Title: Sometimes the Dragon Wins

Author/Pseusonym: Tinnean

Fandom: Them!

Pairing: Bob Graham/Ben Petersen

Rating: NC-17

Status: New/Complete

Archive: yes, just let me know

Series/sequel: sequel to And Now a Word From Our Sponsors

Disclaimers: These characters belong to the movie studio that gave birth to them (sorry can't remember which one). They're not mine, but I thought they could use a break after what they've gone through. Although I might be making things a little hard for them.

Notes: I watched this 1954 movie again after years, and was suddenly struck by the slash potential. This is one of those man screws up the earth type movies.

Summary: In Los Angeles, Bob and Ben manage to locate the ants. And Bob realizes that as much as he wants Ben, they may not have a future together.

Warning: m/m graphic sex, language, spoilers for the movie

"Remember, no matter how right you are, no matter how hard you work, sometimes the dragon wins." -message pinned to the chaplain's door

A Door Into A New World
Episode 5: Sometimes the Dragon Wins
by Tinnean

I stalked across the tarmac. To the casual observer, I was just a traveler completing a tedious journey, tired and perhaps a trifle out of sorts.

Ben Petersen knew differently. A member of the New Mexico State police, and lately my lover, he was the cause of the irritation I was experiencing.

And the anguish.

The most emotionally confident male I had ever met, he was still a mass of contradictions. He persistently questioned my friendship with Pat Medford, an entomologist I had dated in Washington.

Whatever relationship I might have developed with Pat, it fizzled long before I was assigned the New Mexico case, although her father had once hoped that we would marry. Pat had slept with me a couple of times, strictly out of compassion, and it left me with a nasty taste in my mouth. When she finally told me she valued our friendship too much to jeopardize it by continuing to see me on a romantic basis, it was a relief to both of us, and I vowed to never again be anyone's pity fuck.

That was before I lost control of my life. I had gotten drunk at a Bureau function and woke up in bed with... Well, let's just say it was someone extremely influential with a penchant for virgin ass. And for taking it the roughest way possible.

Sometime after that I found myself, one of the best agents to come out of the FBI, banished to the wilds of New Mexico as liaison in the series of missing persons cases that had suddenly been plaguing a small town near Los Alamos. Ben was the officer I was assigned to liaise with.

After what had happened in D.C., I suspected that I must be a slut, to have allowed what was done to me. Now I was positive of that. Within twenty-four hours of meeting Ben Petersen, I had fallen into bed with him, reacting in amazement as he sucked me off.

Amazed that I was jerking him off as he did that, making him come all over my chest!

The last thing I wanted him to know was that I had been questioning my feelings for the scientist even as Pat was ending our affair. The result was that we quarreled. Not a knock down, drag out, clear-the-air argument, but the kind of slicing at one another that cuts to the bone and leaves gaping wounds.

Finally, I retreated into silence, refusing to speak to him at all. We boarded the plane that was to take us to the City of Angels and I stared stonily out the window, promising myself that I was done with him.

It would be better that way.

And then his wicked fingers wormed their way under the blanket I had draped over myself. He undid my trousers and began to fondle me through my shorts. I was struggling to keep silent under his sensual assault when he swore and ordered me to close my pants.

I was confused. And hurt.

And then he dragged me back into the small lavatory at the rear of the plane, locked us in and sucked me to a climax that just about fried my brains.

How could I stay angry with him after that?

Actually, it was remarkably easy: the man had a talent for shooting himself in the foot!

The stewardess was rapping briskly on the panel. "Sir, we have a line out here!"

Ben poked his head around the door, then yanked it back in, muffling a snort of laughter. "Come on, big guy! And try to look sick!"

"Hmm?" That was the best I could come up with. I was floating on a cloud of sheer sexual satisfaction, a silly smile on my face, certain I could reach out my hand and heaven would be within my grasp.

My lover opened the door and sauntered past what looked like the entire passenger list. "He gets airsick!" he had the gall to tell them. "I have to hold his head!"

I didn't need to look sick; I knew I was green. There went my job, my reputation, my whole fucking life! And Ben had done this to me! I ducked my head and slunk down the aisle. "Sorry." I could barely force the words out of my throat. "Excuse me!"

The groan I uttered as I threw myself back into my seat was not an act: I was mortified.

The stewardess gave us an odd look as she hurried back to the forward cabin and I sank down as deep into my cushion as I could go.

Ben had the nerve to laugh. I snarled at him and went back to staring out the window.

When we landed I was out of my seat and down the aisle before Ben could unfasten his seatbelt. Unfortunately, I had to wait for him by the car the LAPD had sent to meet us.

"Afternoon, sirs," the young uniformed officer said as he snapped to attention. "I'm your transport. I'll take you right down to the railroad yard, if that's all right with you?"

I nodded and reached to open the back door, but Ben was there before me. The angle of his body prevented the cop from seeing his hand run over the curve of my ass and squeeze a cheek.

"Do you think that will make it all better?" I demanded coldly, still not willing to forgive him.

"I'm working on it, Bobby!"

Huffily, I got into the vehicle, determined to ignore him. And then he took my hand and wound his fingers in mine, and I knew that no matter what he did, no matter how this ended, I was his. I would always be his.

The young officer was apparently awestruck to be in the company of an FBI agent and a representative of the New Mexico State police. He only answered our attempts at conversation with a "Yes sir" or "No sir," and nervous glances in the rearview mirror. In sync with each other, Ben and I decided to address our questions to the insurance investigator who was looking into the massive theft of sugar.

The vehicle came to a halt outside the train yard which was surrounded by an ancient, rusted chain link fence. Ben followed me as I got out and walked to the boxcar that was reminiscent of Gramps Johnson's store and the trailer that had been discovered in the desert. The side was a gaping ruin, as if ripped out violently by a powerful force. The investigator was shaking his head as he examined the devastation, a clipboard in his hands.

He looked up at us as we approached him and introduced ourselves. "FBI, huh? New Mexico, huh? Now why is that?" He frowned when he saw no answer would be forthcoming.

"Well, it has to be an inside job! There's no other way that much sugar could have been trucked off site! The night watchman *has* to have been in on it!"

Ben squatted down and sifted something through his fingers, then tossed it away. "Where's the night watchman now?"

"He's in jail! He claims he saw nothing! That's impossible! It's just a matter of time before we get him to confess!"

I caught Ben's eye and frowned, uncomfortable with the venom in the investigator's voice. What could the old man have done that would have caused the dapperly dressed insurance man to harbor such ill-will?

Ben jerked his head toward the police car and I nodded. We started toward it, Ben calling a brief thanks over his shoulder. "Take us to the precinct where the night watchman is being held," I told our driver.

We sat in brooding silence, lost in our own thoughts. I was startled when Ben began to speak softly. "I'm sorry about Pat. It's none of my business if you want to keep seeing her. I know I don't have the background that she does. It just...hurt that with everything we have going for us, you can't see a future with me!"

My head snapped around and my jaw dropped open. I stared at him in numb shock. "Is that what you think this was all about? Her pedigree?" I whispered.

"Isn't it? I'm just a sergeant. I barely made it through high school. She's a well-known scientist. She's beautiful, and she's got a father who has more influence than J. Edgar Hoover!"

"Well, he never used any of that influence on *my* behalf! But there is one other thing in her favor," I couldn't resist taunting him.

"Oh yeah?" He was thoroughly disgruntled. "What could that be?"

"Her legs are prettier than yours!" Before he could respond to that outrageous statement, I continued. "Ben, this isn't the time or the place. Can we finish this conversation tonight? In our hotel room?"

His eyes lit up at the thought of us spending the night together. "Oh, that's an aye-firmative, big guy! That's a *big* aye-firmative!"

****

The night watchman was brought into an interrogation room. Not only was he nervous, but he was scared. He didn't have many years to go before retirement, and to spend that time in jail, or without a job to fall back on frightened the piss out of him.

I offered him a Chesterfield and lit it for him, then lit one for myself. Tobacco got on my tongue despite the force I had used to tamp it down. As I removed the flakes I found Ben watching my mouth, and I became hard and breathless. He raised his eyes to mine, and then dropped them to my lips again, and I almost groaned.

The old man was hurrying to his own defense. "I didn't hear nothing, I swear it! I didn't see nothing! It's sugar, for Chrissake! Is sugar a hot commodity? Is there a black market for sugar?" He took a deep drag of his cigarette, his fingers shaking. "I swear..." His voice broke and his shoulders began to shake.

Awkwardly, Ben patted him on the back. "It's all right, Pop. We'll square this with the railroad."

The old man looked up at him, tears running down his face, gratitude welling in his tired eyes. "You won’t let them put me in jail? You won't let them fire me?"

I couldn't face him. "We'll see to it, Pop. Take it easy for now."

We left him finishing his cigarette. "Don't let him go!" I ordered the precinct captain.

His look soured. "I didn't think we had enough evidence to hold him!"

"Captain," I said, "your government wants this man kept in custody until further notice. If anyone speaks to him, you will be held personally responsible! You'll be notified when he can be released!"

We were about to leave when uncontrolled sobbing drew my attention. The captain followed my line of vision and sighed. "This has been an insane weekend! Mrs. Lodge's husband crashed his car in a residential neighborhood."

"Anyone hurt?"

"Just the tree he hit."

"Was he drunk?" Ben asked idly, clearly wanting to be away from the uncomfortable storm of emotion.

"No, he was dead! His arm had been torn off at the shoulder and he bled to death!"

"Oh my God!" I felt sick.

"Oh, that's not the least of it." The captain was not happy with having to take orders from a government man, and clearly relished having information that we might need. "Their two boys are missing!"

"Shit!" Ben and I locked glances, and both of us went back to talk to the distraught woman.

Between sobs, she poured out the story. Thom, her husband, was in the habit of taking their boys out early on Sunday mornings because that was the only time he had available to spend with them. "He would take them for pony rides, or boat rides in MacArthur Park. Last week he arranged for them to go to the zoo before it opened so the boys could see them feed the animals. They always came home so dirty! I'd spend the rest of the day washing their clothes. I kept telling Thom to take them places were they wouldn't get so dirty!"

And she collapsed in her chair, sobbing as if her world had ended.

I caught the eyes of Ryan and Sutton, the police officers who had found Thomas Lodge. They were standing by the door, at a loss to help the weeping woman. Thankfully, they followed me out of the room, while Ben did his best to console Mrs. Lodge. In the other room I spotted a map on the wall. "Where can a man take his kids for pony rides, or boat rides in this vicinity?" I asked the older of the two cops.

Ryan pointed out MacArthur Park, and some local areas that offered slot car racing, hills where kites could be flown, things geared toward children. They were all too far from the spot where Thom Lodge crashed his car and died.

Ben joined us, rubbing his eyes. "She wants a glass of water." One of the police officers left to get her one. "Do you have anything else that you wrote up between six and noon?"

Sutton pulled out his pad and read off his arrests. "Just three...drunk and disorderlies. Sorry."

Ben looked at me. "Maybe they spotted something?"

"We can look into it!"

Two of the men arrested that morning had been put in the drunk tank to sleep it off. They scrounged cigarettes off me and conducted a conversation that held meaning only to the two of them. If they had seen anything out of the ordinary, they were too befuddled to realize it.

"This is a waste of time!" I spat, losing what little patience I had left. Between the giant ants in the desert, and Ben in my bed, I had not been getting much sleep, and now it was catching up with me.

"Take it easy, big guy," Ben murmured, rubbing my shoulder. I was tempted to shrug away from him; I was tempted to lean into his touch. "We'll figure this out. Where's the third drunk?" he asked Sutton.

The officer shook his head. "Jensen. He's over at the VA hospital. He's got the DTs. We send him there every few months to dry out."

I looked for the young uniform who had driven us to the precinct. "Can you take us to the VA hospital?"

****

General James himself escorted us to the ward where Jensen was a frequent visitor. The grizzled veteran watched the General with a gimlet eye. "I won't enlist, and you can't make me!" he stated belligerently.

The General wasn't easily ruffled. "No, Jensen, I won't try to make you re-up."

The confused old man's face took on a crafty look. "Make me a sergeant and gimme the booze, and I'll re-enlist!" he wheedled.

"Did you see anything unusual this morning, Mr. Jensen?" I asked, trying to regain control of the conversation.

"Nope!" he said, but he cast an uneasy glance out of the window by his bed. "They're gone now."

"Who's gone?"

He seemed to be off on another tangent. "They looked like they was too big to fit into them little airplanes!"

"What was too big, Jensen?" Ben persisted.

But Jensen was watching the General now, saying in a sing-song voice, "Make me a sergeant and charge the booze! Make me a sergeant and charge the booze! Make me a ..."

Ben lost his temper and grabbed the old man's shoulder. "What was too big, Jensen?" He gave him a shake.

Suddenly sober as a judge, the old drunk responded with a lucid answer. "The ants! I usually see 'em at night! Over there, by those big holes!"

He lost whatever touch he had with reality and went back to singing. "Make me a sergeant, gimme the booze!"

"Stop that! Please!" begged the occupant in the next bed. "My nerves!"

Ignoring the patients in the ward, we all turned to look out the window. A dry watercourse ran as far as the eye could see in either direction.

"The riverbed! Oh Jesus, that's where they are!"

****

By the time everyone in New Mexico had been notified, it was too dark to do anything but scut work.

We had gone out to the riverbed while it was still daylight and searched the area that could be seen from Jensen's hospital window. Near the opening of one of the storm drains, we found a small, battered model airplane, the kind kids build and fly; the kind Jerry and Mike Lodge, the missing boys, owned.

The army was mobilized, the city was put under martial law and an eight o'clock curfew went into effect. There were over seven hundred miles of storm drain under the city, and the ants could be anywhere in there.

General James took one look at the two of us and bit back a curse. "When was the last time you two got any sleep?"

My eyes crossed trying to concentrate on a likely answer. The drinks I had had at dinner were suddenly hitting my system. Ben grinned and shrugged.

"Well, apparently it's been too long! Get some rest!" the General ordered. "We'll have to wait until Dr. Medford and General O'Brien fly in from New Mexico, anyway. Tomorrow is going to be a long day!"

I needed to get off my feet; I had never felt this tired in my life: not when I was in Europe during the War, not afterwards in Washington! It wasn't just physical, but emotional as well. I was almost staggering with exhaustion by the time we got to our hotel room, and Ben had to prop me up while he fished for the keyhole.

Once we were inside, he made sure the door was locked and then stripped off his clothes. I sat on the edge of the bed, stupid with fatigue and alcohol. "Come on, Bobby, help me here! You'll feel better once you've had a shower!" He manhandled me this way and that until he got me out of my suit. His shoulder was just the right height to fit under my arm and he supported me into the bathroom. Getting the shower turned on became a major production, but when it was done he got me under the pounding spray.

I braced my arms against the wall of the shower and let the warmth of the water ease the kinks out of my neck and back. "Ahh, that feels good!" I moaned and spread my legs a little. "You gonna fuck me, Ben?"

He froze, a bar of soap in his hands as he prepared to build a lather to wash us. "Do you want me to?" he asked cautiously.

I turned around and leaned back against the wall, smiling at him sadly. "It's only fair, doncha think?" My words came out a little slurred from the culmination of the last hours: weariness, liquor, depression. "You've been fucking me all along. I figure, one last time...?"

"You want to explain that to me, big guy?"

"Well," I said slowly, as I twisted a strand of his chest hair around my finger. "No. I don't think I do. Not now. Just wanna fuck now. Doncha wanna fuck me?"

"I thought you were mad at me."

"I was. An' I'll be mad at you again tomorrow. Tonight I just want you to put your big dick into my ass. Okay?"

"So, you're going to be mad at me again tomorrow, anyway?"

I nodded somberly.

"Then I guess I might as well give you something to be really angry about!"

Before I could question his meaning, his mouth slammed against mine, knocking my head back against the wall. I could taste blood as he split my lip, and then nothing mattered except his hands on my body and his cock rubbing demandingly on mine.

"Ever do it in a shower, Bobby?" he asked gutturally. He shoved me around and angled my hips sharply back toward him.

I had to shake my head, I couldn't speak. I ached with excitement as I felt soapy hands stroking the crevice of my buttocks, finding my puckered opening and entering with two fingers to stretch me.

I was breathing heavily through my mouth, quivering with anticipation. And then the hard tip of Ben's cock nudged at me for entry. He toyed with me, taking his time, pushing in an inch and then pausing until I begged for more.

And he made me beg. By the time he was all the way in and I could feel his thighs against my ass I was almost frantic with unslaked passion.

He would bring me to the edge and then stop until I moaned and pleaded with him to finish me. Again and again he hit the spot that almost had me sobbing with need.

"Please, Ben! Please!"

He grunted in my ear. His mouth fastened on my neck and he sucked on it strongly. Finally he seized my cock in both hands and jerked me off, almost painfully, until I began to spill myself between his fingers. "Mine! You're mine!"

At the same time I could feel the heat of Ben's semen pouring into me. We had been in the shower so long that the water had become cold. The chill of it pouring over me contrasted so sharply with the hot come inside me that I shuddered in mindless pleasure.

With a groan, Ben eased himself out of me and rinsed us both off. He twisted the faucets and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around me while he took another one and dried himself with vigorous swipes.

"You know something, big guy? I wasn't kidding when I told you I loved you. That's why I was so hurt when you said you wouldn't want to marry me."

I followed him into the bedroom and looked at the twin beds. Ben already had the covers of his bed stripped down. He got under the sheet and turned on his side, leaving me standing alone.

"I didn't say I wouldn't marry you," I told him, a thread of pain in my voice. He didn't say anything, but I could see he was listening to me. Don't fuck this up now, Graham! I said to myself. But I knew, even as I took a deep breath and jumped, that it was futile. There could be no future for us. "I said I couldn't."

He turned over to look at me, his eyes bitter. "What do you feel for me, Bobby?"

Why did he keep pushing me? I had given him everything that I dared. "It doesn't matter what I feel. I'm FBI, Ben. I can't have any kind of relationship with you! And oh, Christ, I'd cut off my right arm if I could!"

He ignored my outburst. "Say it, College boy!"

All I could do was look at him with my heart in my eyes.

"Say it!"

I felt as if my heart was being ripped out and devoured by wild animals. I sat down on my bed and shook my head. "It doesn't matter." I felt defeated, deflated. "When this is over, I'm going back to Washington. That you *say* you love me won't mean anything.

"And the fact that I love you..."

My words hung in the air. I got under the covers and turned out the light.

END EPISODE 5