed!
Like my discomfort was
funny
to him or something.
Dammit. Next time, I'm just not gonna ask. Propriety be damned!
"What?" I said after a full minute of the heartiest laugh I've ever heard from the man. "What's so damn funny?"
"Dubious existence of my husband," Karl repeated through gasps of recovery. "He does indeed exist. But no, he would not be offended...and neither would I."
Then I got to go from awkward to blushing. The doctor had actually accepted my compliment. Shit. I hadn't planned for this. Where do I go from here?
All my mojo had just gone out the window. I focused on the dull pain of the shallow bullet wound, trying to think. I chuckled back. "Gotta hand it to you, doc," I said, "Usually I'm the one catching others off guard."
Karl smiled, white teeth glowing in the harsh infirmary lights. "Part of my charm, I suppose," he said, then put a hand on my chin and gently pulled me forward.
It was a bold move even for me, and when our lips met, I realized what an idiot I'd been. The doctor was a bloody Auraseer! He knew exactly what I'd been getting at this whole time, and the asshole had played stupid!
Despite myself, I leaned into the kiss, my heart beginning to race, but a tiny voice in my head continued to chastise me.
While I would never use
my
genetic modification to get someone to have sex with me—like I said, I have a couple morals...most of them involving sex—because I can literally convince people to do anything I wanted them to, it had completely slipped my mind that others had passive modifications that worked just fine. Such as Aura-reading.
"Stop thinking," Karl said to me, disengaging enough to whisper the words over my lips.
I opened my eyes to find him staring at me, or rather, at the space above my shoulder where my Aura would be and grinning.
Dammit JR,
I thought. Stop thinking was right. I leaned back toward Karl, grabbing the front of his dress shirt and pulling him toward me.
It had been a peaceful month, so the infirmary was fortunately empty, save for the two of us. What with the late hour, that gave me the perfect opportunity. We kissed again, this time I found it easier to fall into the man's hot mouth, soft lips, and the faintest hint of a day's stubble.
Lucky Brits,
I thought with envy. Well into his 40's, Karl still looked 28, fresh and youthful from a lifetime in a medical center...especially when he kept himself clean-shaven. Conversely, the only thing I had to offer was a battle-scarred face, ridiculous mustache I refused to shave, and two days of stubble I hadn't bothered clean up.
I breathed in again, this time detecting the faint whiff of sweat as Karl panted against my mouth. His other hand went to my hair, entwining with my unruly golden curls. The doctor, on the other hand, wore his hair long and bound in a neat braid behind his back. I moaned as Karl's hand clenched in my hair, tugging it gently away from my scalp.
I rubbed a thumb against the buttons of his dress shirt, undoing them one by one, until I could pull it away, revealing a thin white undershirt beneath. Dammit! Why did the man always have to be so proper? I pushed more into him, my tongue sliding past his teeth to meet his own.
"You know, I have, an office," Karl said breathlessly when we disengaged once more. He pointed to one end of the infirmary where the door to a darkened office waited. I chuckled, hopping off the roll-away bed.
"Then what are we waiting for?" I said, tugging at the doctor's wrist and using my best 'come hither' eyes.
Like the doctor, the office itself felt out of place with the dingy rebel base. Instead of the lightweight aluminum furniture most of the other officers had, this one held a desk made of real wood—or at least as real as I've ever seen it—with a plush red chair tucked beneath. A series of old-timey apothecary cabinets lined the walls with impossibly tiny drawers.
But before I could wonder what he kept in all of them, Karl pushed me up against the desk with an aggression that contradicted his normally reserved attitude. "Why doctor," I breathed into his mouth as he kissed me again, imitating the man's formal speech, "What in the bollocks has gotten into you?"