#wintersroe

He found it better to focus on his feet. Just keep going, stride into that seemingly endless fog and trust the earth beneath your feet, and worry only about the next patient.

How long had it been anyway? It felt like an eternity that stretched in all direction like the blinding fog, but if he thought about it, it couldn’t have been much longer than a week or two. It wasn’t even Christmas yet.

His trust paid off when the dark shape of a battalion outpost drew itself into existence. He tried not to, but Eugene couldn’t stop a small sigh of relief. More than anything he feared losing his way for good and never finding his comrades again, so much so that he refused to even think about it most of the time, and seeing the tarp over some tent poles made something loosen in his chest. He even saw a familiar figure there under the tarp, someone whom he had hoped to see, but his relief was short-lived when a stick snapped in the forest.

With half his uniform stripped and left cheek covered in soap, Captain Winters captured a fresh German prisoner of war, just as surprised as they were. In any other place the situation would have been absurd, but here in the land of fog everything seemed possible. Eugene was only grateful for the looted first aid supplies added to his dwindling inventory.

Eugene tried to hide behind his helmet when Captain Winters spoke curtly with Colonel Sink and General McAuliffe. He knew just as well as anyone with half a brain that they were trapped in a tight spot, but still hearing it put so bluntly made worry churn in his gut. With his medical supply bag far too light and his face and fingers numb from the cold, Eugene stared at the ground until he heard the tires of the jeep against the frozen ground as it sped away.

Eugene raised his gaze to see the disgruntled, half-awake Captain Nixon lean close to still only half-shaven Captain Winters and say something with a smirk on his face. Winters had his back to Eugene so he couldn’t see his face, but he did see the mild shake of his head and his shoulders jumping with a scoff – Captain Nixon’s dry wit succeeding once again.

Winters started to make his way back to his foxhole, and Eugene scurried after him to finish his business with him. He had precious little time for anything these days, and ever since Winters’ promotion he hadn’t seen much of him, double the reason to hurry his steps.

Just as Eugene was passing Captain Nixon, whom he assumed was about to crawl back under his tarp and go back to sleep, the Captain suddenly glanced back over to him. Surprised and wondering if he had some business with a medic, Eugene was distracted from following Winters and lingered.

Captain Nixon was mid-yawn and scratching his scruffy cheek, but his eyes were sharp and something wicked gleamed in them when he caught Eugene’s gaze.

Taking in that expression, Eugene wondered whatever mischief Captain Nixon could possibly get up to in here and was already preparing to tell him off for it, when the Captain suddenly averted his gaze and huffed.

“Don’t mind me, go on,” Nixon quipped in a drowsy voice, gave a conspiratory wink that Eugene couldn’t even begin to understand, and jumped right back into his foxhole.

Choosing to ignore Nixon, Eugene focused back on the task. Status update, supplies, those were things he should be focused on, not deciphering Captain Nixon’s pranks. He wasn’t here for him, he was here for Captain Winters.

Winters, who was seated on the edge of his foxhole and resuming his stubborn habit to show off and be the best of the best by example, currently by insisting on maintaining a clean shave.

“Doc,” Winters acknowledged stiffly, his breath caught with the freezing cold intruding through his open collar and the icy soap he insisted on slathering on his own face.

“Sir,” Eugene began, gazing at him through the white cloud of his own breath, “could I scounge your bandage from your aid kit?”

“Of course.” With clumsy fingers, Winters fished his bandage from his personal aid kit and tossed it over to Eugene, who caught it.

“I’m running low on everything,” Eugene explained. “I’m doing rounds gathering whatever I can, but couldn’t find my way to the third battalion. Lost my way.”

“Right,” Winters said, “well get whatever you can. Ask Doc Ryan to share.”

Eugene crouched down near his foxhole by a pine tree and looked at him for second. He was worried, he couldn’t deny it – even more than he was worried about everyone else. Sitting here in the fog, essentially alone in a single shallow foxhole in a line that was stretched so thin it was barely a line at all, trying so hard to look strong; to Eugene, he appeared frighteningly vulnerable.

He couldn’t decide if he admired Winters’ dedication or thought he was over the top. Momentarily he thought if that was what Nixon had teased him about, and something about that thought made Eugene do something he usually wouldn't. He straightened from his crouched down position and instead invited himself into Winters’ foxhole, sitting right by his side with their knees bumping lightly, and took the soapy canteen and the shaving brush from Winters’ stiff, shivering hands.

“Here, sir, let me help you there,” he said, “you’re freezing your fingers off, and that’s no laughing matter.”

Winters let out a tempering scoff and muttered something, probably the usual nonsense of “I’m fine, I don’t need help, let me be” that every man had said to every medic at least a handful of times, to Eugene so many he tuned it right out and just did what he was going to.

This time it was more a trick to overcome whatever slowed him down than the stubbornness of his fellow soldier though. Some sensible part in him knew he had no business to meddle like this, that he was definitely overstepping a boundary – probably several, personal as well as professional – but majority of him couldn’t be bothered.

Stirring the brush in the soap water, Eugene wondered if this was the first sign of him breaking. He was definitely allowing himself to fall for something he had resisted until now, but was uncertain what that was. Sentimentality, perhaps, or a desire to care and coddle more than was necessary – for his sake as much as for the man in front of him.

Eugene lifted the foamy brush that he knew was unbearably cold, and with it also his gaze to Winters. To his surprise, Winters didn’t resist any more, just sat there with his hands squeezed into fists, resting on his knees, and tiled his chin up expectantly towards Eugene.

There was no backing away from this strange situation Eugene had put himself into, so he decided to indulge in it with a straight face. Trying to be mercifully quick, he brushed the shaving soap foam over Winters bare cheek, into the fair ginger stubble that was barely there, and wondered where this urge of his came from.

On the edged of his mind lurked dark memories that he tried to keep away – men who had cried and begged for help he couldn’t give, the wounded he had found in time only to see that nothing could help them anyway. In time to see them suffer and die, but without time to properly comfort them.

Winters shuddered and his breath caught when Eugene spread the cold foam over his face. His hands squeezed together, stubbornly formal on his knees even though they were bare. Eugene wished he had an extra pair of gloves or mittens to give the Captain, but given this odd situation, he didn’t dare to push it further even to tell him to warm his hands under his jacket or between his thighs.

Something warm and aching squirmed in Eugene’s chest. He though of the desperate, pleading eyes of the dying and their soft weeping, and hoped he could have stayed with each until the end. He had wanted to hold their hands, to gather each of them into his arms and hold them in their final moments, to stroke their hair, to rock and shush them as if they were fussy babes and not grown men in their death throes.

Disturbed, Eugene pushed the memories and thoughts away. It was bad enough to stand seeing so many men in their final moments like that and know he alone witnessed them, but the alien tenderness that often accompanied the memories was almost worse. He didn’t know where the overwhelming feeling came from or what to do with it. Even stranger, it felt nearly childish, like the urge to take a teddy bear and hug it as tightly as you could.

Eugene suppressed the thought with a wrinkling of his nose and picked up the razor.

“How are you holding up?” Winters asked suddenly.

Eugene glanced up to meet his eyes, seeing them watching him carefully. He wondered if his mood was showing on his face that clearly. He cradled Winters chin in his hand and tilted his head into a better angle, humming noncommittally. “Doing fine, sir. If we got a supply drop, I’d be even better.”

“I meant you, Gene,” Winters specified, even though his slow, soft smile revealed how pleased he was at his initial reaction. They were similar, in that regard.

Eugene didn't have a reply, just shrugged as he focused on the task at hand even harder, leaning closer with the blade in hand.

“You don’t need to do this, Gene,” Winters said softly.

“Yeah,” Eugene admitted with a wry twitch of a smile, feeling awkward but grateful for the conversation that took him out of his thoughts, “but the company really needs you with your hands, sir. More so than with a clean face, I might add.”

He hadn’t meant anything with the comment, but nonetheless he was rewarded with a huff of a laugh from Winters, who suddenly looked just as awkward as Eugene felt. “Yeah, well,” he started, “I just thought it would make a good example, for the men, I mean. Something routine and normal in a situation like this, you know, it could be encouraging.”

Eugene felt warm inside his chest, and it was easy to smile. It was just like he had imagined Winters would think, and it was definitely working on him: he felt a twinkle of amusement, a feeling he had already forgotten, and marvelled how light he felt suddenly. “Good thinking, sir,” he said, mild and a bit playful, “unless the men see you bathing in snow and think you’ve gone mad.”

Winters huffed and averted his gaze, a reaction so shy it made him look like a schoolboy. It warmed Eugene further, this glimpse past the image of pure strength and integrity their Captain had walled himself behind. “That’s what Nix said,” Winters admitted with a fond smile.

Even more than the shy smile, the mention of Nixon emboldened Eugene. He shuffled a bit closer with the razor in hand, put his hand against Winters’ neck just under his jaw to hold him in place, and brought the blade against his cheek. Practice had made his hand sure and steady, and the shave was perfect. The spot underneath Winter’s jaw was soft and warm. He could feel him swallowing against his palm.

“Captain Nixon and you are close," Eugene said. He didn't know what else he implied - that he and Winters weren't, or that he wished to be. He didn't like to ponder too hard on it, just made another stroke with the razor.

Winters' tone was conversational, but so warm that whatever Eugene might have implied, it was obvious he had picked up on it. “Yeah. But Nix doesn’t shave my beard for me.”

Eugene swallowed and washed the blade to avoid Winters' eyes. “Well. I don’t see you as often, so let me do this.”

“I am, Gene.”

They had said more than they had in the past year – too much by far – but enveloped in the thick fog in what felt like the edge of the world it was easy to ignore that. What was one moment for themselves? Didn’t they deserve this much, at least?

In his mind, Eugene promised God he’d work as hard as he could and pray twice as much if he could just have this moment, uninterrupted by anyone, be they German or American.

After the initial touch, Eugene’s hands grew more certain. The last time he’d touched Winters was in Carentan when he had gotten that piece of shrapnel out of his leg. An officer and an enlisted man didn’t have much reason to mingle, and as a medic Eugene was somewhat grateful that they hadn’t seen each other more. Maybe this whole idea of his was just to steal a bit more time, and come up with an excuse to care for Winters without first having to wait for him to be wounded.

Eugene regretted the thought as soon as it came to his mind. He wouldn’t know it would be Winters before he arrived. He would simply run towards whoever was yelling for a medic, through fog and snow and artillery fire, and then he’d burst right in the middle of a scene of blood and screaming.

He couldn’t imagine Winters to be one of those who cursed or wept, but he had already heard his pained grunting and laboured breathing back in Carentan, seen the sheen of sweat on his pale face. Eugene could easily imagine the short, raspy breaths rushing out of collapsing lungs, the pained wheezing and shallow panting of someone in immeasurable agony, and Winters’ already pale face ashen with his blue eyes staring wide and unseeing, stunned with pain and that ever-present confusion that it had really been you who had been hit this time.

The thought dropped like a lead weight in the bottom of Eugene’s stomach, and he was again a bit disturbed that his hands didn’t tremble even slightly. He shaved another perfect smooth spot over Winters’ cheek and noticed faded freckles over his cheekbone, charming and sweet like the memories of a summer long gone.

Winters’ neck didn’t feel hot against his hands anymore, and Eugene knew it was because he was stealing his warmth to his own reddened fingers.

Obediently, Winters shifted on his spot so that Eugene could get his other cheek as well. Winters was sitting almost sideways next to him, their legs pressed together between them, awkward and too close, but radiating warmth that tempted them to stay like that. Winters had barely started shaving when he had been interrupted, and even the spots he had caught were pretty poorly done. Eugene wasn’t sorry. That was just more for him to make right.

Winters didn’t speak for the rest of the time Eugene shaved him. At first Eugene was glad for the silence, but after a moment noticed how the odd intimacy of the situation he had barged in deepened when they didn’t speak.

It made Eugene flush under his collar. Without conversation as distraction, he couldn’t mask the way his touch right now wasn’t needed, not like a medic’s was, and thus wasn't excused like a medic's usually would be. This was an indulgence that was going on for far too long, and still he couldn’t control himself.

“You shouldn’t just let your hands freeze in the open air, sir,” he said when the silence became unbearable, resulting into his lecturing medic tone. “You should put them underneath your clothes, or warm them in your body heat.”

His advice was basic enough, something he had told the men dozens of times already, and so he wasn’t expecting it when Winters leaned forward and reached for him.

Eugene jolted, the hand with the knife flying back, and blinked back at the Captain, who was studying him keenly, hands on his jacket.

For a moment of perfect stillness, they stared at each other, legs tangled between them, reaching for each other, their excuses suspended in the air.

“Just to keep warm for a bit,” Winters said quietly.

Eugene flushed even more under his collar, as if his body would have liked nothing more than to gift its heat to the man seeking it. It wasn’t mistaken, either.

The fog was like a shroud separating them from the rest, even granting the faintest illusion of safety for a moment, even though they both knew they were in the line of fire. Eugene met Winters’ eyes, the gaze private and soft, calmly welcoming him to look as long as he wanted, to find what was meant for him and him alone.

Eugene nodded.

Winters smiled lightly, the expression more in his eyes than on his mouth.

His touch was slow and careful when he slipped his hands underneath Eugene’s jacket. They didn’t go past his shirt but contented themselves to rest on his sides, nearly on the soft spot of his stomach, and Eugene in his tense excitement was almost disappointed before he realized Winters was just being considerate. Because after a minute, during which Eugene barely did any shaving, just scraped the upper lip with two neat flicks of his wrist, Winters apparently deemed his hands warm enough to venture further without being unpleasant.

That tense excitement in Eugene’s gut soared anew, swooping even wilder at the unexpected consideration for his comfort. Winters hands were warm when they slipped underneath the layers of his clothes, not intruding and not greedy but almost tentative, shy like his smile had been, before coming to rest on his skin with care that bordered on reverence.

Eugene took a slow, shuddering breath and sighed in out in a cloud that dissolved into the fog surrounding them.

Winters’ hands were still a bit cool against his skin, but that only made Eugene feel needed. He would warm him the rest of the way and let him hold him however long it took.

Still, he felt a bit like a rogue, because he was sure he was getting more than giving: with Winters’ hands cupping him like this, the heels of his palms on the soft of his belly and the fingers curving around his sides, their tips resting over his lowest ribs, he felt held. It was like everything vital of him was suddenly in Winters’ palms, and if he were to let go, he would unravel. His heart was pounding more sweetly than he remembered it could, knocking against his ribs as if longing to jump out right into the palm of those hands holding him together.

It was curious, Eugene thought, cheeks heating up and tingling in the cold like sitting in front of a fireplace; he had forgotten his body was for this too. That his heart could race pleasantly, that his skin could flush with pleasure at someone’s touch – that touch could be like this, considerate, personal, and tender.

He had finished the shave. There was no more soap or stubble to scrape away, and the blade in Eugene’s hand felt extraordinarily useless. What were tools like that even good for? But even when he lowered the blade, he didn’t remove his other hand. Underneath his warm fingers he could feel Winters’ pulse, strong and a bit fast.

Not even a minute after, Eugene gave in to the pressure of time. Reluctantly, he pulled his hands away from Winters, cleared his throat, and set the canteen with the brush and the razor aside on the snowy ground. His movements acted like a cue for Winters as well, who followed his lead and just as reluctantly pulled his hands back to himself. It was quiet inside the fog, the rustling of clothes under their hands clear in their ears.

When Winters pulled his whole body away from him, putting his feet back on the ground and shuffling away on the edge of his foxhole, Eugene knew the moment was over. He no longer had reason to linger, and so he climbed out of the hole and rose back on his feet, his limbs numb and stiff after sitting so long in a strange position. He didn't want to leave, but Captain Winters radiated a mood that let him know that they were done for now.

And yet, as he was buttoning his shirt and jacket again, Captain Winters spared him one more soft look and a smile. “Thanks, Doc.”

Eugene felt his lips twitching in response. “No problem, sir.”

after a long day full of music, laughter, food, and conversation, gene took dick to his favorite coffee shop.

they relaxed in the shade and listened to the jazz flowing from the open windows.

“there’s something about cities, isn’t there? or maybe it’s ‘cause i’m from one.”

gene looked over to dick and found the man staring at him.

“why you lookin’ at me like that?”

dick smiled, “you’re unlike anyone i’ve ever met.”

gene’s jaw dropped.

“helluva line to drop on a guy, dick.”

dick smiled, “sorry. i just…i don’t know...there’s something about you that i can’t put my finger on.”

gene reached over and placed his hand on the other man’s, “i could say the same thing about you.”

their fingers laced together and they settled into comfortable silence.

gene smiled softly, but felt like something was off. like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

a couple of weeks later, it dropped.

the club was packed, even more so than usual. mardi gras was coming up and everyone was starting their celebrations early this year.

gene was playing, losing himself in the music, fingers flying fast over the keys, drowning out all of the chatter in the room.

they finished their song, taking off for a quick break, when gene looked over to the bar.

he saw a man, very clearly flirting with dick. there were always people flirting with him, some for free drinks, others for more personal requests.

dick always brushed them off, politely and usually they gave up.

but this guy clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer and when dick went to go to the back room for more bourbon, the man cornered him against the door.

gene was across the room in an instant and pulling the man away from dick and onto the ground.

“back the fuck up, he’s clearly not interested.”

the man got up, he had a few inches on gene and maybe another twenty pounds, but gene was so furious that he didn’t care.

“oh yeah? and what the hell are you gonna do about it?”

the man pushed gene, hard, and gene saw red.

he suckerpunched the man directly in his jaw, just like snafu taught him when then were fourteen, and then attacked him as he fell to the ground. 

he got another good three punches in before dick pulled him away.

“gene stop.”

gene saw the man run out, tail between his legs, and smiled with smug satisfaction.

“i’m stoppin’.” gene looked to dick and saw an unimpressed, possibly angry look on his face.

“why did you do that? i had it under control.”

“he was in your space, dick. i know what these crowds can get like. trust me.”

dick crossed his arm across he chest.

“and you should trust me to handle myself. i don’t need you to protect me.” dick finished with a clipped tone that made gene flinch before he was angry again.

“i was just trying to help, dick.”

“i don’t need your help.”

“yeah? well maybe i don’t need you at all!”

gene ran out of the club as fast as he could, pushing everyone out of his way.

he didn’t stop running until he reached his house. and when he was finally inside, he crashed to the floor and cried.

dick didn’t seen gene for two weeks after that night. he’d called, text, left messages, and even stopped by his house a few times, all went unanswered.

he didn’t know what to do. he didn’t want to lose gene, not after he’d just found him. before the fight, everything had been going so well. he’d even started falling for gene and could tell the man was falling for him too. it couldn’t end like this, it couldn’t end at all.

he called someone to cover his shift and went to gene’s house. 

he made himself at home on the porch, determined to wait him out.

“you’re an idiot, ya know that right?”

gene rolled his eyes as snafu climbed into the driver’s seat.

“yeah i know that snaf, now drive the damn car.”

“i’m just sayin’, you and i have a likin’ to redheads.”

“yeah but we’ve known sledge since we were kids. this is different.”

“i don’t think so.” snafu said in a singsong voice that made gene want to hit him.

“why?” he asked.

“because you talk about him like the way i talk about sledge. all hearteyes and shit.”

“i do not.”

snafu looked at gene with a look that meant he knew he was lying.

“fine, so i do. doesn’t matter ‘cause i fucked it up.”

“nah, you just gotta apologize and we all know how much you hate doin’ that. i think mrs. alcorn is still waitin’ on an apology for her window that you broke in third grade.”

gene slapped snafu’s arm, “i didn’t break that damn window and there ain’t a soul out there that could prove it.”

snafu laughed and lit a cigarette.

“i’m just sayin’.”

gene sighed and watched the town speed by.

“i know snaf, i know.”

dick had been sitting on the porch for well over three hours. this was stupid, he didn’t even know if gene was home or in town or was out for the night or the weekend. he was just about to go home when a black car pulled up the driveway. he stood, nervous and fidgety, hoping that gene would exit the car.

instead, he shoulders slumped as a redheaded man got out.

he approached dick with a sweet smile, “can i help you?”

dick shuffled his feet, “i’m just waiting on someone.”

“you waitin’ on gene?”

dick smiled, “yeah.”

the man smiled, “well come inside, you can wait for him there.”

dick put his hands up, “no, no, i should probably go.”

the man just pushed him forward, back towards the stair.

“nonsense, get in the house. gene should be back soon.”

dick waited awkwardly as the man opened the door.

“you wouldn’t happen to be dick, would you?”

dick nodded, “yeah i am.”

the man clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him inside, “tell me about yourself dick.”

for all of his love for new orleans, he really hated mardi gras season. the traffic was unbearable.

“fuck this is awful.”

gene mumbled in agreement and lit another cigarette.

“sledge at the house?”

“lemme check.” snafu pulled his phone out and burst into laughter.

he was about to tell gene the good new when gene groaned, “he didn’t send you another dirty picture, did he? y’all never know when to quit.”

offended, snafu merely said that sledge was there, he didn’t tell him who was with him though. serves him right for judging his healthy sexual relationship.

there was a break in the traffic and snafu took it, flicking off all of the other angry drivers he cut off.

“people are so inconsiderate, gene.”

gene laughed and blasted the radio as they sped down the street.

“i’m gene by the way, but everyone calls me sledge.”

dick smiled over his glass of iced tea, “nice to meet you and thanks for the tea.”

sledge shrugged and asked, no filter for his thoughts, “so why does roe think he fucked up?”

dick inhaled the tea and choked for half a minute before asking, “what?”

“well gene’s been at our house for a week and i love the man, but he’s been moping the entire time. he said he fucked up and i want to know why he thinks that.” sledge narrowed his eyes and dick felt both threatened and nervous.

but he explained, nonetheless, everything that had happened and everything he had felt. he wasn’t angry at gene for defending him, he wasn’t angry that gene got into a fight. he was angry because gene got into a fight over him, that gene put himself in harm’s way because of dick.

“oh okay, snaf, that’s my husband, and i are like that too. you haveta understand that me, him, and gene all grew up together, thick as thieves, and all of us scored a six on the kinsey scale, if you catch my drift. so really we were the only ones we could rely on. and we had to learn to fight at an early age. time’s they are a changin’ but we’re still in the south and people still have strong feelings about people like us. anyway, we’ve had to fight a lot in our lives and it’s kind of a natural reaction at this point.”

dick nodded, he could understand that, his high school year were nothing short of awkward forced encounters with girls nix had tried to set him up with and a couple fights with guys who wouldn’t leave him be.

“i can understand that, i just don’t want to see him hurt.”

“well he’s hurting now,” sledge pointed a finger at dick, “so i expect you to sort this out. gene’s my best friend and he’s a good man with a good heart.”

dick nodded solemnly. 

“so how fast did the guy go down?” sledge smiled as he pulled himself onto the counter.

dick laughed, “one hit, gene’s hands moved faster than he plays the piano.”

sledge laughed loudly, “that’s my boy.”

snafu pulled into the driveway too fast and nearly crashed into gene’s garage.

“you’re fucking crazy snaf. next time i’m driving.”

snafu laughed as they walked towards the house.

“don’t be mad. your momma was the one who taught me to drive.”

gene laughed against his better judgement.

“yeah and her license was revoked when she did it.”

they laughed their way into the house, nostalgia make gene feel light for the first time in weeks.

it all stopped when he saw dick sitting at his kitchen table.

for all it’s worth, dick looked as shocked as him. 

sledge interrupted the silence, “well, that’s our awkward cue to leave. dick, lovely meeting you and i hope to see more you in the future.”

he patted gene on the shoulder before whispering into his ear, “he loves you.”

the sweet moment was cut off by him yelling, “merriell shelton get your damn feet off the table before i call your momma!”

gene laughed and moved to sit beside dick.

neither said a word for a moment.

“i’m sorry.” they both said at once.

gene’s eye narrowed and dick smiled inwardly, he could see now how much him and sledge acted alike.

“why are you sorry?”

“because i didn’t let either of us explain ourselves. i didn’t tell you why i was upset. and because i let you walk out the door without following after you.”

gene smiled and grabbed dick’s hand.

he started, “i’m sorry for makin’ you feel that way you did, but i’m not sorry for the fight.”

dick shrugged, “he was an asshole, anyway.”

gene laughed, “and i’m sorry for ignoring you. i just assumed you were calling to tell me it was over and i had already expected that, i just didn’t want to hear it. i love you too much to have to ever hear that.”

both men’s eyes widened at the confession.

eventually, when the shock wore off, dick smiled warmly.

“i love you too.”

gene leaned over the edge of the table and climbed into dick’s lap, remembering weeks ago when they’d been in this exact position, only this time their clothes were on.

gene kissed dick’s lips like he was starving for it.

“aw, honey, our little boy is all grown up.”

gene groaned and stared angrily at snafu.

“sledge! tell snaf he has ten seconds to get out my house before i call his momma!”

snafu narrowed his eyes testing to see if gene would follow through. he saw the threat was real and was out of the door before gene could dial.

sledge popped his head in, “have a good night you two lovebirds.”

gene groaned but smiled when he heard the door shut.

“wanna take this upstairs?”

dick smiled and kiss gene lightly, “i’ll follow you anywhere.”

anonymous - thank you!