Chapter Text
Speirton Collection
Chapter 1
Chain of Command
He doesn’t exactly fault Ron for his attraction to Grant, but Carwood is competitive and can’t exactly let this slide. Ron is smiling--that absolutely breathtaking smile that brings light to his eyes and somehow makes the man even more gorgeous than he already is; Carwood’s problem is that he’s smiling because of Chuck Grant.
“Sir? A word?” Is all Carwood says to ruin the mood with his flat inflection and rigid form. Ron swivels in his chair to look at him, the smile changes from humor to something warmer as he lays eyes on him. He can’t help but let a smile start to tug at the corner of his mouth, even if he’s pretending he’s here in an official capacity.
Chuck Grant knows when he’s being dismissed, he pushes off the corner of Ron’s desk where he had been lounging a little too casually for a Sergeant reporting on platoon business---Business he never got around to talking about because Ron had gotten chatty and started touching him in that casual way of his, and he leaned on the desk to give him a chance to run a hand up and down his thigh. So much for that going anywhere now…
“Lieutenant, what can I do for you?” Ron asks as Chuck leaves, giving Lip a nod before Lip’s level, but commanding, tone makes him pause.
“Shut the door on your way out, Sergeant.” Lip says and Chuck thinks nothing of it, even if Lip knows it’s because he’s being possessive and petty. He keeps his eyes on Ron, despite talking to Chuck, seeing Ron go through a series of emotions to attempt to read the situation.
The door shuts and they are alone, Ron stands because Lip is never one to throw his rank around. This had to be serious. “What’s wrong?”
Carwood doesn’t answer. What Carwood does do is walk up to him, take a long look at how Ron’s shirt is unbuttoned down far enough to show his chest and dog tag chain. Things are casual in the office now that the war in Europe is over, it means nothing. Ron is unaware of the effect his exposed throat has on his men, and there is a collective agreement to not tell him. Carwood, however, wants to suddenly bite him. Leave a mark that makes him cover up. Leave something that will tell Chuck Grant he was there first . Carwood doesn’t linger on his throat, looks up instead at Ron’s eyes and savors the silent questions there. Then he reaches up, slides his knuckles over Ron’s cheek, his pinkie dragging along the underside of his jaw.
Ron’s breath hitches as Carwood’s knuckles drag down his jaw then down his neck.
Carwood hooks the chain with his dog tags on them with his pinkie finger and lifts them up so they are now at eye level. His finger flips Ron’s over, revealing Lip’s old sergeant tags. “Darlin, go ahead and tell me what these say.”
He has that stern tone to his voice, the one he saves for giving orders, despite using the pet name. And that he says with the hint of a drawl he rarely lets surface. It makes Ron swallow hard and makes his throat dry. “Lipton, Clifford C.”
Lip tugs on them, but smirks. Using his given name. Asshole . He looks at the dog tags, rubs them together with his pinkie and thumb, “That’s right. Lipton . Not Grant. You want something, you come to me .”
Ron cocks an eyebrow. He is surprised that Carwood would use his authority to chase Chuck out of the room, even more surprised he’s jealous. His voice is husky when he asks, “Is that all, you wanted Lieutenant?”
“Just a reminder to the Sergeant to respect the chain, “ He tugs the dog tags for emphasis before continuing. “ Of command .”
The the tags fall back to Ron’s chest, the air is heavy with whatever the fuck just happened and the smoke of a cigarette he had left in the ash tray prior to Chuck offering him something better to do with his hand.
Carwood levels his gaze at Ron, says a polite “Sir.”, and that is enough to send Ron crushing into his lips with a hot and needy kiss. Hands on his uniform, pulling him close and not giving him a chance to leave.