Basked in the dim flickering glow of fire light and the yellow headlights of a military vehicle. You stood on a crude makeshift stage. Created just for you and a couple others. The wood planks were warped and uneven. Stained from oil and or blood-adding a level of flare-not to mention the few bullet holes. Scattered creates stacked on top of each other spaced sporadically giving the stage a bit of scenery. Currently the stage was occupied with you and another soldier of the S.A.S. The two of you were in the middle of giving a small performance. You as the singer. The other as your musician. Worn out mic in front of your lips you belt out a familiar song. The crowd of other soldiers—some standing, some sitting in chairs, or on the ground—watched and joined in merriment to the song. It made you smile at the boisterous comradery you managed to instill in them. Made all the more fun the more drunk a few got. Voices raised, holding arms swaying, dancing ridiculously, or stomping their feet. It was all in good fun. 

You were born to be a performer. A whole family lineage, going way back. 

Before the war your family moved as a tight knit group. Traveling place to place putting on shows for the locals. Ever since you were able, you were a part of that. The front singer of the group. Voice of an angel they told you. Being from a family who never stayed in one place for long certain skills were gained. Passed down from one family member or another. Generational knowledge. So, besides being a singer you were adept when it came to ailments and remedies. Learning intricate knowledge of human anatomy. You could stitch the most gnarly of wounds, putting the person back together again. Good as new. Able to treat someone well without any formal training. 

So, when war came you were the perfect candidate to join the war effort. The armed forces welcomed you. Your knowledge landed you as a medic. And somehow that led you to join this special division. The S.A.S. A rag tag mosh of unhinged soldiers of various ranks and talents. 

You were only with them for a few months before one of the men caught you singing to yourself while cleaning the medical tent. 

Out of all the men on camp he was the roughest. Perhaps the craziest. Sour face, rough with bushy beard, untamed hair—that sometimes was slicked back. One of your superior officers. He would constantly come in for treatment, that it started to become routine. The man loved to fight. And when he found out you could sing… you found Paddy finding ways to come by more often. Then word got out and many of the men encouraged you to the point where you now did performances for the whole camp. Singing your heart out. Forgetting this war existed every time. I also helped boost morale.

Always lost in the small spotlight, the men overtime built you this stage. Taking parts from missions they went on. They even got you a working microphone.

At every performance, Paddy made an appearance. Spotted in various spots throughout the crowd. He can’t help it. There’s something about you. That voice. It grabs his attention. To a point of obsession and infatuation. Jealousy burns in his chest now. Watching you perform for the men gaily singing along in merriment. And when your song would end they rushed towards you like groupies at a concert. 

It pissed him off. Or as he would so frankly put it, “get his goat”. That feeling stewed in him for quite some time. Festering like a desert sore left untreated.

A cold desert night, light breeze whipping through, and you were still cleaning the mess in the medical tent. The stale tang of blood hung in the air, not even the antiseptic could override the smell. The few lamps you kept lit were slowly dying. You should be asleep, but the quiet darkness was enjoyable. Compared to the chaos that reared its head during the day. Placing some unused supplies back into a metal tin. The ruffle of canvas had you looking over.

Paddy entered the tent. 

What could he have gotten into this time? You wonder immediately, scanning him and his uniform. For once he was unharmed. A rarity for sure. All put together. Your brow creased as to why he was here then. 

It was in his eyes. That part he could never hide. Or chose not to. Even when physical maladies were present. Paddy’s eyes were dark under the light. Sharp and jagged. A snake coiled, fangs ready to bite in an instant. The type of look he got right before a brutal fight broke out. In two strides he crossed the tent. Before you had a chance to offer up a single syllable, his calloused hand gripped your arm. The grip was tight. The jealousy he had been harboring finally taking hold, no longer contained. 

Too many nights watching you sing your heart out to the cheers and eyes of others. The way their faces softened. Lit up when you sang. Too many times they surround the stage, crowding way too close, blocking his perfect view of you. Paddy’s jealousy had him believe that every soldier’s ear that was blessed to hear you was theft. Stolen from him. As if it was purely for him alone. 

“Paddy?” Your voice questioned with confusion. “Something wrong?” Urgency in your tone. “Where are we going?”

Through the flap of the medical tent, Paddy hauled you out into the cold night. Tugging you along, a little too forcefully, not looking back as the two of you drifted silently across camp. 

He eventually responded. That gruff lilt of his resonated with suppressed rage. “Wan’ a private performance.”. 

Endearing as the words were, they sounded like a threat more than a request.

The makeshift stage came into view. With rough desperation he shoved you up the wooden platform. You stumbled forward finding the center, catching your balance. 

Jealousy removed any gentleness he might have had. Pure possessive need overriding any thoughts of sane treatment. Nodding towards the mic stand, “Sing.”. He ordered, stepping closer letting you feel the heat radiating off him. “Sing for me.”

And you did. Not only because the order came from a higher ranking officer, but with the look in his eye and demeanor, obeying was your only option. With your chest tight, you took up position. The mic and all equipment—from what you gathered—were off. Yet he insisted you use them. Your voice wavered as you began. Nervous. It came out soft and thin. Hands trembling slightly. 

To Paddy it made this more thrilling. 

As you slowly gained your confidence the tension in his jaw eased. And when the melody rose, your voice acted like a sedative to his burning rage.

The desert and camp dissolved to only the song. Music is a calm sanctuary. That calling that lived deep inside. Feeling the moment, song taking hold, you let your eyelids close. If he wanted a performance he was welcome to one. 

That calm moment before the storm didn’t last. Paddy moved. Stepping close behind you. 

You could feel his heat burning bright and hot. Without seeing him you felt the weight of the effects that your voice brought him. It had your cheeks pink, the flush slowly creeping up your neck. His solid body pressed against yours. You continued to sing. 

Calloused rough hands began to roam. Sliding around your waist and up your stomach. Hands proudly claiming, With a rough yank, you were pulled flush against him. He wanted you to feel the hard erection straining through the fabric of his uniform trouser. 

You gave a faint gasp between lyrics.

A low growl vibrated against the skin of your neck. Paddy leaned in, deeply inhaling. “So handsome. So Beautiful.” He rasped with dark satisfaction. “Always that voice of yers. Was only meant for me. Nay for them. Me ears alone.”

Then his touch grew rougher. Bolder. Teasing palms dug into your waist traveling upwards to your chest. Hands tracing the divots and curves of your body. With a firm press of his fingers, when they strayed to a more sensitive spot, a gasp would catch in your throat. Just a fraction of a second, hiking the pitch of your voice. 

Paddy grinned at the fight. The struggle. He had your voice wavering from more than just nerves. His hands held no restraint, rough and claiming with possession. Lingering jealousy flared, wound tight in his chest. He growled in your ear, murmuring to himself. How he wanted this for some time.

You squeak out an off tune note when his hand finds the soft outline of your cock. Palming it slowly yet firmly until it started to twitch to life. It made singing difficult.

Paddy’s hand on your hip pulls you back against him when your body strays too far. His grip tightened on your hardening cock. Rubbing up and down, adding more pressure. You heard him groan in delight. Each pass of his hand made your core flutter. Your ass clenches on nothing, balls tensing, the head leaking pre-cum already. You try to sing the next verse, but the words stammer out. Voice cracking when you let out a moan. You clutch to the microphone stand in a death grip. 

“Aye, that’s it lad.” Paddy grumbles, hot breath hitting your neck. “Keep singin’. Let ‘em all hear how I’m makin’ ye feel.”

The thought that someone from camp might see the two of you like this, turned you beat red. But when Paddy grinds his hips, the train of through was gone. The thick prod of his cock pressed between your cheeks-separated only by your uniforms. As he grinds, the fabric ruffles with friction, making your hole clench with want. 

Paddy’s free hand rips open the top of your shirt, shoving his hand inside and gripping at the muscles of your peck. Squeezing hard leaving it red and sore. His palm rolls over the perking bud of your nipple. He squeezes it harshly. 

Your chest arches and you whimper mid-lyric. Hips bucking sharply. Involuntarily. 

He manhandles you with possessive jealousy, wanting to break you. A dark chuckle escapes his lips, fueled by desire and not caring if there were witnesses to the act. As if it were just the two of you. Paddy pauses briefly with a growl when he feels a significant damp spot against his palm. “Christ. Yer leakin’ already!” With a quick hand he rapidly pops and zips open your uniform trousers. Cold air rushes in before his hand dives past your boxers wrapping tightly around your bare length. Jerking roughly, tugging your shaft, thumb greedily swiping the beads of pre-cum. Smearing the slit down over the head. 

Breathy moans have your song falter. Your legs shake unsteadily, but his hold keeps you up. His hips roll, humping faster, his rigid cock straining against your awaiting ass. 

“Keep goin’,” he barks. Giving another squeeze of your peck and tug of your cock. “Go on. Sing louder. Especially when I know this is makin’ ye feel grand.”

You comply, the best you can. Raising a shaky voice, singing words-which tumble and spill over one another between gasps. Hips now roll in tandem. Ass grinding back to meet his raging erection. Between his hand pumping your hot needy cock, his hips rubbing against your cheeks, his control over your actions pushes you to the edge. 

More pre spills from your cock and he uses the slick to coat your shaft. Your cock pulses in his fist. Paddy’s fist pulls more pre-cum and he glides the fresh slick over every surface of our throbbing cock. Pumping his hand faster, going to the head, twisting it. Causing more to spill. Your cock is leaking like a water fountain. The unyielding grip makes your shaft pulse with an intense burn. 

He rips open the rest of your shirt, letting the old air of the desert hit your skin. Nipples pebbled and perked when his fingers found them. Paddy’s hand is back at your pecks, thumb teasing the already abused buds. Then he yanks them hard. Twisting painfully

Your voice cracks. Lyrics come out in shattered whimpers. They dissolve into loud groans. Your knuckles turn white from the grip around the microphone. Knees threaten to buckle, pain and pleasure bogging your senses, mind splintering under the assault. Your cock jerks wildly in his palm. That sweet orgasm slowly coils in your gut-so close, on the verge of breaking free.

An iron grip clamps down with a merciless squeeze. Your shaft swells, cum trapped in your tightened balls. Your cock goes from red to a purplish hue.  A whine rips from your throat. Hips snapping forward uselessly. 

“No… No. Ple-please…” Words slurring, your song stopping.

The strong hand on your chest snakes up tracing the skin. Fingers wrap around your throat and force your face to his. Dark blue eyes lock onto your watery pleading ones. Lips parted, drool-slick from singing and building need. 

A smug grin crosses his face. Then his mouth crashes into yours. Tongue plunging, claiming a rising moan.

Your body melts into his as you whimper. The vice grip hold he has on your cock cuts off the circulation. Causing it to throb angrily.

Paddy slowly grinds harder, uniforms chafing as he keeps you pinned to him. Any involuntary movement earns you a warning growl. His wet tongue twists and tastes you. Then he bites, sucking on your lower lip until it bruises. With lips brushing yours, he mutters coldly. 

“Nah, Not yet. Ye don’ cum ‘til I say so. Not ‘til I’ve wrung ye dry on me terms, lad.”

Another plea stumbles out of you. “Paddy… you ca-can’t…. please. I need-“

With a sharp bark he cuts you off. “Sing.” He orders. 

You obey. Again a direct order from your ranking officer. Despite the current circumstances. Mouth parting, shaky lyrics resume. Your voice is already breaking.

Under his wrapped fingers he lulls your head back. Watching the way your throat bobs, and the vocal cords strain under the skin. Your neck is nicely bared. Vulnerable and exposed he bites down. Teeth indenting into the soft flesh as he marks you. Sucking with a locked jaw causing bruises to bloom instantly. Pain floods your system. Your cock twitches desperately in his brutal hold. Mid-note you moan deeply. Body shivering.

Eventually he relent, his grip loosens around your base. Blood rushes through the shaft. It causes you to see spots. Then the stroking resumes. Slow and drawn out. Going from root to tip. Despite the treatment, fresh slick beads from the tip. His thumb finds it constantly, pressing and smearing it over the head. Hips snapping forward, rutting harshly, promising more.

“Louder.” He demands, nipping at your neck. “Let the desert an’ other men hear how bad ye want it!”

You try to obey his command. Voice raising ragged and hoarse. Hips roll seeking him automatically. Cock constantly leaking, balls tight and aching. Each pump of his fist brings you back to the edge. The hand at your throat tightens, not too much, but enough to instill in you that he was in charge.

Paddy’s tight fist strokes your cock relentlessly. Pushing you right back to the brink. Your cock is hot and rock hard. Red with veins pulsing wildly along the shaft. The coil in your gut goes taut as an orgasm attempts to build. Imminent. As if Paddy knows his hand freezes with a vice grip squeeze. You reach the peak with a moan and then it crumbles. Pleasure halts, retreating back from where it came. A loud raw whine rips out of you. Tears form and spill from your eyes-leaving wet streaks to roll down your cheeks.

“Paddy—” You sob. Whole body shaking. “Fuck, please…”

He smirks against your neck. 

As the harsh denial fades, that’s when his hand moves again. Stroking faster. Harder. Dragging his hand up your entire shaft. Thumb back at your slit milking whatever still pathetically leaked. The coil in your gut pulls taut rapidly, angrily, cock twitching viciously. Hips bucking wantonly. You tremble. Back at the brink, it resurfaces like a lightning strike. 

Cruelly he stops. 

Your whimpers turn to pleas. Broken ragged breaths puff hard fro your lips. Any semblance of the son you had been singing drowned out by pitiful moans. Overstimulation and denial wrecks you. Cock bright red, swollen, oozing with slick like a cunt desperate for release. Tears fall freely, drool pours down your chin.

He’s unraveling you. Leaving you a begging drooling mess of a man.

Paddy drinks it all up like a smooth whiskey. Triumph curled the corner of his lips. Both hands retract only to yank down your trousers in one harsh pull. Gravity takes care of the rest as they pool at your ankles. Ass cheeks grabbed by his rough hands, kneading the firm flesh.

Instinctively you shove your ass back. Presenting yourself just for him within your sex driven haze. 

The snarl he gives this time is filled with pride. His thick thumbs part your cheeks showing off that tight puckered hole. Which clenches as if begging. Hungrily he watches it contract. Instantaneously his own hand drops to the front of his trousers palming his erect bulge. Fondling himself before he rips his cock free. Raging, thick and veiny, it bounces freely. He continues to stroke himself, his other hand lazily circling your tight rim. Fingers tease before slowly inserting inside.

Thick digits thrust. You clutch the mic stand like it will save you. Drool dripping in thin strands from your parted lips. Warm walls squeeze around his fingers needily. Hips rolling on their own. Your back arches. Fingers curl, stretching and pressing just right that it has you mewling. Sounds that were once sung turn into incoherent moans.

“Ah! Paddy.. Ah.. Fu—fuck. Yes!” You groan. Hips bucking as you ride his fingers shamelessly. Ass thrusting back. 

Paddy growls again. Fingers shoved forward when your hips thrust back. There’s an underlying thrill—none of these other soldiers get to stake their claim on you like this. This was just for him.

Thinking you’re prepared enough he withdraws his fingers. A wet pop echoes. Before you could take another breath his fat cockhead is already knocking at your entrance. Rubbing the leaking tip, smearing his own pre—as if that would count as proper lube—he thrust hard. One brutal push and he’s buried balls deep. 

The momentum makes you lurch forward. Mic stand rattling as you start falling. Strong hands grab your hips, pulling, slamming you flush into his pelvis. The thickness of his cock stretches you wide. Your hole burns from the invasion, extending the tight muscle. He fills you. Stuffs that perfect hole. Thrusts dragging your hole. 

Your knees knock and wobble as the force has you nearly collapsing. He repeatedly pulls your hips to his, cock dragging in and out through your tight heat. 

“Only I get this fuckin’ ass.” He rasps gravely overcome with desire. “God damn tight! Fuckin’ grippin’ me cock..,” 

“Paddy! … Oh… oh… god!” You cry weakly. Voice breaking, body humming to a new tune of its own. 

This feels right, Paddy thinks. “Perfect. Wreckin’ this tight fuckin’ hole.” His cock rams your prostate with the same accuracy he fires his gun. 

Tightly gripping hands redden your skin. Slamming you back repeatedly. Each thrust plunges you forward and he snaps you right back. He dictates the pace and rhythm. Fast and hard. Sweating skin slapping against skin. Your body can’t take much more and your legs give out.

Quickly his arms reach out wrapping around your torso. Keeping you pinned right against his chest. He holds you like a man possessed. Thrusting aggressively. Your head is thrown back into his shoulder moaning loudly. To add to his brutality one hand snakes down and wraps around your overly sensitive cock. 

You cry fiercely with a hiss. Hand squeezing tight in a punishing grip right back at the base. Denying you yet again from any release, even when fucking you. 

“Not yet.” He snarls deeply against your jaw. Beard prickling your skin. He pumps in time with his thrusts. Paddy wants to see you completely broken before offering you relief. 

By now you’re gone. Shattered into pieces. A moaning mess. Lips part with your chin soaked in strips of drool. Tears fill your eyes, blurring your vision. Walls clench down around his rigid thick cock while his hips piston. 

The desert wind whips stirring particles of dust. The lamp lights flicker. Soldiers are stirring in their tents. But it all means nothing while you are speared on his cock, exposed and on display. He owns your hole. He controls your impending orgasm. And he has reduced you to a screaming mess.

Paddy’s hips crash faster. Thrusts turning feral. Brutal slams fro his cock hit deeply in your ass. It splits you open. Thick shaft punching your prostate. Behind your hazy eyes sparks explode. Warm wet walls give way, stretching around his girth. He is reshaping your insides. Molding your ass perfectly. 

A hot ragged groan hits against your eardrum. Warm breath heating your skin. 

Your mind is lost to you. Turned to mush and pure sensation. Pleasure overloads your nervous system. Moans are pitched higher. Whines are replaced with desperate mewls. Your grip fails. Hands slide away from the mic, body becoming boneless. Tension coils as it has all evening. Muscles tense, locking then going limp in his hold. Eyes roll back into your skull, lids fluttering madly. 

Paddy soaks it all in. Devouring the thing you had become. No longer a soldier. A singer. A medic. Now you were a place created to warm his cock.

His chest heaves in a heavy exhale. A dark glint in his eyes as he reaches for the abandoned mic. Fingers click the small switch on top. 

The mic is live. 

He orchestrated it all. Now broadcasting every filthy obscene sound to the entire camp. Your loud moans, now amplified, boom.

“Paddy… fuck… fu—Paddy.” Broken cries echo into the night. 

Soldiers stir from their cots murmuring with shocked attention. 

“Good lad.” Stubbled lips brush your jaw as he whispers lowly. “Sceamin’ for me. Aye. Belt it out. Let ‘em all know that yer mine.”

Too wrecked to form words, all you do is nod frantically. Agreeing to whatever he told you. Head lulling to the side he kisses your jaw. 

His hand doesn’t leave you for long and is back around your slick cock. Stoking in sync with his thrusts. Up—burying into you. Down—as his cock drags your walls towards your entrance. Each snap and his balls slap your ass. The wet smacks create a loud beat. 

Your body suddenly sags. Knees buckling, giving out fully. Your heavy weight allows him to sink deeper, spearing you on his shaft. As it’s shoved every inch to the hilt.

His hips stutter, as his gut tenses, frantic wild thrusts as he cums. Thick hot ropes blast like an exploding grenade. Your insides are painted white with his claiming seed. Flooding your hole until the pressure pushes it past your clenched rim. Spilling out. Sticky rivulets pour down your thighs. Drool spills from your slacked lips, chin shiny, glistening in the flickering light. A low groan reverberates from your chest. Your body welcomes his warm filthy cum, walls constricting, milking his twitching shaft. Mindlessly your hips roll, chasing the strokes of his hand. 

Paddy keeps thrusting through his orgasm.

Every drag of his thick cock, every pump and tug of his hand, became way too much. Overstimulated and raw it was borderline torment. Thoughts disintegrate with his cock buried deep in your cum filled hole. Sanity pounded out of you. The world dark with clouded vision, that was until, finally a shred of mercy. 

“Cum for me, lad.” You heard him growl low into your ear. Hand pumping fast. One, two, three pumps and you break. Cock pulses violently as pent up cum burst from the tip. It splatters everywhere. His hand, the stage, the remnants of your uniform shirt, even the mic stand. Squeezing tight he milks you relentlessly. Making sure to wring every last precious drop until you're sore and empty. Moans spill, bellowing into the night. 

The mic captures it all. 

You shattered broken cries. The wet slaps.

The camp is filled with noise. Cheers and claps. Even whistling as some come upon the sight. 

Paddy happily crashes his mouth to yours again in a crude display. Now with an audience present. Lips bruise, pressing against yours as he makes out with you. Tongue exploring your mouth, devouring your quiet gasps.

“She’ll guess this.”

“She won’t.”

“Fuck— can you listen for once—“

“Bite me—“

It was amusing for the first few minutes, with regular comments thrown back and forth, but after a while, they decided a competition would settle things once and for all. 

You’ve been sitting for an hour— or was it two? You’ve lost count. Buzzing with warmth and need that grew as the minutes passed by. 

“Watch this—“ 

You felt one of them touch your chin, tilting your head up. “Sweet, open up.” He grunted. 

You do what they say, mouth open, jaw aching, tongue warm with anticipation. A small groan, low enough for you to hear made your ears perk, and then a harsh moan that sounded almost asthmatic punched above you. 

And then, you feel it. The drip of something salty and gooey, a familiar taste you’ve grown to consume multiple times a day— some fed straight from the source, others from the hand that decided what was wrong or what was right. 

A simple question makes the heat between your legs shudder. 

“Whose is it?” 

You close your mouth, tasting, rolling the thick glob on your tongue. The thickness makes your mouth tingle, the gears twist in your mind. 

“P-Paddy?” 

You feel a pat on your cheek, a small praise, given the same way you give a dog a pat for a job well done. 

“Aye—  ain’t she marvelous?” One of them directed. 

“Think you deserve your reward?” The other questioned. 

You nod in quick rapid bursts, greedy for more, knowing what’s to come. 

You feel one of them grip the back of your head, large hands cupping your head perfectly while pointing your face further up. 

You feel the length of something hard slip into your mouth— heavy and long— pushing past your lips without resistance and you groan, voice muffled by the size. They don’t stop until they feel it press into the back of your throat, gag reflex threatening to break apart. 

The next question makes your throat work around them. 

“Guess who it is.” 

With an unsettling calmness, he shoved the glasses and bottles of rum off of the table in a swift whisk of his arm. He turned quickly, grabbing her by the waist, lifting her like she weighed nothing. She couldn’t help but gasp at the rush as he slammed her ass onto the table.

He tugged at her clothing, grumbling, “Off, off.” He muttered gruffly with each article, like he was removing obstacles on the course of his mission.

“Paddy.” she giggled. He was being way too serious in the moment. She wanted him to loosen up, to have fun and not focus too much on succeeding. “You’re not taking orders right now.” She put her palms on either side of his face. “This isn’t part of the war effort. Look at me.”

She felt a jolt in her heart when his bright blue eyes met hers.

“Aye, lass. I understand.” his voice was the softest it had probably ever been in his life. His eyes trailed down her face, settling on her lips. He parted his own, leaning in and capturing her mouth.

She felt the vibration on her lips as he moaned in her mouth. She slid her arms around his neck, as he nestled between her legs. He was still in his informal uniform of a tank top and his army pants, and she remained only in her undergarments. She loved the feeling of him against her: firm, hard, and strong. But it wasn’t a dream, she could actually sink her fingertips into his skin. She could taste his tongue.

She pulled on his shirt, untucking it from his trousers.

“Mm-hm.” he groaned on her lips, pulling away to whip the shirt off quickly, leaving himself bare in front of her.

Almost instinctively, her hands splayed over his chest. His pecs rounded and protruding, his nipples small and perfectly round, his abs chiseled. She never wanted to stop looking at him. Aimlessly, she ran her hands over every visible muscle she could reach as he nuzzled into her neck.

He kissed and nibbled on her skin, leaving wet traces from his mouth. He moaned, then sucked on her throat, sending chills down her body. His hands kept an impossibly strong grip on her hips. His teeth barely scraping over her sensitive skin, tickling slightly made her giggle. Hattie could feel his smirk on her neck.

Squeezing her thighs and moving down her neck, Paddy’s tongue swiped over her collarbone.

She trembled as his rough hands slid to her back, snapping the clasp on her bra open in a flash. He tugged her bra off and let it drop to the floor, her breasts bare in front of him. He cupped her tits immediately in his hands.

The coarseness of his palms on her soft mounds made her hiss, and she bit her bottom lip to stifle the sound.

Paddy looked at her, pitiful under his touch, her lip tucked under the top one. He bared his crooked teeth in a crooked, satisfied grin. He rubbed her nipples in his hands, groping the swell of her breasts with his fingers. Suddenly, his mouth took the top of her breast, sucking on the skin, moaning, lapping his tongue.

Hattie's fingers combed into his hair, slicking through it with her nails on his scalp. She held him close with her other arm. She moaned, in wonder at how he could be course but so tender at the same time. She kept her mouth closed, a tiny whine blurted in her throat as she felt slight pain on her chest as his mouth marked her. "Ah!" she whimpered.

He took his mouth off her breast, looking at the red mark and bite print he left. "There," he said, "now you can remember that you are mine."

.........

Those damn trousers, locked into place by his sturdy uniform belt. Hattie stood from the table, working to remove that belt as soon as possible.

Paddy stood still, liking the idea of watching her work for it.

Unbuckling, pulling the belt through the pant loops, it felt like forever. But she was pleased to see his cock standing at attention though he was held back against the army green trousers.

She could barely catch her breath in anticipation of undoing his pants. She finally freed his cock. He was thick, veiny, and already dribbling precum at the tip. She opened her mouth, running the flat of her tongue on tip, tasting him.

Paddy hissed, gritting his teeth as he grabbed her hair, not pulling, but finding a strong grip.

She wasted no time, taking him completely into her mouth, bobbing her head, taking his length. He held her head in place, not pushing on her or applying any pressure. He wanted her to take as much initiative as she wanted, but she would learn that he was still the commander.

She moaned on his cock, letting her saliva collect on the sides as she sucked. She wanted him to feel good more than anything. She moved her mouth steadily, letting him hit the back of her throat.

"Oh, yes." Paddy muttered, "That's a good lass." He rocked his hips gently forward, slowly to the beat of her rhythm. Under his breath, she could hear him purring, "Hattie."

Hearing her name, she looked up at him, muscles in his abdomen, chest, and arms all flexing. His hand in her hair, his waist softly fucking into her mouth. Of course, his cock was the main course, but she wanted even more of him. She need to taste more.

Removing his cock from her mouth, she gave it a sweet kiss. Slowly, she started to trail her mouth from his cock, to the tender place below his navel. She left wet little kisses there, his body shuddered.

Paddy looked down at her, lips parted just slightly. He watched her tongue glide up right next to the faint line of hair he had there, her eyes one his the whole time.

To keep herself steady, Hattie planted her hands on his hips as she made her way up his body, her mouth not leaving his warm skin. She found his taut abdomen, flicking her tongue along the washboard he had there. She put her lips on him, sucking on each abdominal section, moaning and digging her nails into his tender muscles.

“Really egging it on aren’t ya, lass?” Paddy teased, his hand gently touching her hair. He had taken his trousers all the way off by now.

She pressed a kiss to his stomach, moaning in response. “Tell me you want me, Paddy.”

His breath hitched in his throat. It was the same phrase he’d heard her say in his dreams countless times. Had she read his mind? He swallowed hard. He took ahold of her jaw, softly pinching her chin as he gaze upon her face. Her eyes were wide, her pupils large with lust.

She was the only person alive who could give him orders, and he’d actually oblige. “I want you, Hattie Brooks, more than you can fucking imagine.” his voice and accent sharper than ever.

He lifted her up, holding her firmly to his chest, kissing her in a breathy haste. All she could do was hang on to him, grip whatever muscle she could reach to brace herself.

He carried her to the table, laying her on her back. Moving his lips downward, he nibbled along her jaw.

She lost her breath, trembling under him. She felt his teeth on the sensitive area of her throat again. She felt her tummy swirl, her core pulsed with need. She began moving her hips unwittingly.

Paddy pulled away long enough to slide her panties off. With a low growl in his throat, he climbed onto her.

Hattie let out a soft breath of relief. Finally, she could feel his weight on her, his skin on hers, the only thing in the world she craved. As Paddy held his cock, lining up to her, she clamped her legs over his and she placed her hands on his back.

His slid his cock inside of her, groaning at how wet and tight she was, he closed his eyes.

She gasped, trembling as he filled her up.

His elbows on the table, his hands on either side of her head, he started to move. Their eyes were locked.

“Paddy.” she shuddered, her hands on his firm shoulders, her nails digging in.

Bucking his hips, smacking against her skin, he clenched his eyes shut, “Fuck me.” he muttered.

Hattie scratched her nails over his back and arms, not paying any mind to the marks she was making. For he had marked her as his with his mouth on her breast. And now, everyone would know that he was also hers.

At last, their fantasy unfolded, and they felt every sensation. She felt his hard length pounding her insides exactly the way she needed him to. And he savored the soft wetness of her walls to the point of near numbness.

After several minutes, Paddy’s brow beaded with sweat, and the scent of sex hung thick in the air. He let out a groan and erupted inside of her. He hadn’t the strength to pull his cock out. He let down his weight on her, pressing his face into her neck, relaxing for a moment.

She could feel the tiny sharp knives of his stubble tickling her skin. She marveled at how she hadn’t felt it before, perhaps her brain was distracted by other sensations.

Her touch on his body was gentler now, her claws retreated, and her fingertips drew lazy lines over his back muscles. He raised his head up just enough to kiss her cheek, their faces so close they shared breath.

“Me lass, thank you for trying again.” his voice was breathy and sincere as he brushed hair away from her face. “I needed you.”

Hattie moaned softly, “I needed you too.”

@gatoenlaciudad

A/N: Annnnd they lived happily ever after, once the war was over of course.

You silence the screams, you are the calm that I chase. But he couldn’t say that. Love can make you a coward. “I can appreciate the way that you feel, nurse. But these are feelings I’m afraid I cannot reciprocate.” Paddy stood up, walking toward the door.

Her heart dropped, “But I thought you said…”

“I might be a little drunk, but yes, I know what I said. I admit that you have made me feel more human than I have in years. But if it’s a little love affair with a soldier that you want, I can’t give you that.”

“And why not? What’s wrong with that?”

“Just because I may feel things, does not mean that I want you.” he knew his words would cut deep.

Hattie stood up now, walking over to him though his back was to her, “Paddy.” She wanted to touch him, to place her hand on his back, caress his firm shoulder. But there was no inclination from him that he wanted to be touched.

“I don’t dislike you, Brooks, but I can’t see you anymore.”

She wanted to know why, wanted to ask him why. The conversation had felt so promising, and then she was shut down by him in an instant. It felt so wrong and confusing. To have this be their reality after so much fantasy on her part and time between them was beyond disappointment. She felt the tension in the air, and didn’t foresee any good coming from pressing him further on the matter, so she said, “Alright. Goodbye, Lieutenant Mayne.”

Paddy closed his eyes, he couldn’t say anything else. He couldn’t even be man enough to bid her a farewell. For if he opened his mouth for another word, he grab her and make love to her then and there. He’d never let her out of his sight.

………

Hattie Brooks held herself together. She was an adult, a grown woman who could handle whatever was thrown at her. Fuck Paddy Mayne. He didn’t have to mean anything to her anymore. He was the same as any of the other soldiers she came into contact with. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to talk to him, or worse, have to patch him up one of these days.

Whatever fantasy or hope she had in him, was seemingly over. Her heart ached, but she couldn’t let it get to her. Life would go on, this war would go on, and she needed to keep her mind right.

Bea, her comrade, found her as soon as she returned from the confessional area. She smiled widely, “So? How did it go? What did he say?”

Hattie shrugged, “Nothing, really.” She walked past finding her pew in the church.

“Nothing? Hattie, come on, this kind of thing never happens, and Paddy Mayne isn’t the type of man to say nothing much.”

Hattie laughed softly, “You act like you know him.”

“Well, I’ve heard lots of stories about him. So, are you two an item now? I remember seeing you two when you treated him back in Africa, like it could really turn into something, yeah?”

“Bea, enough alright? It’s nothing. Like I said we just caught up. It’s nothing else.” She loved dear Bea to death, but the girl could be too much sometimes. Bea was a hopeless romantic, so Hattie’s talking to Paddy Mayne getting her excited was no surprise. But there was nothing or be excited about. Not anymore.

Both SAS regiments and the nurses all had an evening meal together as the sun set. It cooled down considerably as the night crept on. Hattie sat with Bea and the rest of their team. She of course saw Paddy, but didn’t make any eye contact with him. Secretly, she wished that she did, just to see if he would react at all, if he would feel anything looking into her eyes again. She wasn’t even sure if he had seen her.

Later, everyone had gone to bed, the whole church was dark and quiet. Hattie lay on her side, facing the back of the pew. The realization that she would never feel Paddy's arms around her, that she probably would never have another word with the man came crashing down on her. Tears started to flow beyond her ability to stop them. She sobbed silently, saying goodbye to her hopes, saying goodbye to Paddy Mayne.

.........

Paddy was restless, as usual. He knew what he needed, or rather who he needed, to feel comforted enough to fall asleep. He kept trying to brush her away. But in his tossing and turning, he was unable to block Hattie out. He finally decided to stop fighting it and let her face into his mind. He remembered her from earlier that day.

Her pitiful, trembling lips, the sadness in her eyes as he rejected her. He didn't even think he'd be able to pull it off. It took everything in him to not give in and go against his own judgement. In this moment, he really could.

"Paddy." she whispered against his lips; her weight nestled warmly on his body.

He felt her fingers on his jaw, cupping his face, "Mmm." he hummed, closing his eyes. He felt her breath, her hands brushing over his chest.

"Tell me you want me, Paddy." she spoke even lower, he could practically hear her smirking.

And he would tell her everything she wanted to hear. He wanted to please her. She was his and he was more loyal than anyone.

But that was all just so he could sleep. It could never be real. He felt like such an arse, fantasizing when the real woman was nearby. He could go to her right now. But he wouldn’t.

Paddy only hoped that he hadn’t hurt her too much, and that she would get over this quickly. Surely she would, right? They had a shared connection, a sort of chemistry had occurred, but they had only spoken three separate times; it wasn’t as if they’d known each other deeply.

He would most likely keep the fantasy of her going forward, which he felt terrible about.

……..

The next day, she could not get Paddy Mayne out of her system. Hattie’s team was reduced to errand girls, assigned to take the men's uniforms to a nearby family-owned laundry house. So, she spent the day doing laundry. The mundane chore was made better by talking to the sweet family in charge.

It was one of the easiest days they'd had in many months, it almost felt normal. Carrying everything back to base was the worst part. But now, the assignment of the day was done.

Of all men for her to lay her eyes on first, Paddy was standing there as she approached the church. He was talking with a couple of other men, she recognized the blond headed, more bulky looking man from the day before, Reg Seekings. She didn't know the other man, but she did notice that Paddy looked at her.

She paused with her fellow nurses with their packed laundry bags. It was an idle time of day that didn't come all that often. The women were chatting, the men planning, and every once in a while, she caught glimpse of him catching a glimpse of her. It was like she could feel every time his eyes moved back onto her; was he even paying attention or taking part in his own conversation?

Hattie took a step away from the herd, then another, until she found herself walking toward him.

"Hattie? Where are you-" Bea started to question, but stopped suddenly when she realized what was happening, or at least she knew where her friend was headed.

........

She stopped at the tiny crowd of SAS soldiers, and their conversation slowly ceased as they each noticed her. She cleared her throat, "Gentlemen,"

Paddy could have burned holes through her head with his eyes. She could tell he wasn't happy with her. She didn't care.

"sorry to intrude." she continued, "Paddy, could I speak with you privately?"

His eyes narrowed at her. He couldn't refuse her in front of his men, or her fellow nurses. He couldn't embarrass her in front of everyone. The fuck am I thinking? He was Paddy Mayne, he could do whatever he damn well pleased. He didn't give a fuck what anyone thought. However, he found himself saying, "Aye, I suppose so."

As they walked together, she said, "Take me somewhere we cannot be seen."

"Aye, as if I'd be speakin with ye out in the open." he said dryly.

They rounded a corner, several blocks from the eyes and earshot of those they knew. "What is that supposed to mean?" a bitter frown pulling on her brow.

He turned to face her, "I told you explicitly I didn't want to see you. Who the fuck are you to approach me as if-"

Hattie cut him off, quickly pulling him in and kissing him with haste.

Paddy didn't stop her; he didn't push her away. His hands went to her hips, but he didn't know why.

She pulled away from his lips, with her nose still touching his, she whispered, "Do not curse at me."

He kept still, just staring at her, getting lost in her eyes, for real. She was really there. He gazed at her lips, slightly plump from kissing him. He slid his arms around her waist. "I'm sorry."