Shifting a little to get the perfect grip, Wilkes then began to masturbate Balkhi, in long, steady strokes, squeezing just a little harder as he got to the base, releasing the tension as his hand traveled up the length. Then he reversed the technique, playing around to see what Balkhi liked best, what made him gasp, what made him moan. Everything seemed to have the desired effect, so Wilkes picked up speed and grew rougher with his strokes, delighted when more clear liquid beaded at the dark purple head.

Unable to resist, he stuck out his tongue and tasted it. A hiss escaped from between Balkhi’s teeth. Wilkes did it again, and again, poking his tongue deep into the slit, pulling out more of the salty liquid and drinking it down eagerly. God, he wanted to make him come in his mouth, make his cock throb between his lips and his balls empty their load down his throat.

Making sure his mouth was plenty wet, Wilkes licked his lips then sunk them onto Balkhi’s cock. It tasted good, so fucking good. Clean, musky, salty. Masculine. Wilkes had barely started and already he was hooked. Concentrating on the head for a while, he got it soaked with saliva, letting it dribble down the shaft and onto his fingers. Then he used his hand to pump the base while his lips, teeth and tongue teased the tip, gradually working down and down until he needed to move his hand out of the way. Continuing on, Wilkes pulled in a deep breath through his nostrils, willing himself to relax as the head of Balkhi’s cock flirted with his gag reflex. Pushing through the initial discomfort, he swallowed, taking it in, gratified to hear Balkhi’s yelp, and feel desperate fingers grip his scalp.

Fuck, he felt powerful and vulnerable all at once, and it was perfect. Utterly perfect.

Closing his eyes, he forced himself to relax and let his brain do what it wanted. Naturally, it veered straight back to Balkhi. Balkhi as Wilkes had first met him, in dish-dash and flip-flops. Balkhi in British Army uniform and sturdy boots. Finally, Balkhi in nothing but a smile, his long, lean body hard and tempting. His dark skin shone in the light, shifting over muscles and sinews as Balkhi waited for Wilkes to make a move.

“Touch your cock,” Wilkes said in his fantasy, while in real life his hand tugged down his boxer shorts and released his own. “Touch it for me. Stroke it. Squeeze it.” Each sentence mirrored his own actions, and within seconds his shaft was as hard as fantasy-Balkhi’s, which was now tipped with pre-cum.

Balkhi did as he was asked, his long fingers wrapping firmly around his dick, shifting up and down. The skin around his knuckles paled slightly as he obeyed the last command—squeeze it. His pupils were so large that his eyes looked almost black, and his bottom lip jutted out temptingly as he panted. Wilkes wanted to nip it between his teeth, make Balkhi gasp with the sharp bolt of pain, then pull the plump flesh into his mouth and suck it all better.

Remembering it was all in his head and that he could do whatever the hell he damn well wanted, Wilkes acted on his impulse. Balkhi tasted and felt as good as he looked, and Wilkes pumped his cock harder and faster, wishing he didn’t have to keep quiet. Not that anyone would do anything if they noticed what sounded like come-noises emanating from the boss’ tent, but no doubt he’d have the piss taken out of him at some point for being heard tossing off. And, knowing his luck, they’d bring it up in front of Balkhi, and then Wilkes would die of embarrassment on the spot.

Dropping to his knees, Wilkes hurriedly shoved Balkhi’s hand away from his shaft and took a moment to study it. Just like the man it belonged to, it was not too big, not too small, and yet far from average. Circumcised, the head was fully visible; nothing was hidden beneath folds of skin. Reaching out, Wilkes wrapped his fingers around it, unable to stop the grin that spread across his face as it hardened further beneath his touch.

Letting his mind drift, he hoped that allowing his brain to alight on whatever was bothering him would help him to sort it out, or at least give it some thought time so he could then move on and get some shut-eye.

Unfortunately, and yet predictably, Wilkes’ brain settled on Balkhi. He tutted, frustrated at his own stupidity. How in god’s name was thinking about his interpreter going to help him sleep? The hard yet not too bulky body, soulful eyes, quick wit and sexy smile were going to have the exact opposite effect, plus causing many other problems besides.

And yet, as Wilkes tried to relive the highly irritating conversation he’d had with Major Hunter earlier, after the dead goat incident, he couldn’t hold on to it. His mind continued pulling back toward Rustam Balkhi and his many merits.

If he’d had a wall, Wilkes would have punched it. This was beyond ridiculous. Crushing on his interpreter had so many items in the “cons” box that even the dimmest soldier in the platoon wouldn’t consider it. But his brain, or at the very least his libido, just couldn’t let go.

Sighing, Wilkes then gritted his teeth. “Fine. Have it your fucking way. Knock yourself out.”

Within fifteen minutes they were entering the village, heading for the school. It was still relatively early, but there were people around—just because the locals were used to the heat, didn’t mean they wanted to toil around in the hottest part of the day. Not if they had a choice.

Wilkes kept his rifle ready to engage, though he was confident he wouldn’t need it. He tried to look relaxed, though, so as not to scare the shit out of the locals.

He remained fully on his guard. The more he concentrated on possible threats, the less he could be distracted by the man twenty feet behind him.

Wilkes took what he hoped appeared to be a disinterested glance at Balkhi. The Afghan was doing well. Really well. Except for the fact he was unarmed and had a beard, he looked just like another member of the unit. He moved like them, paid attention to what was happening around them, didn’t take unnecessary risks. He hadn’t heard the man translate a single word yet, but he already knew he was going to be good. Balkhi was no doubt the sort of person that excelled at everything he did—he’d make a spectacular doctor. One Wilkes would happily trust with his life.

Raking his gaze over the rest of his men to check everything was in order, Wilkes then shifted his attention back to what was in front of him. Which was a whole lot of nothing, really. Just buildings, sand, and locals going about their everyday business; fetching, carrying, working, talking. Living.