#hellitwasyoufirstsergeant

You’d find yourself in his bed, promising it would be the last time, and try your best to sneak back into your own, careful not to wake anyone. When there was more privacy, he wouldn’t put a hand over your mouth as you did it, the sounds of your quiet voices filling the room. Even at Bastogne, you found yourself staggering out of his foxhole, despite the absurdity of it all, adjusting your pants and flattening your top, as though anyone would notice.

You hated every part of yourself for it, but everyone had urges. You and Bill’s were just a lot stronger than everyone else’s.

“Of course we did,” the man beside you muttered as though he could read your mind, “You can’t resist me.” He threw you a wink, that nearly made you want to pounce on him once more and go for another round, and the thought of it made you sick at the same time. Mostly because he was right; You couldn’t resist him one bit.

Instead, you rolled your eyes. “More like you can’t resist me,” you swiped at the sweat on your forehead, sitting up on his bed. Being in Austria meant more privacy. That meant more nights on his bed instead of yours.

Bill chuckled, and you bit down on your bottom lip, the temptation nearly unbearable. It was even worse was that he was leaning on his elbows, propping his head up with his arm. His hair was slicked back, his chest glistening with sweat. “That’s true,” he whispered, eyeing you as you pulled up your hair and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, “You aren’t sleeping with me tonight?” 

You turned away, knowing full well you’d give in to his puppy dog eyes, and the cycle would begin all over again. “No,” you pursed your lips as you continued getting dressed, his eyes burning holes into your skin, “I don’t want people thinking we’re sleeping together.” The words came out wrong, and you felt Bill turn away. “I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he raised a hand dismissively, standing up from his bed and opening the door for you, “You better get going then.”

Shocked, you quickly picked up your stuff, shuffling out the door. “Goodnight,” you tried to say, but Bill’s door was already closed.

———

It had been 3 days since that whole debacle, and you weren’t sure if you were supposed to be relieved or upset that Bill hadn’t shown up in front of your door ever since. You fiddled with your fingers as you kicked your feet around in the lake. The rest of the men were behind you, starting up campfires and just messing about.

“Why so glum?” you heard a husky voice behind you say. Toye rested his hand on your head, messing up your hair. He took a seat beside you, occasionally glancing at the men, but their laughter and their voices were drowned out by the thumping in your head. You had wished it was Bill who came up to you. 

Maybe that was why you were seated at the edge of the boardwalk all alone. You were upset after all. 

You shrugged. “It’s nothing,” you smiled at him, bumping his shoulder gently, “Just thinking. Thank you for asking, though.” 

The smile on his face faded, and Toye furrowed his brows. Taking a sip from his canteen, he handed it to you with a wink, but you rejected it and instead stared back down at your feet submerged in the water. “You must be thinking about something so terrible that you’d be so upset, despite being in the best place in the world since home,” he mumbled, cracking his knuckles together, “But whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Its Bill,” the words spilled out before you could do anything, but Toye seemed unfazed, still staring ahead, “Why aren’t you surprised?”

He looked down at you, an amused smile on his face. “You know we can all hear the two of you going at it like rabbits right?” 

A blush creeped onto your cheeks, and you put your hands over your face, rubbing vigorously. “Oh god,” you groaned into your hands, but Toye laughed, throwing his arm over your shoulders, “I’ve done a terrible thing.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t think anyone cares, but we do tease him a lot for it,” Toye started, patting you gently, “What’d you do?”

“I kind of told him I didn’t want anyone to think we were sleeping together,” you frowned. The fact that they all knew either way was humiliating, and Bill had known they were aware of your late night rendezvouses. 

Toye flinched, running a hand through his hair and leaning back. “Wow,” he chuckled, “You did fuck up.”

“You’re supposed to make me feel better!”

“I was never here to make you feel better,” he laughed, raising his hands defensively, “I was just wondering what got you so sad.” Toye smiled, and that made you smile as well. “However, I can offer you a piece of advice.”

You leaned in closer, nodding. “Its definitely more than just sex to you if you feel this bad about it,” he winked, before standing up, tousling your hair again, and heading back to the rest of the men.

You watched him walk away, before your eyes trailed off towards Bill, who was laughing with Frank and Malarkey about something you couldn’t hear. He looked so happy, but the second his eyes met yours, his smile fell. Your heart pinched.

Toye was right, even if you didn’t want to admit it. It was more than that.

———

“Y/N,” someone shook your shoulders, and you sat upright on your bed, bumping foreheads with whoever was trying to wake you up, “Goddamn.”

You cursed as well, rubbing your forehead. “What the hell, Bill?” you groaned, lifting your pillow and hitting him with it, “What time is it?”

He raised his arm, glancing at the watch around his wrist. “4AM,” he muttered, before hitting you back with the pillow. 

“What are you doing here?” you glared, scratching your head. You were still very much asleep. Looking around, you realised it was still dark outside, and yet Bill stood in front of you fully dressed. “I’m not having sex with you at 4 in the morning.”

Hurt flashed across his face, and you instantly regretted saying that, but instead he chuckled lightheartedly. “It's not that, asshole,” he grinned, grabbing your hand and pulling you into an upright position, “Though you had no trouble doing that in the past.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You rolled your eyes, standing in front of him in your pajamas, crossing your arms. The two of you were tangled up with each other so often in the past, and yet you felt more exposed now than ever before. “You didn’t answer me,” you stated blankly, refusing to lose to him, “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” he started, his eyes avoiding yours, “I was wondering if you wanted to go see the sunrise? Major Winters goes swimming every morning and told me how peaceful it was, and I thought maybe you’d like to go with me.” 

You mentally cursed. Bill was so hard to resist.

“I’d love that,” you said, despite your brain yelling at you not to. There was no reason why two friends, who have seen each other naked more than once, couldn’t go and see the sunrise together, right? 

That’s what you kept repeating to yourself as you changed. You met him at the door, followed him towards the boardwalk, and set yourself down on the cool wood. Fog rolled over the lake, the air cold in your lungs. “Major Winters swims in this weather?” you breathed, and Bill wrapped his coat over you, “I know it's summer and all but wow.” You tried to ignore the fluttering feeling in your stomach.

He shrugged, glancing at you for a moment, and once more, you felt exposed. “I guess nothin’s colder than Bastogne.” 

The sun slowly rose, casting a pink glow over the lake. Bill whistled. “Lucky to be alive, Y/N,” he mumbled, but you almost couldn’t hear him, so entranced by the view in front of you. You nodded, mouth agape. 

When the sun had completely risen, you found yourself resting your head upon his shoulder, and your face turned beet red. “Oh, shit,” you cursed, standing up quickly, “I’m sorry.” You needed to get out of there.

“For what?” Bill exclaimed, the peace that surrounded the two of you left your bones, and you hugged his coat tighter around you. His coat. You wanted to cry.

Refusing to turn and look at him, you stopped in your tracks, head hunched down. “Look at me,” he said kindly, even though you knew he was fighting the urge to raise his voice, “Please.”

You turned slowly, staring at the ground in front of you. “What are you sorry for?” he asked again, his eyebrows scrunched together in worry.

“Why did you ask me here, Bill?” you asked in return, your eyes pleading to his to stop with the games, “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend we’re just friends.”

He smiled sadly, taking a few, slow steps towards you, the wooden boards creaking underneath him. “Neither can I,” Bill whispered, “That’s why. I thought maybe, maybe, if we did something other than sex, you’d see me the way I see you after. When we’re covered in sweat, in the dark, talking about life, and our dreams like we didn’t just do what we did.”

You paused, your hands falling slack at your side. Bill was in front of you now, so close you could smell his aftershave, and it wasn’t lust that took over you. You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, a kiss that was nothing like the ones you shared when he pushed you onto your back. A kiss that meant so much; Like quiet words shared in a foxhole, minutes before you climbed out. Like dreams and promises and hopes for the future.

“You’re not mad at me?” you breathed against his lips, his breath smelling like peppermint. 

“Die Leiden des jungen Werthers?” Out of Lieb’s mouth, the German sounds fluid. As though it belongs on his tongue, both to spit and caress, while Web has no choice but to pause between words and put his thoughts in order. Lieb doesn’t pause on anything, as illustrated by the hard scoff that passes his lips shortly after the title. “Why’re you reading that?”

“Because,” says Web, slowing his speech down as if talking to the four-year-old he is certain rears its immature head in Liebgott more often than not, “it’s a book I haven’t read yet, and I would rather read it in its original language than in some weird English translation.”

“But I’m bored.”

“And?” Web raises his eyebrows in silent demand. “I’m not reading out loud to you again.”

“I don’t fucking want you to, Web, Jesus,” comes the answering snarl half a second later. “I swear, you spend more time with these Kraut books than you do with anything else these days. Put the fucking book down. There’s only so many letters you can read before you’ve seen it all.”

“Not always.” He hums as he places his bookmark between the pages and sets the book down on the nightstand. He can read between the lines this time. Knows the real demand that’s being issued, even when Lieb never says things like that outright. Lets his hand stray to Liebgott’s wrist and wraps himself around it until the man beside him goes perfectly still. “You get lost in translation sometimes, Lieb, you know that? All those letters inside of you, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to read them all.”

Liebgott’s always been like the oncoming storm. There are traces of electricity in the air at times, fizzling and snapping on his tongue, that make his insides swoop and furl around the sensation of being carried in its waves. The man’s face contorts in what Web almost thinks of as fury fury fury and he can’t help but close his eyes in preparation for the inevitable crash.

The crash does come, but not like this.

Lieb’s lips meet his. They’re set to bruise, pressing down so hard that it is as though Lieb is chasing something far deeper beyond his mouth. A huff of breath follows against his skin, raspy and jagged, which he has half a mind to worsen and almost does with how tight his hold on Lieb’s wrist becomes. He smiles up into the kiss that follows the breath.

“The fuck you laughing at, huh?”

He opens his eyes to find Lieb peering down at him intently. Dimly, he’s aware of the man’s legs now being on either side of him. Trapping him. Keeping him here, half-laying against the headboard, with a familiar weight atop him that seems to have no desire to leave any time soon.

“You could’ve just asked for a kiss, you know?” He smirks as he releases Lieb’s wrist. “All this cryptic bullshit just to tell me you’re bored and want a kiss.”

“I want more than one.”

“Demanding a lot today, aren’t we?”

“Fuck you, Web.” There’s no fight in the words. Lieb’s eyes gleam. “Fuck you.”

He doesn’t dignify it with an answer that has words attached to it. Sometimes, he thinks, words just don’t work for Liebgott at all.

He sits bolt upright and captures Lieb’s mouth before the man can argue. There’s satisfaction in shutting him up this way, in trailing tongue and teeth against Lieb’s lips and skin until whichever argument gives way to pleasure. He nips at his bottom lip, lazily licks all the way to the corner of his mouth, tangles a hand in his hair and tugs at the strands that threaten to brush his own forehead. Wraps his arm around Lieb’s waist and moves beneath him until there’s a gasp against his lips and a rather involuntary hip movement that makes him smirk into the kiss even more.

It’s so easy to fit together. The fights are always second nature to this – always leading up to this, right from the start when they’d gotten into an argument five minutes after meeting for the first time – and if he’s honest – which he tries to be – he’s not sure he would have it any other way. The struggle belongs to this as much as Lieb’s sigh into his mouth, that little happy sigh that makes the man go almost boneless under Web’s touch, and he seeks it out the way he currently seeks greater access to Lieb’s skin.

“More?” he checks, because Lieb’s breathing is ragged against his throat and there’s some greater tension unraveling beneath his hands. “Do you want more?”

“Want you,” is the reply that settles deep inside his belly, unfurling a lazy fire inside it that says we have time we have time. “Web..”

He laughs against Lieb’s chest before he presses a kiss to it. Lieb’s hands are in his hair, tugging at and messing with the strands, and he groans defeat under the man’s fingertips only a moment before he grabs tighter hold of Lieb’s wiry frame and flips them over. He laughs again as Lieb’s hips buck upward against him in a way that signals anything but defeat. His lover’s all demand, all the time, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Jesus,” interrupts a really unwelcome voice, “I’m gonna go ahead and chalk this up on the list of shit I didn’t need to see today.”

Web blinks.

Lieb is quicker on the uptake.

“Chuck, shut the goddamn door behind you!” The door clicks shut. Lieb groans and gestures abuse into the general direction of the door. “Not like that, dumbass. Outside! Outside!”

Web chances a glance back at the door. Sure enough, Chuck Grant is leaning against it with his arms folded. A picture of his face undoubtedly would make it into the dictionary next to the explanation for the term unimpressed. There is even foot-tapping involved, if the soft thud-thud-thud sound coming from that direction is anything to go by.

“You know,” comments Chuck, sounding rather as if he is talking about the weather, “these doors have locks. You should try that.” A slow grin tugs at the corners of the man’s mouth. “I can show you how.”

“I know how locks work, genius,” retorts Lieb.

“Chuck,” says Web, because it really doesn’t look like the other Californian is going anywhere at all, “we’re kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Well, kind-of-in-the-middle-of-something-here,” snarks Chuck, mimicking Web’s tone of voice perfectly, “Speirs and Nixon are both looking for Lieb and I am not going to stare Speirs dead in the eye and try to explain to him why Lieb might not be capable of walking right now.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Hell’s about right.” Chuck snorts. His eyes are bright with laughter. “The fucking bit’s gonna have to wait, fellas.”

The staff sergeant’s laugh isn’t dissuaded by the pillow Lieb throws at him, nor by the rather intense stare that Web himself subjects him to, but at least he takes his leave and lets the door click shut behind him again.

Web groans and all but collapses on top of Lieb the second he’s gone. “I fucking hate our job.”