Chapter Text
The men were asleep, which is what Lipton should have been doing. The convent was loud with the sound of snoring, heavy breathing from noses that were blocked from months out in the cold suddenly thrust into the warm. The nuns looked cold, but compared to sitting out in a foxhole, the convent was an oven.
The ground and benches were littered with men, fallen down with exhaustion, giving in to the call of a night less likely to be interrupted by artillery.
But Lipton was awake. He wasn’t even lying down trying to sleep. Knowing he would just fidget around and disturb everyone else, he’d retreated to the edge of the room. His heart hadn’t stopped racing since the fighting stopped. And he hadn’t stopped sweating either.
Careful not to wake anyone, Lipton eased open to the door and slipped outside.
The cold was almost soothing on his clammy skin. There weren't any fires, but the layer of snow covering the ground illuminated the night. Enough for Lipton not to trip over anyway, to make out the silhouettes of the half destroyed buildings they’d been fighting over.
The snowglow wasn’t why he realised he wasn’t alone, that was the glow of the end of a cigarette.
‘You should be getting some sleep,’ Speirs said, voice low, but with no competing sounds Lipton could hear him easily. Gloveless hands shoved in his pockets, Lipton walked over to his commander. And what a relief that was, a commander that wasn’t just competent, but after his dash across Foy seemed nigh-on unkillable. Though Lipton had seen enough to know there was no such thing.
‘So should you, sir,’ Lipton replied, tacking on the honorific a little belatedly, not sure yet what their dynamic was going to be. Speirs hadn’t been with Easy company until today, beyond the stories, Speirs was an unknown. Or, less known, at least in Easy.
Speirs didn’t reply. He just looked at Lipton, unreadable eyes lit up for just a second by another inhale of his cigarette.
Lipton shifted on his feet. ‘Too restless to sleep right now. Didn’t want to disturb the men. They need the rest.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘No, I do,’ Lipton huffed, a huff of air that turned into a cough in the cold night air. ‘But like I said, restless.’
‘As Lieutenant I’ve taken the liberty of claiming a room for myself. It’s little more than a closet, but you could sleep there, if you’re worried about waking the men,’ Speirs said, unreadable as ever. Lipton didn’t know what to make of the offer.
When Speirs offered Lipton his cigarette he took it, though the new habit made him cough again, the warmth in his lungs was welcome, even if his skin was still clammy with sweat, his heart still beating too fast.
‘I couldn’t kick you out of your bed sir. You need rest too.’
‘Join me in it instead then.’
‘What?’ Lipton asked, almost laughing as he passed the cigarette back.
Speirs took another drag before he replied. Slow. His invitation hung between them, taking on a weight Lipton didn’t think it could possibly deserve. He’s misheard, or it was a joke, or the closet was much bigger than he was imagining.
‘I want to sleep with you, Lipton,’ Speirs said. He just said it.
Lipton wondered if he was hallucinating, initially, but his senses were too sharp. The cold nipping at his cheeks, the smell of the cigarette smoke, the lines of Speirs’ face in the cigarette glow.
Lipton then wondered if he could have misunderstood. But no, they were both American, that statement had to mean the same thing to both of them. Which meant Speirs wanted to sleep with him. Sleep with him, as in, have sex with him.
The silence, heavy, dragged on past where anyone in any normal situation would have found a way to break it.
Speirs took another drag. The cigarette ember and snow glow lit him up enough for Lipton to know those unreadable eyes were still on him, and Speirs looked totally calm.
‘Um.’
‘Think about it.’
‘What?’ Lipton said, confusion thick in his tone, his brain struggling to catch thoughts that made any sense. Because it didn’t make sense. Speirs, a man, had just propositioned him, Clifford Carwood Lipton, who was also a man. Which was for one thing unexpected.
More to the point it was also illegal, the kind of thing soldiers got shot by their own side over. But Speirs had just said it.
It was almost safe like that, Lipton realised. It was so surreal Lipton didn’t know how he would tell anyone. Not that he was going to tell anyone, besides any other consideration Easy was in desperate need of a XO that knew what they were doing.
Not that he was even sure Speirs had considered it to that extent. He wasn’t sure of much around Speirs.
Speirs almost laughed and stubbed out his cigarette and for a moment Lipton thought Speirs was going to tell him he was joking, josh him on the shoulder and tease him for even half believing him.
‘I want to sleep with you.’ Speirs shrugged. He shrugged . ‘I don’t think that’s going to change any time soon, so think about it. Take your time, we’ve got a whole war. Let me know if you want to too. It’s a unique situation, we all need a little comfort from time to time. If not then this doesn’t need to matter.’
‘Um.’ Lipton said, which seemed the only sensible response to Lipton, even later, with the space to think about it more clearly. However, this time Speirs did laugh, he even clapped him on the shoulder. But he definitely didn’t say that he was joking.
‘Get inside Lipton. It’s cold out here and you need sleep. That’s an order.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Lipton said, clinging to the words for their normalcy and only succeeding in adding to the surrealism.
Speirs went inside. Lipton waited a few minutes, trying to make sense of what had happened, which was difficult because it didn’t make sense. Why would Speirs want to sleep with him? Carwood Lipton? Of all the-
Not that that was the point. Or the major issue.
Maybe Speirs was feverish or something.
Back inside the convent, Lipton forced himself to find a patch of floor and lie down. His skin was clammier and his heart beating at an even more uncomfortable clip than before he went outside.
#
Speirs didn’t have a fever, but after a few days even Lipton couldn’t deny that he did. He was coughing and only seemed to stop sweating so that he could shiver; though increasingly his body was managing both. He was doing his best to hide it, he thought he was doing pretty well, he hadn’t drawn Doc Roe’s ire yet anyway.
They’d moved out of Rechamps quickly and onto the next town and he had no intention of being sent to an aid station because he’d got a little chilly. This town had been faster anyway, no huddling in foxholes for weeks on end, they already had the benefit of buildings again. Besides, they’d all been sleeping out in the snow for months, he wasn’t going to shirk his responsibilities. Besides, even outside of active combat, Easy needed some stability, and according to Speirs, Lipton was it.
Speirs.
Lipton was ashamed to admit he’d been slow in realising he was ill because a at first a hammering heart and sweat had seemed like a reasonable reaction to-
To the incident.
Speirs had been no different from usual. Given Lipton hadn’t spent enough time with the man to be an authority on what was usual for Speirs, but he hadn’t treated Lipton any differently. Again, not that Lipton had any particular baseline to work from.
Speirs didn’t treat him any differently than he might have expected before. That was what he meant.
Differently than the others, but nothing that seemed out of line with their relative ranks comparative to the rest of the men, even and certainly nothing Lipton could detect as inappropriate. Speirs was serious when the situation called for it, casual when things were more relaxed with the company, the orders he gave Lipton were sensible, effective, and necessary - which was a welcome relief after Dike.
Speirs was so normal, that Lipton had almost convinced himself the whole thing was a weird dream.
Unfortunately all he dreamed of these days was battle, usually Bulge, so he couldn’t quite convince himself.
‘Hey Lip, how long d’you think we’ll be here?’ Luz asked him as he sauntered past, and Lipton balled his fists so they weren’t so obviously shaking.
‘Dunno, I’ll ask Captain Winters,’ Lipton offered.
At first he had been hoping they’d move out quickly again, like in Foy, but by the time the sun had started rising that morning, Lipton could admit that he was feeling lousy enough that he could do with a rest. Another day or two here, light duties in a town they’d already taken and he’d be right as rain. Though having said that the freezing rain that had started up probably wasn’t helping his chill.
‘He and Sink are holed up. Can’t. Speirs is looking for you, by the way. He’s in the mess.’
‘Right,’ Lipton said, doing his best to look like hearing Speirs was looking for him hadn’t set him immediately on alert.
Why? Was he planning on reminding Lip of his offer? Did he think he could have possibly forgotten ?
Then Lipton’s increasingly sluggish brain reminded him that his commanding officer could be looking for him for any number of normal things, and he sort of relaxed. Difficult when he was trying not to shiver.
In some ways Lipton would be relieved if Speirs did say it again. At least then he’d know he hadn’t gone crazy.
‘You okay sargent? You look kinda peaky.’
‘I’m fine Luz,’ Lipton said, turning to head for the mess, worried Luz could read something in his face before coughing violently and realising yeah, he could, a fever.
The mess wasn’t busy, just the dregs of lunch. Speirs was easy to spot, though even if every soldier in town had been crammed inside Lipton was fairly certain he’d have no problem spotting Speirs. He’d been very aware of his Captain since the incident.
Lipton swallowed in an attempt to appease his throat, though it was already itching to cough again, and approached Speirs.
‘Luz said you were looking for me.’
‘You haven’t had lunch,’ Speirs said, his cool eyes not moving from Lipton’s own bloodshot ones.
‘Well, no,’ Lipton answered, even though it hadn’t been a question. ‘Not had time.’
‘You didn’t have breakfast either and barely ate dinner last night.’
‘You’ve been watching me?’ Lipton said, and he didn’t even mean it like that, like how it sounded, he was just surprised anyone paid that much attention to him, but Speirs narrowed his eyes.
‘Malarkey did, he’s concerned,’ Speirs did and Lipton felt ashamed. Right now Malarkey was the one that should be being worried about, he had that same look in his eye Buck had gotten, and no one was sure yet if he was going to snap back or just snap.
‘Just not hungry,’ Lipton replied, which was weak even before he started coughing. Speirs’ eyes got narrower.
‘Give him double. He didn’t get dinner, or breakfast,’ Speirs ordered the mess officer, who nodded and yessir’ed quickly, as everyone did to Speirs. Unappetising brown slop was poured in a tin for Lipton as Speirs marched out of the tent.
Lipton sat down, kicking himself but not wanting to think about it too much. He had a headache brewing and he could feel a prickle of sweat on his hairline that he quickly swiped away. He hadn't been hungry before he’d seen the fare on offer, but Speirs was right, he needed to eat, appetite or no, so Lipton diligently started eating. It was still just about warm, which made him shiver, but there weren’t many people around.
Or there weren’t, until Lipton forced down the last couple of bites and Speirs marched back inside with Doc Roe at his heel.
The Doc took one look at him before his face arranged itself into a pissed off stormcloud.
Speirs was as unreadable as ever. That could give a guy a complex, Lipton thought, not that he was thinking about it.
#
He had pneumonia, a Doc that was furious with him, and a XO that had chewed him out so thoroughly Lipton had barely been able to look up from his shoes - or stop coughing, but that felt unrelated.
Everything Speirs said - because Speirs wasn’t a yeller - was right, he should have said he was feeling ill, they weren’t fighting for their lives he could have taken a rest, he’d probably made it worse. When Speirs demanded a reason, Lipton had the only one there ever was.
‘Didn’t want to let down the men, sir.’ He would have said more, that they’d lost a lot here, that him curling up in bed wasn’t going to reassure the shaken men of their company or their flagging morale any, but he started coughing instead. It was a relief not to have to hold it in anymore.
‘Come with me,’ Speirs said, turning on his heel and marching out the mess. At his instruction, Lipton retrieved his things from the corner of the house he was sleeping in - it was in better shape than most of the houses, but it didn’t have a roof. At the time it had seemed like a decent place to sleep, somewhere he wouldn’t wake anyone up with his coughing.
He followed Speirs into a church, the only building still mostly standing, the warmth inside the stone walls immediately worsening his sweat and shivers in equal measure. At a nondescript door Speirs stopped and told Lipton to wait, which he did, watching through his increasingly foggy mind as Speirs hauled a bedroll and a handful of small items out from beyond the door.
‘In there. Sleep. It’s warm. And Doc says you’ve got to stay bundled up, no matter how hot you feel. Someone will bring you dinner, you’re expected to eat it, and to tell the doc the truth when he comes to see you.’ Speirs ordered before walking away.
Lipton was lying down on his thin bedroll before he realised this must be the space Speirs had claimed for himself.
The irony was not difficult to recognise.
#
Lipton deteriorated quickly. Awareness of the passage of time left him completely. He vaguely remembered Roe telling him pneumonia wasn’t contagious, followed by a steady stream of men checking in on him. Lipton wasn’t sure how much time passed between them, or if they were being sent or just showing up.
He did remember Dick coming in and scolding him before producing some truly vile coffee that he forced Lipton to sit up and drink because Roe had said hot food and drink was good. He was pretty sure Luz gave him his dinner, because two meals seemed to happen on top of each other, but he wasn’t sure enough to say no - especially not with Speirs in the doorway practically daring him to refuse it.
Speirs. He was there a lot. Usually bearing something, extra blankets, food, drink, and once - mercifully - a bowl of water to wash some of the sweat off his face.
The cough was what was bothering Lipton the most, he kept coughing himself awake, only through the fever he couldn’t wake up properly, so he’d much rather just sleep through it, only being woken by someone feeding him or Doc Roe’s frowning face.
There were a number of conversations that went on over him, not exactly including him, usually involving Roe, Dick and Speirs. One of these conversations was how Lipton discovered he might die, but by the time he reacted they were gone.
‘That’s not nice doc.’
‘Lipton?’ Definitely Speirs not the doc. Doc’s voice was hard to mistake. ‘Sit up, have a drink.’ Speirs ordered, helping him into a sitting position despite how much it hurt Lipton’s lungs to move and viciously taking advantage of his moment of lucidity to spoon food into his mouth until he started coughing too much to permit it.
At least after that Speirs helped him to lie down again, which felt like there was an anvil on his chest, but also hurt less.
‘What’s not nice?’ Speirs asked after a moment. Lipton forced his eyes to blink open.
‘That I might die,’ Lipton replied, recalling the jist of Doc Roe’s angry diatribe he’d been half awake for earlier - how much earlier, Lipton didn’t know.
Speirs’ face was so guarded so often that it was fascinating when a real expression crossed it. Even as he was, Lipton couldn’t help but study it. His brow lowered, his soft mouth set itself in a hard line, his eyes narrowed.
‘You’re not going to die. That’s an order, Lieutenant. Easy needs you.’ Speirs said, he’s been calling him lieutenant even though the commission hadn’t been confirmed officially yet, might never be now.
‘Yessir,’ Lipton replied, slurring the Ss and crumbling into another round of coughing, after which Speirs made him have another drink. ‘Captain?’
‘Yes?’
‘I can’t really breathe.’ He didn’t want to say it, but it felt important that his lungs felt like they were on fire and every breath seemed to bring in less air.
Speirs jumped to his feet and swung the door open. ‘Someone get the doc!’
Huh, Lipton thought as he drifted off again, that’s what he sounds like when he shouts.
#
In his moments of clarity - or partial clarity - Lipton had enough presence of mind to be really pissed off that he might be about to die of a chill in the middle of a war. Fear of dying had been shelled out of him, so there was only indignation left.
A chill. Everyone else was fine but Lipton had caught a chill that had got into his lungs and was trying to kill him. And from Luz’s face every time he came to see him, Lipton must look like the chill was going to win.
There was always someone in the closet with him, presumably in case he stopped breathing - and it was hard to be annoyed at them when breathing hurt him like a bitch and he made a sound like a wheezing, sickly cat every time he inhaled. Given that holding his breath hurt even more than not breathing, that sad noise was the constant concert of whoever was sitting with him.
Most of Easy’s men took turns, tagging in and out, telling him stories he was only sort of aware of - he knew they were telling him stories, but could never hold on to the details of a whole one. Then there was Dick, sometimes Nix, and the doc. And Speirs. Most often Speirs.
It was hard to tell if it was because Speirs was there most often, or because Lipton woke up more when he was there. Speirs spoke the least, he didn’t fill the air like the men did, he just sat and watched. Lipton wondered if it should make him uncomfortable, but coughing on death's door seemed like a safe enough place to admit that it was nice, really, having Speirs there.
‘You’re here again,’ Lipton wheezed one time or another, possibly both. His voice was pathetic even to his own ears, and it made him cough. Speirs frowned at him.
‘Stop trying to speak,’ he said, which made Lipton wonder if he’d tried recently and forgotten.
‘You don’t talk to me unless I talk to you.’
‘I’m not a big talker.’
‘Why’re you always here?’
‘Can’t lose everyone's favourite lieutenant on my watch. Dick’ll snatch the shiny new captain’s bars right off my uniform. Now, stop talking, or I’ll go get the doc and he won’t ask as nicely as me.’
He did have a habit of asking nicely, Lipton could admit that much.
#
‘You’re here again,’ Lipton said again. It happened at least twice, but by the look in Speirs’ eyes and how he barely looked up from his book, it probably happened more than that.
‘Well, you’re in my room,’ Speirs replied.
Oh yeah, Lipton remembered. That.
#
‘I didn’t know you spoke French,’ Lipton rasped, his bleary eyes having opened enough to see the book Speirs was holding, and its very French title. He coughed after speaking, his throat was raw and his jaw had that stiff feeling it got when it hadn’t been used in a while.
‘Why do you think I speak French?’
‘Your book’s in French.’
‘Tsk lieutenant, never let that stop you.’
He frowned at Speirs. Speirs just made him drink some water and eat something before ordering him back to sleep.
#
Lipton woke himself up by shivering so violently he bit his tongue. He groaned, a pathetic little sound jarred around by his shivers, even though he was abstractly aware the closet was warm, and he was well bundled up.
‘Lipton? You alright?’ Dick this time.
‘Cold.’
‘Need the doc?’
Lipton shook his head. He felt a little clearer than he had in however long it had been. He was just cold, and cold didn’t really mean much after Bulge.
When he woke up again it was because more blankets were being tucked around him. He didn’t open his eyes, but he knew it wasn’t Dick anyway.
#
‘He’s warmer than before.’ A hand on his forehead. Speirs, his hand was cool.
‘His fever might be getting worse.’ Doc Roe’s stressed drawl was unmistakable.
‘What does he need?’
‘I don’t know, Captain.’
‘You’re the doc.’
‘Call me Doc all y’all like, I’m a combat medic . I stop bleeding. I never studied things like this. We can get him moved to an aid station, they have some real doctors there.’
Speaking felt a little too hard, but Lipton struggled to wet his throat to try anyway. But he didn’t need to.
‘No,’ he said.
‘What was that, Lip?’ But that was Luz. Lipton wasn’t sure how much time had passed.
‘No aid station.’
‘What?’
‘No aid station,’ he said, and then began coughing.
‘No one’s taking you to an aid station. Speirs is at the aid station.’
Luz kept speaking, but white noise had taken over Lipton’s hearing. Had he missed combat? Christ it didn’t need to be combat, a stray mine or hiding sniper could happen any time.
By the time he managed to ask why, Luz was gone, and Nix didn’t know what he meant. He fed Lip a swallow of whiskey though, which was nicer than hot water.
#
‘Ouch,’ Lipton complained as something sharp snagged his arm.
‘Shush.’ Speirs.
Lipton’s eyes flew open. Well, he felt like they did but it may have been more of a drag.
‘You’re okay?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be okay?’ Spiers asked. ‘Go back to sleep.’
#
Lipton started to feel better, but progress was slow. His fever had broken but he still had a nasty chill and struggled to get out from under his layers. He struggled to get anywhere because he was so weak, a discovery that made his cheeks flush with shame.
The cough was still present but easing off. He could manage a few sentences before he started hacking at least. And his heart had finally finally started to slow down. Most of the time.
He still had no appetite, not that anyone playing nursemaid - sometimes Luz, sometimes someone else, mostly Speirs - ever let him get away without eating.
But he could breathe properly again, and that was how Lipton decided he wasn’t going to die after all. Which made being laid up in bed frustrating.
In some ways being lucid was worse. He was restless, and felt lousy, and most of all, was bored . Especially as he had less company when everyone else also decided he wasn’t going to drop dead. They didn’t abandon him, far from it, but he couldn’t guarantee someone was going to be there every moment anymore.
Speirs was still his most frequent watcher, but he wasn’t a big talker. And Lipton was still being scolded every time he did try to speak.
‘If you can talk you can eat,’ Speirs threatened, brandishing a tin and a spoon filled with brown slop. He forced a few mouthfuls into Lipton before he pushed him away with what feeble strength his arms had. He knew eating was sensible, but his throat was ruined.
Speirs gave up, but said a sharp, reprimanding ‘ah!’ when Lipton went to speak again.
Speirs watched him. Lipton crossed his arms over his chest and watched him right back. They stayed like that for a long time, but Speirs broke first, looking away with a huff that might have been a laugh and returned to his novel. This one was in English. Lipton shoved him with his foot and nodded at the book.
Speirs got the hint and started to read aloud.
#
‘All due respect Captain but we need to stay. He can’t be moved.’
‘Nothing I can do, orders are from Sink. The doc says he’s looking better, happy for him to be moved.’
Dick and Speirs were talking outside the door, which wasn’t even entirely closed. Lipton resented that he didn’t even need to eavesdrop to hear them talking about him.
‘The doc isn’t a real doc.’
‘Captain. I know you’re worried, but he’s looking good. We’ll put him in a truck, he won’t have to walk, we’ll keep him wrapped up. He’ll be alright.’
‘And if he’s not? Last time we moved him he got so much worse on the road he nearly died.’
Lipton had enough of listening and dragged himself up from the floor. Something he’d been having more luck with when no one was around to yell at him to lie down. He knocked over a canteen and the door opened the rest of the way.
‘I can travel, Captain Winters,’ Lipton said, doing his best to stand to attention.
‘Good. But I am serious, you’re to travel in the truck and stay warm.’
‘I’m not an invalid.’
‘Yes you are,’ Speirs said, his words clipped. ‘I’ll make sure he’s ready to move, sir.’
‘I think you’ll have a harder time keeping him still.’
#
Whether Lipton wanted to move or not was somewhat irrelevant, because walking exhausted him anyway. The distance from the closet to the truck left him asleep for hours. But even in the back of a moving truck, Lipton continued to get better.
Without the fever it became harder not to think about Speirs next to him. About Speirs generally. Without the fever it became harder to write off his thoughts as well.
It took the others riding in the truck four chapters of Speirs reading aloud before they realised he didn’t know French - Christenson asked what the book was about, Speirs replied ‘hell if I know' - and an uproar had taken over, during which Speirs flashed Lipton a knowing smile. He probably couldn’t blame his heart rate on the lingering pneumonia.
#
In Haguenau lodging was a little better, and Speirs stopped trying to send him to bed so much, if only because he needed him to remember the names of Easy’s men.
It was also where he started to feel much better. Or that might have been on the journey, but that had been so uncomfortable in a truck bed he hadn’t noticed. He managed to stand long enough to take a shower, which was a blessed relief after sweating for weeks. If it exhausted him for the rest of the day it was worth it.
He felt guilty that he wasn’t well enough to lead the night patrol and give Malarkey the break he needed before he broke instead. It must have shown on his face, because Speirs narrowed his eyes at him and ordered him to bed.
Lipton didn’t go, but somehow ordering him to bed had become code for stop being stupid, and he’d been quiet and helped Speirs with his paperwork. Speirs’ handwriting was much better than his, which he hadn’t expected.
Speirs had claimed a room with a couple of beds and installed Lipton in the other, and even though Lipton couldn’t help but remember , Speirs was nothing more than friendly, treated him no different to how Dick or Buck had.
It was good, it was-
It was frustrating.
Surely Speirs remembered too. Surely he didn’t go around inviting enough men to bed that he’d forgotten. No, he’d be dead if he did that.
Which meant- Lipton wasn’t sure what it meant. But he could admit what thinking about it so much meant for him.
#
‘Captain?’ Lipton said into the dark of the room.
‘Hm?’
‘I’m very cold.’
He felt a little guilty about the speed with which Speirs sat up. He couldn’t see much in the moonlight, but Speirs’ silhouette was clear enough.
The nearly eradicated pneumonia had left him feeling the cold more easily, but with the three extra blankets Speirs had shoved on the bed, he wasn’t as cold as his announcement would have made Speirs worry.
Since the fever had broken the only thing Lipton had complained about was feeling weak and being kept still.
‘You need more blankets?’ Speirs asked, already on his feet. In his uniform except for his coat and boots. Lipton wondered where he was planning on getting them at this time of night unless he was ready to pluck them from sleeping soldiers.
‘No I-’
‘Here,’ Speirs reached for his coat, draped over the back of the lone chair.
Lipton couldn’t help but shiver as Speirs laid it on top of his blankets.
‘You’re shivering. You can have my blanket-’
Lipton unburied his arm from the blankets and reached for Speirs’ wrist. He fumbled a bit in the dark and caught the sleeve of his shirt instead.
‘I can’t take your blanket, Captain.’
‘You need to warm up.’
‘So warm me up.’
Silence engulfed the room, and Lipton was grateful his face couldn’t be seen in the dark because he could feel how red he was. He could hardly believe what he had just asked. No, not just asked, conspired to ask.
He didn’t need light to know the way Speirs was watching him, unreadable, surprise masked. Maybe Speirs didn’t need the light to know how hard Lipton was blushing.
‘I don’t want any confusion. Are you inviting me to bed, lieutenant?’ Speirs asked, his voice dropped quiet.
Lipton nodded and then realised the dark meant he needed to speak. ‘Yessir.’
His heart hammered as Speirs slipped into the bed beside him, under the heap of blankets. It was a narrow bed, there was nowhere to hide, no moment when they weren’t pressed up against each other. He could feel his heart in his throat as Speirs lay on his side beside him, his breath already catching when Speirs’ hand fell to his stomach.
‘We can probably drop the sir. At least for now, don’t you think?’ Speirs said, his hand moving on Lipton’s stomach. The thick wool of his uniform was a barrier, but seemed to do nothing to reduce the intensity of that touch.
Lipton nodded uselessly again. ‘Probably.’
‘You want me to warm you up?’
‘Yes.’ Lipton said, only just resisting taking on the sir again, half of him trying to retreat into some kind of familiarity while the other half had other ideas. He could feel himself already getting hard, Speirs’ hand was only on his stomach. His clothed stomach.
Lipton vehemently did not think about his wedding night.
‘Lets see about that then.’
Lipton’s pulse jackrabbitted as Speirs’ hand travelled lower and he started undoing Lipton’s belt. He had a feeling Speirs was watching him again, even in the dark, could feel those eyes on him heavy as another touch. Lipton felt frozen as Speirs unfastened his pants.
‘Alright?’ Speirs asked. His hand was moving, skating up Lipton’s clothed body and away from his pants.
‘Not yet,’ Lipton said, more boldly than he felt. It was worth it when Speirs almost laughed again, a good, low, almost-laugh.
Then his hand moved again. He didn’t slowly slide back down Lipton’s body, or touch him over his underwear like Lipton expected, instead Speirs’ hand pushed into his underwear and took hold of his cock without warning.
‘F-’ Lipton started, cramming a hand over his mouth to cut himself off. The walls were not thick.
He didn’t need to see in the dark to know Speirs was smirking at him. Any attempt Lipton might have made to gather his thoughts to retort were destroyed when Speirs squeezed and started to stroke him. Lipton made another aborted noise.
‘Need help keeping quiet?’ Speirs murmured, his tone absolutely gleeful.
‘No.’ Lipton managed around an exhale, only for the hand on his cock to stoke up so slowly it was painful then release his shaft in favour of running the palm of his hand over the head. He was in hell, and probably going there too.
‘Sure?’ Speirs asked, and he moved so that Lipton could feel his smile because it was pressed into the skin of his neck. The scrape of stubble was so unavoidably male that Lipton expected it to make the reality of what he was doing crash around him; it did, but it only made his cock jump against Speirs’ hand.
Lipton said nothing, because as Speirs’ teeth grazed against his neck and his hand went back to stroke him, slick with Lipton’s own desperate arousal, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. His body made the choice for him as Speirs’ hand dragged another quickly silenced moan out of him.
‘Here,’ Speirs said, and Lipton was distracted from the hand on his cock long enough to take in the feeling of Speirs’ lips against his jaw, moving closer to his mouth.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t kiss,’ Lipton whispered, feeling the absurdity as soon as he had said it.
‘If you don’t want to, we don't have to. But my hand is on your dick, I’m not sure kissing is of much concern.’ As Speirs spoke Lipton could feel his lips moving against his cheek, the warmth of his breath. ‘You might like it.’ Speirs added, as if that wasn’t half the problem.
Speirs didn’t move his mouth, he just kept slowly stroking Lipton’s cock and breathing against his cheek until Lipton broke and turned his head towards him.
Speirs kissed the same way he did everything else; with absolute confidence and conviction. It felt good, dangerously good. Speirs’ three day stubble against his skin, his lips chapped from the cold, his tongue already against the seam of Lipton’s lips. Letting Speirs’ tongue in his mouth seemed permissible, given the way his hand was stroking his cock, and how efficiently Speirs was swallowing any strangled noises that escaped his throat.
Lipton was on edge, it had been so long since anyone had touched him, it had been months since he’d even had the privacy to touch himself, and Speirs was…Speirs was like nothing he had experienced before. He could taste the tobacco on his tongue and all he could smell was Speirs, and now that he was being kissed Speirs had rolled half on top of him and that alone was a new experience, caged in like that, the heavy weight of another body pressing down on him.
He could feel the press of Speirs’ hard cock against his hip, the rub of friction as Speirs searched for some relief, his teeth as he bit hard on Lipton’s lower lip and his hand squeezed his cock a little harder.
Lipton wheezed to contain his whine, feeling his climax within reach, Speirs pumped his cock harder and Lipton had to catch his own moan with a panicked breath as Speirs’ mouth left his. Speirs’ free hand pressed over his mouth, keeping Lipton quiet, as the hand on his cock stilled.
Lipton’s glare was indignant, desperate, not that it could be seen, but Speirs could certainly feel him squirming in protest.
‘ Speirs .’ Lipton tried to whisper his protest, but Speirs’ hand was fast around his mouth, making his heart beat all the faster, his hips buck.
‘Shh. I’m not done,’ Speirs said, his hand moving again in a slow, teasing stroke, too light for what Lipton wanted, but the thumb that Speirs kept sending sliding over the tip of his cock and gathering up the wetness there every few strokes making Lipton miss Speirs’ hand over his mouth.
‘You’ve got a nice cock.’
‘You can’t even see it, Speirs,’ Lipton replied, not deaf to the hysterical, if whispered, note in his voice.
‘But I can feel it,’ Speirs grinned, giving his cock another squeeze and making Lipton’s whole body jerk. ‘I know you only just dropped the sir, but given the circumstances I think you can call me Ron.’
‘Ron,’ Lipton hissed as Speirs’ grip slackened again. ‘ Please .’
‘Alright,’ Speirs replied, and Lipton was kissed again, only for a moment, before Speirs’ free hand was back over his mouth, keeping him firmly silent as he started to stroke Lipton’s cock with more purpose.
It was only then that Lipton knew Speirs - Ron - hadn’t been trying to make him come, because now he could feel the intensity of Ron when he was working towards a goal. Poised and focused, his breath hot against Lipton’s ear as he pumped his cock, squeezing tight and pumping him fast.
Lipton didn’t know what to do with his hands, one was clawing the sheets, the other ended up grasping at Ron’s shirt, balling the fabric in his fist as Ron worked him over. All the while Ron was whispering in his ear come on , and that’s it , and nice and quiet , occasionally biting at Lipton’s jaw.
He was right at the edge, about to come harder than he had in his life, than he had with any of the pretty girls from back home, with a man’s hand on him and a man’s voice in his ear, and a man’s stubble against his cheek, and a man’s hard cock pressed up against him.
Lipton came hard as Ron nipped at his ear, encouraging him through every electrified shock of it, stroking Lipton until he had to paw at Ron’s hand to get him to stop, body jerking with sensitivity.
‘Fuck,’ Lipton breathed when Ron removed his hand and shifted to the side of him, apparently trusting him to keep quiet now he’d stopped shuddering.
Ron didn’t say anything, but Lipton was sure there would be a smug smile if he could only see it. It made him feel competitive.
‘Come here,’ Lipton whispered, tugging Ron back on top of him and reaching for his belt.
He fumbled when Ron kissed him again, his dexterity still shot from his orgasm not helped by the way Ron so casually took his lips back, the way he licked his tongue into Lipton’s mouth like he had done it a thousand times.
Undoing pants that weren’t his own was surreal, a new experience to add to everything else, and Lipton didn’t hesitate when he had them open, sliding his hand inside Ron’s underwear and wrapping his fingers around Ron’s cock. Ron didn’t make a noise, but he did bite down for a moment on Lipton’s bottom lip, and he decided that was a good sign.
Ron was hot, almost feeling as though he was the feverish one, and he used his position above Lipton to rock his hips into Lipton’s hand, dictating the pace as much as Lipton did.
He knew Ron was uncircumcised, quarters were close in the army and everyone showered together, and Lipton felt hot under his skin as he wondered if this - that they were going to end up here, that he was apparently knee-shakingly attracted to Ron - was why he had remembered. Shame flushed his cheeks as he wished they had some light, so that he could see Ron’s cock, look at it freely, rather than just feel it, heavy and urgent in his hand.
Ron broke their kiss just long enough to tell him tighter , reclaiming Lipton’s mouth as soon as he tightened his grip. He was barely doing anything, just creating a tight space for Ron to fuck into, and that was a thought that left Lipton swallowing a sudden moan, as if he was the one being touched. It made Ron pump his hips harder.
One of Ron’s hand slipped into Lipton’s hair and gripped it tight in a way that made his cock want to get hard again. Ron was going tense above him, his hip driving into Lipton’s pumping fist harder and faster until with a snap of his hips and laboured exhale between Lipton’s lips, Ron came. Lipton kept his fist around Ron’s cock, letting him rut into his hand for as long as he liked, almost disappointed when Ron finished and rolled to the side of him with a heavy breath.
They lay there, quiet except for slightly laboured breathing. He half expected Ron to light up a cigarette, but they were on the other side of the room. After a little while, Ron moved, shifting to stand, but not before dropping an unexpected kiss on Lipton, he didn’t know if Ron had wanted to kiss his mouth and missed in the dark, or if he’d meant to kiss his scar.
‘Next time we’ll have to try and steal a bit of light. Hate to think what I missed out on in all this dark.’ Speirs said. Lipton could just about make out him doing his pants up in silhouette. He tried to focus on that, instead of his casual next time , and the way it made his heart thud and cock twitch.
‘Not much,’ Lipton huffed, and the silhouette stopped. He was being watched again. Lipton half wondered if Ron could see in the dark, he wouldn’t be surprised, it would go some way to explaining the things Ron had managed in this war.
‘We’ll see,’ he said, after the pause had stretched out beyond all reason. Then the floor creaked as he moved back over to his bed, a couple of paces away.