Title: Pursuing No Delight

Author/pseudonym: Creed Cascade

Fandom: Tour of Duty

Pairing: Zeke/Myron.

Rating: NC-17

Status: new

Archive: If you want it, go ahead. Just knock upside the head and let me know.

Feedback: creed_cascade@hotmail.com

Other websites:
http://www.angelfire.com/weird/openairinsaneasylum/index1.htm

Disclaimers: The faces are familiar and so are the names, but the setting seems a little strange? I kidnapped a few cuties from
television land. I accept that they never did and never will belong to me, but I am having oh so much fun while I have them.

Notes: This is for the Holiday challenge, but it does not centre on holidays per se, but rather on the meaning and importance of gift giving. Don't ask about Shakespeare's sonnets, I don't know what I was doing, but yes old Willy did write the majority of them to his beloved (another man). Thanks goes out to the lovely Mel for putting up with my guttural spelling mistakes and Freudian slips.

Summary: Zeke gives a gift and gets a little something in return.

So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found:
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then betered that the world may see my pleasure;
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
And by and by clean starvèd for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight
Save what is had or must from you be took:
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
~ Shakespeare's Sonnets

It had been raining all day and pretty much everything around the base had come to a halt. There was no action. They were for once stuck here and Myron almost, but not quite, wished they were out chasing the enemy in the jungle. Hell, even watching someone plant a rice paddy would be more exciting than this. He was stuck filling out some meaningless paperwork, just to avoid the constant downpour. Sighing to himself, he took one last drag on his cigarette and crushed the butt on the desk before tossing it into the trash. With one last disgusted look at the file on his desk, he slammed it shut and threw it onto a growing pile. He was distracted from happily watching the garbage can smoulder when the door to his hootch burst open. He
tensed and reached for his gun, stopping halfway when he saw it was Zeke standing in his doorway. The poor man was dripping wet.

"I heard McKay was grounded," Zeke blurted out, as he stood there dripping on the threshold.

"Uh huh," Myron agreed. "He got grounded at an encampment due east."

"So he's not here then," Zeke asked dumbly, sort of shuffling back and forth.

"Of course not," Myron huffed. "I just said that! Now get in here before a fucking ark floats past my door."

"Sure, L.T." Zeke mumbled as he slammed the door shut and moved farther into the hootch, a thick trail of puddles forming behind him.

"You're dripping on my floor."

"Sorry about that," Zeke answered, looking uncertainly around the room.

Seemingly satisfied at whatever he did or did not find and with a final glance at the closed door, Zeke reached into his jacket and pulled out a package. That same thick, rectangular package landed on Myron's desk. The plain brown wrap was spotted with water droplets, but was relatively dry.

Myron looked up at Zeke and raised a questioning eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Open it," was all his sergeant said as he peeled off his wet jacket.

Myron couldn't help himself. His attention was drawn completely by the mysterious package and he never could resist a surprise. Drawing off the string carefully, he tore at the paper, not caring if it was ripped to shreds. He could feel the distinctive feel of leather under his fingertips. As the last vestige of paper slipped away, a leather bound volume greeted him. He quickly read the gold-tooled letters, "William Shakespeare's Sonnets." Zeke had gotten him a book of classical poetry. The words ran through his mind again. Zeke. Poetry. Nope, something wasn't adding up. Myron looked up again to see Zeke shirtless and barefoot standing in front of him.

"You got me a book," he stuttered out.

"Uh, yeah," Zeke agreed distractedly, pouring water out of his boot.

"Why?"

"You're Jewish," was Zeke's cryptic answer.

Myron couldn't exactly follow his logic. "I sort of noticed, but what does this book have to do with it?"

"Thought that would be pretty obvious," Zeke answered, now running his hand through his wet, spiky hair.

"Now you've lost me."

"Isn't it like your Christmas or something." Zeke's voice dropped low, as if he was embarrassed.

Myron took in the pleading blue eyes before him. "You mean Hanukkah?"

"I guess so."

"But that ended several days ago."

"I didn't know that. Just knew it was some time before Christmas."

"And this." Myron held up the book, ". is a Hanukkah gift?"

This time a smile ghosted across Zeke lips. "Uh huh. Do you like it?"

Myron flipped to the front page, fingers running across the quality paper. "Yes, but."

"There's no *but* allowed, L.T. I know how your little mind works. I gave it to you and it's yours. No strings attached. Simple, really."

This time Myron smiled. It was simple now that he thought about it all. "I wasn't going to say that."

Zeke watched as Myron got out of the chair and walked towards him, book in hand. Sergeant Anderson who had faced death at the hands of the enemy, stepped back as his Lieutenant stalked toward him with a rather strange look on his face.

"What were you gonna say?" he managed to croak.

"I was just wondering why you picked *this* book."

"Because. well, ahhh. just because."

"Just because. I don't buy it. But I really do like this book."

"That's good," Zeke offered, his Adams apple bobbing nervously.

"Zeke," Myron said. "You like it when I call you Zeke."

"Yeah, so." Zeke managed to say as he backed up a little more, halting only when his progress was stopped by the hootch wall.

"So, you never call me Myron."

Zeke coughed, looking away. "It doesn't suit you," he mumbled.

"What was that, *Zeke*?" his friend's name slipped silkily from his lips.

"I *said*, it doesn't suit you," he offered a little louder this time.

"Never really liked it myself. That's why you always call me L.T."

"Uh huh," Zeke agreed, hoping now he might be able to escape the piercing eyes watching his every response.

"You know something I noticed? You say L.T. more like a nickname. Make it sound more *intimate* than if you used my real name. I never had a nickname before. I kinda like it."

"L.T.?" Zeke questioned, his voice rising slightly.

"See, you can't help yourself," Myron laughed.

"I. ahhh, don't wanna overstep my position. I'm sorry."

"Bullshit. You've been doing that since the moment we met."

Zeke was beginning to breathe heavily, eyes darting towards the door. "Maybe we should just drop this. I gave you the gift and I'll just be going now."

Myron stopped Zeke dead in his tracks with one solitary hand on his chest. Zeke stared down at the splayed fingers like they were burning him. His breath hitched again and he flattened himself against the wall.

"You're not going anywhere, are you?" Myron whispered.

The air between them was electric. Everything that had always been unspoken was sparking between, causing panic in one and a calm determined presence in another. Zeke looked at Myron. Really, really looked at him. Myron's hand was still on Zeke's chest, fingers absently rubbing skin and his other hand clutched at the book. Big brown eyes were dilated and staring at him, burrowing into his soul.

"No, I'm not going anywhere." He couldn't lie to this man. Not now.

"Didn't think so." Myron smiled sweetly.

Myron carefully set the book down on his nearby footlocker; never once did his fingers leave Zeke's skin. Once he was back standing in front of the larger man, he began to run his palms up and down Zeke's chest, tracing the muscles on his arms and finally bending around his torso. Zeke simply stood there silently and allowed the quiet exploration. When Myron got bolder and moved his hand down towards Zeke's zipper, he found his wrist enclosed in a larger hand.

"We shouldn't do this, L.T. It's not right."

"Don't care. I don't want to die tomorrow knowing I could have this and was too scared to take it."

"But, you're so young." Zeke protested. "This war screws the mind up. You don't know what's best for you anymore."

"Shut up, Zeke," Myron hissed.

Myron was tired of hearing this. He was tired of pretending. Moving in quickly he pressed his lips to Zeke's, heaving against his body. For his part Zeke dropped Myron's wrist and instead planted his hand on the small of Myron's back. The kiss Myron started was soon taken over by a lustful Zeke, whose tongue had wormed its way into his mouth. They each fought to lengthen the kiss, wanting to make it last as long as possible. A need for air finally forced them to break apart. Gasping for breath, they rested their foreheads against each other.

"L.T., I think."

"Shut up, Zeke." Myron whispered with a hoarse voice. "Just shut up. Consider it an order, soldier."

"Yessir," Zeke half laughed.

He stopped laughing when he felt Myron begin to pull away from him. He watched as nimble fingers undid his fly and quickly push his pants and boxers down. He was now standing in front of his fully clothed commanding officer, with his hard cock exposed. Myron looked down at him and whistled with appreciation. With little fanfare, Myron dropped to his knees, not caring if anyone walked in at this exact moment or not. He wanted Zeke and he would have him.

Grabbing the base of the heavy penis, he eased it into his mouth. How many times had he dreamed about this and now he was finally doing it. He suckled at the head, easily fisting the base. He could tell it would be over far too fast and again he didn't care. He relished the fact that Zeke wanted this. wanted him. He sucked quicker, drawing as much into his mouth as his limited skill would allow him. Zeke's hands had now worked their way into his hair, caressing his scalp and holding it in place at the same time.

With a deep groan he felt Zeke cum in mouth and he tried to swallow it, he really did. He ended up gagging at the sharp taste and alternating between sputtering and coughing. Myron felt himself pulled onto his feet and wrapped in a strong pair of arms. He was going to wipe his mouth with his sleeve, but before he could do that, Zeke was kissing him, licking any incriminating evidence away. They ended the way they had been only minutes before, foreheads pressed together and bodies close.

Myron wasn't sure what was supposed to happen next. All he knew was that he had no intention of giving Zeke up. He would fight everyone to keep him, even if he had to fight Zeke himself.

"Didn't know books made you so hot," Zeke laughed, the first to break the silence.

Myron snorted in relief. "That wasn't very romantic."

"Can't help it. You just sucked my brains out."

"Don't be so crass," Myron chuckled, "I think you enjoyed it."

"Oh yeah, I enjoyed it," Zeke responded, his hand reaching for Myron swollen crotch. "And I think you did, too."

"Yeah, I did," Myron moaned, pushing into the hand. "Gonna do something about it?"

"Sure, but let's lock the door this time and make use of the lovely bed the military so kindly provided."

Myron groaned, this time from frustration. He moved away from Zeke, rushing over to lock the door.

"So you really liked the book then?" Zeke asked as he drew off his pants.

"Sure do, want to hear my favourite line?" Myron asked from across the room.

"Sure, why not." Zeke was willing to indulge Myron anything right now.

"Possessing or pursuing no delight."

"That's it?"

"Uh huh. It's a line of one of my favourite stanzas, but it makes me think of you."

"Why?"

"You wanted me for a long time, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah. Who wouldn't?"

"Lotsa people. Tell me when."

Zeke sighed, rolling his eyes. "From the first moment I met a certain snot-nosed, know-it-all officer."

"Again you're not being very romantic. Hard to believe this is from the same man who seduced me by giving me a book of sonnets."

"Sonnets?"

"Poetry," Myron responded. "And I must admit it was a most subtle suggestion."

"Huh? I don't know what you're talking about."

"You gave me Shakespeare's *sonnets*." When his statement met with a blank stare, he continued, "The homoerotic sonnets."

Another blank stare.

"Alright then, men writing naughty poems to other men."

"Oh," Zeke said, "Really?"

"You mean you didn't know?"

"Ahhh.. no. I asked a bookseller in Saigon to pick out a book for my friend. He asked me about you so he could match it to suit your tastes. That's what he picked when I was done. Guess I shouldn't have talked about you so long, but I wanted you to get something you'd like."

Myron was closer now, drawing off his own shirt. Who cared if Zeke didn't know the deeper meaning behind the sonnets. He had still given the gift out of what Myron hoped was love.

"Well, we'll just chalk it up to fate then. That line I told you about. Why it reminds me of you is because you're always willing to put other people's needs above your own."

Zeke watched as Myron's t-shirt sailed across the room and hit one of the puddles on the floor. It was still raining out, the downpour beating a steady rhythm on the metal roof. It only played as background music for Myron's slow progression.

"If I was a poet like that Shakespeare guy, I could write some pretty words to describe you right now." Zeke muttered.

"Actions speak louder than words, Zeke," Myron said before he pounced.