#shatz

Pushing on his chest to get him to lay fully against the bed, sliding on top of him, and spreading your hips against his deliciously wide thighs. Dragging the damp fabric of your covered cunt over the bare meat of itas you pull yourself forward to his clothed cock.

He whined,

actually whined.

His arms pulled back against the headboard fixed in a pair of shiny metal cuffs, clinking every so often as his arms trembled.

You palmed him through his boxers, watching as the flush spread from his cheeks to his chest. The pale skin layered with a sheen of sweat, the tension prominent in the constant flex of his muscles as he lay there and took.

He was a giver, after all.

"Please, Shatz." He groaned, pushing his hips forward to grind his cock against your palm.

"Please what?" You asked, a mocking innocence in your tone.

"Just... Sit on my face, please. Let me..." He lets out a breathy moan as you grip the shaft of his cock through his boxers.

"No sweetheart." You croon, pulling the waistband down and allowing his cock to spring free.

And that's how you felt, standing with blood up to your elbows calling time of death on a Private- probably no older than twenty-one. Couldn't even buy a drink for himself but here he sat with an oxygen on his mask, body cavity open in a desperate attempt to pull the shrapnel from his abdomen.

You needed to be out of this room.

You needed to be out of the infirmary.

You could not be in here anymore and you needed to leave. Leave now and come back when there wasn't blood sticking to your arms and the smell of the iron in your nose and the dreadful feeling of knowing that you couldn't save him and-

You blinked, trying to compose yourself before continuing on with your duties for the rest of your shift.

Once they were over, you left, and no one asked why because they knew why.

They knew how hard it was to take a loss like that.

They knew you took them even harder.

So you rushed off, taking a shower and scrubbing the poor boys blood from your skin until the skin on your forearms was red and raw. You were tempted to keep scrubbing, but you knew the blood was gone, that you were clean. You'd be able to shower again-

But he wouldn't.

So you left your room, striding down the hallways trying to get outside to take a breather to try and get some fresh air- feeling the cool air on your face and trying extra hard to blink the tears away until you knew that you were truly, entirely alone before you balled your eyes out.

"Schatz?" A voice- oh that familiar voice. The one that made you want to turn around, grab him by the shirt and sob like no one else was in the room, and cry, tell him how you tried. You failed- it was your fault.

But you couldn't.

You wouldn't.

To prideful, spiteful maybe?

You knew that with his long legs he'd easily be able to keep up with you, be able to take three steps and be in front of you.

His hand gripped your shoulder, trying to slow you down. "What is the matter?" He asked, voice soft.

You snapped- almost like that pent of anger of blaming yourself pouring outward as you slapped his hand from your shoulder. "You. You need to leave me alone. Alright?"

His hand stood in place- midair after being smacked from your shoulder. He stood in shock- maybe disbelief as he watched you storm out, slam the door being you.

He wouldn't go after you-

Moma said it was dangerous to chase after an angry woman.

He tried- racked his brain and chewed on his lip trying to think of what he could've done to anger you.

Pink tinged his cheeks as he realized what he must've done- it must've been the fact he'd stolen one of your hair ties. The blue ones, the 'good luck' hairties you had that you wore. He'd snuck one out of your pocket one night you had fallen asleep on him, and he'd kept it around his wrist sense under his gear.

You must've found out.

Oh, he didn't realize how important those hair ties were to you-

He'd have to apologize.

...

You were trying, you tried to clear your head outside. Fuck, how long were you outside? Nearly two hours.

You'd need to finish up some more paperwork, you didn't really want to do it, but you knew that if you tried to go back to your room and lay down you surely wouldn't be able to sleep.

No, you'd just spiral.

So you pressed onward, walking back down the hallways until the familiar scent of sanitizer after into your nose.

You hated the fact you'd snapped at him- felt bad, truly. But you were just so tired- so drained. And seeing him just made it all worse, you couldn't help but feel so helpless knowing that not all injuries could be stitched up- fixed. Not all soldiers could be saved.

And he could be one of them, one day.

And you knew that, but you'd try to ignore it every day if it was possible. With every atom of your being, you'd fight that.

Grabbing the knob to your door you were met with no lights- which was strange you could've sworn you had left them on when you'd left this morning to head into the infirmary-

Oh.

Well.

This was too cute.

You felt the smile creep up onto your face as you slowly crept forward, trying to find the tall man who conspired what was in front of you.

The tiny candles packed into those old vintage emergency boxes all those months ago had been pillaged- collected and now sat lit on your desk.

Where had your computer gone?

Shit, where had all of the paperwork on your desk gone?

You'd worry about that later.

Even if it was just the mess hall trays set out with a few candles lit, the paper napkins and thin metal cutlery that you'd come accustomed to in your daily life neatly set atop them. Two mugs that you kept for coffee sitting full, steaming next to your plate.

But where had the tall man gone?

The door creaked open, and you glanced back to be met with his masked face, without the hood. You watched as his eyes widened when he saw you, realizing the surprise had been ruined.

But there you saw it-

the box of chocolates.

Where had he even managed to find those?

"Oh- Fuck." He hissed, quickly bringing the box to hide behind him while he approached. He had changed out of his gear into a simple pair of his pants and a tight black T-Shirt.

"Hello..." You replied cheekily. "Did I walk in on something I wasn't supposed to?" You asked, walking up to him and bringing your hand up to gently cup his cheek.

"Yes- well, no- but." He quickly choked out. "I wanted to surprise you." He sighed, shoulders sagging as he leaned into your touch, your wrist bearing the weight of his head as he leaned into it.

"You did surprise me." You replied, moving your hand and sliding it down his face to grab the hem of his mask, lifting it and pulling it from his head to catch his lips in a kiss. "What's this all for?"

"To say sorry." He replied, a matter of factly, as if he had already been in front of a judge and jury, tried, and convicted.

"What?" Your eyes widened. "What did you do?"

"I... Made you mad?" He asked, a question as if you'd just debased his entire theory- which, you'd had.

"Oh... Sweetheart." You cooed, pulling him closed to you and wrapping your hands around the back of his neck. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm not mad at you."

His hands snaked around you, one hand coming to hold your hip while the other slinked over your back.

"Then what is the matter?" He asked, pulling you closer.

"I had a rough day. I hate when I lose a young one." You said quietly, barely above a whisper.

But he heard. He gave you a comforting squeeze, feeling the pattering of your heart against your chest. He kissed you, shushing away your whispered out tangent and large thumb coming up to brush away a stray tear.

"Then let us eat and go to bed together?" He asked.

You nodded, gratefully.

Maybe the days would be better.