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Stress Relief
by Lianne Burwell
July 2004
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People were taking one look at Carl's face and getting out 
of his way as unobtrusively as possible. Word was probably 
already tearing through the Farm that the Ironman was in a 
bad mood; stay out of his way. Carl might have been amused 
if he wasn't so damned pissed off.

Part of him wanted to find a quiet corner where no one else 
would find him to fume, but that would be sulking, and Carl 
Lyons did *not* sulk. No. Instead, what he really wanted to 
do was to hit something, or blow something up. Maybe shoot 
something until it was more holes than anything else.

And right now, that 'something' was named Hal Brognola.

"What the fuck did he think he was putting together, a boy 
scout troop?" Carl muttered to himself. He paused, checking 
just where he was, and decided that he was close enough to 
the armory that he might as well do some target shooting. 
Maybe he could find a picture of Hal to paste on the paper 
target.

The target range was mostly deserted, and the few people 
who were there seemed to disappear quickly. Just the way 
Carl liked it. He went for the gun with the heaviest kick 
in the store, and signed for a box of bullets. A ridiculous 
ceremony, considering their business, but required.

He checked the gun carefully, not because he didn't trust 
the armory master, but because it was a potentially life-
saving habit to have when out in the field, then loaded it. 
Ear protectors went on, then he punched a command into the 
control panel to lower a paper target. He lifted the gun, 
and started shooting. Each bullet followed the last in a 
smooth succession.

Even through the protectors, the din was almost deafening. 
He had to brace himself to keep the gun on target, and he 
knew that his wrists were going to ache the next day. Carl 
didn't care. His lips drew back and he growled softly. It 
was almost orgasmic.

Finally, the hammer hit an empty chamber. The gun was 
empty. Breathing heavily, Carl lowered the weapon, a little 
of the tension disappearing from his back. He punched a 
button, and the paper target came down the track, 
fluttering lightly in the air conditioning.

There was a single bullet hole between the eyes of the 
human-shaped outline, and one in the heart. And a large 
ragged hole lower down where the groin would have been.

"Someone's in a foul mood, I see."

Carl brightened up automatically as he turned around. 
"Considering I just got chewed out by Hal for doing my job, 
I've got a right to be," he told Konzaki as he carefully 
broke down the gun for cleaning. Again, it wasn't something 
he needed to do here, but it was a habit that could save 
his life in the field.

Andrej Konzaki was in his wheelchair, which told Carl he'd 
come straight from his workshop, where he found it more 
comfortable to work with his prosthetics off. "I heard," he 
said. From who, Carl wondered, not sure if he wanted to 
thank that person of call them an interfering busybody.

"Just because that CIA politician threw a fit..."

Andrej chuckled, and Carl shivered briefly. They'd only 
known each other for a couple of months, and had only been 
lovers for a few weeks, but Carl found himself so tuned to 
the man that it was uncanny. All it took was a look, and 
Carl wanted to howl at the moon.

"I heard about that too. If it's any consolation, I had to 
deal with Parles a few years back. He's completely 
ineffective. Rumor has it that the only reason he keeps his 
job is because his family has a lot of political clout, and 
he was shipped overseas because no one wanted to deal with 
him in Washington. He's been bounced from field office to 
field office since then."

Carl growled, his ire rising again at the name of the CIA 
officer who'd been a major thorn in their side during their 
mission in Cairo. "How the hell did he think we were going 
to stop the terrorists from blowing up US planes? Ask them 
politely?"

Andrej held up a hand. "Easy there. I agree completely. 
When time's an issue, and you're sure that the guy has the 
information you need to save lives, you get that 
information however you have to. And Brognola knows it 
too."

"You could have fooled me," Carl said, slamming down the 
now clean pistol.

Andrej waited while he turned in the pistol and the 
remaining ammunition, signing where he was told to. 
Together, they headed for the elevators up to the ground 
level.

Stony Farm was an actual working farm, with nothing to make 
any lost drivers suspicious. The blacksuits who provided 
security also worked the farm, dressed like ordinary 
farmhands, and carefully steered away the lost or the 
curious.

To keep that illusion, the critical parts of the farm were 
hidden inside normal-appearing out-buildings, and below 
ground, with the main house serving as living quarters and 
meeting spaces. Carl had seen plans to expand the 
subterranean facilities, but they hadn't gotten the go-
ahead from the White House yet. Since they weren't 
officially on the books, funding could be dicey. On the 
other hand, they also didn't have to report to congress, 
which was an acceptable trade-off in his books.

They stopped briefly at Andrej's workshop so that he could 
put on his prosthetics, then the man led the way out to a 
waiting jeep. A large, mysterious box sat in the back, but 
Andrej just gestured for Carl to get behind the wheel.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon, which made it difficult 
for Carl to hang on to his bad mood. It was cool and 
breezy, unlike Cairo, and the smell of living things filled 
the air. Besides, he had his man next to him -- Carl 
snorted at the romance novel style thought -- and no one 
was shouting at him or shooting at him. What more could he 
ask for?

The only words spoken were directions, and Carl quickly 
realized that they were headed for the hillside that was 
being used as an outdoor target range. It was set in an 
isolated corner of the farm, far from any of the hiking 
trails that crisscrossed the mountains in the area. In this 
neck of the woods, the occasional gunfire wouldn't do more 
than raise a few eyebrows, assuming there was anyone around 
to hear it. Although, the local sheriff might ask a few 
questions if he saw what sort of guns were being fired.

Carl parked, and manhandled the box out of the back of the 
jeep for Andrej, who was already setting up a small folding 
table. Carl waited silently for him to finish. Finally, 
Andrej unlocked the box and lifted the lid.

Carl gave a long whistle. Inside was a cornucopia of 
firearms, along with boxes of ammunition. Everything Carl's 
destructive little heart could want, with a hillside to 
destroy. Carl started pulling the guns out while Andrej set 
up a number of paper targets. Carl finished first, but 
Andrej waved him off when he moved to help the man.

Finally, everything was ready. Andrej picked up two sets of 
ear protectors. "Ready to work off some aggression?" he 
asked. Carl just grinned.

He picked up a handgun to start with, and emptied it into 
the closest target. By the time he finished, there were 
only a few tatters of paper fluttering in the breeze. He 
handed the gun back to Andrej, and picked up the next, a 
relatively small machine gun.

By the time he'd worked his way up to the grenade launcher, 
the hillside was the worse for wear, but he was feeling 
downright cheerful. Nothing like a little wanton 
destruction to relax you when you were tense. That feeling 
was one of the reasons why he had ended up in the line of 
work he was in. It was probably also one of the reasons why 
he was divorced. Very few women could understand, or 
accept, the urge to blow things up when upset.

"Feeling better?" Andrej asked, packing away the grenade 
launcher. How he managed to get so much into only one 
crate, Carl didn't know. Practice from packing weapons for 
missions, probably.

"Actually, yeah," Carl admitted, taking a deep breath. 
Fresh air, tinged with cordite and gunpowder; what could be 
better? Only one other thing...

Andrej knew him too well already. There was a bag in the 
back of the jeep that Carl hadn't noticed. Inside was a 
blanket, and a few other necessary things. Carl grinned, 
and helped spread the blanked. Sex, al fresco; just what he 
was in the mood for.

Carl stripped quickly, then tackled Andrej to the ground. 
Carefully, of course. He didn't even give the man the 
chance to take his own clothing off; it was too much fun to 
do it himself.

He ran light fingers over the heavily-muscled chest, 
enjoying the crisp curls that tried to trap his fingers. 
Between his job and his so-called disability, Andrej had 
the best developed upper body Carl had ever seen. Broad 
shoulders and bulging biceps that looked like they could 
break a man in two. he was a little soft around the belly, 
though, making him even more cuddly.

He gave into a wicked urge, and started licking the man's 
love-handles, and quickly had him laughing. He liked making 
Andrej laugh. Better yet, he liked making him hard, which 
he already was. "Is this for me?" he asked, looking up at 
Andrej.

"Roll over and you'll find out," Andrej said with a grin.

Carl felt like whooping as he did just that. He moved to 
lie on his side, facing away from his lover.

"Arms over your head," Andrej ordered, and Carl quickly 
obeyed. Then giggled as Andrej started to stroke his side 
in long sweeps. A tweak of his nipple turned the giggle 
into a gasp though.

Neither one of them was in the mood for long foreplay, 
though. Carl moved his top leg forward, and Andrej spread 
chilly lube in place. And then there was that long 
delicious push.

"Harder," Carl demanded.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you," Andrej promised.

And he did just that. In this position, he had all the 
leverage he needed. When he went into overdrive, it was 
like a jackhammer pounding Carl's ass, almost too strong to 
bear. And those hands Carl was so obsessed with, they 
started milking him, working to drive him wild.

If there was any wildlife left in the area after the 
earlier gunfire, Carl's shout when he came would have 
driven them away. Then he moaned and relaxed into the 
ground, still twitching slightly. He was basking in the 
afterglow when he realized that Andrej was still hard.

"Ready for round two?" Andrej whispered in his ear.

He didn't wait for an answer.

>>>~~~<<<

The next morning, Carl was wincing as he sat down to 
breakfast with his partners. The two were exchanging 
knowing grins, but Carl ignored them. Sore or not, Carl was 
feeling too good to care. In fact, he felt too damned good 
to even glare when Hal came into the room.

"I just received a communiqué from Striker," he said 
without more than a glance at Carl -- A cautious glance, 
Carl was pleased to see. "There's a new mission already, 
and he's asked specifically for Able Team. Are you ready to 
go?"

"Do we have time to eat?" Gadgets asked mournfully, looking 
at his full plate. Carl's stomach grumbled its agreement.

"A hot meal will be waiting for you on the plane," Hal said 
briskly. "We need you to be moving now. Konzaki is already 
loading the plane with all the gear you should need."

Chairs scraped against the floor as three men pushed back 
from the table simultaneously, Carl grabbing a couple 
pieces of toast and some sausages as he did so.

Hal gave him a long look as he went past, but didn't say 
anything. The wrinkle between his eyes twitched. Carl just 
grinned at him, causing the man's frown to deepen further.

Life was good.

THE END