#sav!scribbles

“Take me,” Joe all but snarls under his breath. “Fucking take me so fucking good.”

David screws his eyes shut in embarrassment that was bordering on mortification. The words combined with the all encompassing stretching as Joe's cock slams forward again and again. It’s so much sensation. It’s the release of letting go, it feels like he's flying, falling, like he's a thousand feet up and rocketing back down to his body. It's too much, David can't take it, it feels like too much. Keeping his eyes squeezed shut he brings one arm up from the tangle of the sheets to fall over his eyes, trying to brace himself against the onslaught of feeling in the crook of his elbow.

Batting away the arm covering his eyes Joe hooks his hands under the thighs at his hips and throws Webs legs up on his shoulders so his knees catch like hooks and moves to sit up off his haunches and lean forward, bending Webs torso in a harsh arch. One hand shifting to his right hip to keep him steady the other hand coming up to tangle and tighten like a vice in Webs hair pulling his head forwards and down so his chin is almost plastered to his chest.

"Look." Joe's voice is like thunder rolling through him. "Watch it. Goddamn Priss, can't even listen to people swear without making a face but you're gonna watch yourself eat my cock up."

The view between his thighs is obscene, Joe's cock flashing between and disappearing back into him with each brutal thrust forward. David can't help but let out a moan, eyes going hazy as he can do nothing but exactly what Joe said.

"Yeah, look at you." Joe's hand tightens that much more in his hair. "Tell me you love it."

"Lieb!" Is all David can get out, feeling almost hypnotized by the pace and view.

"Tell me."

"I--I--uh--I love it." David practically breaths out, the words barely having any bones to them.

Everyone had heard about the cigarettes, how he ran Dog Company. Hell, Blithe was near shaking in his boots dug into his foxhole and nobody could get him to cough up what had him so spooked other than Martin's half asleep and unhelpful “Speirs.” It was everybody's best guess.

All signs pointing towards the man being a lunatic. And George can admit that he had been leaning that way too, but the more he thought about it the more he noticed it was all so one-note.

No one who acted like that was one-note. Especially lunatics.

So George did what he did best. He joked, he watched, he listened, and tried to pick out pieces from all the static.

_____

Leaving the cluster of crowded foxholes was a relief, that many people finally bedding down packed in together after a day like today felt like a powder keg next to an unlit stick of TNT next to a lighter.

Easier to breathe now George shook out a pack from his jacket, bringing a stick up to light.

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

George should have been spooked by not hearing him walk up, German occupied France and all, but the air didn’t feel like there was anything to be tense about. Just curious.

“Well I just thought you’d like some company, Sir,” swinging his eyes to glance back at his left where the Lieutenant had slinked out of the deeper treeline to stand a respectable distance from him, “You shouldn't be out here by yourself.”. The warm night time darkness didn’t do anything to make Speirs look more approachable. If anything it made the guy look even more like the Grim Reaper the rumors made him out to be. Helmet still low over his eyes, black camouflage barely washed off and still smudged all over, not even a twitch of his face. No stray piece to pick up and look over, one-note.

Inhaling and putting on a smile of his own George went poking.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually smile.” exhaling it out like his own form of smoke.

Speirs didn’t say anything, still standing looking out over the clearing they stood on the edge of. Not that George really thought he’d get anywhere with something that simple with this guy. It had been a long day, sue him if he wasn’t on his A game. So there they stood, Speirs silent as the grave and George losing track of time between inhales and exhales and chattering about nothing and everything to fill the gaps before petering out into silence himself.

“You’re not as bad as everyone says you are, Sir.” Stubing the half smoked stick out on the tree he’d been leaning on before shoving the leftover bit back into the pack, almost putting it away before pausing for a moment and holding it back out, “Smoke?”