(NSFW) Swayback and Jackson II

	Stopping outside the docks, Jackson looked at Swayback before yawning slightly. It had been a long few days, and he was getting tired. Opening the door for his companion, he looked at Swayback oddly when she caught his hand.

	"What?" he asked, giving his free arm a little shake. "Afraid I'm going to disappear into some great pack of Devil Dogs?"

	Swayback just shot him a hard look. "The docks aren't *just* good for us ships. I've heard it through the coconut telegraph that it helps people too."

	"I'm flattered, but I kinda need to sleep tonight. We've got a lot of PMC to do tommorow."

	"Ten minutes, Jackson, is all I ask."

	Jackson thought hard about it. On one hand, girl, inviting him into baths and as a direct result nudity. On the other hand, girl, inviting him into baths and as a result direct nudity. It was a distinct, Navy-flavored trap of epic proportions, a double-blind that would either lead him to a NJP or heaven, depending on-

	"For fucks sake..."

	With a tug, Swayback yanked Jackson in after her, almost slamming the door to hide the fact she was taking a very male Marine into an area that everyone had made sure was a very female area. After a few shakes of the arm to check if Jackson had locked up on shock, she started leading him to the Cruiser Bath changing room. Thankfully, there were little privacy screens there- ducking behind one, Swayback shuddered as she thought about what she was doing. She'd considered finding a man before, but it was always such a permanent thing. Shipgirls might be the sort to not mind the bonds of others (leading to any an awkward scene) but once made the ties they had were like iron. Still, Jackson was a good man. Lord knew she'd enough trouble finding those, these days.

	On the other side of the curtain, Jackson himself was slowly stripping off his layers of equipment, thinking thoughts to himself darkly. Two solid days of fighting in the same clothes had caked him in the grime of war. Each clip dropped dirt to the floor, each strap shedding dirt. He had to remember to change, sometimes, and refresh himself from under the layers left upon him by other circumstances. As he set the plate carrier down, his fatigues followed it, the blues and browns of the camouflage obscured by the mud and oily blood he'd been dunked in so much. Under the fatigues, an old wicking shirt was thrown on to the pile, revealing Jackson in all his battered glory. Moving out, he heard a shower going, for some odd reason.

	"These are Eastern style baths." Jackson heard Swayback say through the curtains. "You're expected to soak, so it's generally good manners to wash off the worst of the grime."

	"I'll be along in a minute, then. Plate carrier got stuck." Jackson explained, the lie slipping off his tongue easily. Looking over himself one last time, he felt his hands and the cold bit of gold on his left. She'd been dead the better part of two years, now- dead in the San Diego raids. He'd worn the plain gold band out of memory, out of respect. Now... now it was time to move on. Placing the oil and grease-coated memento in the pocket of his cammies, Jackson stepped out and into the showers. Grabbing the coarse soap, he set the head to full blast and started cleaning up the grease on his body. As the black soot and mud went down the drain, a myriad network of scratches and cuts started to show on his battered body. Finally finding himself clean, Jackson took a minute to rinse, and then went to the bath.

	Waiting in the bath, Salt Lake City nervously kicked her legs. Jackson wasn't running off, right? That shower wasn't to throw her off the trail while he frantically grabbed a Zodiac and back to the LPD out past the lagoon, he *was* coming to her. These thoughts chased each other around her head, until she finally saw him enter.

	The first thing she noticed was the hair. Jackson wasn't one of those sailors who was sleek as a seal, and coniving as one too. He was shaggy, matted black hair covering most of his body, trying to hide himself behind a masculine coat. Under the hair was skin, crisscrossed in red and black, from cuts and bruises. Infantry was a skilled trade and a full-body activity, and he wore the injuries of it well, not letting the bruises or cuts slow him down. Proud muscles stood out against his skin, their form designed not for fashion but for work. He excluded that unsculpted power, and made it his. Sliding in, he sighed quietly, eyes trying not to take in the entirety of his new friend and failing miserably.

	In Jackson's defense, he was looking at a work of art. Swayback had been built long ago for speed, sleek and trim, yet still carrying a frightful armament. Without her guns, she was trim and fit, body gracefully moving through the water that was her natural home. A thin waist and pert breasts were her most feminine features, with a light dusting of the same brown hair gracing the few places a woman would have it. Gymnasts and models would have killed for that grace and economy of motion she implied to have with her very presence, something she proved she had in full as she kicked off to approach the sitting Jackson.

	"You're hurt." Swayback said, fingers tracing a fresh slice across Jackson's lower ribs. Under the water, the red line seemed almost surreal.

	"Spear's will do that." he replied, brushing a strand of hair out of his friend's face. "You said you came here to rest, didn't you. Sit down, relax."

	Trying to settle down, Swayback hemmed and hawed, nervously twitching every once and a while until Jackson pulled her into a hug. It didn't seem like a lot- just a gesture of friendliness, something to help. Still, as he held her, Swayback's twitches settled down, until she leaned into Jackson's chest.

	"I'm sorry." she said, quietly. "We nearly lost a girl today."

	"I figured." Jackson said, stroking Swayback's hair. "But nearly isn't a cause to morn. Nearly is a reason to celebrate life, no matter how much we might have left."

	Smiling, Swayback brushed her eyes, before wrapping an arm around Jackson's neck. Reaching up, she guided him into a kiss. The first one was chaste, two friends acknowledging each other.

	The second was more. A brief touch of the lips, and their tongues were dancing, teasing, playing. Moments later, Jackson reached down, lifting the treaty cruiser so he could look her in the eye.

	"Are you sure?" Jackson asked, looking Swayback in the eye.

	"Very." she replied, before diving in on him again. Consent was given, the olive branch for an end to the affair offered and refused. Jackson's hands began to roam, feeling smooth legs up to a tight ass along a sleek flank. Swayback pried herself higher on strong shoulders, clamping her legs tight around a barrel chest so she could feel the seamount she had claimed with her anchors. As Jackson reached her chest, Swayback reluctantly disengaged from their kiss.

	"I want more." she said breathlessly, holding onto him with an arm to stay steady. "Not here, though; the destroyers fell asleep in their baths. We can't wake them up!"

	"I have a room in the barracks." Jackson said, smiling. "The NCO Quonset is almost empty- nobody will notice!"

	"Then let's go!"

---

	Declining to change into their clothes, the pair garbed themselves in towels and bagged up everything they had brought with a conspiratorial air. It wasn't hard to slip into the Marine quarters, considering the Navy MPs on the island were all half-asleep and the Marines were all on perimeter detail. Once inside, they slipped into Jackson's room with narry a whisper, diving on the bed to continue their fun.

	As Swayback landed first, Jackson treated her to a pressing kiss, before working his way south. Teasing her nipples temporarily, he finally moved down to her snatch, licking it carefully. Gulping loudly before panting, Swayback grabbed on to Jackson with her legs, holding him in place. Her partner wasn't dettered, though, and pressed forward until she was about to cry out.

	"My turn," muttered Swayback as she pushed him up and off, snaking in to rub her breasts on his chest before a powerful kiss. It was a careful tango she danced to land him on the bed now, and his erect member stood up like a flagpole. Smiling, she planted herself on it firmly, gasping out "mine!" before daring to move.

	"No." Jackson said, putting his hands on her hips and sitting himself up before biting into Swayback's shoulder, making his mark. "*MINE*"

	"Prove it!" the cruiser gasped, lifting herself up, only to get guided back down. Jackson filled her from her lips to her core, and with one smooth movement took it away, thrusting back in with the force of a main long constrained.

	"Ain't no substitute for the real thing," Jackson muttered, hearing his lover gasp. "Now, time for the fun stuff!"

	Each thrust by itself rocked Swayback's world. A part, a distant part, asked 'wasn't this supposed to hurt?' in inquiry, but the rest of her didn't care. Jackson was making her feel like never before, and she wanted to scream, cry out, rejoice. Orgasm neared, her body telling her that it would all peak soon, and when she did the urge to share the joy was overwhelming. Yet, in a part of her, she knew this was secret, and secret it must stay. Diving forward, she clamped her jaws on Jackson's collar, and then it broke and she sang her joys.

	Bruised, bleeding, and alltogether exhausted from lovemaking, Jackson climaxed with Swayback, and held her as he fell back onto the sheets. Ignoring her mark and his, he drowsily stroked the head of his lover and pulled a sheet over them. She'd passed out, he was nearly unconscious. As the two drifted off to sleep, both wore peaceful smiles.