HECTOR, THE LEGIONARY ---- TEN

One week later, a note arrived at the guardhouse addressed to Corporal Héctor.

On the flap of the envelope, with the letterhead of the Regulares Barracks, it said only: Corporal Carlos.,

Gallego was in charge of entering it into the official register, although he assumed it was some private matter, and taking advantage of one of the shifts, he handed it to the recipient.

He took the envelope without showing any emotion. What gut has burst in this bastard now, he thought.

In the handwritten note it said only: "Bastard: Tonight at 9 in Alameda Park. In the pond area. You and me alone. Don’t come with anyone, coward. In dress uniform. Carlos."

Fuck, the guy’s gotten formal, thought Héctor. It looks like a formal invitation to the officers’ casino.

The day passed without further incident, and when the time came Héctor headed to the place set for the meeting, hardly crowded at that hour of the night. Obviously he went alone, just as he had been summoned, and dressed in the Legionnaire Gentleman’s dress uniform. Open shirt showing chest, tight green trousers outlining ass and bulge, and an arrogant, cocky attitude.

When he reached the walkway he saw Carlos walking toward him. The same attitude and cocky stride, Regulares Corps dress uniform, prominent bulge clearly marked in his sand-colored trousers.... two roosters from different henhouses facing one another. Or so it seemed.

Neither stopped walking. Neither sped up. They kept coming closer, looking each other in the eyes with a stare that could be described as murderous, cocky, mocking, and horny.

They got closer and closer and neither made any move to stop, until finally they stood one in front of the other, chest against chest, bulge against bulge and face against face.

Since both were muscular macho men, it is obvious that with flat stomachs and defined abs, besides the ass at the back, the most prominent parts of their bodies from the front were the pecs and evidently the bulge.

So, one in front of the other, in close physical contact and with their mouths almost touching, holding each other’s gaze with a cocky expression, Carlos was the first to speak.

“What have they been feeding you, man?”

“Scrambled garlic with Burgos blood sausage,” the other replied.

“Same as us then,” said Carlos, and continued, “your breath stinks.”

“Same here,” Héctor added.

Neither looked away. Neither moved a millimeter.

“Still shitting blood?” Héctor asked this time.

“Less and less,” Carlos answered. “And you?”

“Also less and less.”

“You shoved a stick up my ass, bastard,” said Carlos.

“And you a finger up mine, and a knotted rope.”

“The finger doesn’t count. It was a routine inspection. And besides I didn’t hurt you,” Carlos argued.

“Fine, accep...