tagFirst TimeAn Unexpected Christmas

An Unexpected Christmas


With Special Thanks to Lyn Zabel, my apt mentor, unfaltering partner and valued friend.


A melody tinkled mistily in the distance, she could just make out a faint suggestion of a tune she vaguely recognized. Candles on the nightstand were the only illumination, painting the scene in rich, golden light; however, it was not a room she knew. Voices, murmuring in the distance, felt familiar. But her attention was focused between her thighs, deep inside her belly.

Her pale Midwestern skin all but shimmered in the candlelight as she rocked her hips against him. He was flat on his back, his bare chest glowed bronze in the flickering light, his legs tangled in crimson sheets. Her thighs wide as she straddled him, hands gripping the headboard for balance. In the warm golden light, she felt his hands slide up her thighs, rough and heavy against her smooth skin... and for a moment she imagined his thick fingers, probing deep inside her. She bit her lip to suppress the gasp the wicked idea elicited. His hands rested on her hips for a moment as she rode him. And then his strong fingers gripped into her flesh, guided her motion, and set a pace she found satisfying both because it felt so wonderful and because she knew it was what he desired.

Her head hung low between her outstretched arms. The tips of her dirty blonde hair, which cascaded about her face was long enough to brush his tanned chest beneath her. His heavy, earthy aroma rose up around her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply; mango, sandalwood and a hint of patchouli. This was new... she decided she approved of this new scent. She leaned in low over him, her lips finding his jawline, her tongue tracing it to his ear. He was salty, his skin moist with the exertion -the excitement- of being with her.

She rocked back, taking him fully inside her again; his hands slid up her waist, his thumbs brushing the outer curves of her heavy breasts. She smiled slightly with pride. When he cradled them, his thumbs stroking her nipples, she arched her back, leaning away from him slightly, presenting him with a better view and greater access to her soft flesh.

Her hips undulated, caressing his length inside her. Her hands fluttered up to caress her own neck, her fingers pushing through her hair, grasping handfuls of it even as her fingers massaged her scalp. Her orgasm was being elusive, but the pressure on her clit that came from the pace he had set promised it would not avoid her for long. His hands caressed her shoulders, and then found her delicate neck. She placed her hands over his as he gently held her face. Putting her hands on his chest, she balanced against him as she abandoned the pace he'd set and instead began to raise her hips slowly, followed by letting her weight drop around him again. Her eyes captured his gaze. Impatient and aching for release, her right hand moved to her clit, her fingers stroking and teasing in search of that much-needed orgasm as her left hand pressing down hard on his chest steadied herself.

Did he say something? It was lost on her. She was not able to listen. There was only his body and the release that was building in her hot little cunt. Would he come inside her? Had he used a condom? She was uncertain, which itself fought her release. He hadn't. She remembered... she had not insisted. That meant she would feel his cum inside her. Feel it between them. And when she collapsed beside him, spent, she would feel his essence dribbling from her. God, she loved that feeling.

He said something again. He never talked when they were together. In her haze of lust, on the edge of release, she desperately tried to focus on him, to hear what he was saying. She imagined how dirty, how filthy his words would be.

"Starship Troopers is a much better franchise than Stargate, hands down."

She wasn't sure she'd heard him right. She wasn't even sure why she was hearing him at all. He didn't even have a face. He'd never needed one before. Just those hands and that incredible cock... but she'd looked into his eyes... that was new too.

"You're crazy. SG1 is a much better show. Better written, better actors, better mythology."

"Come on, the third Starship Troopers movie is..."

"Wait, there was a 'Starship Troopers 3'?" Ensign Amy Moore felt herself being yanked from that private place in her mind to the jarring, stark white light of the office she shared with the rest of her cadre. The scent of mango and sandalwood was gone, replaced by old coffee and the smell of burnt popcorn in the break room. Her face a mask of genuine incredulity, she tried to hide the secret of her distraction. The office conversation had crept up on her, caught her totally unprepared and spoiled a perfectly good fantasy, "I didn't know there was a 2."

Suddenly she became aware of her hand between her thighs, fingers pressed against her clit through her khakis. She felt her neck and face flush, the salty taste of his clean-shaven jawline vanished as she slowly moved her hand to her keyboard and then reached for her coffee cup. She was thankful for the solid front of the desk, and prayed she had been inconspicuous in covering her naughtiness.

Fresh out of college and Navy ROTC, Moore had finished her officer's basic and was marking time until she rotated out to reserve status. On the short side at five foot four, she had a cherubic quality about her. Her oval shaped face was classical in its beauty, with chestnut eyes, slightly arched well-shaped eyebrows and pretty, downturned lips that were always right on the edge of navy standards regarding shade of lipstick. She wore her dirty blonde hair in a bun so tight it made her eyes water when she secured it at the nape of her neck each morning. An athlete in college, no one could accuse her of not complying with fitness standards.

"Yes, ma'am," Petty Officer Williams, Yeoman Second Class and a scrawny kid from somewhere in upstate New York, spun in his chair to face her; he was ready to discuss the film franchise at length.

"The first one was... horrible," the Ensign shook her head, relaxing back in her office chair.

"It's not as good as the book, I'll grant you that, ma'am," Gunnery Sergeant Davidson tossed over his shoulder as he fidgeted with the fancy coffee machine.

Ensign Moore was pretty certain Davidson had been born into the Marine Corps. She didn't even know his first name. When she'd asked, his reply had been, 'Gunnery Sergeant'.

"I didn't know you could read, Gunny," Ensign Moore smiled nervously as she teased the veteran Marine.

If her office mates had noticed her private dalliance, they weren't letting on.

"And I don't even move my lips when I do it," Davidson raised his cup to her by way of a salute as he continued to fuss with the machine. "The second one at least gets around to introducing the battle suits, which are on page one in Heinlein's story."

Gunny's office mates set curious stares on him.

"What? I like good sci-fi. And good sci-fi that also bothers to get military combat and tactics right... That's why SG1 is the better science-fiction." Gunny shrugged. He picked a pod from the rack, pondering it, "What I don't like is eggnog." He examined the pod, looking for a date, "And if I did, do I really want it out of this thing?" he tapped the machine with his mug. He returned the pod to the rack and settled on the least fancy coffee flavor available.

"It's not that bad, Gunny, just put enough scotch in it to make you forget what you're drinking," Williams chuckled.

"At least there's no fruitcake in sight," Ensign Moore smiled at her own joke.

"Now that, you can weaponize," Gunny punched the buttons and waited for the machine to spit out his coffee.

Ensign Moore rested her arms on the edge of her desk, "Holiday plans, Williams?" she asked the young petty officer.

"No, ma'am. I got the second leave, so I'm headed home Monday morning. Got an eight o'clock flight out, should be in Buffalo by dinner, with layovers and all. What about you two?"

The phone rang, requiring Williams' attention and, in turn, allowed Davidson and the Ensign to return to work.

Williams answered the phone with a practiced response that went beyond rote, "Operations, Fleet Warfare and Development, this is a non-secure line, can I help you, sir or ma'am?"

Ensign Moore lost herself in her work. Gunny paid no attention at all.

"Yeah, chief. ... Lieutenant Commander Dunn is in; wait one," Williams' hands danced over the complicated phone, he was silent, waiting until his division officer answered. "The quarterdeck has an outside call for you, sir. ... No, sir, he didn't say. ... Yes, sir. I'll put it through right now."

Williams transferred the call but didn't rush back to work. It was 09:37 on Christmas Eve and the clock on the wall seemed in no hurry to strike 16:00 and liberty call, but that didn't stop him from opening his bottom desk drawer and retrieving a fuzzy red and white Santa hat, which he pulled on, tossing the puffy white ball at the end of the cap over his shoulder.

"You're out of uniform, Williams," Gunny said flatly barely looking up, sipping his coffee and paging through the hard copy reports spread out on his desk.

"Come on, Gunny, you really gonna bust my chops? It's Christmas." Williams smiled, tossing his arms wide.

"No, but if the Commander sees you in that thing, he'll have a thing or two to say." Gunny looked up at him for the first time, "No measurable sense of humor."

Williams removed the cap and tossed it back into the drawer with a small sigh of resignation.

"Besides," Gunny continued, "everyone knows Santa's secretly the Commandant of the Corps. He doesn't have elves making all those toys, he's got Marines turning and burning to make little kid's Christmases jolly."

Williams laughed, Moore smiled, but kept her eyes down, attending to her reports.

The door to the inner office opened and Lieutenant Commander Dunn stepped into the room. He was taller than average at six foot one, but his broad shoulders seemed to fill the doorway as he emerged from his office.

"Sir," Gunny spat by way of acknowledging his presence.

"Everything OK, sir?" Williams asked.

"Yes and no," one hand on his hip, Dunn ran the other through his short cropped black hair in obvious annoyance.

Ensign Moore looked up, taking in his obvious annoyance and simultaneously appreciating the fit of his uniform. He was usually in dress blues, but it was Christmas Eve and the base was a ghost town, so today he was wearing khakis. She couldn't help but be impressed by the number ribbons and medals he wore. Gunny had taught her it was called "fruit salad". Four full bars and a pair of stragglers, he had a few that could only be earned by enlisted ranks.

Dunn inhaled deeply, exhaled sharply, "Nothing to worry about," He moved to the coffee machine, glancing at the wall clock, "Morning message traffic processed, Gunny?"

"Yes, sir. Pretty light morning; other than a Russian sub trying to slip the Iceland-UK Gap, nothing of note," Gunny relaxed in his chair. Well, he relaxed as much as he could with posture as perfect as the creases on his uniform.

"Shooter?" Dunn inquired, the Russians were starting to deploy cruise missile armed submarines off the East Coast again.

"Diesel boat, Kilo class," Ensign Moore replied. Her tone professional, her voice clipped. "The ASW community believes it was B-177, based on its sound signature."

Dunn pondered that for a moment, then looked to Gunny, "Remember when that would have been a big deal?"

Williams and Ensign Moore glanced at each other. They didn't.

Gunny nodded slowly.

"Anyway..." Dunn looked at the clock again, "These days, it'll wait. It's Christmas Eve, you three go ahead and knock off early. Gunny, go see your wife and that cute baby of yours." Dunn slipped a pod of hot chocolate into the machine, "And Williams, if I don't see you on Friday, I won't notice."

Williams glanced from Dunn to the Ensign and back.

"Are we clear, Yeoman?" Dunn watched the cocoa sputter into the cup.

Gunny was collecting his work, "I'll explain it to him, sir."

Williams logged out of his terminal as Gunny locked up the file cabinets.

Ensign Moore moved to lock her desk safe, "Make sure everything is secure before we head out," she prodded, glancing around the room before as she logged out of her workstation.

"I just finished reading your assessment of the last system trials," Dunn stirred a couple of dried out marshmallows into his cup as he crossed the room back to his office, stopping at the Ensign's desk.

She was standing at her desk, checking the locks and waiting for her terminal to power down.

"It was very good work," Dunn sipped the cocoa. "You sure you want to go reserve? There could be a real future for you in the Navy."

Gunny and Williams had their coats on and slipped out before Commander Dunn could change his mind. The wisdom of the non-commissioned officer. Amy found herself standing at parade rest, her hands clasped behind her back, almost as a matter of reflex.

"Thank you, sir," she smiled, "But I don't know. I'm not sure I want to spend the next six years haze gray and underway. There are..." she paused, collecting her thoughts, "It's time for other priorities, sir."

"Then why join the Navy, Ensign?" Dunn stepped into his office, turning to stand in the doorway and examining her thoughtfully.

"ROTC paid for college, sir." She locked her desk drawer. "And I look horrible in green and there is no way I was joining the Chair Force."

He laughed at her joke. Her smile broadened with his laughter.

"What about you, sir," she collected her purse, "you have plans for Christmas?"

"No," he leaned against the doorframe, sipping his cocoa. "I've got duty tonight, so it'll be the galley for dinner and then maybe I'll see if I can find my copy of Starship Troopers." He smiled over the brim of his cup.

"You heard that?"

He nodded. She smiled.

Amy headed for the door, took her cover and overcoat from the rack bolted to the wall and started out. She stopped and turned back to him, "Maybe I'll see you in the Galley for lunch?"

If you listened closely there was a hint of hopefulness in her question.

"Maybe," he shrugged.

She bit her lip to hide her smile as she headed down the passageway.


Nothing was quite so frustrating to Liam Dunn as an unanswered phone, especially if he was the one calling. He rung off with a quick stab to his phone and tossed it onto the table with a bit more annoyance than he meant to show. The officer's dining room was almost empty, but decorum was not something he took lightly. He picked up his fork and scratched at the green beans on his plate for a moment. The meal was of little interest to him tonight and soon he was gazing out the picture window at the dark gray sky, nearly black on the eastern horizon, despite the fact it was just a little past noon. Santa was going to get soaked tonight.

"You seem," Amy Moore hesitated, "frustrated, sir?"

Dunn looked up at her. Still in uniform, but even regulation khakis could not hide her figure. Dunn caught himself staring longer than he should have. Was she wearing more make-up than usual?

"May I join you, sir?"

Her smile was the brightest thing in the dim dining room. It was enchanting, reaching her eyes even while she exuded a tentative concern for him. Her smile he liked, her concern made him feel uneasy.

Dunn looked from her to the darkening sky and then back to his plate. There was a long silence, broken only by the sounds of flatware on porcelain. Sighing, he resigned himself to human companionship.

"Certainly, Ensign," his response was intentionally formal, "have a seat." He motioned with his fork and deliberately looked back down at his plate. He feigned interest in the gray slab of protein that was supposed to be meatloaf. It occurred to him he was unlikely to deny her much of anything, but he certainly didn't intend to be a pushover about it.

She placed her tray on the table and eased herself into the chair opposite him. Setting her purse on the seat beside her, she shrugged out of her Eisenhower jacket and let it drape over the back of the chair. Liam feigned interest in a group of carrier officers in the far corner of the dining hall.

She fidgeted for a few moments, adjusting herself as her hands checked the fit of her uniform. Taking a sip of ice water she regarded him, set the glass aside, and cleared her throat slightly before speaking. "You didn't say what the call was about. Is that why you're irritated, sir?"

"It's nothing, really," he answered, letting his fork sort of dangle in his grasp, resting it on the edge of his plate. He glanced back out at the horizon before answering. "It's my dog, Stanley."

"Is he OK?" Her brow knit in genuine concern.

"Yeah, mostly," Liam was clearly annoyed and his words didn't match his exasperated inflection.

He became acutely aware of the scent of jasmine and roses in the air between them. It wasn't at all displeasing.

"All due respect, sir, you aren't very convincing. I'd expect an intelligence officer to be a much better liar," she smiled playfully, catching his eye as she spoke, and then dropping her gaze again as she bit her lower lip.

Dunn studied the young woman for a moment, paying more attention to the chestnut hue of her eyes than he meant to, his gaze lost in hers. Were there gold flecks in her irises? Nervously, Amy failed to hide her smile as she looked down, feigning interest in the gravy-soaked mashed potatoes.

"My neighbors," Liam grumbled, "they were supposed to feed and exercise him out tonight; they help whenever I have duty, but their son is at U Mass and the weather up north has the airports jammed up. His flight was rerouted and they had to leave early to drive to Pittsburgh to pick him up on their way to Cleveland to see her parents."

"Oh," Amy made a frowning sound that her eyes echoed. "Are they Navy too, sir?"

Liam shook his head, "No, he works at the shipyard. I think she's an accountant."

Amy took a forkful of green beans, discovering they were undercooked, limp and tasted a bit musty. She washed the green abomination down with some water.

"What kind of dog is Stanley?" Amy picked at her meatloaf.

"An Alaskan Malamute, a giant Malamute, actually," He picked up his fork and raked through the green beans.

"Those are beautiful dogs," she smiled, a bit of meatloaf hanging forgotten from her fork. She wanted to warn him off the green beans, but didn't "but I have never heard of a giant Malamute."

"It's a breed trait, they are the muscle of the breed, big dumb one's whose view never changes," he smiled.

Confused, her questioning look prodded an explanation.

"You know, they're the dogs in the back of the team..." he watched to see if he'd made it clear enough. "Their view never changes..."

Her expression was blank. She was still not getting it.

"All they ever see is the ass of the dog in front of them?" He smiled sheepishly at his failed humor.

"Sir!" she feigned shock and amusement with his joke. She laughed softly, her fingertips toying with the chain of her dog tags as she smiled broadly. "Have you had him long?"

"Since before I was assigned to the Truman," Dunn sat his fork down and dispensed with any pretense of eating. "When I was deployed, my parents kept him." He sighed, his eyes focused in the distance. "Malamutes are incredible animals. You don't own them, you cohabitate with them."

Chewing a bit of meatloaf, Amy's bright-eyed look of curiosity and interest was impossible to miss as she tilted her head slightly.

"They adopt their owners; form a pack with the family." Dunn sipped his water, "You can't, you shouldn't, keep them outside. They won't last long. They need their people."

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