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A Pause in the Fight
by Lianne Burwell
May 2001
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"Home, James," Mack quipped tiredly as he climbed into the 
small corporate jet, stinking of gun-powder, sweat and 
blood. Grimaldi could see a bruise darkening the side of 
his face where a blow from the butt of a gun had knocked 
him cold only a few hours earlier. On the horizon, the sky 
glowed red from the flames that were burning the home camp 
of the Rising Sons militia. Even at this distance, Grimaldi 
could hear the sirens of the police and fire departments 
from the nearby town, racing the scene. He knew what they 
would find: dead bodies, burning buildings and a few, 
dejected survivors, tied up out of the reach of the flames. 
Mack Bolan had lived up to his nickname once more.

As for the proof that the militia was planning to bomb 
several courthouses and the state legislatures... nothing 
was left except for the suspicious intensity of the fire. 
No one would be charged with a crime, but that didn't 
matter. What did matter was that this particular militia's 
back had been broken and they wouldn't be causing trouble 
anytime soon.

Jack Grimaldi put in a call to the controller of the tiny, 
private airstrip, then put the jet into motion. Two minutes 
later, they were in the air, heading for home.

He glanced over at his passenger, in the co-pilot's seat 
with his eyes shut, and winced. Mack looked like he'd been 
through a meat-grinder. He'd seen Bolan in worse shape in 
the nearly two decades since they'd met, but he'd seldom 
seen the man so bone-weary. This was Mack's fifth operation 
in the last two months with little or no downtime between 
missions and it showed. The man looked exhausted, so much 
so that he was in danger of making mistakes. The fatal 
kind.

"The chairs back there fold out into beds," he offered. 
"And there's food in the galley. Why don't you eat 
something and get some rest, Sarge? I'll wake you up when 
we land."

Mack didn't even protest, he just got to his feet and 
carefully staggered his way back. When Jack looked over his 
shoulder a few minutes later, the big man was stretched out 
on one of the seat-beds, his feet hanging over the end and 
snoring.

Jack shook his head. This was ridiculous. Someone was going 
to end up dead if this continued, and he had the gut-
wrenching feeling he knew *who* that would be.

He put the jet into a slow, gentle turn, designed not to 
disturb his sleeping cargo, then switched frequencies to 
make a call.

>>>~~~<<<

Jack ran through the checklist, shutting down the small jet 
before he left his seat to wake Mack up. "Sarge," he said 
softly from just out of reach.

The reaction was expected and immediate. Bolan shot up, his 
gun ready and pointed straight at him. Jack held still, 
waiting for Mack to recognize him.

"Sorry," the big man said a little sheepishly.

"No problem. We're here."

Jack moved past Mack, who was wiping the sleep from his 
eyes, to the exit and lowered the door to become to stairs. 
Mack came up behind him and blinked in surprise. "This 
isn't the Farm," he said, stating the very obvious

"No kidding," Jack replied. The air outside the plane was 
hot, far hotter than spring in the Blue Ridge mountains. It 
was also a lot drier, not surprising, since they were in 
the middle of the desert.

"Where are we?" Mack finally asked.

"Arizona."

Mack blinked. "All right, I'll bite. Why are we in 
Arizona?"  He scanned the horizon as if he expected an 
enemy to come over it at any moment.

Jack headed down the steps and waited for Mack to join him. 
The other man didn't lower his gun or stop scanning the 
horizon as he followed. "We're here so you can have a few 
days off," he said once Mack had joined him on the asphalt. 
He grabbed the edge of the door and swung it up so that it 
locked. As promised, a small golf cart was waiting at the 
small building that doubled as a hanger. He'd been promised 
that by the time they arrived, the main house would be 
ready for them, as well as deserted.

"I can get that at the Farm."

"Really?" Jack said, shaking his head slightly. "Or would 
there be some emergency that just *has* to have your 
personal attention?"

Mack's jaw tightened. "Being here won't stop the 
emergencies."

"No, but you aren't completely out of contact, so if there 
is a *real* emergency, they can get a hold of you. C'mon, 
Sarge. How many of the recent 'emergencies' have come to 
you simply because you're there rather than because you're 
the only person who *can* deal with them?" It was something 
that pissed Jack off, especially since Mack never called 
them on it.

There was no response, other than a tightening of Mack's 
expression. They both knew the answer to that one. The Feds 
could have dealt with the Rising Sons, if not as quickly. 
Even though Mack didn't officially work for the government 
anymore, the White House had a tendency to call on him for 
every little problem, simply because they could. It was 
leading to burnout, but Mack kept going out.

Jack swung into the golf cart and waited for Mack to climb 
in next to him. The man had finally returned his handgun to 
its holster, he noted with relief. "You're exhausted," he 
pointed out gently when the man hesitated at the side of 
the cart. "How long until you get someone killed?" Like 
yourself, he didn't say.

Some of Mack's tension seemed to drain away, and he dropped 
into the passenger seat. "So where are we? Other than 
Arizona, that is."

Jack carefully hid his triumphant smile. Mack was a 
reasonable man, after all. He also had a hatred of letting 
others die on his watch, even though he would willingly 
sacrifice his own life if he had to. "We're about a two 
hour drive from Phoenix, near Sedona" he said, heading for 
the house just barely visible. "The estate belongs to a 
friend of Hal's who owes him a favor. The place has been 
cleared out, so it's all ours for a week."

"A week?" Mack sounded almost horrified. 

"A week," Jack said firmly. "Hal agreed. So did Barbara. 
Unless the end of the world is impending, you have nothing 
to do but sit in the sun and relax. Catch up on the sleep 
you so desperately need. Recharge your batteries."

"A week?"

Jack shrugged. "Personally, I think you need a month, but 
that was asking for too much."

"Shit." Mack rubbed his face, wincing as he touched the 
bruise and the swelling that went with it. "Am I really 
that bad?"

Jack frowned at him. "Take a look in the mirror and tell 
me."

Mack sighed. "Okay, I'm a little... rundown." Jack snorted 
at the understatement. "And I could use some downtime. And 
since we're here, I suppose I should give in with at least 
an imitation of good grace." Jack could see the corner of 
the man's mouth quirking up into a small smile.
 
Grinning himself, Jack brought the cart to a stop in front 
of the large, ornately carved main doors of the sprawling 
ranch-style house. "Well, that's good, Sarge. Now, let me 
show to your room. Once you've gotten a good night's sleep, 
we'll see about getting you fed up. You've lost weight as 
well as gaining bags under the eyes."

Mack looked at his watch. "It's only three in the 
afternoon," he said, quickly converting across time zones.

"So?" Jack gave him his best glare.

Mack put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "All 
right, all right. I could use some sleep, I suppose." The 
comment was a followed by a jaw-cracking yawn, despite his 
nap on the plane.

"Exactly."

>>>~~~<<<

By the time they reached the bedroom -- an interior one 
without windows, for Mack's peace of mind -- the man was 
almost dead on his feet. Jack helped him out of his 
clothes, then tucked him in.

Mack was asleep and snoring before Jack even made it out of 
the room. Smiling, Jack headed for the kitchen to check the 
fridge and cupboards. As promised, they were well stocked 
with enough food for a month. Even with the appetites of 
two large and active men, it should be plenty for one week.

He filled a pitcher with fruit juice and headed back to the 
bedroom. Careful not to make any noise, he placed it and a 
glass on the bedside table where the sleeping man would 
easily find it if he woke up. He was a little tempted to 
crawl in next to the man who was his best friend and very 
occasional lover, but he was too smart to try it. As on-
edge as he was, Mack could seriously hurt him before he 
knew who was there.

Instead he took the golf cart back to the private landing 
strip and maneuvered the plane into the barn/hangar, out of 
the hot sun, and did a more complete check before heading 
back to the house, confident that the plane would start 
again in a week when it was time to head home after their 
little vacation.

Back at the house, he wandered around, exploring the 
premises. To him, the place was palatial, but for the sort 
of money involved, it was a small, family retreat. There 
were *only* seven bedrooms and nearly as many bathrooms, 
clustered in one wing. At the other end of the building was 
a games room with a pool table and a ping-pong table, and a 
well-stocked library. He checked out the pool out back and 
briefly considered taking a dip, but decided that he wasn't 
quite up to being *that* active. Mack wasn't the only one 
in need of some rest, although he wasn't quite as badly 
off.

Instead, he took a cool shower, then picked a mystery novel 
off a shelf in the library and settled down to while away a 
few hours before eating dinner and getting some sleep of 
his own.

>>>~~~<<<

Jack woke the next morning feeling fully rested for the 
first time in weeks. Even when he hadn't been officially in 
the field, he'd been on call to back up Mack or one of the 
teams. Let's face it, being on call twenty-four/seven was 
not designed to allow restful sleep.

He checked on Mack on his way to the kitchen. The man was 
still asleep, but he was shifting in a way that suggested 
he would be awake soon. Of course, there was a way to wake 
him up a little faster. Mack hadn't eaten in more than a 
day, and the smell of cooking bacon was enough to get 
*Jack* going in the morning, so it should work on Mack as 
well. And it was a plan that didn't involve risking life 
and limb. When he was on edge, Mack woke up mean. Of 
course, considering the way he lived his life waking up 
mean was a survival trait, along with sleeping lightly.

In the kitchen, he started pulling food out of the fridge. 
While he wasn't a gourmet chef, he was certainly up to 
bacon and eggs. Maybe an omelet. Then he noticed the 
pancake mix in the cupboard and pulled it out as well. His 
stomach grumbled its approval as he started combining 
ingredients in a series of mixing bowls while the stove 
heated up. The smell was already filling the room.

The pancakes were nearly ready when Mack wandered in 
dressed in just his briefs, wiping the sleep grit from his 
eyes and sniffing the air. He glanced around warily, then 
relaxed. He looked over to the table and raised an eyebrow. 
"Looks like you're expecting the entire Farm to show up," 
he said, eyeing the amount of food set out. "Or at least 
Carl."
 
"Nope. Just two really hungry warriors for good. If Ironman 
were here, I would have doubled the amount." Jack dished 
out the last pancake to the top of the stack. Western 
omelets were already on the plates with packaged hashed 
potatoes. Pancakes to follow them up and a large bowl of 
fresh fruit. On the counter, the toaster popped, producing 
perfectly browned toast.

And true to his expectations, they made fairly short work 
of the food. Once it was down to just crumbs, Mack insisted 
on washing up.

"So," he said, drying his hands after placing the last dish 
on the drying rack. "What now? I mean, we didn't exactly 
bring luggage, so what do we wear?"

Jack smirked. "Well, there's the option of nothing at 
all..." he suggested.

Mack laughed; a rare sound and one to be treasured. "So 
that's it."

"That's what?" Jack asked innocently.

"This is all just to get me out someplace where you can 
make me run around naked."

"Wouldn't take much more to get you that way," Jack said, 
looking down pointedly at what little Mack was wearing. 
"Seriously, though, we've been given the run of the place, 
including the closets. If we can find anything that fits, 
it's ours to wear. We just need to wash it before we go. 
But if that bothers you, I brought your backup bag from the 
plane, so you can wear what's in that for the week." Jack 
also kept an emergency bag too, since there was no way of 
knowing when you'd have the chance to get back to base, so 
it made sense to have a change of clothes or two available 
at wherever home base was. In this case, home base had been 
the plane.

"Why didn't you say so? Where is it?"

Jack snorted. "You *really* need a vacation. It's right 
outside your bedroom door. I'm surprised you didn't trip 
over it. And as for what we do, I've found a TV with cable 
and DVD, a pool table, if you want to take your chances 
with me, ping-pong, a library and, of course, the pool 
outside. If you can't find something to occupy yourself for 
a week, then you *really* need to get a life."

"Point taken," Mack said with a rueful smile.

"And worse comes to worse, there's always bed." He waggled 
his eyebrows suggestively.

"Alone? I notice you stayed away last night."

Jack's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. "Did you look in a 
mirror last night? This week will go much better if I don't 
have a broken leg. Or neck." Which would be the probably 
result if he surprised the man while he was asleep.

Mack winced at that. "Again, point taken. I was a little on 
edge yesterday."

"A little?"

"Just a little." Then Mack's expression turned almost evil. 
"But I've had a good night's sleep and my stomach has been 
appeased, so now... it's time..."

Jack leaned closer, anticipating...

"To go for a swim."

Jack blinked in surprise as the man turned and quickly left 
the room. "Shit. Mack!" His cock had been halfway hard with 
anticipation. It had been a couple years since they'd last 
shared a bed and he'd been looking forward to it. Not that 
this had been arranged *just* so he could get the man into 
his bed and all to himself for a while: It was just a nice 
bonus. "Bastard," he chuckled, then headed after the man, 
following the sound of the splash of a cannonball dive.

The early morning sun was already warm enough to raise a 
sweat. Deciding that two could play the teasing game, Jack 
stripped out of his clothes, leaving them slung over the 
railing of the ramp leading down to the pool area next to 
Mack's discarded briefs, then sauntered over to poolside 
and stretched out on one of the chaise lounges that faced 
the water. He closed his eyes and turning his face to the 
warm sun. It was his vacation too, after all. He planned to 
enjoy it.

He even managed to drift off into a not-quite-sleep haze. 
As a result, he didn't notice when the soft splashing in 
the pool stopped. He also didn't notice the sound of quiet 
footsteps heading his way accompanied by a soft sloshing.

He most certainly *did* notice when a bucket worth of cold 
water landed in the middle of his chest, soaking him from 
his head to nearly his knees.

"Shit!" he bellowed, rolling off the chaise. He stared 
around wildly, looking for the source of the attack and 
found Mack laughing his ass off. He was pleased to see the 
man enjoying himself, but there were some things that 
couldn't be allowed to pass without some form of 
retaliation.

Bellowing in mock-rage, he tackled Mack at the waist, 
pushing him backwards. Fortunately the pool was directly 
behind the man, as he'd planned. They made an impressive 
splash as they hit the cool water, he was sure.

Wrestling underwater was a lot of fun, but it was also 
difficult when you were laughing so hard that you were in 
danger of drowning. Jack finally kicked away and surfaced. 
He took several deep, gulping breaths and waited for Mack 
to surface. He waited patiently until the dark head broke 
the surface, and feeling generous, he waited for the man to 
take a few breaths of his own before he surged up with a 
flurry of kicks before landing on Mack's shoulders, pushing 
the man under.

This time, Mack didn't come back up. Jack stayed in place. 
treading water, turning slowly to keep track of the man's 
progress. However, he became so fascinated by the movement 
of the man's ass under the water, so white that it almost 
glowed, that he didn't realize what the man was up to until 
it was too late.

He yelped as a hand slid between his legs and gave his 
balls a squeeze that was on the borderline between pleasure 
and pain, then went under as they were tugged.

"Bastard," he sputtered as he came back up again.

"You're not the first to call me that," Mack pointed out as 
he swam for the side.

Jack gave chase, but the other man was out and running for 
the house before he got to the edge of the pool. Grinning, 
Jack followed. Mack rarely showed his playful side, and he 
planned to enjoy every minute until the man returned to his 
usual 'Avenging Angel' persona.

By the time he got inside, Mack was nowhere to be seen. 
Jack stood dripping, in the hallway, still bare-assed 
naked, considering his next move. Go back outside to tease 
the man some more or hunt him down? Was Mack going to hide 
someplace where he would have to search or would he take 
pity on the fact that Jack's cock was imitating a compass 
needle? Jack decided to go for the most optimistic choice. 
He headed for the room Mack had slept in the night before.

The bed was rumpled but mockingly empty. No sign of his 
prey. He thought about it for a moment, then went for the 
second most obvious choice.

He'd made his own bed that morning, but it was no longer 
neat and tidy. It was also not empty. The cover and top 
sheet had been shoved down to the foot of the bed, 
displaying Mack Bolan in all his naked glory.

Mack's body showed the wear of his chosen vocation. He had 
the hard body of a warrior, long and lean. The muscles 
weren't the over-defined mounds of a bodybuilder. His skin 
was bronzed by the sun, still glistening wetly from his 
recent swim. His scars showing pale white and the most 
recent set of bruises a motley of black and blue and green. 
Jack could even see the goosebumps as the water evaporated 
in the cool, air-conditioned room. Crisp black curls 
covered his chest, then narrowed into a trail leading down 
to his groin and the curls surrounding the erection he was 
stroking lazily.

"What took you so long?" he asked in a tone that might have 
been considered seductive if it weren't for the wicked grin 
on his face.

"Oh, had some errands to run. A plane to check, lunch to 
prepare for. And actually, there's a baseball game on TV, 
so maybe I'll just--"

As he spoke, he was drifting closer to the bed until Mack's 
had whipped out and grabbed his wrist. A quick tug and he 
was plastered against the other man's chest. It was 
difficult to keep teasing a man who had his tongue halfway 
down your throat.
 
Jack groaned deep in his chest It had been too long since 
they'd last shared a bed, even though they'd fought side-
by-side many times since then. But while memories might 
fade with time, it was impossible to forget the intensity 
Mack brought to an encounter, whether a sexual interlude or 
a pitched battle. He was overwhelming.

When Mack rolled them over, never breaking the hard kiss, 
Jack went willingly. He enjoyed the feeling of being 
pressed into the mattress by the weight of the hard body on 
top of him. It was so very good, giving up control to 
someone stronger than himself.

He'd never considered himself bisexual before the day a 
dark-haired man had climbed into his plane and held a gun 
to his head. Mack had changed his life since that day in so 
many ways. This was just one of them. Even now, Mack was 
the only man he trusted like this.

Not that Mack was his only lover, any more than he was 
Mack's. But Mack was his only male lover, and Jack knew he 
would be the only one ever. He'd certainly never been 
interested in Carl's open-ended offer for a quick tumble. 
Sometimes it seemed like he was the only person in the 
organization -- gay or straight, male or female -- who 
*hadn't* taken the Ironman up on his offer. Not to mention 
the fact that Carl seemed to be the only one getting any. 
How Carl ever got any sleep, he'd never know.

Now that Mack had him where he wanted him, he seemed 
determined to drive Jack insane. He broke the kiss only to 
fasten onto Jack's neck. Long, sucking kisses branded him. 
Jack just *knew* that the marks were going to still be 
there when they returned to the Farm in a week.

"Mack," he groaned, but he didn't try to stop the man. 
After all, if he did, Mack might actually *stop*.

There was no reply, but at least Mack abandoned Jack's 
neck. Instead, he latched onto a nipple and started to 
torment *it*. Before Mack, Jack had never realized just how 
sensitive a guy's nipples could be. Hell, he'd thought that 
his erogenous zones started and stopped with the groin. 
Mack had proved him wrong, for which he would be eternally 
grateful. 

Then his ribs were traced by the tip of a tongue, firmly 
enough to arouse, not tickle. Of course, if he got any more 
aroused, he'd make a mess of them both before they got 
anywhere *near* the main event. 

Then Mack *finally* got to his cock, and as expected, one 
stroke and a little light suction on the head was all it 
took to set him off.

Mack sat back on his heels, looking like a cat as he licked 
the last bit of escaped cream off the back of his hand. "A 
little quick off the mark today, aren't you?" he said in a 
tone that was pure smugness.

Jack barely had the strength to lift a hand to give the man 
the finger. "All your fault," he said, still panting. He 
let his hand drop back to the mattress at his side.

Mack laughed softly in a most un-Bolan-like way. "But what 
about me?" he asked with an expression that could only be 
called lecherous.

"You've got two good hands. Use 'em," Jack said. Not that 
he had any intention of making Mack take care of himself, 
of course. He was just enjoying the game.

"I don't know. That doesn't seem like much fun. Of 
course..." he paused, then grinned. "You know, if the 
condition you're in, you couldn't fight me off. I could do 
whatever I wanted to you."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Now, wait a minute."

"I could just roll you over and fuck you."

"Hold it."

"Or shove my cock down your throat."

"Bolan," Jack warned, careful to hide his laughter. He 
didn't want to spoil things.
 
"Or..."

"Enough!"

With a remarkable show of strength, Jack flipped Mack over 
and landed on top of him. He sat down on the man's groin, 
pressing his erection between them. He used his thighs to 
pin Mack's arms to his side.

"You were saying?" he asked, rotating his hips so that his 
ass massaged the other man's cock. The only response was a 
deep growl.

Jack leaned down and kissed Mack, oh so very gently. Then 
bit his bottom lip hard. Mack bucked under him, but he rode 
the movement out. "Not nice," he said.

"Jack, please."

Since his hands were free, Jack put them to good use. He 
pinched Mack's nipples, then slowly twisted them, first one 
way, then the other. Under him, Mack's cock twitched. It 
felt like an overheated baseball bat under him. Okay, maybe 
that was a slight exaggeration, but not by much, he thought 
to himself with a grin.

Obviously, Mack had been as deprived as himself. One last 
twist of the man's tits, combined with a bump and grind 
against the man's groin, resulted in Jack getting even 
stickier than he'd been before.

Mack was practically purring under him. Jack let go of the 
delicate bits of flesh pinched between his fingers, then 
rolled over to lay next to the man. Immediately, he was 
wrapped in the arms of a very contented warrior. Mack was 
already half asleep.

"We're going to stick," Jack muttered, his own eyes 
drifting shut.

"That's nice."

"And it's almost lunch."

"It can wait until later."

"We sleep now and we won't be able to tonight."

"Who cares? We're on vacation."

Jack couldn't fight that argument. Instead, he gave a 
mental shrug and went to sleep. If you can't beat 'em, join 
'em. 

>>>~~~<<<

For the next four days, they enjoyed their time off. They 
slept in, over-ate, watched bad movies and frolicked in the 
sun. Jack couldn't remember the last time he'd done 
anything that could be described as frolicking -- it had to 
have been when he was a kid -- and he enjoyed every second 
of it. By now Mack's bruises were faded to yellow --  
barely noticeable -- and he was putting back on some of the 
weight he'd lost in the last year.

And through it all, they indulged themselves in marathon 
bouts of sex. With no worries that anyone was going to 
burst in on them unexpectedly -- and that usually involved 
automatic weapons when it *did* happen -- they could take 
their time and enjoy themselves. He knew it was probably 
going to be just as long until the *next* time they got the 
chance, so he was storing up memories for the long, dry 
season.

The closest thing to work that they did was checking the 
perimeter and the plane once a day. The estate's security 
system was state of the art, but old habits died hard, and 
those habits had saved both their lives more than once. 
There were a lot of people out there who would like to see 
both of them dead.

But all good things must come to an end. At lunchtime on 
the fifth day, the phone rang. It was the specially 
designed cell phone used by Farm personnel that Jack had 
brought in from the plane in case of emergencies. It looked 
like their vacation was going to be cut short.

Mack answered it. "Striker." He listened for a minute or 
two while Jack ran through his repertoire of curses. He 
should have known that a week off had been too much to hope 
for.

"Understood," Mack said, then hung up. The relaxed man Jack 
had spent the last few days with was gone, replaced by the 
hard warrior he knew so well.

"A surveillance flight was forced into North Vietnamese 
airspace, then shot down," Mack told him, putting the phone 
down. He was all business, despite the fact that all he was 
wearing was a pair of boxer shorts. "The crew is in the 
hands of the army. They need to be extracted, but if the 
military does it, it'll be an international incident. A 
plane is waiting in LA to fly us to a military base in 
southern Japan. We'll continue on our own from there."

A typical mission for the Executioner. "I'll get the plane 
prepped," Jack said, heading for the bedroom to dress and 
collect his bag. "You clean up."

They moved into action like the well-oiled team that they 
were. In short order, they were in the air heading west, 
Mack sitting next to him in the co-pilot's seat. Jack was 
pleased to see that the man showed none of the tension or 
battle fatigue he had less than a week earlier. Instead, he 
looked relaxed, alert and ready to take on the world. 

And Jack was ready to take it on with him.

THE END