by Lesa Soja
Justin could take apart and put together an M16 faster than anyone else JC had ever seen, which admittedly wasn't that many people, but nevertheless, it was pretty sexy, Justin's fingers flying over the parts. And Justin's wacko hair was finally under control, buzzed within a millimeter of its life, so you could see the shape of his head, and that was sexy too.
Justin went around wearing an olive drab T-shirt and black and white urban cammo pants and combat boots, and that was pretty damn sexy. And every month when he came back from his weekend, he would talk funny for the next few days, saying things like, "We'll rendezvous at oh-seven hundred hours," and "affirmative" and "negative" instead of "yes" and "no" - unless it was "Sir, yes, sir!" - and that too was strangely sexy.
He rolled out of bed every morning and did fifty pushups before putting on a shirt, and his back gleamed with sweat. He went for long runs, too, and worked out in the hotel weight rooms, and his calves and quads and hamstrings bulged even a little more than before. He had a canvas bag with J. TIMBERLAKE stenciled on it, which he left lying around in corners with the mouth gaping open and dark things poking out of it. He sat around for hours polishing the buttons on his dress whites, and he also sat for hours reading his physics and mech e textbooks, underlining things and writing notes in the margins. He would get the rest of them to quiz him on the formulas until he knew them by heart. He wouldn't let them look at his order papers. He barreled into JC and knocked him over, shouting "I'm an army of one!" and falling on top of him. And all of that was sexy.
What wasn't sexy was the way he said, "No. Don't. Stop," when JC kissed him.
"What?" JC said.
"Cut it out," Justin said. "Can't you read?" and he jerked a thumb at the T-shirt he was wearing, which was gray and said XXL - Property of the United States Army across the chest.
"Oh," JC said. "Okay. Fine."
So he went and fucked Joey instead.