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The hotel room was quiet in a way that very, very few places had been since the start of the war, and yet Ron couldn’t sleep.
He should have been able to: a soldier learned to sleep in every possible condition real quickly yet the very things that should have lulled him into a deep, restful sleep felt almost oppressive.
The silence, the soft, late afternoon light dimmed down by the curtains— it was jarring for someone who was used to the distant, dull thud of artillery. Even the sheer luxury of the room felt somehow stifling. The furniture was too dark, with too many golden curls; the mattress was too soft, making him feel like it was suffocating him.
Logically, he knew that the room was safe. The war was over, and he was in a hotel in the centre of Paris, with a naked, sleeping Carwood in his arms, half on top of him. There would be no sudden shelling, and no one would bust in.
But war had been his reality for the better part of two years. Constant vigilance had been drilled mercilessly into him. He still remembered Connor Grunner, the drill Sergeant that had trained them during boot camp and his undying love for ambush scenarios. He was probably the most terrifying fellow Ron had ever met.
He was a veteran of the Great War, with the scars to prove it: he had lost his left eye (accounts as to how varied wildly) and his torso and arms were a horrible mess of thin, crisscrossing scar lines he had acquired by getting tangled into barbed wire. He had this uncanny ability to make you feel like his glass eye was following your every movement, to the point that a few Italians from Chicago had started to make furtive apotropaic gestures behind his back, and called him Malocchio, the Evil Eye. The nickname had stuck.
As much as he didn’t want to think about Connor “Malocchio” Grunner, especially in a situation where he had Carwood in his arms, Ron couldn’t help but glance at the door every time he heard footsteps in the hallway, clutching Carwood just a little tighter.
He sighed, settling down once again and adjusting the weight of Carwood’s body in his arms once the footsteps had faded away.
Carwood at least was sleeping, completely boneless and sated after Ron had fucked him into the mattress. Slowly, gently, not to wake him up, Ron started caressing his hair, studying his lover’s face.
The deep lines of worry that were usually etched on his forehead were now smoothed out: he looked much younger as sleep took away the weight of life from his shoulders. He wasn’t handsome by current beauty standards, like say, Rodolfo Valentino. His beauty was quiet, hidden in the kindness of his smiles and the sweetness of his eyes, and Ron fell a bit more in love every time Carwood smiled at him.
He had had relationships before, even though only with women. He had always been aware of the fact that he was attracted to men, too, but he had never acted on it until he was on the two weeks' leave after earning his wings.
He had been in a bar in Edinburgh, drinking by himself, when he had felt eyes on him, a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Said eyes belonged to a short, blond pilot with a personality that was twice his size.
When Ron crossed his gaze with the pilot's, the man smirked and jerked his chin towards the toilets' door before standing up and disappearing behind it.
The realisation struck him like a freight train, washing his body in a confusing wave of fear and want that made his skin prickle with goosebumps and cold sweat.
He sat at his table, frozen with indecision for what felt like an eternity before he thought fuck this, I'm going to war. I'm going to die anyway. He stood and walked to the toilets, hoping he was looking casual enough, or at least that people would think that he just had a particularly full bladder.
His mind swirled with vague images and crude words that described men who went with other men, wondering what was about to happen.
It turned out that he was woefully unprepared for the effect that it would have on him, to see the guy lean against the wall with his unbuttoned jacket and his messy curls.
"Well, hello there, pretty," the pilot said. "Why don't you come here and kiss me?"
Ron came closer to him until they were mere inches apart.
"I never…"
"Not a problem, pretty," the pilot said, still smirking. "Don't think too hard about it. Just do it."
Ron nodded dumbly, leaning in to close those few inches, putting his hands on the pilot's shoulders. He stopped just before their lips could touch, struck by a thought.
"What's your name?"
The pilot snorted.
"That's not how it works, hotshot. No names. Do you want the MPs to have even the faintest chance to get us?"
Ron could feel the pilot tense under his hands, ready to bolt.
"No, no," Ron rushed to say, and leaned in, finally bringing their lips together.
In perspective, it had been nothing to write home about, really. They had dragged each other into a stall, still kissing. From then on it had been a frantic race to get their hands into each other's pants. The pilot had sunk to his knees and had sucked him off, harsh and fast while jacking off. Ron had come down his throat, groaning and petting his curls while the pilot had come on the floor.
The after had been as unsatisfying as it gets. The pilot had simply rinsed off his mouth and left with a simple “So long”, leaving Ron behind, weak-kneed and dizzy and more than a bit disgusted with how squalid everything had just been.
He had had many flings with men since then, especially with enterprising Brits that were more than happy to take things to a bedroom: Ron refused to do anything in a toilet ever again. He also chose his partners more carefully, going for people who would offer more than just a quick orgasm and no true relief. Maybe it was out of character for him, but he longed for at least a modicum of human closeness. In general, he wasn’t a very social person, but the necessities of war were draining. No matter how being harsh, off-putting and scary suited his nature, no matter how important it was that as an officer he earned the respect of the enlisted men, it was still exhausting.
None of those men had been like Carwood, though. What with being in the same battalion, Carwood had always been at the periphery of Ron’s life, until he had suddenly been catapulted to the very centre of it as his de-facto second in command, and this had given Ron a lot of time to get to know him.
Carwood was a very private man. Ron doubted that anyone except himself, Nix and Winters knew his true story. Despite the shitty hand he had been dealt in life, Carwood Lipton had remained a kind and caring man at heart, sometimes to a fault.
It hadn’t taken long for Ron to realise that what he felt for the then-First Sergeant was more than mere physical attraction, and it hadn’t taken long for the most massive crush he had ever had to turn into genuine love.
Footsteps in the hallway interrupted his musings again, and he turned towards the door, tensing. Carwood stirred.
“Ron,” Carwood murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
Ron tried to sound reassuring and continued to pet and kiss his hair. He knew though that it was a losing battle, since Carwood had a sixth sense that unerringly detected whenever Ron was upset.
“Liar. You’re squirming like a worm on a hook.”
Carwood shifted languidly, nestling his head under Ron’s chin and nuzzling his chest.
“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” Ron sighed, kissing the top of his lover’s head.
Carwood chuckled.
“Nope,” he murmured, gently kissing Ron’s Adam’s apple. “Start talking.”
“Mmm… I just can’t settle down,” Ron said, tilting his head to give Carwood better access. His warm breath caressed the soft skin of his throat. “Feels like I can’t let my guard down, like something is going to happen…”
“That’s understandable,” Carwood murmured, still pecking soft kisses on his neck. “But we’re safe here. Nixon said that at this hotel they pride themselves on their discretion. And we’re in Paris, Nixon is the only one who knows which hotel we’re staying at.”
“Mmh, true. I guess I’m just afraid something will happen to you.”
He felt Carwood smile against his neck: his kisses became just a bit heavier, pressing a tiny smidge harder on Ron’s pulse point.
“You’re very sweet and I love you very much. Should I distract you from your thoughts?” Carwood asked, tracing Ron’s collarbones with his fingers.
“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
Carwood laughed then, and shifted until he was on top of Ron. Ron let him, curious as to what Carwood had in mind. The neck kisses became wet and sloppy, with plenty of teeth and tongue to stir things up. Ron could feel a rush of hot blood that made his cock twitch.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I remember you telling me how much you wanted me to take you,” Carwood said, languidly rolling their hips together. “Is the offer still valid?”
“There’s no expiration date on it, and it’s renewable."
Ron put a hand on the back of Carwood’s head and brought him down into a sloppy kiss. Carwood was quick to make it much more heated, deepening it hungrily. He smiled mischievously when they separated for air, and rubbed their now fully hard cocks together. Ron groaned at the sensation, the sweet friction stoking the fire of arousal in his belly and making his cock pulse. He shivered at the thought of Lip’s fat cock going inside him.
Ron didn’t have the time to complain when Carwood pulled back.
“I’ll be very careful, I promise. If you want me to stop, just say the word.”
“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” He pointedly grasped Carwood’s ass and rolled his hips, showing that he was ready and eager for more.
Carwood chuckled before leaning down to renew his attack on Ron’s neck.
He didn’t linger too much, electing to press onward— or rather, downward: he descended on Ron’s body, leaving a wet trail of kisses down his collarbones, quickly skimming over his belly to get to his real target.
Ron groaned in anticipation, spreading his legs a bit.
Carwood had almost a decade of experience in such practices, and the thought of his hot, wet mouth on his cock was enough to make Ron shiver with arousal.
Except that Carwood didn’t seem to have that in mind.
He planted a few, quick kisses on the base of Ron’s cock, mouthing at the soft skin there, but making no move to offer any relief.
Before Ron could protest (he wasn’t desperate enough to beg— not yet, at least), Carwood spoke.
“Has anyone ever eaten you out?” he asked. When Ron looked at him, he was biting his lower lip. “It’s— it can be a bit strange at first, I figured I’d ask…”
Ron’s brain short-circuited. He had never been on the receiving end (or on the giving end, for that matter). The idea of Carwood putting his mouth down there, of his tongue licking him… it was beyond filthy.
“Never… never had the occasion.” He swallowed.
“Oh, okay. Well— do you want to try it?”
“Good God, of course I do. There isn’t much that I wouldn’t try with you,” Ron groaned. His brain was painting a very vivid image, which was only sending more blood to his already aching cock. He palmed himself, starting to feel desperate for some relief.
“Holy shit, Ron,” Carwood said, his voice hoarse. “Okay. Okay. Just— I need you to raise your legs, like that…”
He put his hands behind Ron’s knees, gently guiding his legs into position.
Ron shivered: he was naked and exposed, and could feel the heat of Carwood’s gaze on him.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Carwood groaned, leaning down to lick a hot stripe on Ron’s cock.
Ron gasped at the sensation, bucking into it— he wanted more, he needed more, he needed Carwood.
Carwood mouthed languidly at his cock, licking and sucking and making Ron moan like a whore. Carwood descended along the shaft and took his sweet time with Ron’s balls, taking them in his mouth one at a time and sucking gently on them, rubbing his tongue against the sensitive skin.
“Touch yourself.” Carwood’s voice was rough, dark and lustful, and the words sounded dangerously close to being an order. That in particular sent a sharp spike of arousal down Ron’s spine as his brain was flooded by very enticing images of Carwood taking control of him and ordering him around. Ron immediately brought one hand over his cock to stroke himself.
“Slow down, love, slow down,” Carwood panted. “I don’t want the fun to end too soon.”
Ron complied without even thinking. Carwood didn’t waste any time in returning to his ministrations, putting his mouth to the tender spot behind Ron’s balls and making him gasp.
Ron almost yelped when Carwood’s tongue first touched his hole: it was startling, wet and hot, the sensation zinging up his spine and along his nerves like an electric current. He arched, squirming and shivering until Carwood’s hands came to his hips, stilling him with a gentle, but firm grip.
He realised that he was moaning loudly, but he couldn’t stop. Not with Carwood’s mouth playing like that with his body, alternating slow, shallow, leisurely licks to deep thrusts of the tongue and teasing sucks. Carwood hadn’t bothered with shaving in the past two days, and the stubble stabbed tiny, sharp prickles of electricity in his sensitive skin. It wasn’t bad though— quite the contrary. The tiny sparks were only inflaming him more.
He melted on the mattress, sinking his left hand in Carwood’s hair as he reflexively stroked himself faster, chasing the waves of pleasure that Carwood was giving him.
Carwood stopped, and Ron whined in protest, too far gone to be embarrassed about it.
“None of that, love.” He grasped Ron’s wrist, stopping his hand. His tone was firm, allowing no objection. “I want you to come when I’m deep inside you, I wanna feel you come on my cock…”
Holy shit, Ron thought dimly as he grasped Carwood’s face and brought him up to a bruising, heated kiss.
He liked this version of Carwood. He wasn’t aggressive or mean, but he had taken the lead with a firm hand, taking what he wanted while still making sure that Ron was satisfied and happy.
"God, I need you so bad…" Carwood panted when they separated. He grasped one of the many pillows that littered the bed, coaxing it under Ron’s hips before reaching for the tub of slick from the bedside table. They hadn't even closed it, and Carwood just dipped his fingers in it, dripping a few drops on the bedside table in his rush. He also grabbed one of the rags they had procured to make cleanup easier, and dropped it next to them on the bed.
“Spread your legs for me,” he said, his voice rough and thick with want. Ron decided to do him one better. He brought his right leg on Carwood’s shoulder, letting his left knee fall to the mattress.
“God,” Carwood muttered, turning his head to kiss the inside of Ron’s ankle while rubbing soothing circles with his thumb on the outside.
It was a very distracting sight, Ron thought, fascinated. He had never given much thought to his feet, except for when they hurt after a long march. And yet he couldn’t stop watching, breathing heavily as Carwood placed kiss after kiss on the surprisingly sensitive skin, slowly moving towards the top of the foot.
It felt good— ticklish, kinda, but in a good way. The stubble again only added to the pleasure: it prickled and scratched, but in a delightfully light manner that never quite became true pain.
“You like this?” Carwood leaned his cheek on the top of Ron’s foot. The prickling increased, and Ron moved his foot experimentally, savouring how different it felt in different areas. It was different on the top, harsher; it tickled more on the inside of the arch, where the skin was more tender.
“Yeah,” he sighed, closing his eyes to fully enjoy it. “Yeah. Feels good…”
It wasn't exactly sexual, per se, but it felt so intimate. Sex didn’t necessarily equate with intimacy, and Ron had had enough hookups to know the difference. The anonymous fucks were fun, sure. To Ron though, nothing could compare with the sheer relief of being able to let himself go completely when he was with Carwood.
“Mmmh, good.”
Carwood resumed kissing his foot as he brought his slick fingers to Ron’s hole. He didn’t press in, just circled it gently, waiting for Ron to relax into the sensation.
“This okay?”
“Very okay, keep going.”
Ron’s breath was getting heavier: he lay there on the mattress, trying not to tense up against the intrusion as Carwood slid the first finger inside him. It felt strange, but not unpleasant, and he felt his body relax as it got used to it.
“You’re doing so well, love,” Carwood murmured, still kissing his foot.
It worked wonders as a distraction, the wet smear of lips and the barest hint of teeth and the scratch of stubble sending intriguing signals to his brain as a second finger added itself to the first.
Ron was starting to feel the stretch, and he dimly wondered how he was going to handle the considerable girth of Carwood’s cock, which was currently resting against his thigh, hard and hot. He brought his right hand to it, revelling in the pleased gasp it elicited from Carwood. Ron stroked it slowly, matching the leisurely pace of the fingers inside him. The skin was silky soft under his palm, so thin and smooth and warm. The contrast with the hardened flesh just underneath it was delicious.
He moaned thickly when Carwood rewarded him by finding his sweet spot, making him arch on the bed.
“So good, love, you’re so good,” Carwood praised him, stroking the entire top of his foot soothingly and going back to gently massage the ankle. There was a sharp feeling of stretching when Carwood added a third finger, but again, it wasn’t unpleasant, and Ron felt his body melt against it.
He was floating in a warm haze of pleasure. Thinking was getting increasingly difficult. He pushed back on Carwood’s fingers, fucking himself on them.
Carwood had stopped kissing his foot, wrapping his arm around Ron’s thigh, slowly caressing the tender inside of it and leaning his head against the ankle. He was smiling, a gentle, soft smile that Ron wanted to see for the rest of his life.
“Want you,” Ron moaned, need suddenly spiking into his gut. "Please— I need—"
"Yeah," Carwood groaned, letting go of his leg and removing his fingers to wipe them on the rag. He leaned down to kiss Ron soothingly when he whimpered in protest. “Be patient, love. I’ll give you everything you want, just wait a second…”
Again, he reached towards the tub of slick, and scooped up a generous amount of the vaseline, thoroughly slicking himself up with it before lining up.
He tensed when he felt the blunt, thick head of Carwood’s cock push inside him, past the initial resistance.:
Carwood stopped, soothing him with kisses on the face.
“You’re so good, love… relax for me, just breathe…”
Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he buried himself to the hilt, and Ron was left writhing helplessly underneath him, gasping and panting, trying to get used to the stretch. He spread his legs further on the mattress, squirming and trying to ease the sensation a bit.
Was this how Carwood felt every time Ron fucked him, so full and stretched, unable to do anything but lie there and take it?
Carwood loomed over him, his hands firmly planted on the sides of Ron’s head. He was panting, staring at Ron with eyes so full of raw, burning want that Ron felt like he was about to combust.
“Are you okay, love?”
"Yeah," he moaned, because what else was there to say? He was very okay, so full and stretched and floating in a haze of pure lust, surrounded on every side by his lover.
They were safe, tucked away in a room that no one could enter, away from the war, away from everything. He pulled Carwood down into a slow, sloppy kiss.
“Okay— okay,” Carwood muttered, probably more to himself than to Ron. “I— I’ll start moving, okay? I’ve got you…”
Carwood lifted on his hands to get better leverage and pulled out, slowly and only halfway before pushing back in, equally slowly.
“God, you’re so tight,” he groaned. “You’re so good… so good…”
Ron moaned at the sensation. He let himself be swept away by the waves of pleasure that flooded his body and mind at every push. He grasped the sheets, unable to think about anything that wasn’t Carwood on top of him and the slow, deep rolling of the cock inside him and the press of it on his sweet spot.
“Yes— yes, God, Carwood, please, please— harder, please, harder—”
“Anything you want,” Carwood panted, increasing the pace and startling a choked scream from Ron when he drove right into his sweet spot, making him see stars.
“I’ll do everything you want. Just stay there and look pretty for me, I’ll take care of you… God, look at you, so pretty and perfect for me…”
“Kiss me,” Ron babbled, cupping Carwood’s face. “Kiss me, please k—”
Carwood dove down, sealing their mouths together in a hungry, demanding kiss: he bit Ron’s lips just hard enough to remind him who was in control.
Pleasure was coursing through his body, and there was a ball of fire cradled deep in his belly, growing with each push.
“Wanna come,” he begged. “Carwood, Carwood, please, need to come…”
“Yeah, come for me love, come for me, show me how you like it when I fuck you,” Carwood grunted.
He grabbed Ron’s knees, bringing them to Ron’s chest and keeping them there. This allowed him to push even deeper, ruthlessly slamming into Ron’s prostate.
The fireball in Ron’s belly grew and grew, and Ron arched back on the mattress, his eyes closed as he lost himself to it. His cock was achingly hard, leaking precum, and he reached for it before it occurred to him that maybe Carwood didn’t want him to. He tried opening his eyes to look at Carwood.
“Can— can I… I need…”
“Touch yourself for me, love. Show me… I wanna see you come for me.”
God, this time it was an order, and Ron’s eyes fluttered closed again as he rushed to obey. He wrapped his fingers more tightly around his cock, groaning at how sensitive it was. With the first stroke, he knew that he wasn’t going to last long, because the fireball in his groin swelled very quickly to an alarming size.
He kept stroking himself, each tug expanding that fireball further, his body tensing up, his mind and body full of Carwood.
“Don’t stop,” he begged, “Don’t stop, don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop—”
“I won’t,” Carwood promised, “I won’t, come for me, Jesus Christ, Ron, come— for— me!”
The last three words were punctuated with three sharp thrusts right into his prostate, but that wasn’t what sent Ron tumbling over the edge.
It was the tone of those three little words— a growling, unescapable order that made his mind go suddenly blank.
The fireball exploded, slamming him with a shockwave of roaring, scalding pleasure as he came all over his belly and chest, gasping and groaning loudly, his cock pulsing hard and hot and almost painful in his hand. He was pinned down and helpless, completely at Carwood's mercy, his brain drowning in a sea of static and his body seizing with pleasure.
“Oh yes, yes, yes,” Carwood groaned, his eyes wide as he stared at Ron’s groin. “God, look at you coming on my cock… so tight… gonna come, gonna—”
He gasped harshly, his hips stuttering before he arched back, his whole body tensing. He pressed as deep as their bodies would allow as he came, deep inside Ron.
Carwood collapsed half on top of him, letting Ron's legs go.
Ron instinctively wrapped his arms and legs around him, petting his hair and kissing his temple. Carwood buried his face in the crook of Ron’s neck, panting heavily.
They remained like that for a while, slowly regaining their breath and exchanging small kisses and caresses. Carwood had gone soft, but was still inside him.
“Did you like it?” Carwood asked quietly.
“Oh, no,” Ron quipped teasingly. “I moaned and writhed and begged for more because I absolutely hated it.”
He felt a warm puff of breath against his neck when Carwood chuckled.
“Silly,” Carwood said, pressing a kiss against Ron’s neck. “But you liked it.”
“I did. A lot,” Ron smiled, kissing Carwood’s forehead and stroking his back.
“Mmh, good. Sorry, I know that’s a bit unpleasant,” Carwood murmured when he slipped out of Ron, feeling him shiver underneath him.
Ron could feel his hole clench around nothing, pushing out some of Carwood's spend.
“Don’t worry. It’s just strange.”
Still, Carwood offered a few soothing kisses before grabbing the rag and wiping them both down. When he was done, he threw the rag in the wastepaper bin and laid down on the bed again, gathering Ron in his arms.
“We should wash,” Ron said lazily, nuzzling Carwood's neck. “I want to take you to dinner and a night cruise on the Seine. What do you say to that?”
Carwood smiled brightly.
“Ronald Charles Speirs, are you asking me on a date?"
"Yes," Ron said, matter-of-factly. "We're in Paris, what else am I supposed to do?"
Carwood laughed. God, Ron loved to hear him laugh.
"Paris as a first date, there isn't much that can top that," Carwood said. "Will you make sure to get me home by ten?"
"Absolutely not," Ron deadpanned. "We are going to enjoy the lights of la Ville Lumière and I'm going to kiss you under the Tour Eiffel."
"You have just made it impossible for me to do something more romantic than that!" Carwood protested.
"Is that a yes, then?"
"It is."
It was Ron's turn to smile, and he turned his head to kiss Carwood on the cheek.
"Can I take a nap first?"
He was starting to feel sleepy: Carwood had managed to chase away any lingering uneasiness, and now he felt relaxed and sated. Most of all though, he finally felt safe.
"Sleep, then. I'll wash first, and when I'm done I'll wake you up," Carwood said, leaning down to kiss Ron on the cheekbones.
Ron nodded before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
His last coherent thought was God, I love you, and he fell asleep without quite realising that he had spoken out loud.