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Stress Leave

Written By: Spudz

"Flaps, slats, panels, pins." The procedure ran through his head like clockwork. It was easy to let it become routine. But he dared not lose focus, especially now in the dead of night. To make a mistake was to invite disaster.

Petty Officer Thomas Briggs maintained his cool, manning the controls for catapult number two like he had done countless times before. The view from the bow bubble placed the Border collie's eyes only inches above the surface of the surrounding aircraft carrier deck, affording him a unique view through the salt-crusted windows to the crew outside, as well as the looming A-6E Intruder that was slowly taxiing up to the catapult hook in the enshrouding darkness.

"One, zero, four, confirm, cat two," his colleague called out from over his shoulder.

Tom checked the numbers again, distantly registering the radio chatter in his bulky headset. "One, zero, four confirmed. JBDs are up, checkers out and down. Interval, coming to the groove." He waited as the yellow shirt deckhand directed the Intruder forward with precise signals, until the aircraft's catapult hook slotted into the proper place. "Hooking two." At his command the cat took up the slack against the landing gear. "Tension on two, good stroke."

The deck personnel cleared away as the Intruder throttled up to military power.

Without missing a beat, the collie continued calling out the procedure. "Good hook, man's out, thumbs up. Mil power, winds, crosswinds." A moment's pause to let the on-deck crew verify everything was in working order. "Checkers like it, pilot salute... final."

"Four-fifty, clear forward," his colleague called out again from the other side of the bubble.

Another brief pause to verify the cat pressure and scan the forward deck and fighter cockpit. "Four-fifty, clear forward. Lights, lights, winds, crosswinds, head's steady... shooting."

With the push of a button, fifty thousand pounds of loaded aircraft shrieked down the open flight deck toward the bow behind twin pillars of superheated exhaust and a deafening roar. The whole procedure had taken less than a minute.

Tom watched the massive bird lift gracefully off the carrier bow to angle into a sharp bank over the rolling waves of the ocean, its hardpoints laden with deadly ordinance. Soon it was lost in the blackness of the night.

The Intruder was one of many that made up the latest sortie to launch off the deck, destined to wreak unholy destruction upon the enemy that lay out beyond that dark horizon. He didn't know what the latest targets were, and probably never would. It was a matter left to other powers to decide and carry out. Once the plane left the carrier, his job was done. From there, the mission was in the pilot's hands to see things through to the end.

The USS Theodore Roosevelt, four and a half acres of sovereign and mobile American territory, was stationed in the Persian Gulf because a power hungry nut had decided to send his armies into a neighboring country, intent on seizing vital oil fields to further his own power. What Saddam thought he could accomplish with such a ruthless act was beyond Tom. In any case, the dictator was finding out firsthand what the western world thought of his actions. But the losses were not just on one side of the battlefront.

The Border collie sighed a weary sigh. Eight hours had passed since he had watched that Intruder disappear off into the night. It had been easy to dismiss the aircraft as just another element of the sortie. But now he couldn't ignore what he had tried to forget then, that the pilot who had saluted through that cockpit window was more than just another aviator. He was a friend... more than a friend.

Tom found himself sitting atop his bed within the confines of his stateroom. It was a rather luxurious setup relatively speaking, designed to accommodate only two occupants instead of the six or more that enlisted had to make do with. But the bed opposite his own was empty, immaculately made and tidy, vacated by its assigned occupant hours ago.

That left the collie alone with his thoughts, isolated and away from the general chaos of the carrier decks and his post as a catapult officer. The constant madness earlier had kept him busy and preoccupied. His solitude now brought nothing but disquiet.

Food and a long shower had done little to quell his anxiety. There had been nothing to do but wait, wait and hope that the Intruder would return unscathed after flying through the worst Saddam had to throw against U.S. airpower. The A-6E was not invincible. Already they had lost at least one to enemy fire, its crew either killed or captured. It was a terrible fate, one that Tom hoped no other pilot would succumb to. Just thinking about the worse was gut-wrenching.

The wall over the empty bed was littered with photos, and for a moment he let his eyes wander across each one. They were all of pilots, some posing before various aircraft in their coveralls, others of group shots in bars and exotic locations. All had one thing in common, the striking malinois who wore the same modest smile in each picture.

The collage was mirrored by the collie's own collection on the opposite bulkhead. There were almost too many to look at. Pictures of the flight deck, pictures of the bubble with the collie wearing his bulky headset, they went on and on. Between the two sides of the stateroom, two wholly separate but identical cultures of the navy were on display.

Tom eventually had to tear his eyes away from the photos. The sortie was supposed to last roughly six hours. He had heard the aircraft trapping back onto the deck while he had been in the mess earlier. Every minute or so the dull thud of landing gear and the run-up of a jet engine would be punctuated by the sound of the arresting gear working to wrestle the bird to a halt. It had taken an hour for all elements of the sortie to get back onto the deck.

He didn't know if they had all returned; it would've been easy to check, but the collie just couldn't bring himself to do so. He was thinking the worst, and he had no good reason to. There were so many things that could...

Tom's thoughts came to an abrupt halt at the sound of the stateroom door opening. When he looked over, he found the familiar black furry face of a malinois regarding him. The canine wore nothing but a pair of boxers, just like him, and had a towel slung over the shoulder; it was obvious he had just come from the showers.

The shepherd paused with a hand on the door, canting his head in puzzlement. "Why you look so surprised? It's just me."

Tom realized his muzzle was hanging open. He made an effort to shut it. "Oh, no, you just caught me daydreaming."

"You were worrying about me again." The malinois saw right through his lie, and made it evident with a reproachful look.

He hesitated, but then gave a reluctant nod.

Lieutenant Patrick 'Sledge' Hammar sighed as he closed the stateroom door. "What am I going to do with you, collie? You can't keep tearing yourself apart like this every time I go up."

Tom felt his floppy ears splay back. "I know. But I can't help thinking the worst." He motioned vaguely toward the nearby bulkhead and the distant country that lay out several hundred miles beyond. "There's an enemy out there that's trying to kill you, you know."

The malinois smiled in a way that showed his embarrassment for Tom. "Yes, but I'm better than them. I'd never give those bastards the satisfaction of shooting me down." He moved to sit next to the collie on the bed, taking the damp towel from his shoulder to toss it haphazardly onto a nearby chair, the same chair that Tom's yellow crew shirt hung from. "Ali Baba's gonna have to do better than he is now if he wants to best me."

"I wish I could sound so sure of myself. You air jocks are always so confident."

"You gotta be in this line of work. Besides, things are taking a turn for the better out there. I doubt if the war will go on another week at most the way things are going. At least... I hope it won't."

The pilot's demeanor suddenly faltered and his shoulders dropped. In that moment, Tom could see the chinks in his armor. The constant stress of wartime operations was beginning to take its toll on the normally unshakable shepherd.

It was one thing to work a carrier flight deck, a hazardous occupation in its own right, but it was a whole other ordeal to pilot one of those many aircraft that lifted off the bow of the ship, destined for unfriendly skies and the untold number of enemy weapons waiting to blow you up in a heartbeat.

Navy pilots were supposed to be infallible. They were supposed to take on any challenge and overcome every difficulty they faced with ease. They were alpha dogs in every way, and Sledge was no exception, although he commanded respect through his own unassuming ways. So to see the exhaustion briefly grace the malinois's expression, before he managed to compose himself once more, was enough to alarm Tom.

The collie knew better than to ask about what had happened on the sortie. It was a sore subject that was best left alone. Patrick never liked to talk about it; neither of them did. They were all feeling the strain, every last crew member aboard the Roosevelt. The constant demand of war was enough to break even the best of men after so long.

Tom knew what he had to do. He couldn't end the war himself. He was one man aboard an aircraft carrier of thousands. But he could make it go away, at least for a little while. Maybe that would be enough.

He patted the bed between them, catching Sledge's attention. "I think I owe you a massage. You need to take a moment and wind down."

The shepherd was taken aback by the sudden suggestion. "Why now?"

"Because it was my idea and I think you need one."

The malinois continued to look at him, recognized the collie's stubborn expression, and knew he wasn't going to get out of it. "I supposed a patented Briggs massage would be nice, seeing as I'm not gonna win this one."

"You're damned right."

He shook his head. "You're some piece of work, collie. But that's what I love ya for." Sledge kept smirking as he rolled fully onto his stomach on the bed. He laid the side of his head against Tom's pillow, hooking his arms underneath. "If anyone ever found out what I let you do to me..."

"That's why we don't let anyone find out," Tom finished for him with a crooked grin. Just to be certain, he stole a glance at the stateroom door, making sure it was locked. He didn't want any unwanted visitors.

Without pomp and circumstance, the collie straddled Sledge's thighs, folding his legs up on either side. He had little room with the small bed and limited space of the stateroom, but neither of them was uncomfortable with his intimacy, quite the opposite really.

He gave the malinois's smooth russet fur and broad shoulders an admiring look, and decided to lead off with a few gentle rubs down his back, tracing his kneading hands along either side of the spine.

The pilot's muscles were knotted and stiff, no doubt the result of numerous hours sitting inside a cramped cockpit under stressful combat conditions. He decided to zero in on the shoulders, making sure to apply smooth and deliberate motions. "Why don't you consider putting in for a transfer to a different airframe?"

Sledge stifled a surprised groan as the collie worked on a particularly taunt muscle group. "You're talking about... ooh, a Tomcat or a Hornet?"

"I think you'd look good strapped to one of those."

"Those birds aren't for me. Let all the young, ah... new hotshots fresh outa the academy vie for those wings. I'm perfectly content to fly my trusty... mhmph, old Intruder."

Tom shifted his roving digits lower. He always loved to work his fingers through the malinois's surprisingly soft fur, which was slightly damp from his earlier shower. "I can't understand your love affair with that ugly old bird. It can't even go supersonic."

"She doesn't need to," Sledge countered, shifting so that he could bury the side of his head further in the pillow. His tension was beginning to unwind. "The Intruder is designed to carry bombs, a lot of bombs, and to get them to the target quickly and efficiently. No other bird can compete. Those Hornets and Tomcats can dogfight all they want. It won't win us the war."

"I guess someone has to do the gritty work." The truth was, Sledge constantly found himself hounded by his peers, and even a few superiors, about his dogged determination to keep flying the Intruder. He had allegedly turned down a few offers to transfer to the F-14, much to the bafflement of his commander.

Tom always loved to twist his tail on the matter, but he did it in playful jest, just as the malinois liked to poke fun at him for his stubbornness when it came to the old beat-up headset he kept for his catapult work.

"The old girl has seen me through some tough times, and hasn't...ah!" Sledge's words cut off as the collie moved his kneading hands down a little further, finding just that right spot across the lower back. "...let me down yet."

"I can't fault you for that."

"You better, mmph, believe it." He changed the subject. "So, has anyone given my collie any grief yet about moving himself into my stateroom?"

"None so far," Tom replied. "I figured I'd get myself into trouble, but no one has said a thing."

Sledge sighed into the pillow. "I guess... if no one has said anything that makes it final. Possession is nine-tenths of the law."

"Works for me. I can have you all to myself."

All the tension had left the pilot's body. He had completely relaxed beneath the collie's careful attention, just how Tom wanted him.

A gentle nudge on the side encouraged Patrick to roll over. He quickly found himself nose to nose with the collie, who had taken the opportunity to pin him to the bed. "That never gets old." He leaned up to lick Tom's whiskers. "Thanks for that. I thought a nice long Hollywood shower would help me unwind, but it didn't take the edge off."

"That's why I'm here."

They regarded one another in bated silenced, noses almost touching. Tom made his move.

He canted his head and closed the distance between them, locking muzzles with the malinois in an impassioned kiss. He felt the canine's arms wrap around him, pulling him deeper into the embrace, their tongues wrestling for dominance, hands roaming across each other's bodies.

The collie ground his hips against the bigger dog, feeling the bulge in Sledge's boxers rub enticingly against his own growing arousal. He savored the malinois's taste for an infinite moment, until they both were short of breath.

When he pulled back, he met the glazed look of the shepherd. They both panted slightly. No words needed to be said.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Tom slid himself down the canine's form; all the while keeping his gaze locked on the malinois. Sledge watched him through hazel eyes clouded by his own heightening hunger.

Two sets of dulled claws traced their way across his broad chest, down his toned stomach maintained through countless days of running the carrier's hangar deck. They worked their way with the lay of his fur, gentle and teasing, until they reached the hem of the canine's boxers.

The collie took a moment to nuzzle against the shepherd's bulge through the thin fabric, smiling to himself at the heady groan that escaped Sledge's muzzle. He looked back up to the canine, asking silent permission to continue, giving his best puppy-dog eyes.

Sledge clicked his teeth together with a playful growl. His heavy tail thumped eagerly against the bed. The excitement between them was palpable.

With one last glance to the nearby stateroom door to make sure it was indeed locked, Tom hooked his fingers and pulled down, gliding the underclothing down the malinois's legs, taking care to slide the canine's tail through the proper hole in the fabric as well. Once removed, the boxers were tossed aside and forgotten before they even hit the floor.

The sight of Sledge's naked form made Tom's breath quicken. The shepherd was already quite excited, the cherry tip of his throbbing cock already poking out of the ample sheath, just begging to be sucked off.

The collie wasted no time leaning down to wrap his muzzle around that wonderful crimson flesh, pulling down the fuzzy brown sheath with a hand to expose more of the treasure he desired.

Sledge's breath caught, his body going tense. His hips bucked instinctively, trying to draw more of the collie's maw down onto him. After a breathless moment, the beginnings of his knot stood bare. Tom wasted no time starting his attack.

He sucked on as much of the shepherd's sizeable length as his teeth would allow, bobbing his head in an agonizingly slow motion, dragging his broad tongue along every inch of sweet sensitive flesh. The collie's hand massaged the base of his knot, honing in on the canine's weakest point while the other gently cupped and fondled his heavy balls that ached for release.

Tom became drunk with the malinois's pungent scent. He reveled in each heavy breath, every twitch of the canine's hips. His knot swelled, his strained grunts growing louder with each eager bob of the collie's muzzle.

Sledge's peak was already fast approaching. His muzzle was frozen in a silent snarl, teeth bared as he tried to fight off the unavoidable.

A drop of pre dabbed Tom's taste buds. Spurred on, he curled his tongue all across the shepherd's knot as his fingers pulled at his bunched sheath. He went in for the kill.

A hand suddenly touched the top of his head, causing him to freeze. He looked up, muzzle still full of the shepherd's cock, to find Sledge's expression twisted in blissful torment. "No... please, stop." The words escaped his taunt muzzle in almost a whisper. He was so close, poised right on the ragged edge.

The collie silently complied, letting the canine's length slide from his maw to throb angrily in the air.

Sledge was a disheveled mess, his breath escaping in rough pants. "You know... you know how I like to finish," he finally managed, after taking a moment to collect himself.

Tom allowed a smirk to grace his muzzle as he got off the bed. He certainly did know how Sledge liked it.

The malinois rolled over onto his hands and knees and stood with his haunches aimed toward the collie. That elegant tail that Tom always loved to play with raised high and to the side, presenting him with the canine's finely toned rump and tight tailhole. Still panting from his brush with release, Sledge looked over his shoulder, clearly impatient. He didn't need to say anything more.

The collie uttered a relieved sigh as he removed his boxers, allowing his tapered erection to pop free from its confinement. Nearly sucking off Sledge had driven him mad with the carnal need to get off. He wanted so bad to mount the sexy canine right then and there, but first...

Sledge watched expectantly as he moved toward his storage locker and reached inside. The lube that he subsequently removed was an item that Tom had taken great care to smuggle aboard unnoticed.

Both their scents infused the space, washing everything else away. The anticipation was almost too much as he mounted the bed once more.

The collie shuddered as he applied a liberal amount of the lube to his achingly hard cock, taking a moment to get himself all nice and slick. He was panting now in his excitement.

Sledge kept his tail raised, still looking back over his shoulder, tongue lolled. The excitement came to a head as Tom scooted forward, pulling the malinois's tail to the side. He angled his tapered length down, drawing a long breath as the tip ever so gently glanced against the shepherd's waiting tailhole.

With deliberate ease, the collie slowly rocked his hips forward, feeling the wonderful tightness begin to wrap itself around his maleness. He felt Sledge go taunt, his own breath caught in his lungs.

Tom's hips soon mashed up against the shepherd's haunches, his length buried to the hilt. The familiar tightness was simply amazing. He couldn't help but utter a heady moan as he held himself there, savoring the wonderful sensation.

The malinois's body soon relaxed beneath him. Tom withdrew slowly, holding the shepherd's hips in a firm grip, dragging out the motion as long as he could.

A more forceful thrust drove the collie's cock back into that magnificent tightness, sending his senses reeling. He was now in control; this canine, the delineation of an alpha dog, was his to dominate. It was thrilling.

Each plunge of his hips provoked an enraptured groan from Sledge, punctuating the quickened panting of the collie. The bed creaked with his exertion. The pungent air of their combined arousal infused his nose. The slick warmth that wrapped around his cock was simply incredible.

The collie's knot began to swell. He quickly found it harder to thrust, the resistance building, threatening to tie him at any moment. He wrapped his arms around the shepherd's waist, humping with all his might, longing for what his instincts desired.

The point of no return came, his bulge suddenly locking the two canines together. Beneath him, Sledge's vocalizations began to crescendo. The malinois was close, fast approaching that desired apex; they both were.

He thrust his hips rapidly against the canine's quivering haunches as much as his knotted length allowed. His hand reached down to grasp the shepherd's cock, caressing the swelling knot. He abandoned all self-control; the want to release was overpowering.

The collie peeled his lips back and snarled, his balls drawing tight. With one last wanton surge he hilted himself against Sledge, feeling all the building energy suddenly unravel like the crack of a whip. His cock twitched, shooting a thick spurt of cum deep inside the shepherd, sending the other canine over the edge.

Sledge joined him at the zenith of climax, uttering a low drawn out moan as his knotted length jerked in the collie's grasp, lancing the first jet of his seed onto the sheets of the bed.

Both canines basked in the intoxicating euphoria as they came. Tom humped weakly against the shepherd's haunches, drawing out the moment as long as he could. His surroundings were lost on him. There was only the two of them as they relished the moment together, and that was all he needed.

After what felt like a blissful eternity, the high slowly ebbed, and the collie came back down to the here and now. He slumped against the malinois, suddenly exhausted, panting arduously with the comforting afterglow that descended upon him.

Sledge, too, fought for breath. His arms and legs shook, threatening to give out at any moment from their combined weight. "Let's... let's go sideways."

At the shepherd's breathless words, Tom helped guide the both of them down. His swollen knot held him firmly against the canine, and he ended up nestled against Sledge from behind as they lay on their sides.

After several minutes of relaxing in the pleasurable ebbs of release, Tom decided to break the silence. "Do you ever think that we're doing the navy a disservice?"

He felt the malinois stir against him. "Wa'da mean?"

"Ya know, furthering the stereotype and all that."

There was a second of silence, followed by the shepherd's amused chuckle. "What? That we're all playing for the other team? Ha, of course we are. But I don't care. Are your yellow shirt colleagues still giving you flak?"

"It's nothing I can't handle. At least I'm getting some tail while they're all dealing with blue balls."

"One of these days I should bend one of them over a chair and show 'em what they're missing out on."

It was Tom's turn to laugh. "Now there's a sight I would pay money for."

"I'd make it worth every penny." They lapsed into silence for nearly a minute before Sledge spoke again. "There's another sortie tomorrow. We're pushing further inland. Gonna hit 'em where it really hurts." He looked over his shoulder at the collie, a touch of concern evident in his eyes. "Brass is putting a lot of us in the air for this one. We're expecting a lot of resistance."

"I'll be there to send you off the deck, just like I always have. And I'll be here waiting for you when you return, just like I always do."

"Thus the vicious circle continues unabated," the shepherd remarked with a wry smile. "You don't know how much I appreciate having you here to come back to. It really does keep me going."

Tom merely smiled in response.

"Flaps, slats, panels, pins..."