Title: Desert Yule
Fandom: Jarhead
Author: Jo
Pairing: Swofford/Troy
Rating: PG13
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and the boys are far from home.
Disclaimer: Repeat after me - this is fiction.
Notes: For cucumberstar as part of the Jarhead Fic Christmas Fic Swap. She wanted Swofford and anyone with the Santa hat thrown in. Hope this is good for you, babe! :) Movie-verse.


"Just the damn flares," Swoff growled as he lowered his rifle, staring up in disgust at the bright spots blooming in the sky.

Once over his initial hair-trigger reaction, Troy grinned. "You'd prefer it if the Iraqis were bombing us?" he laughed, his own rifle pointed down by his side.

"Least it'd be something," Swoff replied, pausing long enough to glare at Troy as he turned to stalk back into the tent.

The glare just made Troy smirk as he followed Swoff. Looked like it was time to go back to the party.

Then again…maybe not.

With something that was close to, but not quite, amusement, Troy watched Swoff shove the other guys back out into the cold dark. There was some good-natured grumbling, but no one tried to stick around. Well, no one but Fowler, and even he got the hint when Swoff drew back his fist.

"Party over then?" Troy asked, reaching to flip off the boombox sitting by his feet. The sudden cessation of blaring music was deafening. Another dark look came his way, but Troy was immune to them by now.

"How the hell…what…fuck!" The last word was delivered at a scream as Swoff stalked across the tent. He snatched off his Santa hat (well, the one on his head, anyway) and tossed it onto a nearby bunk.

Dropping onto the same bunk, Troy watched Swoff pace. Easy enough to know what was eating him, really. Swapping watch with Fergus was one thing. They all did it. Hell, he'd done it himself, and more than once. But the booze, the party, Fergus trying to burn the camp down (with a damn sausage of all things!)…that was something else entirely.

Sieks was, not to put too fine a point on it, going to have Swoff's ass. And not in a good way. Which was, Troy decided as he continued to watch Swoff pace, a shame. It was such a nice ass. And displayed to great advantage by the little string and Santa hat number Swoff had devised. And where had he come up with that idea, anyway?

"Nice outfit," Troy drawled, smirking as Swoff paused in mid-step, almost stumbling. That got your attention, didn't it?

"Fuck you," was the almost immediate reply.

"You wanna?"

"What?" Swoff's head whipped around so fast that Troy was amazed he hadn't injured himself. Big blue eyes stared at him in shock.

"I said…ah, fuck it. Nevermind." Shifting on the bunk, Troy patted the thin mattress by his hip. "C'mere."

He leaned back on one elbow, waited for Swoff to flop down. The hat flipped over on his thigh as he sat, and Troy took a moment (just a moment, mind) to appreciate Swoff in all his pink-skinned and black-haired glory.

"He's gonna kill me," Swoff mumbled, falling back, one arm covering his eyes.

"Nah," Troy said, rolling onto his hip to face Swoff. "Worst he'll do is give you shit duty."

Swoff muttered at that, and Troy laughed. "You know it's true. And you know you deserve it."

"Fuck you," Swoff said again, voice muffled as he turned his face against his arm.

"You keep offering," Troy murmured, and smiled. Swoff just needed to be distracted for a little while. So he reached out to run one finger across the top of Swoff's thigh up to his groin. It was satisfying to watch Swoff's cock twitch at the delicate touch.

"Yeah?" The word was soft, faintly strained, and Troy looked up to find eyes dark with lust watching him.

"You wanna?" And even as Swoff reached for him, Troy couldn't resist one last jibe. "After all, not gonna let you near me after you start smelling like diesel fuel and shit."

"Bastard," Swoff growled, before using his own method to make Troy stop talking. And that, Troy thought, was just fine with him.


~fin~