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Ron was sprawled on his back on the same lounge chair he’d been perched on with Nix a few hours earlier, one long leg stretched out straight in front of him, the other hanging off the side, knee bent with one foot planted on the ground. One of his arms was resting lax on his abdomen, the other supported on the arm rest, fingers loosely wrapped around the neck of a nearly empty champagne bottle. He had lost his Eisenhower jacket at some point since Carwood had left, and the top three buttons of his shirt were undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his muscled forearms. The tan column of his throat was exposed, head tipped back flush against the thin chair cushion. His lips were parted ever so slightly, a flush spread across his cheeks that matched the redness of his mouth and at the tip of his nose. The way his hair fell in mussed waves over his forehead made Carwood want to reach out and run his fingers through it.
He was sin personified, in that moment. Beautiful. It took Carwood’s breath away, a little. He knew that Ron was objectively an attractive man; anyone with a working pair of eyes could see it, but never before had he felt quite so struck by his Captain. He wasn’t sure if it was the liquor that warmed his own veins that was making him feel so dazed or what – he hadn’t drunk hardly anything at all compared to anyone else that day, just a few sips of bubbly that Luz insistently pressed into his hands with a grin. That was at least an hour ago, too.
What he had was certainly nothing compared to Ron, who had already been a sheet or two to the wind when Carwood had gone up to the Eagle’s Nest balcony with Winters to inform the officers of the German armies surrender. That was hours ago, and he could only assume Harry and Ron had kept drinking together after Nixon and Winters left and he’d stepped away to check in on the rest of the men in the face of the news – the extra few bottles on the ground that weren’t there before were what told him that was true.
No, this feeling had to be all him. It wasn’t like he’d never felt or acknowledged his attraction to Ron before – he’d been through this song and dance and knew by now that it was reciprocated. They’d sorted all that out in Hagenau, as he’d been recovering from a nasty bout of pneumonia.
He wondered if it was the lack of tension in Ron’s shoulders, the lazy way he was stretched out, resembling a cat dozing in a sunbeam. Usually, Ron was carefully put together, coiled like a spring and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Now, though, was a different story. He appeared to be all soft edges, and Carwood felt his own lingering tension bleed out just by looking at him.
All he could do was stand for a moment, transfixed, and admire the sight in front of him. He tried to commit each small detail to memory, desperately wishing he had a camera to capture it. He tried not to stare too long at the half open ‘V’ of Ron’s legs, fending off thoughts of how well he’d fit there in the empty space.
Eventually, the corner of Ron’s mouth twitched upwards, and he slowly cracked open his right eye, tipping his face in Carwood’s direction, catching him out. “You jus’ gonna stand there all night?’ He asked airily.
Carwood felt a blush creep up his neck, wondering how long Ron had known he’d been staring. He cleared his throat. “Thought I’d come check on you.”
“Hmm. Very thoughtful of you.”
Carwood moved closer so he was standing just beside the chair. Ron smiled at this and opened both eyes, looking up at him, pupils blown wide and dark. He reached out with his free hand, wrapping warm fingers around Carwood’s wrist, shifting his outstretched leg over so there was a small empty space on the chair. “Sit down?”
Carwood couldn’t help but smile in return. He’d first come up to the balcony with the intention of whisking Ron away to his quarters so that they could spend some alone time together. They hadn’t been able to enjoy each others company in over a week due to constant orders and moving from place to place – but then on the way up he’d remembered how drunk Ron had already been just hours before, and figured if nothing else he could wrestle Ron into bed for some real rest. There was a real mattress in the room Ron had claimed for himself, and from the quick glance Carwood had caught of it as he dropped of some paperwork for Ron a day prior, it looked soft and inviting. He’d been thinking of it ever since – and what better excuse to find out just how nice it was than VE day? They were supposed to be celebrating, after all.
He found he couldn’t resist the temptation of the man before him, though. There was no harm in sitting for a bit. It was a beautiful night, too – the sky was darkening slowly around them, sun descending behind the peaks of the Alps as stars began to peek out of the sky. There wasn’t a lick of breeze in the air, and Carwood suddenly felt strangely like they had all the time in the world, for whatever they wanted. He figured they could afford to spare the minutes, just this once. The war was over. “Alright. For a few minutes, then you should consider getting some rest. Where’s Harry?”
“Got someplace else to be?” Ron asked, eyebrows raised slightly before turning his face back upwards. He gestured lazily towards the balcony doors behind them, champagne sloshing in the bottle. “Welsh stumbled inside awhile ago. He’s so drunk he’s near blind. Lotta cursing on the way in.”
Carwood shook his head fondly, eyeing the spot Ron made for him. He started to think then that if he sat down, pressed into Ron’s side, he might not ever get up again, not even for the softest mattress in the world. “And how drunk are you?”
Ron only hummed in response. His thumb stroked over the pulse point in Carwood’s wrist. Carwood watched as Ron’s tongue darted out and tantalizingly wet his plush bottom lip. A calculating look crossed Ron’s face, the one he always wore right before he made an important decision – and then his hand tightened its hold and he tugged, hard.
It was unexpected enough to tip Carwood off balance. He ended up leaning over Ron’s stretched out body, one hand landing by his head to hold himself up, knee resting over the space Ron had cleared for him to sit in order to steady himself.
“Ron -“ he started, but he was shushed.
“Took you too long,” Ron murmured, leaning up to press his lips to Carwood’s. He raised one hand to cup Carwood’s jaw, thumb stroking just under his cheekbone. The lingering taste of champagne was sweet on his lips, made sweeter with the swipe of Ron’s tongue.
Carwood registered the sound of a bottle clinking to the ground before Ron’s other hand was on him too, slowly sliding its way up his bicep to curl around his shoulder. He let himself relax into the kiss for a moment before pulling away. He glanced around the balcony on instinct, watching for anyone that may lay witness to the scene before them. Just because they may have had the time, didn’t mean they had the privacy.
“’S just us. No one else’ll be coming ‘round now.” Ron’s fingers stroked a gentle line down the side of his neck, comforting.
“It’s still a risk,” Carwood said, but he couldn’t bring himself to move away. He used his own free hand to comb through Ron’s hair the way he had been itching to, the strands soft under his fingers just like he’d imagined they would be. He would swear Ron purred at that, a happy sound emanating deep from his chest, looking like the cat that had gotten the cream. Ron tipped his head back into Carwood’s hand, and pulled him down by the lapels for another kiss.
He went along with it, if only to savour the moment. It wasn’t often that Ron was so freely affectionate, lavishing him with kisses and touches that had no real direction or intent – it made his heart stir in his chest. At the back of his mind, though, he still worried about someone finding them pressed together.
The second time Carwood pulled away, he did so completely, standing up albeit reluctantly. “Come on, Ron. You don’t want to sleep in this chair all night.”
Ron huffed from his place, and the only way Carwood could describe the jut of lip Ron displayed at his retreat was a pout. The fierce and dignified Captain Speirs, pouting at him – wasn’t that a sight to behold.
“'S a nice enough chair,” he retorted, reaching again to retake Carwood’s hand. Carwood accepted the hold and squeezed Ron’s hand, but stepped back and gave his arm a gentle pull at the same time.
Ron muttered something unintelligible but dropped Carwood’s hand and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the chair. As he shifted to stand, Carwood reached out to grab his arm and steady him, but before he could make contact, Ron was up smoother than he expected. In a shockingly quick and coordinated move, he grabbed Carwood’s hips, twisted them around, and pressed him down onto the chair. He seated himself in Carwood’s lap, a smug look on his face.
“’S a very nice chair, actually,” Ron said casually as he leaned in and nosed at his jaw. “’Specially now that you’re in it.” Ron’s hands were on his chest, now, thumbs brushing aimlessly back and forth over the fabric of his shirt. As he brushed his lips over Carwood’s cheek, achingly gentle along the scar that marred his face, his hands slid down Carwood’s chest slowly until they spread wide over his ribs.
In the distance, Carwood faintly registered the noise of raucous, drunken laughter from celebrating paratroopers. He’d thought the party had been finally winding down, but it seemed there was still life in some of the men yet.
The press of lips all across his face pulled his attention back to the man on top of him. From his cheek, to the corner of his eye, up to his temple, between his brows, down to his nose, the very corner of his mouth… He felt warm, in the moment, a gentle surge of fondness running through him.
He still thought they should move this behind closed doors, but his resolve was admittedly wavering under Ron’s careful assault. “A bed might be better.”
Ron hummed thoughtfully. “Bed is far away. You’re right here.” He ran his lips languidly in a trail along the edge of his jaw and then down his neck, lips brushing feather light over his pulse and then pressing, more insistent. He pulled Carwood’s shirt loose from where it was tucked into the front of his pants and then slid a hot hand over Carwood’s bare stomach, curling his fingers over the jut of his hip. Goosebumps raised in its wake.
How could he argue with that? Before he could think too hard about it, Carwood brought his own hands to Ron’s lower back, copying Ron and untucking the man’s shirt so he could feel his skin, too. Ron was radiating heat, warming him to his core, which was pleasant as the air was quickly turning cool around them.
Gone were the thoughts of anything but the weight of Ron on top of him, warm and grounding, the insistent drag of lips along his neck. All Carwood wanted was to stop time for a little bit and let the world fall away until they were only two in it, wrapped up in each other the way they were now. It was selfish thinking, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never had Ron all to himself before – there was always someone or something that needed their attention.
Carwood couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped him. They’d never done anything like this before, never had the luxury, and it was nice. More than nice. He found he couldn’t particularly bring himself to care anymore if someone were to walk in just now, despite the repercussions it would bring. Nothing mattered to him now but the intense way Ron was looking at him through hooded eyes.
The thing about Ron’s hands and lips that struck Carwood the most was that there was seemingly no motive behind the path they took. No hurry like usual – it was like he was just touching for the sake of touching, an exploration rather than a single-minded expedition.
He cupped the back of Ron’s neck with one hand, holding him still, and kissed him slowly. He still tasted champagne, and a bit of cigarette smoke, too. His mouth was wet and pliant under Carwood’s as he parted his lips, an invitation.
As if in accordance with his wishes, time seemed to crawl around them. He had no idea how long they spent wrapped up in each other, but Ron had gotten more and more lax on top of him, until their chests were pressed together and Ron’s forehead pressed against his own.
It was pitch dark out now, stars twinkling in full force, moonlight the only thing that allowed Carwood to somewhat make out the strong features of Ron’s face.
“Car,” Ron whispered after a few moments of just staring at each other, shaking him out of his daze. “Carwood I…” He slid a hand up Carwood’s chest, fingers tracing the edge of his dog tags before stopping his palm to rest over his heart. His eyes had a pleading look to them, lips twisted, begging for Carwood to hear the words unsaid.
“Yeah,” Carwood responded through a sudden well of emotion. He thought he could hear the words just fine despite the trailing silence. He’d seen that look on Ron’s face before, several times, and sometimes he wondered if he mirrored it back. There were some things that they just couldn't say out loud, not yet, even despite Ron's sometimes brutally direct nature. “Yeah, me too.”
Ron watched him for a beat, eyes slightly widened, lips parted. He brushed the fingers of his free hand just under Carwood’s eye, and then suddenly he tucked his face into Carwood’s neck. They stayed in a comfortable, content silence for a while, Carwood’s hand stroking gently across Ron’s back until Ron sat back up again, looking serious, a furrow between his brows. Carwood was overcome with the desire to smooth it out, to preserve the peaceful bubble that surrounded them.
“We should talk… About this.”
“About what, Ron?”
“Us. You and me. What we’ll do.”
He did, then, smooth his thumb between Ron’s eyebrows. He wondered how long Ron had been thinking about that. He’d never given any indication sober, but now he looked almost worried, features pulled taut. While Carwood knew that he was right, had been planning on bringing it up eventually himself, there was a time and a place for it, and this wasn’t it. They deserved to enjoy this time together without the weight of that conversation pressing down on them. “We will. How about in the morning, alright?”
“In the morning,” Ron repeated. He tipped his head slightly to the side in consideration, and Carwood couldn’t bite down the smile at such a childish gesture. It looked like he was thinking hard, and just as he was about to say something to pull Ron’s attention back to the moment, Ron’s face relaxed and he nodded. “Carwood?”
“Yes?”
“Let’s go to bed now,” Ron said, but made no indication of moving. He brushed his thumb over Carwood’s bottom lip, eyes sliding to his mouth, the corners of his mouth curing into a devilish little smile. The seriousness of the last moment was seemingly forgotten. “I got a nice mattress.”
“Do you?” He asked around a chuckle. “Well then. This chair isn’t really all that comfortable, I must say.”
“’S not that bad,” Ron muttered, frowning. “I like it.”
“Sure, Ron. Maybe you can send it home with all the silver you’ve picked up.”
Ron smiled toothily at Carwood’s light teasing, looking years younger than Carwood had ever seen him. Under the looseness of alcohol and without the weight of immediate war bearing down around them, he was open and free in a way he couldn’t be otherwise. It was immeasurably endearing.
They got up, and Carwood left the arm Ron had slung around his shoulder in place. He pressed in closer, even, wrapping a steadying arm around Ron’s waist as he led the way back to Ron’s room. If they ran across anyone, there wasn't one person who would question the seemingly innocent gesture of drunken comrades supporting each other - while the truth was really that he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.
He thought about VE day, about what it really meant for them, for everyone, and he thought of the future moving forward. They had fallen together under impossible circumstances; he wondered if the glue of war would be enough to continue to hold them together, or if it would crack under peace.
As Carwood turned the knob of the door, Ron flicked his gaze around the hall and then pressed in close, latching his lips onto Carwood’s neck. “Stay?” He asked against his skin.
Carwood decided that they’d be okay, no matter what the future held for them. They’d talk in the morning, and face it the way they had faced everything thrown at them the last few months – together.
“Of course.”