i think we're alone now

for a moment klaus is confused, glancing down at himself.  it’s nothing special - an old skirt of allison’s, a cut up shirt that only reaches klaus’ waist, leaving a stretch of skin bare on his midriff.  it takes him a moment to realize that dave isn’t really used to seeing him in this kind of thing ; they rarely got to wear anything but their uniform, barring their brief down-time when klaus was more often wearing borrowed clothes than not, given that he didn’t have…anything, when he arrived.  

but now he’s got his own clothes again, and he sways back and forth in front of dave, holding up a handful of the skirt to make it move with him.  ❛ yeah? ❜ he’s got a soft, goofy smile on his face ; it’s helped by the high, but it’s even more helped along by dave’s expression, his delighted smile.  

it wasn’t quite spur of the moment, but being asked about it makes klaus flush.  not that he wasn’t already flushed, stretched out on the bed and covered in sweat, the rush of sex and orgasm washing away slowly.  he’s got his fingers laced through dave’s equally sweat-soaked hair, and closes his eyes as he feels gentle fingers trace across it.

he got it while dave was still recovering, when he needed to do something stupid and painful and didn’t want it to be self-destructive, because he knew dave wouldn’t like that.  so…this, instead.  ❛ yeah, it did ❜ is what he says, with a soft smile.  it had been what he needed, at the time.  something painful, to make him feel real.

❛ klaus loves dave.  it in thai. ❜ it seems stupid, saying it out loud, but klaus had liked the curve of the letters, the way they’d looked curved against his skin.  the permanence of dave’s name there, in a language klaus has always found beautiful.  ❛ i’m sorry i didn’t ask you, first.  i needed to do something.  this seemed like the thing you’d hate the least. ❜ he smiles, presses a kiss into dave’s hair.

he’d never really known loved could feel like this before.  he’s glad he knows now.

    his  breath  hitches  in  his  throat  as  the  weapon  is extracted,  set  aside  –   like an arm had  been  taken  away.   it had been  all  he’d  clung to  for  the  past  couple  hours  as  they’d  walked and walked and walked  and  been  afraid,   he  felt  almost  naked  without  it.    but  that’s  when  klaus offers a  very  viable  replacement,   something  he sometimes  forgot  existed  out  here.  affection.    touch.   warm,   sweaty,   tattooed  hand  clasping  in  his  larger  one,  which  was  shaking,  shaking,   shaking.    one  hand  resting  against  his  face.    he’s  in shock for various reasons.   his  joy  is  purely  stunned  at  the  gesture.   it’s  probably  why  tears  well  &  slip  past  his eyelashes  without  him  even  really  noticing,   his throat already constricted and tight  :    it’s  all  mixed  with  sweat  and  water.    for  all  he  knows  it could  be  raining.  

  the  thing  dave knew he’d never be able to explain in his  letters was that war was not just  hell.   war was  …   well,   everything.    everything that  life  was,   but  amplified  to the  thousandth  degree.   it was  overwhelming.   it  broke  some  men’s  brains  with  just how  much it  was …    not just the  death,   but  the  terror,  the  anger,  the  evil,  even  the  happy,  the  careless,  the calm,  god,  the  walking.    that  was  probably  why  dave  laughed  a little  as  he  cried.   what  was the right  reaction?   he was  angry and scared and sad and happy.    so he  cried.   and  he  laughed.      his  voice  was  a  small  tremble  :  his  shyness gets the  best of  him,   unable  quite  to  look  klaus  in the  eye.  “  i -  i   …     thank  you.    it’s  …   “     mouth  falls open,   and then  closes again.  like the  letters.   how could you  describe  it?     “   …     i  -    think  i’m  probably  in  shock.    haven’t  seen  the  ..    medic,   yet,   danvers  seemed  pretty  … “  scream echoing in his  ears,   eyes  shut  tight,   head  shakes.   “  …   bad,  back there.  “

the thing about this is that...klaus is never sure how these guys will respond to sympathy - how they’ll respond to their own shows of perceived weakness.  so he doesn’t comment on dave’s tears, just keeps his hand where it is, and carefully brushes away any the happen to make it far enough down.  klaus has no issues with tears, he never has.  he was always told he was overly sensitive as a child, but that was mostly because of the ghosts that refused to give him peace.

it’s ironic, to find peace in wartime.  

     “  hey,   you.  “    amazing  how  a  face,   resting  in a  neutral  position that came  with being  alone,   could  brighten  like the most  beautiful star had crossed the  sky  the  moment  one  he loved  walked  in the  door.    his  steps  are  careful,  calculated  :   feet  drag  quietly  across the  floor,   while  hands ,  and  weight,  are  braced  against  a  walker  he’s  currently  leaning  against.    physical  therapy.  an absolute  must  after  well,    getting  your  guts  ripped  up  thanks to a  bullet  wound.    grace  was an  absolutely  essential  help  at,   quite  literally,  getting  dave  back  on his  feet.    he  gives  klaus a  kiss  as  he approaches,   and  says  in  average,  playfully  - cocky  dave quality,   “  i hate to  brag,   but  your  mom says  in  no time  i’ll  be able  to  walk to the kitchen  by myself,    so.  “

@fourthmedium.

    it  wasn’t  very often  that  dave  lost  his  cool   –   especially not on the  battlefield,  and  especially not  around  the  other  men.    they’d  just come out of a  skirmish  :  heart  in your throat  as  you  walk,   each  step  praying you’d  not  step  in  a  place  you  shouldn’t.    the  sound  of  gunshots  already  made him  jolt a  little,   but a  grenade  being  tossed from the other side  was  the  worst  of  it,   something  that  had  skittered  past  his  leg  and  which  made  him,  and  the men  around  him,   fly forward  to  miss.    the  explosion  was  deafening,   but it  was a  scream  he  most wanted to  drown   out. 

a  strategic  retreat :    camp  out  the  night  and  wait.   the  cicadas  chirping  in the summer heat,   sweat on everyone’s  dirty  faces,   the  stars  bright  lamps  looking  down on the evil  of  war  …   klaus  found  dave  sitting  at the  base  of a  tree,   weapon  tucked  between his  knees,   shaking.  “  …  i  can’t stop  shaking.  “    he  said  with a  breathless  laugh,   looking  up at  klaus,  on the  brink  of  letting nerves get the  best of him.     “  why can’t i  stop  shaking?  “

@fourthmedium.

it’s startling to klaus, how easily he’s found himself adapting to this.  he’s never subscribed to ideas that people were built for anything in particular ; his dear old dad had tried far too hard to push that idea, that he and the rest were built to be heroes.  look at them now - not a hero among them, no matter how much they’d like to pretend.  but klaus thinks if he were to be built for anything, it seems like it must be this.  where others scream and run and piss themselves in the face of gunfire and grenades, klaus is calm.  

proximity to his own death has always been soothing.

but some are different ; some face it down with brave faces and strong hearts, and fall apart in the aftermath.  and while dave is one of the bravest people klaus has met, even he has his breaking point.  it’s why klaus’ face goes sympathetic rather pitying, why his gaze his kind rather than cruel.  he has capacity for both, but he likes dave.  he really likes dave.  it’s with careful hands that he extracts dave’s weapon, sets it aside and wraps one hand around dave’s shaking digits, the other pressed to his face gently. 

wartime intimacy is passable, he’s found.