Breaking Through Limits (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 10

"Come on, Styles, concentrate." Tomlinson's breath in his ear caused an involuntary shiver to run through Harry's body and he missed another target. "You can do better than this, I know you can," Tomlinson insisted.

Harry knew he was sucking hard but he couldn't seem to help it. It had been several days since their confrontation in the Needlers' shooting range and the tension inside him was reaching a fever pitch. Part of it had to do with the fact that every time Tomlinson walked in the door to their quarters, Harry had to kiss him. Well, not had to exactly -Harry knew that his partner wouldn't force the issue if he decided not to practice the casual kissing that was part of the Needlers' weird subculture here at the Academy. But Tomlinson was right, he told himself. If he didn't get used to it he was seriously going to freak out the next time they went to the lounge. So every time Tomlinson came in the door, Harry kissed him and accepted a kiss in return.

He didn't like to admit to himself how long these kisses lasted or how very non-casual they had become. Several times he'd wound up lying on the bed with Tomlinson on top of him, kissing him senseless, his cock grinding into Harry's belly as Harry's hard shaft rubbed against his tigh. But just when he felt there ought to be more, the older cadet always pulled away with some sarcastic remark. It was maddening, especially since Harry still had no time to himself to relieve his growing need.

But it wasn't only the tension that was getting to him during simulator practice with Tomlinson. It also had to do with the fact that his partner had recently decided to move their practice sessions to the Needlers' shooting range. Half the time they were up there the cadets on either side of them were fucking as they practiced -a fact that Harry found very distracting.

Trying to focus his energy on hitting the targets instead of listening to what Landrews and Sanderson were doing to their left, Harry concentrated on the next group of targets the simulator threw his way. The JP sticks jumped in his hands as three of the five were destroyed. The other two got away.

"Either one of those could have killed us." Tomlinson's voice in his ear was flat, not accusing, just stating a fact. "What's wrong, Styles -is your hand still bothering you?"

"No, feels fine." Harry flexed the hand in question, grateful once again for the bone growth stimulator the med tech had put in. The fracture he'd gotten of his fifth metacarpal -a boxer's fracture the tech had called it -had been healed in a matter of hours by the advanced technology. Of course now Tomlinson was even more careful while massaging his hands at night but Harry didn't mind that. In fact, he minded a lot of things less than he had when he first came to the Academy, which made him worried if he thought too much about it. So he tried hard not to think about it.

He shot at another cluster of targets and got five out of six.

"Better." Tomlinson sounded thoughtful. "But still not good enough to keep us alive, let alone number one. I thought you wanted that top spot, Green Eyes."

"Damn it, I'm trying!" Harry muttered, his eyes tracking inside the smart-metal mask. "But it's kind of hard when I can hear... that going on all the damn time I'm trying to shoot." Off to his left he could hear the continuous panting and moaning.