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§
Opening the gull-wing door, Foster helped Straker into the passenger seat.
"I appreciate the ride, Colonel Foster, but I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own."
"Dr. Schroeder strongly recommended the wheelchair, sir."
Foster shut the door and walked around to the driver’s seat.
"Then take me to HQ."
"Colonel Freeman said that if I brought you back to headquarters, he’d personally lock me in Jackson’s office. So, no."
"You’re disobeying a direct order from your superior?"
"Commander, sometimes even a medical officer can override a commander. Dr. Schroeder advised the wheelchair, and Colonel Freeman ordered me to take you home. So please—just give in."
Straker scowled at him, clearly not amused.
"That look won’t change anything. You’re going home. You need to rest."
Foster started the engine and pulled away, heading toward Straker’s suburban residence.
Getting injured during an operation was nothing new for Foster. As the head of the field team, it came with the job. But for Straker, who usually oversaw SHADO’s operations from HQ, injuries were rare—though this time, he'd been injured precisely because he insisted on going to the field himself.
As he’d already complained, the injury itself wasn’t particularly severe.
But Straker, ever the overzealous commander, had a bad habit of ignoring limits, constantly pushing himself beyond reason just to return to duty a minute faster. If not closely watched, he was liable to do something reckless. That was exactly why Dr. Schroeder had recommended a wheelchair, and why Freeman had dispatched Foster to play babysitter. In a way, it was all Straker’s own doing.
"Cigars?"
"Also banned. Doctor’s orders."
"Are you my watchdog now?"
"Yes, actually. Both the doctor and Colonel Freeman made that very clear."
"I’m more than capable of driving myself home."
"Still not allowed."
Straker groaned and slumped against the back of the seat, clearly frustrated.
"John Grey walked out of the hospital unaided."
"Commander, your condition was evaluated as more serious. Besides, you were secretly smoking cigars in your hospital room, weren’t you?"
"‘Secretly’? What’s that supposed to mean?"
"If you’d done it openly, it would’ve been even worse."
Foster pulled up in front of Straker’s house on the outskirts of town.
"Thanks for the ride. Tell Freeman I said thank you."
"What are you talking about? I’m not leaving yet."
"And why not?"
"Like I said, I’ve been instructed to keep an eye on you—until I deliver you back to HQ tomorrow, that is."
"I don’t feel comfortable with someone else in my home. I’d prefer it if you left."
"Not today. Orders."
"Surely you’re not going to make me sit in a wheelchair in my own home?!"
"Doctor’s suggestion, yes—but I figured you’d hate that, so I said no on your behalf."
Straker furrowed his brow even deeper and stepped out of the car without another word.
Foster retrieved the luggage from the trunk and followed Straker, who had already gone inside.
"Shall I unpack for you?"
"I can handle that myself! Just sit down somewhere and help yourself to a drink or something."
"Aren’t you going to get some rest?"
"No cigars, no exercise—I might as well be left alone!"
Foster looked a bit startled. Straker caught himself.
"...I’m sorry, Colonel."
"No, it’s my fault. I’ll use that sofa, if that’s alright. Call me if you need anything."
Sensing Straker’s irritation, Foster quietly stepped out of the room.
§
Foster sat on the living room sofa, his eyes drifting toward the hallway, listening for any sign of movement from the bedroom.
There had been some rustling earlier, but now everything had gone silent. The lights in the house had been turned down, and the entire space had fallen into a hush.
Straker had protested plenty, but Foster suspected the doctor was right—he really was exhausted.
As he sat in the quiet room, Foster glanced absently around.
The furnishings were far more elegant than anything in his own apartment, but the house itself felt... painfully empty.
He didn’t know much about Straker’s personal life—not the way Freeman did.
But he’d picked up bits and pieces during their missions, and those fragments painted a sorrowful picture.
This house had been purchased when Straker got married.
When his wife became pregnant, he'd remodeled one of the rooms into a nursery.
But neither the nursery nor the family it was meant for had lasted.
His wife and son were both gone.
The furnishings had been carefully chosen back then, and none had been replaced. They remained like relics of a happier time—frozen echoes of moments that had slipped away.
Why was Straker still living here?
He was a busy man.
Surely, if he wanted a simpler place closer to HQ, all he’d need to do was mention it to Miss Ealand.
Foster knew that if it were him, he wouldn’t hesitate to move. But maybe—just maybe—Straker chose to stay here intentionally.
Perhaps every time he returned home, he forced himself to remember both the happiness he'd once known and the pain of having lost it.
A self-inflicted punishment.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden noise from the bedroom. Something had fallen.
Foster stood up quickly and rushed down the hall, opening the door to find Straker on the bed, tossing in his sleep.
A book had fallen from the nightstand—likely the source of the noise.
“Commander!”
Foster called out, and Straker startled awake.
“You all right? You were having quite the nightmare…”
“It’s nothing.”
Straker sat up, drenched in sweat.
“A bad dream?”
He glanced briefly at Foster.
“Commander?”
“I was… still inside the Skydiver.”
“Ah…”
Foster let out a quiet sigh.
When he had first joined SHADO, Foster had seen Straker as the perfect, unshakable commander—brilliant, cold, and utterly in control.
And in truth, Straker’s leadership had kept SHADO functioning at the high level it did. Without him, they wouldn’t have stood a chance.
But Foster had since learned that Straker wasn’t invincible.
It wasn’t just the tragic divorce or the loss of his son.
Straker also suffered from claustrophobia—something that could easily compromise a mission if it wasn’t handled carefully.
Foster remembered the incident all too well.
A UFO had slipped past the interceptors, and Skydiver had been sent out to handle it. They managed to destroy the alien craft, but not without sustaining heavy damage.
The sub had ended up stranded on the seafloor.
They’d eventually been rescued, but not before spending far too long inside that dark, enclosed space.
Foster later learned, from Freeman, that Straker had refused to evacuate until the very end—not only out of concern for his men, but also because the narrow escape tube had triggered his fear.
The dwindling oxygen and claustrophobic silence must have pushed him to the brink.
When the rescue team finally arrived, both Straker and Lieutenant Barry had lost consciousness.
They’d made it, and the doctors said Straker would be fine, but Freeman had mentioned that he was visibly disoriented when he woke.
It was no wonder, then, that a man like him—pushed to his limits—might dream about being trapped again.
“If you can’t sleep, I could get you something. Maybe some sherry, or brandy?”
“I don’t drink.”
“Right… Then how about some hot cocoa?”
“I’m fine. Just leave me be.”
“You really think I can just walk away after seeing you like this?”
Straker looked up, meeting Foster’s gaze directly.
Foster didn’t flinch. He stared right back, unwavering.
Straker was the one to break first.
“I don’t need anything. If you want to stay, suit yourself.”
“‘Suit myself,’ huh?”
“Yes.”
Foster stepped closer, leaned in, and gently pressed his lips to Straker’s.
Straker looked momentarily stunned, but didn’t resist. Slowly, he returned the kiss.
Foster eased him back against the bed, his hand steady on the commander’s shoulder.
“Foster, I thought I was supposed to be on bed rest.”
“You said you could drive yourself home, and that the wheelchair was unnecessary.”
“I hardly think either of those count as ‘strenuous activity.’”
“You refused brandy and cocoa, so I’m running out of options. Only thing left is a lullaby.”
“I wouldn’t trust you to sing me to sleep.”
Straker’s faintly wicked smile felt like permission.
Foster kissed him again.
Every time they kissed, Straker always blinked—slowly, languidly.
His eyelashes fluttered, revealing glimpses of pale blue eyes.
Foster couldn’t get enough of that look.
Most people closed their eyes when they kissed.
But Foster loved those blue eyes too much to miss the chance to see them up close.
He trailed kisses down Straker’s forehead, eyelids, cheekbones, and jaw as he began undoing his clothing.
Straker, in turn, started unbuttoning Foster’s shirt.
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
“Is that so?”
“Doctor’s orders.”
Foster caught Straker’s hands and gently pinned them with the half-removed sleeves of his shirt.
“And what exactly are you doing?”
“Let me take care of everything tonight.”
Straker gave him a skeptical look.
Foster smiled sweetly in response.
As his lips traced Straker’s neck and collarbones, Straker looked suspicious—but not displeased.
The moment Foster’s fingers brushed against his chest and teasingly pinched a nipple, Straker bit his lip and arched faintly.
Foster played with one while his mouth teased the other, his tongue flicking delicately.
Straker’s breath grew uneven, and he struggled faintly against the makeshift restraints.
But the relentless attention to his sensitive spots offered no escape, no chance to regain control.
His body, still clothed from the waist down, ached for friction where he wanted it most.
“Foster...!”
“Yes, sir?”
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I do, you won’t stay still. And we both know you’re not supposed to be moving around.”
“I think we’ve already passed the point of no return on that.”
“You said yourself you didn’t need bed rest.”
“You keep circling back to that—are you trying to distract me?”
“You’re the one who dodged doctor’s orders to begin with, Commander.”
Foster kissed his cheek, then tugged harder on the sensitive nub beneath his fingers.
Straker’s body tensed, and Foster caught the moment with a gentle peck on his lips.
Straker shifted, toes curling into the sheets, breath catching in his throat.
“Foster... enough…”
“Yes?”
Straker’s cheeks flushed slightly.
“At least untie me.”
“I won’t.”
“Why?!”
“Am I still your subordinate, Colonel Foster? Or...?”
“You're being an insufferable, arrogant sadist!”
“Then allow me to act accordingly.”
Foster’s hands and mouth roamed Straker’s body with slow, focused intensity—but always avoiding the spot Straker most craved.
“Foster! What the hell are you so angry about?”
“I’m not angry.”
“Then what is this? Some kind of power play?”
“Am I just your subordinate, sir?”
“What kind of answer do you want from me?”
“There’s only one answer I want. But I don’t want to hear it unless it’s genuine. What do you truly feel?”
“My true feelings?”
“On duty, I’m fine being Colonel Foster. But in private... I don’t want to keep calling you ‘Commander.’”
Straker twisted his arms and managed to grab Foster’s head, pulling him close.
“Foster… Paul. I thought we were lovers.”
“I didn’t know we were. When did that happen?”
“When I kissed you the first time. I told you how I felt. I thought that was obvious.
And frankly, I don’t sleep with anyone who isn’t.”
“That was your love confession?”
“You’re not a dinosaur—you’re a damn troll or an ogre.”
“If I really am that dense, maybe you should show your affection a bit more clearly.”
Straker parted his lips and slowly licked Foster’s.
Foster responded in kind, their tongues meeting as Straker blinked slowly once more, savoring the kiss.
“I’ll untie you now.”
“No. I don’t mind staying like this… Colonel. But do keep going.”
He pressed his hips against Foster’s, trailing a foot along Foster’s leg.
“Yes, Commander.”
Foster stripped Straker’s underwear and trousers, then wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close.
He reached into the bedside cabinet, grabbed the lubricant, and poured some into his palm before gently wrapping his hand around Straker’s arousal.
“Spread your legs for me.”
Whispered in his ear, the words sent a shiver through Straker.
He folded one leg aside without resistance.
Foster’s slick fingers slid inside him, prompting a low, deep breath.
“Does it hurt?”
“No. You may be slow, but you’re not insensitive.”
“That’s… not really a compliment.”
Straker gave him a wry smirk before pulling him into a kiss.
“I don’t usually praise subordinates.”
“I’m well aware.”
Foster watched Straker’s face as he worked inside him—those pale blue eyes grew hazy, lids lowering, brows furrowing.
Foster pressed deeper, eliciting a choked breath and a look filled with unspoken need.
Gone was the cold, calculated commander.
In his place: a man undone.
Foster lifted his hips and undid his own trousers, positioning himself at Straker’s entrance.
As he pushed in, Straker’s arms clutched at his shoulders, body tensing with the intrusion.
Even as Foster slowed, concerned, Straker looked up with that unmistakable glint in his eyes—taunting, inviting, in control even when he pretended not to be.
And Foster, drawn into him completely, couldn’t help but enjoy the surrender.
As the pressure built, Foster reached down to stroke Straker, guiding him toward release.
Straker came with a soft, shuddering sigh, and Foster followed, collapsing onto the bed with Straker still in his arms.
§
After untying Straker’s arms, Foster slipped away to shower.
While Straker washed up, he stripped and remade the soiled bed.
When Straker returned, he paused at the neatly arranged bedding, looking slightly surprised.
“You didn’t have to do all that.”
“Tonight I’m your nurse, remember?”
“Some nurse. Ravishing the patient under the guise of supervision.”
“Just a lullaby, sir.”
Straker gave him a low chuckle.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“About what?”
“That I should let you be closer.”
“I don’t mind how things are now. I’d just like a little more… active courtship.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing you are a troll.”
“That is absolutely not a compliment.”
“It is. The highest one I can offer.”
“Okay, that’s enough. Just get some sleep.”
Foster sighed in mock defeat.
Straker merely offered him another of his trademark, wicked little smiles.
End