Sasha💋

—

Currahee Mountain, Camp Toccoa

This wasn't the first time that Joe had to tell George to shut his mouth, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but it was the catalyst that sparked something new between them. George thought that pushing Joe's buttons was funny, to put it simply. He saw it as a challenge on how far Toye's limits could be stretched.

As Captain Sobel barked at the men of Easy Company to run Currahee again, George saw it as the perfect opportunity to make Joe see red. He was already agitated about the fact that he had to run six miles with two full helpings of army spaghetti feeling like a block in his stomach, and Luz was about to make it significantly worse.

"Hey. Hey, Toye," George says, running next to the now-scowling man.

"Whaddaya want, Luz?" Joe grunts. He looks over at the smaller man and the way his dark hair plasters to his forehead, face damp with sweat as he runs. If he wasn't so damn annoying, maybe Joe would find him cute— maybe.

George's face breaks into his signature grin, eyes crinkling at the irritation in Joe's voice. He lets out an airy laugh, a bit breathless from all the running.

"Just sayin' 'hi.'" Which earns him an eyeroll before continuing, "You look a little sick there, Joe."

Joe almost smacked George upside the head, but his stomach started to churn, making it impossible to do anything but focus on not hurling the contents of his dinner.

"What? Don't tell me you're gonna throw up," George snickers. He gives his friend a light pat on the shoulder.

"Luz, shut up," Joe says through gritted teeth. He didn't have the patience to deal with the jokester's antics, not right now. And if it weren't for this godforsaken mountain and the other men surrounding them, maybe Joe would've shut George up instead.

—

Barracks, Camp Toccoa

Luz hadn't settled down to sleep yet, chattering his bunkmate's ear off late into the night. He was talking about trivial things, not really making any real points or comments that were worth striking a conversation over. Most of the other guys were already snoring, but Joe couldn't sleep peacefully with George's whispering right above him.

"Luz," he grumbles, kicking the bed up top, causing George to shift around.

"Yeah?" George leans over the top bunk, peering down into the dark where he could faintly make out Joe's outline. He could imagine the scowl on Joe's face that would be clear as day if there was a lamp on.

Joe lets out a tired huff, mumbling lowly, "'m tryna sleep here."

He heard George laugh quietly, followed by the sound of feet hitting the ground. Now, George was sitting on the edge of Joe's bunk, apparently looking down on him.

"Ya can't deny that ya like my talkin'," he whispers, bed creaking slightly at the shift in his weight.

"I can, because I don't like it," Joe whispers back bitterly, but he was doing a bad job of having any real bite to his words.

"Come on, Joe. . . I'm not that bad to listen to, right? I mean—"

Joe blindly grabs at the collar of George's shirt, tugging him down closer. George teeters, his weight lurching towards Joe as he plants his hand on his chest to keep himself from falling on him.

He could swear that he heard Joe's breath hitch ever so slightly as the both of them went silent. The hand on his collar slid up the side of his neck and cupped either side of George's jaw.

"If you know what's good for you, you're gonna shut your mouth," Joe hisses, applying the slightest bit of pressure.

George lets out a soft gasp before Joe's hand drops, allowing the other to scamper back to the top bunk— conflicted, but grateful for the way the darkness of the barracks concealed the slight pinkness on his cheeks.

—

Fort Bennington, Georgia

The men of Easy Company were celebrating receiving their jump wings at the pub, spirits high as they drank, joked around, and yelled. Joe leaned on the bar counters, facial expression neutral as he stared at George's back. For some reason, he made mental note of the way George's back curves and twists as he moves, passing out glasses of beer to fellow enlisted men.

A small smirk tugs at Joe's lips, but he quickly drops it when George turns around. He could've sworn he saw George's eyes light up just a bit when he saw him.

"Corporal Toye," George starts, imitating Captain Sobel, earning an exasperated sigh from Joe, "there will be no there will be no leaning in my company. Are those dusty jump wings?"

Joe straightened up and looked down, brushing his thumb over his jump wings to polish them to the best of his abilities.

"How do you expect to slay the Huns with dust on your jump wings?"

George barely got out the last word before Joe gripped his uniform and pulled him in, their faces dangerously close.

"Luz, just give me a drink," he mutters, a slight edge to his voice that left George's mind wandering. Any closer and his lips would be ghosting over his.

Shaking the thought from his mind, George grins as he locks eyes with Joe, eyelashes fluttering slightly, "Hell of an idea, Joe."

Joe's eyes dart down to George's lips for a split second before he released him so he could get his beer. George bends down to get another full glass, handing it to Joe as their fingers brushed for an electrifying moment.

"There ya go," George says a bit softer now.

Joe didn't know why, but he mumbles the words "shut up" before taking a sip of the cold beer.

—

Upottery, England

It was the day before their jump into Normandy and the men were currently packing their leg bags. George watches as Joe lists off all the things they'll have to carry and how it weighs just as much as he does.

"Say, Joe, are ya gonna pack your bag, or keep complainin' about it?" he asks, grinning from ear to ear as he tosses in a few cartons of smokes to the already large pile of items.

Joe turns to look at George, eyes narrowed and warning.

"Shut up before I use the brass knuckles on you instead," he scowls, raising a threatening fist to shake at George.

This earns a loud laugh from George as he walks over to where Joe is standing.

"You're so uptight, hell if I didn't know ya, I'd say you're Captain Sobel's son!" he barks out another laugh, wincing once Joe smacks the side of his head.

"If the Krauts don't get you first, I will," Joe growls.

George gets a mischievous glint in his eyes as he steps closer, lowering his voice just enough for Joe to hear, "is that a promise?"

What once was a threat vanishes into thin air as Joe's jaw slacks ever so slightly at George's sudden boldness. He could've been joking around, as usual, but the sultry tone that laced his words mimicked something other than teasing.

Joe clenches his teeth once more, going back to pack his leg bag as George snickers in the background, flooding his mind with thoughts of shutting him up.

—

Mourmelon, France

"Seven Sinners" starring John Wayne and Marlene Dietrich was being projected on the screen that the men were staring at as they enjoyed some rare downtime in France. George couldn't help but say something stupid; it was in his nature.

He lights up a Lucky Strike and wraps his lips around it, inhaling the familiar taste of nicotine and exhaling the smoke.

"Look at me, I’m John Waye. The costume department set me up with these great navy whites, whaddaya think?" he says openly, a bit too loud for the two in front of him.

Joe turns his head and glares at George, "Luz, shut up."

Lipton joins in on silencing him, "I'm trying to watch this."

George simply shrugs, cigarette between his index and middle finger. "I've seen this movie 13 times, okay?"

A scowl flashes over Joe's face, "Well I haven't, so shut up."

The other grins at him again— that stupid, charming grin that Joe wanted to wipe off his face. Joe grumbles and curses George under his breath, letting the image of his smile in his mind get under his skin. God, he could punch him, or kiss him— but he's not quite sure why he thought of that.

Later that day

After being told to return to their barracks and talk to their platoon leaders, George and Joe were some of the last ones to leave the screen room. They walk side by side, George finally silent after the movie was shut off.

"Got a smoke?" Joe asks, looking down at George who's already extending a Lucky Strike to him. He takes it with a soft "thanks," placing it between his lips.

He's quiet as they walk out before he asks another question, "Got a light?"

George smirks and chuckles at Joe, "Ya never stop askin' for things, do ya?"

Joe takes a deep breath, restraining himself as George lifts the flame from his lighter to the tip of the cigarette.

"Why dontcha get your own lighter, Joe?" George asks, pocketing his own as he stops and glances at him.

To be honest, Joe's irritation with George was through the roof, so he grabbed his wrist and tugged him towards an empty barracks. George couldn't even protest before his back was pushed against the wall in the far corner of the room, Joe gripping his uniform with both hands.

"Joe—"

"Shut up," Joe cuts him off. "You never know how to shut up, huh?"

George looks at him with fire in his gaze, opening his mouth to make another snarky comment.

"Make me."

Without hesitation, Joe presses his lips against George's, earning a sharp gasp from the latter.

George brings his arms to snake around Joe's neck, entangling himself in his embrace as Joe lets go of his uniform to cup the back of his head. It was just to make him shut up at first, but after hearing George whine just a little, Joe was determine to make him do it again.