GENRE: Bisexual / Gay Spicy Romance (MMF)
LENGTH: 40,600 words
RATING:

Mike Rousseau works for Navy Intelligence, Kurt Halstead is a Senior Chief Petty Officer and a SEAL, and Maggie Degginger is an agent for Homeland Security. Mike and Maggie meet during an operation, and the resulting heat between them is scorching but brief. Shortly thereafter, Mike and Kurt are assigned to be working partners.

Then life throws them a curveball. Mike gets seriously hurt. Mike and Kurt finally give in to their attraction, but Kurt is double-crossed in-country and gets left behind, wounded. He manages to let Mike know that their chain of command is compromised. Mike needs help and reaches out to someone he knows in Homeland, who in turn assigns Maggie. One rescue mission, in progress.

Traitors aside, it isn’t that Kurt doesn't know about Mike's previous fling with Maggie. He does. So when the three of them get together, the heat is so high, they all three just might burn.

EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

Kurt watched through the sight on his CheyTac rifle. As soon as the green light was given, his job was to provide additional cover for the Delta Force guys who were backing up the Kurdish military. After some consideration, he had picked the exact same spot he and Mike had used for surveillance. This time he had a rifle, not a camera.

He spent a few minutes considering the flight and the prep that had occurred sixty klicks away. Kurt still couldn’t decide if he would have preferred it was SEALs on the op or if the Delta guys were more appropriate. It wasn’t like he’d had actually had any input into decision. Well, whatever.

Waiting was all part of the game. He checked a number of angles and was about to set his tripod, when he saw a familiar face somewhere it never should have been. Captain Givens was standing outside one of the entrances to the school complex talking to… oh Jesus fuck… Givens was talking to a guy who looked like Abu Fatima. Lord knows, Kurt had spent too many damn hours looking at photos of that man. What the hell was he doing? Kurt yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and pressed the camera against the lens of his sight. He took one picture, checked to make sure the resulting photo was reasonably clear, and then started taking pictures every five to ten seconds.

Givens was having some sort of in depth discussion with Fatima as a series of dirty and ill looking men were shepherded into the back of a transport truck. Peshmerga maybe? Kurt wasn’t sure, but it looked like the men wore parts of military uniforms. The Peshmerga were the military contingency of Iraqi Kurdistan and were supposedly the identity of some of the hostages. Why the fuck was Givens just standing there as the men were loaded? Kurt kept watching and taking pictures. Fatima handed a metal suitcase to Givens. Shit, shit, shit. Kurt was willing to bet it contained money.

A young soldier came around the corner of the building. Judging by his insignia he was American. Givens pulled his sidearm and shot the younger man point blank. Kurt flinched, sucked in a long breath and kept filming as his mind raced for a solution. He could pull the trigger and take Givens out, one surgical sniper shot. But, how high and how wide spread did this go? A small sound made Kurt whirl around. He dove sideways, yanking his 9mm free from his thigh holster as he fell. A spat of bullets split the air around Kurt, and he returned fire. The man fell. Kurt rolled, prepared to shoot the next person who appeared. There was silence on the roof top. All noises of gunfire came from a hundred yards away. The assault to free the hostages had begun… only some of the hostages were no longer there. Kurt started to stand, to go back to his sniper rifle. His right leg gave way in a searing bolt of pain and he sprawled onto the cement of the rooftop. Slowly he forced himself to sit up. Blood was flowing steadily from a wound in his thigh. He realized that one of the bullets from his attacker had found its mark. He wrenched his belt off, wrapping it around his leg above the wound, drawing it as tight as he could stand. It would buy him some time.