Title: "Give Up and Masturbate" (1 in the Series)
Series: FatJoey's Hot Young Commandos Series
Author/pseudonym: FatJoey
Email address: fatjsteel@ureach.com
LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/fatjoey, and http://www.livejournal.com/users/fatjoeyfic
Fandom: 'S.W.A.T.'
Pairing: Gamble/Street
Date: July 9, 2005
Disclaimer: Okay, this is just my own little fantasy and not meant to offend or interfere with any copyrights or anything. (Well, if it offends, tough shit.)
Beta: My old pal Ryan, who still thinks I'm nuts.
Warnings: Bad language, pissing contest and a hand-job. Slashy. Jargon-rich, but like any 'good author,' I try to make it clear what it all means, or it doesn't really matter anyway.
Author Notes: One of the writers of the movie 'S.W.A.T.' conceived of a back story where Gamble and Street knew each other in Special Ops prior to joining LAPD. I can't resist the concept, so here's my take on it. In this ficlet, Gamble and Street have their first encounter.

"He's a crazy mother-fucker, but he can shoot the shit out of anything!"

Street glanced over at the subject in question, a cocky guy with a buzz cut sitting drinking and laughing with a group of buddies. The bar was crowded with U.S. servicemen, and the waitresses were English-speaking as were most people in Agana, Guam's capital. If it weren't for the tropical climate and jungle insects, it would be hard to tell the place was located outside the continental U.S.

The hotshot had noticed Street's scrutiny. "What's up, SEAL? If you want a piece of this, you're barking up the wrong tree! Get it, 'barking'! Man, I crack myself up!"

Not responding, Street concentrated on his beer. Around him, some of the men watched with interest, while others ignored the interplay -- or lack of it -- between the two men wearing different insignias of their respective SOF units.

"I'm Brian Gamble," said the jokester, walking over and offering his hand. "I think we're on the same team."

"Jim Street."

Gamble sat down at Street's table without waiting for an invitation.  He smiled over at one of the waitresses and signaled for another drink. "And one for my buddy here. He looks like he needs one."

Street's eyebrows went up. "I'm fine," he said.

"Hey, lighten up, will ya'? What's your problem?"

"No problem. I just haven't finished my beer yet."

"Well, drink up then, brother! I'm way ahead of you."

Street's SEAL companions excused themselves, and Street and Gamble were left alone at the same table, facing each other silently. Street looked pointedly at the tiny emblem on Gamble's tight t-shirt, the telltale sword and triangle that announced him to be a member of the Army's elite Delta Force.

"You're a real charmer, aren't you?" Gamble said with a grin.

"You D-boys have enough charm to go around," Street answered. "You managed to clear the table."

"We're all part of Special Ops, man. On the same team." Gamble sighed and took another gulp. "In fact, I think you're gonna help with our insert/extract in a couple days," he added, referring to an upcoming mission.

Leaning toward Gamble, Street glowered. "I don't think you should be talking about that in here, do you?"

Gamble shrugged. "Whatever, man. You think there are spies in here?"

"I can see your training was a little different than mine," Street commented, shaking his head in disgust. "You should know there could be spies anywhere. One of these waitresses would make a great one, for instance."

"Jesus. Paranoia. Future Spook, I bet!"

"Future S.W.A.T. officer," Street corrected. "In about a year and a half now."

Chuckling, Gamble finished his beer. "No doubt. But you should reconsider the C.I.A., brother. You're made for it."

"I'd have to say you aren't," Street muttered.

Gamble nodded at a nearby waitress, an attractive young woman who might have been Filipino or Chamorro, the local ethnicity. "Ahhh. Maybe not. But we'll see. There are lots of ways to use the skills our Uncle Sam gave us." The waitress approached and Gamble said to Street, "You finally ready for another?"

Street nodded, relenting.

"On my tab," Gamble said to the waitress, winking. After she deposited the glasses of beer, Gamble watched her walking away. "Y'think she's a good Catholic girl?" he asked.

Street nodded. "Most of them are."

"There might be a chance for me. I sure as shit hope so, because I'll go nuts if I don't get laid before we head to the Philippines."

"Shut up!" Street ordered, his eyes darting around the bar. "You need to watch your mouth. And you can just forget about the local girls! They don't call this place 'Give Up And Masturbate' for nothing!"

Grimacing, Gamble slurped at his beer. "You've been here longer than I have, so maybe you know. Or maybe you just don't have what it takes, Flipper!"

"So, where you from?" Street asked after another long silence.

"Is that your idea of conversation?"

Street sighed and glanced at his Luminox divers watch, appearing to lose patience with the irrepressible Gamble. "You'd rather discuss classified information?"

"Let's get out of here," Gamble said, chugging his beer and hopping out of his chair. "I've got a jeep and a bottle, and the beach isn't that far away. You're bound to be more sociable in a marine environment."

"I don't know."

"Get up, Street, and get moving! The night's going to waste."

Reluctantly, Street rose and followed Gamble out of the bar.

"Let's drive up to Tumon Bay! There will be plenty of shit happening there."

Nodding, Street hesitated. "I'll go if you let me drive."

"Okay, bro! Whatever it takes."

Gamble tossed Street the keys, and they hopped in the jeep and headed out. Street knew the way to Tumon Bay with his eyes shut, and he quickly darted in and out of traffic and headed up Route 8 to E. Marine Drive. They passed a McDonald's and Street turned right on Ypao, heading for Pale San Vitore Rd., the Waikiki Beach of Guam.

"The Tree Bar at the Hilton is good," Street said. "Lots of tourists, and it's open 'til midnight. So's the Hard Rock at the Outrigger."

"Fuck all that. Turn up here and head toward the beach."

Street looked over at Gamble like he was crazy. "I thought you wanted to find some night life."

"There's life enough in us and this bottle of tequila," Gamble said, pulling a bottle out from under his seat. "Let's go play chicken, Navy SEAL!"

The jeep bounced over the ruts of a small coastal road, and Street parked in a heavy copse of palms and jungle foliage. He sighed and reached for the bottle. "What next, Delta? What are you out to prove?"

"Let's find out," Gamble said, winking and relinquishing the tequila. He jumped out of the jeep and headed toward the beach.

Street shrugged and followed. "Whatever."

The air was close, but a breeze from the water cut through the humidity. The luminous face of Street's watch showed 10:30 p.m. as he followed Gamble's disappearing form into the night. The hazy stars overhead weren't enough to illuminate the rough path, and Street cursed as he stumbled and nearly fell.

"Gamble, where'd you go?" he called.

"Right here, brother. Come on over."

Gamble was seated on a large fallen log, his grin showing even in the dim light. "Gimme a drink, Street. I'm losing my buzz."

Seating himself next to the Delta ranger, Street took a long swig and then sucked air before he handed over the bottle. "That's strong stuff," he said, nearly gasping.

"Yeah. I think it has a worm and everything!" Gamble said, laughing. "That shit will kick your Navy ass!"

The two off-duty commandos sat side by side drinking for a time, not speaking. Around them, the night got darker.

"I need to piss," Street announced.

"Me, too. Bet I can go farther."

Street looked at Gamble in disbelief. "You serious? You want a pissing contest?"

"Why not? You up for it?"

Shaking his head, Street pulled down his zipper. "Well, I'm up for a piss, and I'll do it on you if I have to."

"Aim it over at that branch," Gamble ordered, pointing at a bush a few feet away. "Let's see if you can make it shake."

Street complied, sending an arc toward the leafy limb. Gamble laughed and clapped as Street's efforts made the shrubbery flutter.

"I'll do the same over there," Gamble said, pointing at a small plant at least a foot farther away.

Shaking his dick and tucking it inside his pants, Street shrugged. "Do it, then," he said, taking another swallow of tequila. Gamble stood with his legs apart and aimed at the target like a gunfighter. The force of his stream bent the stalk slightly.

"Jesus. That was impressive," Street admitted. "You must've been holding it."

"It's not a fair contest. I've got a bigger dick," Gamble bragged.

"You're full of shit, man. You can't tell a damn thing from a soft cock!"

Gamble approached Street and stood a foot away, facing him. They were almost exactly the same height. "It's bigger when it's hard, asshole," he hissed.

"I guarantee it doesn't get as hard as mine," answered an un-intimidated Street.

Hands on hips, Gamble studied Street in the dim light. "I think this calls for another contest," he said.

"You're nuts, Gamble. I'm not gonna play with your dick for you. What do you take me for, some kind of faggot?"

Gamble laughed. "Maybe you're not a fag, but you're definitely a pussy. What are you afraid of? You think I'll fall in love at the first sight of your hard-on?"

Street shook his head. "Forget it."

"Okay, man. Give me the fucking bottle." Gamble took a drink and sat back down. "Like you Navy pukes don't play with each other all the time."

"I'm getting sick of you, Gamble. You're starting to live up to your goddamned name, and you're gonna lose this bet."

"Fuck off," Gamble grumbled. "I never lose."

"Remember, man, I got the keys."

"Stick 'em up your ass, Flipper."

Street snorted in disgust. "That's it. Get off your butt and let's go. I want to get back to the base."

"Ain't movin'," Gamble answered, finishing the bottle and tossing it aside. "I think I swallowed the worm," he announced in a slurred voice.

"Get up, asswipe."

Gamble lifted his right hand and extended the middle finger. "Bite this."

"I didn't realize until now how full of shit you are!" Street said. Then, without a sound he launched himself at Gamble and knocked him off the log. The two men rolled on the soft ground, struggling and breathing hard, cursing at one another.

"You crazy fuck!" Gamble said, pushing Street over on his back and holding him down.

"Let me up, Gamble. Right now!"

A suddenly chuckling Gamble started to lose his grip on Street's shoulders. "Do you realize I could take you out with my thumb?" he boasted, his chest shaking with laughter.

"What the fuck is so funny?" Street asked.

"Us! America's finest, acting like a couple high school kids, getting drunk and fighting after the big game."

Street started to grin. "Yeah. Having a pissing contest, for Chrissakes!"

"And in two days we might be saving each other's asses, or getting our famous dicks blown to bits," Gamble said, sighing. He released Street and rolled away. "Man. I hope I don't end up puking. I drank that fucking cactus juice just a little too fast."

"It hasn't been all that long since we were in high school," Street said in a quiet voice.

"Special Ops will make you grow up fast. I heard BUDs is as tough as it gets," Gamble said, referring to the SEALs' underwater demolition training.

"They don't exactly tuck you in at night," agreed Street, leaning against the dead tree.

"Y'know. You're a tough sonovabitch, Street. What kind of name is that, anyway? Street?"

"The kind that makes you tough."

"I hear that, brother!"

The two men lay side-by-side, their heads supported by the fallen log. They fell silent.

"Don't go to sleep, Gamble. I don't want to get back late."

"I'm not asleep. I'm just gonna jerk off, if you don't mind. You can pretend not to watch if it bothers you."

"Jesus, Brian! Do you have to do that now?"

Gamble lowered his zipper and pulled out his penis, squeezing it to semi-hardness with a few quick strokes. "I didn't think you remembered my name," he said, baring his teeth as he touched himself.

"You really wanted me to see that, didn't you?" Street asked.

"Go back to the jeep, Mama's boy, if you're afraid of getting corrupted," Gamble said, breathing hard. "I don't give a fuck."

But Street stayed close by, waiting silently as Gamble pulled on his dick. After several minutes, he shifted a bit, clearly unable to pretend he wasn't watching.

"You won't even give me a hand?" Gamble asked with a gasp. "I'm havin' a little trouble here."

"They don't even teach you guys to jerk off," Street complained.

"Luckily you SEALs are experts!"

"Lay back and shut up, Gamble. And close your eyes while I do it."

Gamble's brows came together. "Wha?"

"Just do it." Street leaned over and grabbed Gamble's dick with his right hand. After a few tentative strokes, he started to pull and squeeze with fervor.

"Holy shit!" Gamble cried out, his eyes wide open.

"Shut up, Gamble. And close your eyes! You want me to stop?"

"Oh, hell no! Whatever you do, don't stop!" Gamble obediently closed his eyes, biting his lip and bending his knees.

Street's intensity increased as he worked on Gamble. "Let it go, Gamble. Just let it go," he urged in a husky voice.

"Fuck! That's fantastic, Jimbo!"

"Jimbo?" Street smiled. "Nobody calls me that."

"I do," Gamble said, "from now on."

Street leaned close to Gamble, who reached up and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm gonna come, brother," he said, groaning. "I mean it."

"About time."

With a long moan, Gamble ejaculated, spraying semen over his own chest. Falling back, Street reached up and wiped a stringy drop out of his short, dark hair. "Jesus," he commented.

"You're lucky you didn't get a face full of that," Gamble said. "You were damn close to it."

"Shut up, Gamble. Don't ruin it with your bullshit."

"Ruin what?" Gamble asked. When Street didn't answer, he smiled. "Okay, Jimbo. You want me to do you now?"

Street seemed to be thinking it over when they heard a noise from the road. "I guess not," he said, slowly standing as Gamble tucked his flaccid dick away. "We better get going."

"Help me up, brother. I'm still half drunk."

Street reached down and pulled Gamble to his feet. Gamble tottered, and Street steadied him with an arm around his shoulders. They locked eyes for several seconds. Gamble smiled when Street was the first to break the stare.

"I win," Gamble announced. "This time."

"Congratulations," Street said in a sarcastic voice. "I'll remember that when I'm finishing myself off later." He stood facing the Philippine Sea, although it was too dark to make out anything but the white foam of an occasional wave. Then he swatted at a huge mosquito buzzing near his head. Another glance at his watch told Street it was now nearing midnight.

"Sorry about that, Jimbo," said Gamble, yawning. "But don't forget what Guam stands for! Give Up and Masturbate."

Street nodded and pulled the keys to the jeep out of his pocket. "Yeah," he said, turning to walk away. "I give up."