Chapter Text
All of Task Force 141 have been allotted their own private barracks on base temporarily—just until they figure out the logistics of the team’s stay. Everyone but Price are in the same wing of the building, and it’d have been hard for König not to notice which room was Roach’s. He’s seen him come out of it every morning for weeks, after all.
König, for the most part, ignores Roach’s warmth and weight pressing against him as they walk. He also ignores the kiss, along with Roach’s earlier words. He tries not to put any weight behind them, at least for now. God knows what he did and did not mean.
They have to pause every once in a while during their walk for Roach to take a breath and get control over his stomach contents, but they both make it to Roach’s barracks in one piece and blessedly void of any bodily fluids.
König helps Roach with his keys after the man fishes them out of his pocket and then turns to leave, but is stopped by a hand grabbing his.
“I won’t do anything,” Roach says, looking him in the eyes. He seems slightly more there, if not a little sicker.
König bites his lip and gives in, entering the room first, Roach following and locking the door behind them.
“Take a seat,” he tells him, gesturing to the room as a whole. “Mi casa es tu casa.”
König decides to take the chair to Roach’s desk, leaving the mattress open for him to sit or lay down. Roach, instead, chooses to approach him again, standing in front of him and reaching down to König’s face.
“I like your nose,” he says softly, almost worshiping. He rubs his thumb along the bridge, his fingers pressing gently against his cheek.
Alarm bells ring in the back of König’s mind, but he can’t help but ignore them. He’d been teased for his nose as a child for its size and crooked arch—partially genetics, partially from an unfortunate break after he’d tripped over his own feet as a child. He’s ashamed of it, but the way Roach’s cold thumb rubs it up and down endearingly makes him almost thankful for it. Almost.
His breath ghosts across Roach’s palm when he speaks. “You should sit down. I will get you some water.”
“Do you like me?” His thumb keeps stroking.
“Of course I like you.”
It stops, and König looks up into Roach’s eyes. They look sad. “What kinda like?”
“Roach…”
“No, König. Please, I need to know.”
König takes a breath.
Queer.
Roach likes men; he’s not going to sneer and jest if he tells him. But still, the words get caught in his throat.
“I… I do like you. Like that.”
Faggot.
“We’re not grade schoolers, König. Are you attracted to me?”
König opens his mouth, but no words come out. He feels oddly cold, like the warmth of his face is being sucked up by Roach’s fingers. He takes his wrist and moves his hand away.
“You should sleep. And hydrate.”
König stands and walks past Roach, grabbing a plastic water bottle from a pack he saw under Roach’s bed.
“Don’t avoid me,” he hears Roach say from behind him, grabbing him by the shoulder.
König doesn’t feel bad for using Roach’s drunken state to sidestep him and cause him to fall horizontally onto the bed. He's tired—they're both probably tired, as much as Roach seems to be in denial about it. There's a slight thrumming in the back of his skull and his entire body feels heavy. Roach’s burning presence isn't helping.
Roach groans as König grabs his legs, lifting them up and making him lay properly on the bed. Roach doesn’t fight it, probably too focused on his own battle with nausea right now to do anything.
König thrusts the water bottle towards him after he rolls over onto his back, but is grabbed again by eager hands.
“Wait, wait,” Roach is gasping, trying to sit up and then falling back down with a heavy breath. “Stay until morning. Don’t run away.”
König sighs. “I need to sleep, too.”
“Sleep here.”
König opens his mouth to respond but is cut off by Roach.
“We don’t have to do anything, just… just sleep here.”
“If I’m sleeping here, I will sleep on the floor.”
Roach groans. “Mate, I’m not gonna fuckin’ grope ya.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“Well, I trust you. I’m asking you to.”
König takes a moment to think, biting his lip and furrowing his brow. In his thinking, he momentarily forgets Roach’s hand on his forearm, and with a sudden burst of strength, the man pulls him forward onto the bed.
König panics for a moment and tries to sit up but is pulled back down by Roach’s arms around his shoulders and his legs wrapping around his waist like a damn koala. He’s squeezing fucking hard, and König doesn’t bother to fight against a drunkard’s strength. Even if he physically could pry each limb off of him, mentally, he doesn’t want to.
So he lets Roach cling to him—spoon him. His face burns at that. Typically, men of his size aren’t the little spoon in situations like this. Especially with someone else practically a foot shorter than them.
He likes it. Likes the warmth on his back and the slow, even movement of Roach’s breaths. He can vaguely feel his heart beating against his back, faster than usual. As if he’d taken a jog. König isn’t sure whether that’s from the alcohol or their situation. He hopes he’s not the only one shaken up by this, but Roach seems far more confident in this type of thing than König feels, so he isn’t sure.
They’re still in their fatigues, their boots still on, and König can excuse the former but not the latter as he shuffles to kick his own off and onto the floor. Roach does the same, momentarily releasing him and then quickly returning to his modified bear hug.
König lays there on his side, facing the rest of the room, focusing on Roach’s cold nose against his neck and limbs around his body. His eyes suddenly feel heavy, despite how raw his heart feels.
It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.
König wakes up first. Roach is still wrapped around him, but there’s no strength behind the embrace anymore. He wonders, for a second, if he should wake the other man up. But then their situation dawns on him again, and he closes his eyes.
The night before floods back to him, making him cringe. Roach had drunkenly come onto him and then dragged him to bed with him. König wants this—more than anything, he wants this. But he does not know what Roach wants.
For all he knows, Roach was drunk and horny and ready to fuck the first warm body he saw.
For all he knows, Roach will wake up and gag at the sight of König in his bed.
The thought alone makes something tight squeeze in his throat.
It’s not long after König wakes that he hears Roach groaning from behind him. He tightens his arms around his chest and buries his face in the crook of his neck, making another noise of pain.
“Fuck,” he grumbles, then raises his head and pauses for a moment before acknowledging König. “G’morning.”
“Good morning,” König speaks through the lump in his throat.
Roach’s hands flatten over König’s chest, rubbing across his collar bones before one moves up slowly to cradle his chin. Lips move close to his ear as he speaks, “I love you.”
König can’t help it—he flinches. Love? That’s a huge leap from like. He turns his head to the side. As he does so, Roach’s hand moves to cup his cheek.
To be fair, he looks like shit. The whites of his eyes are red, and deep brown circles are around the sockets. But he’s smiling. He chuckles and the hand on König’s cheek pinches his ear.
“You’re blushing,” he tells him, morning breath brushing against König’s lips. His legs move from König’s waist to tangle with his own, and he presses his forehead against his. “I love you.”
König is red, but anyone would be red in his situation, surely. “That is a big claim.”
“Maybe,” he whispers. “But I don’t care.”
König’s chest squeezes and a pressure builds behind his eyes that he quickly blinks away.
“You look like no one’s ever said that to you before, big guy.”
His eyes glance away from Roach and the man clicks his tongue, pressing his hand against his cheek a little harder to make him face him again.
“I love you.”
“You’re so—”
“I’ll keep saying it until you get sick of it.”
König smiles uncontrollably, letting out a huff of air. “I don’t think I can.”
“Do you even know me?” Roach breathes, and then König is rolling his eyes and pressing their lips together once again.
His heart feels like it’s about to burst when they pull apart, a crook in his neck already forming at their position.
“I think I love you, too.”