The deployed aircraft tyres squeaked as they kissed the runway of Camp Winston, sending shockwaves ripping through the Airbus.

"Is sad boy sad the plane didn't self destruct on impact?" Wilson teased, earning a coy smile from the Captain before he looked to Roach.

"You wish. I'm as hard to kill as Roach," the Captain retorted almost immediately.

The aircraft door opened, letting in a heatwave of arid air and tracking sand itself of it. It took a second to adjust to before the Captain was on his feet.

"Don't worry lads, you'll get used to it being hotter than Pamela Anderson and dustier than the cobwebs around a geriatric's pussy out here," the Captain joked, they all laughed at the mental image.

Then the laughter stopped and they went back to focusing on the task at hand, unloading and settled into their austere. Their belongings were tucked away inside their massive bergens (military rucksacks) they carried on their backs, following the Captain into their barracks.

As soon as they got settled, tidying away their living space, the Captain stood in front of his team, "we'll be stationed here for four days to adjust before we ship out to FOB (forward operating base) Whiskey."

"If I was you I'd take advantage of-".

"The armoury so you can finally end your pain-".

"No. I was gonna say there's plenty of fast food places you'll be desperate to have once you're forced to survive on bad ol' military scran (food)," he explained.

The team quickly broke off into stuffing their faces with anything and everything they could see, from fried chicken to burritos.

Pheasant and Roach stayed together, when Pheasant spotted a news reporter doing a soundcheck before going live. "Oh this is too perfect," Pheasant grinned deviously.

Roach looked to him with confusion, "what'd you mean?" he asked as the news went live, Pheasant took off his shirt and ran into the background and started to flex his muscles, kissing his biceps while out of sight from the camera Roach was laughing, even the news reporter struggled to keep a straight face.

As the news report ended Pheasant put his shirt back on and returned back to Roach, when suddenly they were approached by the news reporter.

Pheasant couldn't help but ogle her make up skills. She wore minimal makeup which allowed her natural beauty to shine through. Eyes that looked like pools of melted honey under the sunlight, sparkling intensely, warm and welcoming. She wore a dab of blush on the tip of her button nose, her lips were plump and coated with bright red lipstick and her cheeks were contoured perfectly.

To say the least, he was very impressed.

Meanwhile Roach was ogling her for different reasons. Fantastic breasts just his preferred size, plump lips he could wanted all over his body, long locks of ashy blonde hair that flowed flawlessly down her back.

"How'd you get your makeup blended like that?" Pheasant asked, in awe of her.

"I use a beauty blender," she smiled politely.

"Ah," he nodded, "I could never afford those, I'll have to save up for one."

"Oh you simply have to! It's a complete game changer," she effused with delight, Pheasant reflected her brilliant smile, except his were slightly yellowed from smoking whilst hers were pure white.

"Pheasant I think you have somewhere to be," Roach said in a slightly snapped tone, which took Pheasant aback a bit, used to Roach being more submissive.

"Do I?" he asked in innocent confusion.

Roach gritted his teeth, his eyes darting between Pheasant and the reporter, as he hoped Pheasant would get the hint, "yes, yes you do."

"Oh, okay yeah I do," Pheasant said in realisation before he bid the reporter goodbye and went off to find his unit, leaving Roach to flirt, badly, with blondie.

As he walked through the vast expanses of Camp Winston he suddenly heard shouting, jogging towards the sound he saw Captain Riley alongside another soldier rocking a mohawk he didn't recognise, both were doing push ups and both were soaking with sweat and reeked of body odour.

"Go on Captain," Lieutenant Smith, a bald man who's two prominent features was a big, hooked nose and violet eyes, belted out as the Captain pushed himself to his limit, his arms were shaking and he was panting heavily but he refused to accept defeat as his unit encircled him, cheering. In this moment there was no one he'd rather have as a leader than Captain Dennis Riley-a man who would push himself to his limit and then go even further.

"C'mon you para!" another soldier screamed.

Para, Pheasant thought to himself, like fuck am I gonna let a paratrooper best a commando.

Pheasant found himself yelling at the exhausted Captain who, just as he was about to collapse, when the paratrooper hit the ground and rolled over, gasping for air as his every muscle burned like acid flowed through them.

"Fuck yeah, show 'em how it's done!" Lieutenant Smith blurted as he reached out a hand, pulling the Captain to his feet.

"Fuckin' hell Soap, you've only gone and shown us up," one of the paratroopers slapped the back of his sweat soaked head, he shook his hand clean before eyeing Captain Riley, "we still crushed it on the pull ups though," he said with a vicious snap.

Pheasant shot Soap a look, now he was stood up he could see his face clearly. Clean shaven, he likes to obey some rules, but with a clipped short mohawk, he also obviously likes to be a break others. Through his sweat soaked olive green shirt Pheasant could see the imprint of Soap's six pack, which was delicious to say the least.

Maybe he could be the top to his bottom.

"What are you looking at bootneck?" Soap panted, shooting Pheasant a weak glare.

"A body built like a Greek God," he said with a cheeky wink, Soap couldn't help but laugh with a roll of his piercing blue eyes.

"Rematch, tomorrow," a paratrooper said, lingering behind as the rest walked off.

"You're on," Captain Riley nodded, letting the last paratrooper walk away.

"You loooove him," Chief Petty Officer Simon Cermac, a freckled and pasty ginger man, teased as he elbowed Pheasant's side, speaking in his thick Manchester accent that had been diluted by staying in Lympstone for months of training, Pheasant only blushed, "it's dead easy to see."

"Fuck off," he said sheepishly.

"Sad boy meet lover boy," Cermac said as he brought the Captain over.

"You sleep with the paratrooper and I'll personally shove my boot up your arse sideways," the Captain announced, Pheasant laughed while Riley maintained a stony expression.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he asked.

"No."

Then Riley grabbed Pheasant, digging his knuckles into Pheasant hair and messing with it, "but, if you do fuck him, don't use lube-I want him to not be able to sit down for a week."

Meanwhile Roach had miraculously got the reporter up against the wall, roughly kissing her neck to the sound of her relieved moans. He fiddled with the back of her bra strap, eventually unhooking it as she shoved him backwards, where he landed on her bed.

"I want you to fuck me deep," she commanded.

"My kind of girl," Roach smirked.

"Turn around," she said, Roach, with all the hesitance of a deer about to cross a busy road, done so. He heard the sound of clothes dropping and the bed creaking, and when she told to look back around he eagerly obeyed.

He saw her naked on the bed, her thighs spread wide apart to reveal her pinkish genitals complete with small, neat flaps and an engorged clitoris, as well as a heart shaped patch of pubic hair.

Blood rushed out of his brain at the incredibly erotic scene laid before him, he struggled to find the right words to say as inside of his boxers his cock was hardening, poised and ready. Breath came to him in almost foaming at the mouth rabid pants.

Quickly he fumbled to unzip his trousers before he took out his member, upon sight the reporter smiled eagerly, an overwhelming tingling emitted from it-his nerve endings were hypersensitive at the tip of his swollen penis that procured a whitish droplet.

Taking steps over to the reporter Roach found himself struggling to contain himself, his lust consuming his entire being as he met with the reporter; who's mouth was level to his cock.

Acting purely on instinct, and without thinking, she thrust his cock inside the warm wetness of her mouth, her tongue rolling around it and coating it in saliva. She worked his penis with precision, delicately teasing the tip before taking it back deeper into her throat where the tightness and their moans brought him even closer to cumming.

He flipped her around, changing positions so he could last longer.

"Ravish me," she said breathlessly as both their hands tugged at hot flesh like animals.

"With pleasure," he said lowly.

"But put on a condom," she said to the annoyed groan of Nikolai.

"Do you want to be a dad?" she snapped.

"No," he sighed.

"Then stop being a little bitch and put one on," she said, Roach couldn't help but laugh at her bluntness as he put one on.

Once he was inside of her she started to slowly grind her curvaceous hips against his own. Their sweating bodies slapped together, hot and heavy, and Roach wished this could last forever. 

After switching positions thrice to make sure he didn't cum too fast he came into his condom as they both came together, throwing the condom in the bin he put a cigarette between his teeth and raised a lighter to it.

"You can't smoke in here."

"Shit," he grumbled as he lowered the lighter flame away from the cigarette, he stepped outside and lit up there, leaning against the wall of the building.

After a few minutes of smoking alone he was approached by Pheasant, "thought I could smell a fag," he joked.

"I think I can see a fag," Roach teased.

Pheasant laughed, "I'm gonna report you for a hate crime you bigot!" he snapped sarcastically to the amused Roach, who merely rolled his eyes.

"You wanna come watch us play that knife game with the paratroopers? We've been sparring with them nearly all day," Pheasant explained.

"Sure," Roach said as he took another drag from his cigarette before Pheasant noticed his messy hair and lipstick stains on his lips and neck and nudged him in the ribs.

"Did you get lucky you dog?" he teased.

"You know it mate," Roach answered as he wore a shy smile and deepening pink blush, never one to tell.

"Can't believe the world's worst flirt pulled for a second time in a week," Pheasant poked fun at his brother in arms.

"I guess my luck has changed, so what's this about a knife game?".

"You stick the knife between the fingers and go faster and faster," Pheasant explained, earning a deep belly laugh from Roach.

"Seriously? That sounds insane, with any luck the paratroopers will get stabbed!" Roach exclaimed.

"Fingers crossed," Pheasant laughed as he led Roach over to the table where the paratroopers and commandos were playing the knife game.

However, for a moment, Pheasant and Roach stared into the backdrop. The sun blazed in a tropical orange, illuminating the thin, wispy clouds that were the same colour orange that floated through the pinkish reddish sky. It looked beautiful, breathtaking.

"Woah," Roach said in awe.

"Welcome to the desert," Pheasant said simply.

They took their seats around the table, a paratrooper was stabbing in between Lance Corporal Max Harrow's fingers, building up the speed as he continued to avoid stabbing Harrow's fingers.

Until he didn't.

Slicing off a clean piece of skin from the side of his fingers the commandos skin, causing the commandos to lose their collective minds.

"See that, you guys can't aim for shit, pay the fuck up right now!" Captain Riley exclaimed, meanwhile Roach was eyeing the open wound that was started to bleed a little too much for him.

"He should see a medic Captain, where's Heaven?," Roach spoke up as one of the paratroopers begrudgingly slammed down a pound coin on the table.

"So they can kiss it better? 'Tis but a scratch," the Captain retorted, the Monty Python reference earning a dry chuckle from Pheasant as Harrow squeezed his finger to stem the bleeding.

"I'm here," Chief Petty Officer Charlotte Heaven chirped up as she jogged up the table, brushing back chestnut coloured flyaways as she wore a helpful, ready smile, "what's happened now? Someone stuck their knob inside a vacuum?" her shoulders juddered as she laughed at her own joke.

Cermac and Ghoul lifted Harrow up onto their shoulders as the rest of their commando unit cheered louder and louder, drowning out the groans of the paratroopers while the commandos as they jumped about in celebration.

Meanwhile Pheasant simply ogled Soap ravenously, drinking up his muscles.

"How about we have one last fight, the fight that decides who's the winner and who's the loser?" a paratrooper asked.

Captain Riley nodded, "sure, it'll be fun to kick your arse again."

"I pick Soap to fight that guy," the paratrooper said, jabbing a finger at Pheasant.

"Pheasant?! Dude's built like a weed, no offence mate, it's not a fair fight," the Captain exclaimed.

"I got this," Pheasant soothed, squaring to Soap, staring up at his stern face and into his baby blue eyes.

Cermac and Ghoul put Harrow down and the two enemies, the commandos and the paratroopers, encircled the two fighters.

"You're quite fit, if we weren't about to fight I would deffo kiss you," he said, Soap quirked a confused brow and took a slight step back, one of the soldiers pushed them back together while Captain Riley watched with amusement.

"What's wrong babe? Scared to kiss the most beautiful man on the base? Aren't you man enough?" Pheasant smirked, Soap threw his hands up.

"Fuck this, I quit," he said, shoving out of the circle.

Before he knew it Pheasant was scooped up off his feet by his team, they held up him in the air and cheered loudly, "he forfeited, he forfeited, we win!" Cermac yelled while the paratroopers futilely cried for a rematch, "you said one last fight, and that's what just happened, he pussied out like the pussytrooper he is-it's over".

"We are the champions my friends," Heaven belted our the Queen lyrics, Pheasant fiddled for his lighter and sparked it alight as they swayed, "and we'll keep on fighting till the end".

They sung all the way back to their barracks, carrying Pheasant before dropping him at the entrance.

"Someone get this man a beer!" Riley yelled out, Smith procured a can of Fosters that Pheasant feigned liking as he took hesitant sips of it, his face twisting at the mere taste of it on his tongue. Ever since the age of fourteen, where he'd be drinking out in the street late at night from a bottle he got one of the local homeless men to buy, he'd tried to like the taste of beer, and five years later he still didn't.

"Oh give it here," Ghoul said, snatching the beer and chugging it down in one quick gulp, "never known someone who loves absinthe to hate the taste of beer."

"Listen up!" Captain Riley said.

"Enjoy these days, because when they're gone you'll wish they'd come back. What lies ahead is not easy. It's a dangerous path we've all chosen, and I know that first hand, but all we need is loyalty. You might've joined to protect your country but you'll stay to protect your brothers in arms," he began, making sure every marine was looking at him.

"Remember when you want to quit how far you've come. I'm honoured to serve alongside some of the bravest people in the world. So never give up on your brothers, because they're all you'll have at the end of the day."

"Now we might joke around with the paratroopers but at the end of the day they are one of us. And our loyalty extends to them as well because they are our brothers. We're all fighting the same battle, and sometimes we'll help one another out out of loyalty."

"That said," the Captain cleared his throat, "pussytroopers can eat my entire arse!".

The barracks erupted into cheers as Pheasant retorted, "mine too, especially that Soap, he could get it," to the amusement of the commandos.

After the cheers died down they retired to their bunk beds, Pheasant has the bunk above Lance Corporal Martin Briggs, a black man from Leeds with a head of tight Afro curls.

"Pheasant, what you did today was legendary."

"Cheers mate."

"Shut the fuck up and some sleep," Smith snapped.

And so they did.