"Target acquired," Roach said, eyes sliding to the target, narrowed and focused.

"Do you have a clear shot on them?" Pheasant asked in usual prim and proper posh inflection, a voice which sounded perpetually polite-like a receptionist for the Ritz Carlton.

Roach let out a low chuckle, "lets just drop the jargon. We just finished training and I need a bloody break," he admitted, uttering a tired sigh that released some tension in his shoulders.

Roach and Pheasant were sat on wooden chairs, their trainers resting against the carpeted floor, surrounded by the noise of bustling of the crowds as they sipped on the frothy heads of their beers from within the confines of the old style pub.

Roach had been eyeing up a curvaceous woman, a stereotypical blonde bombshell, who so far had shot down every Marine that approached her only to laugh with her friend about it, and in Lympstone she had more than her fair share of Marines to choose from-only making him more determined to pull her, she was the sun he dare not touch.

"Okay, okay," Pheasant said as he threw his hands up, amused laughter escaping his lips as he leaned back in his chair, dog tags gleaming in the low light.

"Want me to go over or you?".

"You. You know the plan," Roach said firmly, Pheasant nodded and shot him a wink.

Pheasant approached the brunette friend, wearing a confident smile which lit up his features as he brushed his dreaded mohawk from his baby blue eyes, "wanna do some shots?" he asked.

The woman shot him a sly, calculated look. Like a cat toying with a mouse, "only if you're buying."

"Of course," he said as took up a seat next to her, "what's your poison?" he asked, still wearing his confident smile.

"Green fairy," she spoke in a smirking voice.

Pheasant quirked a surprised, but impressed, brow.

"That's my kind of girl," he spoke in triumphant awe, "I could sit here for hours talking about the times I got drunk on absinthe," he laughed, now it was her time to lift a brow with intrigue.

"Try me," the brunette said, still smirking.

Soon they were born laughing as he recounted stories of sharing his absinthe during his sixth form art exam with the other students and even the teacher. At first it was just a little giggling snort, but quickly it deepened into ripping belly laughs as they worked their way through every absinthe cocktail on the pub's menu. 

And the plan was working brilliantly. Through out the night the blonde bombshell kept glancing over with thinly veiled jealousy.

Now it was Roach's time to shine.

He walked over in a calm stride, having noticed the marines full of bravado were the ones who got shot down the quickest. Sliding over to her he simply smiled at her, not confidently but causally. Roach was never one for false pretences, it was what made him so charmingly down to earth. 

As he gazed into her eyes he got lost in them. Juxtaposing her cold and classy appearance her eyes were soft, fragile and warm.

And inside their beautiful confines he failed to find words to initiate a conversation, much to the amusement of the blonde bombshell, "cat got your tongue little doggie?" she spoke, her words so inflected with elegance that he didn't register it as a teasing jab for a moment.

"Oh I, um-."

"Don't worry, it's nice change from bragging marines," the blonde laughed airily, "what's your name?".

"Gary," the recruit said, knowing a nickname like Roach would hardly have woman tearing down his door.

"Mine's Lacey," the woman said cheerfully, "buy me a drink Gary?".

Roach smiled, "I thought you'd never ask."

Meanwhile Pheasant was putting away drinks with the brunette, they were on their seventh round of shots; the brunette was telling him about the time she got so drunk she puked on a friend's pillow, then simply flipped the pillow over so she could sleep on the clean side, which had Pheasant's sides hurting from the loud outbursts of laughter.

Soon Roach was inviting Lacey out for a smoke, an excuse to get her alone, while Pheasant and his girl watched them leave.

"C'here," the brunette said as she grabbed Pheasant's face and pulled him into a kiss, her hands grabbed at the back of his head to deepen the kiss before he pulled away, tongue tied with embarrassment.

"What's wrong?".

"I'm...I'm not into girls."

"Oh my God I'm so sorry I thought you were!" the brunette blurted out frantically as she watched him scrub off the lipstick stains on his plump lips.

"It's fine, it's fine really," Pheasant beamed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as a blush deepened on his cheeks.

"Okay, let me buy you a shot to apologise," the woman said, her brows still crinkled with worry as she forced a polite smile.

"Well, only if you insist," he chimed, earning a laugh from the woman, who was only now beginning to relax as she called for another round and slammed a note down on the bar to pay for it.

"I noticed your dog tags," she said, "guessing you're a marine."

"Yeah. I'm a commando," he said honestly.

"Are you an officer? You sound too posh to be a soldier."

Pheasant chuckled, "I'm not a Rupert (officer), thank fuck."

"Where'd you get that royal accent then?" she asked, carefully prying.

"My mum loves Queen, so I grew up listening to Freddie Mercury and, I guess, since he sounded posh so do I."

The brunette snorted with laughter at his answer, before looking around to see Lacey was still gone, and when Pheasant looked as well he noticed Roach was too. It had been roughly twenty minutes since they left for a fag, both the brunette and Pheasant knew what that meant.

"The bastard got lucky," Pheasant quipped as a smirk crept across his lips.

"What Lacey gets Lacey wants," the brunette laughed as Pheasant dove into his pocket, pulling out a half empty pack of Benson and Hedges Skyblue Superkings, a lighter inside the pack.

"I'm going out for a fag, you want one?" he asked, extending the open pack to her.

She pulled out a long cigarette, "sure," she said warmly before they got to their feet, as they wobbled they both realised how drunk they both were, around them the room spun and they could barely walk at all let alone straight. The brunette clung onto Pheasant for dear life, "I think we should call it a night once we've had this fag."

"Couldn't agree more," Pheasant laughed as they staggered to the exit, Pheasant held open the door that let in an onslaught of freezing winds before they both headed out into the cold and the dark.

Pheasant lit his and hers cigarettes, "well aren't you quite the gentleman? I love it when a man lights my fag," she beamed as she shivered, teeth chattering and body trembling.

"Here, take this," Pheasant said, slithering out of his black leather jacket and carefully placing it around her shoulders.

The brunette snuggled up to him, resting her head against the warmth of his body, as they smoked-Pheasant blowing the occasional smoke ring.

"You okay to get home on your own?" Pheasant asked, earning a chortle from the brunette.

"I think I can get a taxi by myself. Mummy says I'm a big girl now," she teased playfully.

"Be careful taking the piss, I am a commando," he retorted with dry wit, before he threw a few jabs into the air, "my hands are weapons of mass destruction," he cheered, the brunette rolled her eyes.

"Don't give me flashbacks to my brother hogging the remote and making me watch WWE," she sighed heavily, earning an amused chuckle from Pheasant as she took out her phone and called up a taxi.

Soon enough the taxi arrived and they parted ways, sharing a hug before she waved him goodbye from her taxi. Pheasant staggered home, finding an opened bottle of Merlot on the kitchen counter that was accompanied by two glasses, one had lipstick on the rim.

All Pheasant wanted to do now was asleep. And after climbing into bed that's exactly what he did.

The next morning Roach rolled over, as he opened his eyes he saw his bed was empty, the imprint of Lacey's curves left behind the sole reminder of her presence. Getting out of bed, in his boxers, he cleaned his teeth and brushed his unruly, closely cropped head of sandy hair.

The noise of the sink woke Pheasant up, "hey Roach wanna play Call Of Duty?", he asked, calling out from his bedroom.

Roach spit the toothpaste into the sink, "sure!" he cried out as he stepped outside of the bathroom, closing the door behind it.

"Remember tonight you're my wing man in the gay clubs," Pheasant said, walking out into hallway and over to Roach, before the pair of them went downstairs, switching on the television, turning on the Xbox and loading up Call Of Duty World at War.

They sat playing it for a solid six hours before realising the time, it was almost five o'clock.

"I've got to do my makeup!" Pheasant cried before quitting the game, he looked to Roach with pleading puppy dog eyes, "can I do yours?".

"Fine," Roach sighed wearily, back in basic training Pheasant excelled in camouflage and concealment and taught Roach his tricks in exchange for letting Pheasant do Roach's makeup whenever he wanted. He still asked every time though, partly to be polite and partly because he knew Roach would never say no.

Pheasant sat in front of a mirror, sitting there for an hour as he meticulously crafted a design of red and black eyeshadow with yellow eyeliner to create an intense look that burned with raw passion. Finishing off the look with crimson lipstick and long false lashes he then called to Roach to sit in the chair.

Another hour passed and Pheasant's creation had come to life, a complimentary watery look. Blue eyeshadow that grew paler towards the crease and darker further away, blue powder was dusted over his cheeks and Pheasant drew white circles to look like air bubbles underwater.

And so, as fire and water they got a taxi after a few pre drinks beers to get the buzz going, before arriving at their destination: the local gay club.

Even though Roach was here strictly to support his friend and fellow marine he was still shocked by the amount of domineering, older gay men who approached Pheasant for being mixed race or, as they put it, 'exotic' and then got mad with him when he rejected them for being so fetishising and crude.

The more he was approached by borderline racist sex pests the quicker he knocked back his drinks. Meanwhile Roach danced the night away with a drag Queen, trying to encourage Pheasant to dance with them, when the Drag Queen went on stage Roach found himself petting humans wearing dog shaped leather hoods.

When Pheasant was ten shots deep when he was approached by a man wearing a chain link collar with a lock on it, his short hair dyed aquamarine blue whilst his eyes were a lush green-it was a hypnotic combination. Pheasant recognised the boy immediately as someone into the puppy kink scene same as the ones wearing the dog hoods, the collar denoting he was a pup and the lock denoting he had an owner.

"Sorry, not interested," Pheasant slurred to save them both some time.

"Oh no, I wasn't gonna hit on you I was going to ask if you needed a fag? You look like you could use it," he asked innocently, Pheasant's eyes slid over to Roach, who now was belting out lyrics from the karaoke machine, before returning to the man.

"Okay," Pheasant answered, a faint smile flickering across his lips-the man looked slightly younger than him, his eyes were inviting and accommodating.

Pheasant stumbled as he walked like a newborn deer, before he knew it he had fallen across a skip further down the alleyway, as he began to throw up inside of it he felt his trousers being tugged down by the man.

Pheasant began to struggle against the boy, who tore off his trousers and ripped through his underwear, brutally penetrating him without remorse or warning while Pheasant wished for this to be over, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine a happier time but with every painful thrust he was brought back to this dirty, terrifying  moment.

"You actually pulled a guy Derek? Well done," a deeper voice spoke up, "now let master have a turn," he said, Pheasant felt the man pull out as he began to sob helplessly; the smell of the dumpster, the alcohol coursing through his veins and the disgust at this rape all combined to make him throw up.

Meanwhile Roach was on top of the moon. His head was buzzing from the jäger bombs as he stumbled around, searching for Pheasant who was no longer at the bar.

Must've got lucky, Roach thought to himself as he decided to step out and have a cigarette.

When he stepped down the alleyway to light up he heard retching and sobbing, the agonising sounds drawing him closer like a moth to the flame.

Illuminating the alleyway with his lighter Roach saw a half naked Pheasant with tears and vomit smeared across his face as he struggled against his rapists.

Without thinking Roach picked up an almost emptied glass bottle and smashed it over Derek's head, causing blood to pour down his face where the glass had embedded itself deep in his flesh, he took off running as did the other rapist.

"You ever tell anyone you got glassed and I'll rip your fucking throat out with my teeth!" Roach screamed at them before turning his attention to a devastated, trembling Pheasant.

Roach was usually quite submissive, which made his uncharacteristic snap all the more gut wrenching to hear. He shouldn't of had to shout at these monsters, because monsters like these shouldn't exist in the first place.

Tears slid down Pheasant's cold cheeks and he slumped against the skip, weakly attempting to tug his torn trousers up to his waist.

Roach simply dropped to his knees on the grimy floor as Jasper wiped off the vomit and tears, smearing his makeup all across his face, "I'm," Roach struggled to find the right word, "I'm so sorry," he choked out through a tightening throat.

Pheasant looked up to him through tear filled eyes, unable to speak.

"I-I should've been looking out for my best mate-".

Pheasant merely enveloped him in a tight hug, "it's not your fault," he sober.

"Let's go take a rape kit right now, we can get those sickos locked up for good," Roach stressed, the man's voice raw and desperation.

"No."

"No?" Roach retorted, stunned.

"I just want to forget about it and move on. Nothing is jeopardising my career and no one is looking at me as a victim," Pheasant spoke in a dead serious expression and tone.

"Roach," Pheasant said in a small voice, "just take me home."

Roach took off his jacket and wrapped it around Pheasant's waist so he was decent before getting a taxi back home.

The first thing the man did was take a shower to wash away the dirty feeling. Except no matter how much Pheasant scrubbed every inch of his body it had still been violated. Nothing could change that.

He stepped out of the shower to find Roach had made him a liquorice and honey tea, his favourite, he slowly reached for it before cupping it close to his face.

He looked to Roach and said softly, "thank you."

"You've got my bed, I'll sleep on the sofa," Roach smiled, Pheasant merely nodded as Roach sat besides him, Pheasant rested his head against Roach's shoulder and allowed his eyes to close when Roach draped an arm over Pheasant's shoulder, who only felt safe enough to sleep in his presence.

But Pheasant still cried himself to sleep that night, quiet tears slipping down his cheeks that Roach swiped as they fell.

He didn't like to see tears ruin such a pretty face.